Slavemaster's Kinky Sex Guides

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Over the years the Slavemaster site has evolved, almost with a life of it's own.  What started out as a few personal pages and a handful of images all designed to get me laid grew to a site that tried to build a local community. Galleries came and went, Kinky Sex Guides came and went, resource pages came and went.  

The big problem was trying to do too many things with it, trying to be too many things to too many people. And therein lay it's downfall.  While it tried to do many things, getting help with content was impossible, and frankly nobody really read the content anyway.  Google Analytics showed that people just looked at the picture galleries or browsed through the perve register to get laid.  Even the register was a hit and miss affair with many registered members opting to hide their profiles.

When the site was first launched I managed to get more hits and serve more pages than the 5FM (local pop radio station) website. (over 100 000 hits and 600 000 pages in 24 hrs, boy was my web host pissed off...)  Over the years the numbers have fluctuated wildly and now it is a shadow of it's former glory.  After more than 12 years of supporting the site financially, writing and creating the content and promoting the local community, the time has come to make a decision:  Does it still serve a purpose? I'm doubtful.

The Kinky Sex Guides have been re-written and are soon to be a series of small books.  The rest.. well since I closed the Studio and retired from the local Leather scene I have more or less been shunned by the local community.  The time has come to make the decision on whether to continue it or not.  
The options I have are simple.  I can just close it down, sell the domain and the IP, or turn it into a pay per view porn site.

The latter seems to be the most interesting ...

Posted by slavemaster At 2:24 AM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (1) |      

Tags: :
When I ran the Studio, I was always amused by the things people would lose / leave behind and the range was wide.  I would find these things lying around after a night of torrid debauchery and always wondered how they could have been missed.  And I'm not talking about underwear, socks or the odd toy either.  In a dungeon these items were almost expected.  But over the years I found pink fairy wings, (don't drink and fly so they must have walked home), fish-net tights, pairs of shoes, single shoes and car keys amongst the most unusual.  

They would be held behind the bar and at some point someone would sheepishly claim their goods.

Now when I set up Rough Trade as an online shopping site, dealing with strange stuff for pervy people someone out there place an order, paid for it and never came forward to claim the item.  Two years ago I managed to crash a disk on a server and lost a few transactions of the store database. Not a train smash, it was all up and running within hