NEW STORY! – Busted by Brenda

This story is NOW AVAILABLE for FREE on SMUTProject.com. Click here to read the whole thing!


Synopsis: A willing slave takes some harsh but sensual treatment from his Mistress, and succumbs to her vicious control.

This F (Femdom) story features:
Ballbusting, Footdom, and Cum Play.


“P-please,” I stammered, my lip trembling, just at the last moment, feeling her hand on the back of my neck. “Please. Be gentle.”

She looked into my eyes softly, kindly, and clicked her tongue. “Aw,” she said. “Of course I will.” And she snapped her knee into my crotch.

The shock hit me instantly and I flinched hard, and I felt my face screw up, felt my balls retract and the ache flow into my guts, but I was actually surprised that it wasn’t worse. I felt an odd delight in knowing I could take another, and I could feel this mixing in with the bleak, submissive blend of comfort and fear as she squeezed my hip with her other hand. My fingers gripped against each other, interlocked behind her waist, and I put my head against hers as I braced myself again.

(…)


© 2018

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Was Gustave Courbet the First Modern Pornographer?

L’Origine du monde (1866)

I had been familiar with the famed L’Origine du monde (above) long before I first laid eyes on it at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris in the spring of 2013, as a provocative work that shocked and challenged the art and cultural establishment at a time of prudishness and reserve, and upon viewing it in person I remember thinking three things; 1) that I was surprised (as I often am) by the meager dimensions of the actual work as compared with its reproductions, 2) that I was surprised to find the inclusion of shutters on the frame, which could artificially introduce some modesty to the creator’s work should the owner or exhibitor require it, and 3) I remember remarking to my companion that the only thing I found offensive about the work was what it failed to show (the model’s face, her expression, her response emotionally to being so depicted, and so on) rather than what it did show.

Any student of the arts in society, or any student of the period, is bound to know L’Origine du monde, by sight and by reputation if not by name and by artist, and it is one of two by which they might probably know the painter, Gustave Courbet (1819-1877). (The second work is Le Sommeil, 1866, pictured below.)

Courbet was a Frenchman, born in Ornans in 1819, and by 1850 he was creating scandals in the artistic world of the time by pioneering and pursuing the school of Realism, itself a reaction to the Romanticism and Neoclassicism of the time, which rejected the idea that life needed to be glamorized or embellished for the sake of art, and asserting instead that, to quote from Courbet’s 1855 Realist Manifesto, “To know in order to do, that was my idea. To be in a position to translate the customs, the ideas, the appearance of my time, according to my own estimation; to be not only a painter, but a man as well; in short, to create living art – this is my goal.”

In short, for Courbet, along with Jean-François Millet, Honoré Daumier, and the other Realists, there was no distinction between art and life. They painted normal, everyday people doing normal, everyday things, and they found beauty and majesty and importance in those elements of the mundane. This was a significant departure in thinking from the art of the previous century, and even from contemporary movements of the time, which saw the artist as one who introduces themselves artificially into the translation of the real into the glorified and the majestic and, for reasons that were as political as they were aesthetic, the work of the Realists was controversial and even decried in its time.

Realism said, to a world for which art in large part only included royalty, nobility, the religious, and the classical, that not only were regular people and regular things worth looking at with an artistic lense, so too were were regular people doing regular things worthy of being treated in an artistic way. The street ran both ways; it behooved those taking stock of the world in an artistic way to pay some attention to the little people, and it gave the little people the credit and grandeur that had previously been reserved for things that were a step removed from pure magic.

The work of the Realists in many ways would foreshadow what would come with the invention of photography at around the same time, and would inspire the younger generation of artists for whom Paris was the center of the artistic world at the time, a group which included the Impressionists, of whom one salient example is Édouard Manet, who painted both the Déjeuner sur l’herbe and Olympia, paintings both depicting prostitutes, in 1863 (see below).

Another, slightly earlier, influence on Courbet and his milieu was Francisco Goya‘s work La Maja Desnuda, painted somewhere between 1797 and 1800. The model’s direct and unashamed gaze in conjunction with her nudity were a cause of major fuss and fervor, and the story of that work in itself is worth knowing.

This, like the Manet works, depicts a frank and personal appraisal of nudity, one that is connected more with the model herself than it is with the subject of the work, and one which feels truer to life than the vast majority of what preceded it.

But compare these with Courbet’s Femme nue couchée (below), painted in 1862:

Now I can’t imagine it’s just me, but isn’t that image just pulsing with a sexuality and a vitality that the others just don’t possess? There’s a drama and an expressiveness to both her form and the projection of her presence that is rivaled, to this point, only by depictions of literal gods and goddesses or allegorical personifications (see Hygeia (anything of Rubens’ really) and Time Saving Truth from Falsehood and Envy). And she’s just a woman. Just a regular, sexual woman.

This painting, I think, marks a significant turning point, not only in art but in the mass human appraisal of sexuality, in which it was clear that the normal, regular expression of the erotic could be, as I said above, both noteworthy to the artist and worthy of elevation and celebration in and of itself.

Erotic imagery (if defined simply as depictions of sex acts) goes back at least as far as the Ancient Romans, but Courbet seems to be the first to train his gaze upon that which truly inspired him; not just the physicality and abstractly conceptualized nudity of his models, but also their genuine and incredible human essence, their souls. In all his nudes, such as La Femme au parroquet (1866, below), his models positively glow, in a way that assures the viewer, “It doesn’t matter who she is, even if she’s nobody to you. She is amazing, and she is special.”

The same can be said of Le Sommeil (above), in which the two subjects are shown in obviously post-coital bliss, and in that painting as well as others, Courbet seems to have painted not the nude, but her sexuality itself. And this approach, this gaze, is not necessarily without the explicitly prurient interest. Indeed, consider La Femme à la vague (1868, below), in which the light specifically favors the model’s most conspicuous anatomy:

And, less subtly, La Femme aux bas blancs (1864), which is, I think the earliest purely pornographic work I have seen, in that it taunts and entices the viewer in a way that is not only suggestive, but direct, and which depicts an act and a posture that is frequently adopted in modern pornography over 150 years later:

All of this can be said of Courbet’s work without reference at all to L’Origine du monde, but I learned something very interesting about L’Origine while in the process of researching this article:

Unlike most of the works referenced here, L’Origine du monde was not a piece created for public display. While most of the other pieces vied for space in the prestigious and exclusive Paris salons, L’Origine was painted specifically for the erotic collection of Ottoman diplomat and art collector Khalil Bey, which means that one of the crown jewels of the d’Orsay, arguably one of the most important paintings in Western history, was commissioned, conceived, and created for the sole purpose of the client’s private stimulation. It wasn’t even publicly exhibited until 1988.

What I think this means, in summation, is that Courbet could, in many ways, be considered the first creator to authentically and concertedly focus his robust artistic talents on the celebration and exploration of female sexuality, which set a precedent for pornography in a way that nothing else quite did.

You have to imagine that there is a kind of inevitability with photography; given the ability to capture the world around us at will and with fidelity, it’s only a matter of time before we put sexuality in front of that lense. But in a vastly different context, with shades of great social and political importance, Courbet did what it would take more than a century to achieve in any other media. He captured and glorified not just the bodies but the erotic spirit of these women, and he immortalized their essential lascivious humanity.

We may have come a long way since Courbet, and we may have gone a long way away from what he accomplished. But in the modern age where pornography has the ability to be authentic and honest, made by passionate people who care about what they do and what they make, it seems like we’re finally circling around, and maybe if we look with the right eyes we can see what he wanted to show us.


© 2018

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Play Time: On BDSM as Theatre

It is often something you hear about kink, that it’s all just make believe. That it’s roleplay. And for some people, I’m sure that’s what it is.

I’m sure a lot of people, from those who just picked up 50 Shades and want to experiment with a spanking or two to those who caricaturize the Dominatrix and sub personas and want to live in their own fantasies, do think of kink and of D/s relationship dynamics, at some level or another, as pretending.

But to some of us it’s a lot more than that.

Now, of course, those who want to participate in their kinks full time are few, and there aren’t a great number of people who want what they construct in the bedroom to influence their lives in a particularly significant way. In many ways it’s like yoga, which for most is just another form of exercise and which has its own modern commercial culture, but then there are people who specifically believe that certain poses and postures open you up to different personal states and enable you to access different features of consciousness. For some it’s a diversion, for some it’s an element of religion, and there are a lot of ways to be involved without necessarily being a devotee. With kink, too, you choose your own level of involvement, or perhaps your own level of involvement chooses you.

In the same way, though, that these things exist separately from their cultural or personal application, they also exist with or without a degree of artfulness and artistry, and it is that condition which can dictate an awful lot about the character of kinky play.

For all of us, I think, or at least for those of us who take it seriously, there is an element in kink of trying to get in touch with the truth of a kinky interaction, whether or not that interaction is “real”. To whatever extent a person wants their torment or subjugation at the hands of their partner to be legitimate and immovable, to whatever extent they want their play to have veracity, there is always the desire for it to have verisimilitude. In other words, whether or not these things are actually real, we certainly want them to feel real.

With this, of course, there is a spectrum. Some people only want to get in touch with the truth of that feeling on the grounds that it is absolutely real, and others, just as seriously, want to experience that truth only in complete opposition to reality, and there are many points of compromise in between. Whatever our position on this spectrum, we all seem to agree that kink takes place within an artificial construct, where we determine boundaries and consent, and then we decide, according to our preference, how we want that play to be characterized.

For me, there’s no better cultural parallel for this than the theatre. There are some who want to see Shakespeare at The Globe, with Elizabethan elocution and costume design, and there are some who want it reinterpreted in a modern setting. There are serious people who forgo Shakespeare entirely and look for fresh new approaches to the form of theatre itself. There are moody, minimalistic plays that focus entirely on dialogue and eschew action and setting, and there are snazzy, bombastic musicals and grand, dramatic operas. There are comedies, there are tragedies. There is modernism and post-modernism. In short, there is a whole, dynamic world of what can take place on the stage, in which there is an incredible variety to suit a range of tastes and preferences.

What are we to make, then, of the sets and the scripts and the props and the beats? Obviously, as anyone who has ever staged a production of anything will know, these are entirely up to the creative persuasion and means of those who produce the play, and there’s another world of style and sensibility that determines how what will be done will be done. What the script looks like to one person will not be what it looks like to another, and what comes from their collaboration determines how the content of that script will be interpreted and expressed.

But what of the players? Are they all such puppets locked in rote execution of a spectacular scene? This, I think too, misses the point. Not only does an actor want to find the “truth” I was talking about in what they put into their performance, but that relationship to that particular truth is not a fixed and arbitrary thing. It may change, subtly or otherwise, from night to night over a series of performances and how they get there each time relies very much on what they are able to get from night to night from the other people in the scene. Ask an actor how many times they’ve been surprised by what unfolded onstage, in spite of all the planning, all the intentions, all the rehearsal. Human interactions, even staged ones, can be marvelously unpredictable.

Which is to say nothing of ad libs, or improv. There can be amazing things that happen in a world where skilled and creative actors either take or are given liberties to make it up as they go along. Do the parameters that govern these constructions dilute or diminish them because they are artificial? On the contrary, they allow a freedom and fluidity that creates space in which things can happen, they transport that creativity to a territory in which new things can be explored.

But let’s take it back down to the core of the question, that of the distinction between the person and the persona. I, for one, am the first to be in favor of people finding common personal ground with what their sexuality involves, at whatever level that makes sense for them, but with this, again, there is a spectrum. For some people, there should be no distinction, they want those roles to really be who those people are, and for others it is the height of roleplay, in which the fantasy is pure and under which circumstances they can allow themselves to be and say and do things because that’s what their character can do. These are attitudes about a their own relationship to the truth, in addition to the relationship they prefer the scenario to have.

It’s hard to call any of these approaches more valid than the others because their goals and aims are different. They both attempt and achieve different things. One is more vaudeville, one is more opera. One is more classical, one is more modern. And there is good and bad in all of these things. We all have our own preferences and some things mean more to us than others, but we should try to appreciate them all. Because everyone who participates gives something of themselves to these things, whether it’s exactly like them or just like the best them or very much like a different them entirely. We each have a range, we each have a certain range of talents, and we each have desires and aspirations for who, what, and how we want to play. It’s only the snobs that stratify them too strictly.

What it means to be a kinky person, as someone who is involved earnestly in kinky practice and the craft of it all in addition to the spectacle, is the same thing it means to be an actor. If you’re any good at it, and if you belong with it as it belongs in you, what’s important is how well you do whatever it is that you do, and how meaningful and special you make it by being the one to do it.


© 2018

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Our Fine Art Gallery is up!

We’ve been working on a fine art gallery of vintage and historical works that feature kink and fetish themes, and we’re proud to say that it is finally up on the site!

To quote from the page, “The goal of this collection is to establish and recognize the historical continuity of things that are commonly expressed today through the practice of BDSM.”

Hope you’ll enjoy checking it out!

PUBLIC PREVIEW – Crossing Kim (Our Neighbor, Part II)

This story is NOW AVAILABLE to backers on Patreon who subscribe at the $10/month level or higher.  Current subscribers can click here to read the whole thing!


Part II in The Domme Next Door series!

Synopsis: Annie and her boyfriend make the mistake of breaking Kim’s rules, and have to suffer the consequences for their indiscretion.

This F/L (Couples’ Femdom) story features:

Punishment, Edging, Cuntbusting, Cum Play, Erotic Humiliation, Orgasm Control, Sock Fetish, Strapon Play, Dildo Play, and Chastity.


[THIS STORY IS SO NAUGHTY THAT WE COULD ONLY FIND THIS TINY LITTLE EXCERPT THAT WAS SAFE FOR A PREVIEW! ENJOY!]

…loud enough that we hadn’t heard her until she was right outside our door. It was hearing her keys that snapped us out of it. I stopped suddenly as my stomach tumbled, and Annie heard it too and snapped her head around to look behind us. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I think we’re in trouble.” I could see the shadow of her heels in the space beneath the door, and I shuddered as she stood there for a moment before continuing on to her apartment.

Annie stood up and pushed me back, listening, and then she reached back and pulled me out as she turned around. Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the counter and mine did in my pocket, and when we checked them we each turned them around to show what the other one said too:

Come.

Then, a moment later:

As you are. Now.

“Shit!” Annie said in an emphatic whisper. “She knows!”

(…)


© 2018

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PUBLIC PREVIEW – Personal Trainer

This story is NOW AVAILABLE to backers on Patreon who subscribe at the $10/month level or higher.  Current subscribers can click here to read the whole thing!


Synopsis: In a tiny, private, urban gym, a tough and gorgeous athlete puts a weak slave through his paces.

This F (Femdom) story features:

A Competition/Lost Bets, Forced Exercise, Clothed Female/Nude Male (CFNM), Spanking, Ballbusting, Erotic Humiliation, Foot Fetish, Sock Fetish, and Footdom in Socks.


I stepped up onto the curb and walked down the block past the fashionable little boutiques and the restaurants opening for lunch. I sought out the plain, deep blue door numbered 1441 towards the middle of the block, and found it, trying the handle and finding it locked. I peered through the border of the etched glass pane at the staircase and the exposed brick walls, and then turned to the brass intercom, slinging my gym bag higher over my shoulder.

The door buzzed and I made my way up to the third floor, past the vague sounds of people diligently working in offices beyond nondescript doors, past the ficus trees in large pots, and down a long taupe hallway to an isolated door behind a bathroom. Affixed to the door there was a little black placard indicating that I had found the right numbered unit, and a paper printout encased in plastic which read only, “Athletic Endeavors – By appointment only.”

It wasn’t that I was out of shape. In fact I had a job that was pretty physically demanding and I managed to keep up with my physique thanks to that, which was good because I didn’t really have any particular interest in exercise. But I had heard from a lady friend of mine that training with Miss Jenn not only produced results but was, to use her phrase, a “transcendent experience”.

I had looked at her with a little skepticism. “And what exactly does that mean?”

She had returned my gaze in an unusual way and paused, sizing me up a little, before saying, “Let’s just say it’s an unusual kind of workout.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought she might have winked at me. “I’ll make an appointment for you.”

“Oh, no, really, that’s okay. I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

“Just trust me. Knowing you, I think you in particular might get something out of it.”

I took a breath and rapped softly on the door.

“Well just give me her information then, and I’ll set something up.”

“She won’t do it, it’s referrals only. Her client list is very exclusive. And anyway I’m not sure she’d take you, being a man, but who knows? She might like the challenge.”

When it opened there was a full, statuesque vision before me in a black sports bra with flat, muscular abs stretching out to a pair of heather grey spandex leggings that stopped at her thick, muscular thighs. I caught myself having let my eyes drift down her body and snapped them back to her face. She looked Hawaiian, and had striking features beneath jet black hair that was up in a tight ponytail. Her deep, rich, dark chocolate eyes were calculating and tough, but there was a bright, lush, persistent elegance and gentleness like a waterfall flowing through her strong frame. I looked at her, breathless, floored by her vitality, and she sighed and began tapping her foot expectantly on the threshold. The sound drew my gaze quickly downward, and I saw her thick, white tube socks with thick black rings disappearing into her black and hot pink Nikes.

“Hi, uh,” I murmured as I looked up at her again. “I…”

“Yes,” she said, snapping her foot down a final time. “I know. And you’re late. Come in.”

She stepped aside and shut the door behind me as I entered the bright, open room. It looked like the small, historic building through which I came in from the street had been joined to the top floor of the one next to it, and the room took up an entire floor. The brick of the walls had been painted over in white, and the room was split down the middle into a mirrored half with a ballet rail and a dance floor, which had been covered with thick, blue, rectangular mats, and the other half had thinner squares of grey foam covering the hardwood floor, with a treadmill, an elliptical machine, a set of small dumbbells, a red, medium-sized exercise ball, a pull-up bar, and a rack draped with some colored Therabands. Opposite these were a set of four large, arched windows draped with sheer white curtains, which bathed the whole scene in pale, late morning light.

“So,” she said as she closed and locked the door, “Karen’s told me a few things about you. I trust she’s told you about me?”

“Just that you’re quite the trainer,” I said, and she smiled at the word.

“So I’ve been told.” She eyed my gym bag. “She didn’t say anything about what I do though?”

I shook my head. “She was pretty cagey about it actually.”

“She ought to have been. I don’t think many of my clients would share too much about what I put them through. I offer a very particular kind of physical fitness service. It’s strenuous, demanding, and it’s designed to work your body, mind, and spirit. It’s a workout for your entire being. Do you think you’re up for something like that?”

“Well,” I said, feeling like I had heard that before and still unsure of what she had in mind. “That sounds like quite the experience, yes.”

“Good.” She went to the corner and adjusted the thermostat, and I heard the central heating system kick on. It was warm already and apparently it was about to get warmer. “I hope you brought water like I told you to. We’re going to sweat today.”

She turned back around and I shifted under her gaze as she stuck her hands on her hips and said, “You and I are going to compete against each other for several rounds, and depending on the outcome of each round there will be consequences or rewards for you, which we’ll discuss as we go.” I looked over her muscular body, and I nodded slowly. “As we go on, both the consequences and rewards get greater, and you’ll either leave here completely broken or on top of the world. It’s all down to you.”

I took a moment to consider the prospect, but I was feeling more and more hypnotized by her beauty, her prowess, and her apparent power. So I said yes, ready, or so I believed, for whatever would happen next.

“Good,” she said again.

She walked across the room to the edge of the mat and turned back to face me, crossing her arms and tapping her foot again. “Well?” she said impatiently, looking me up and down. “You think we’re gonna do this with you dressed like that?”

“No, I… I mean I’ll go change.”

“No you won’t,” she replied. “You’ll strip.”


© 2017-2018

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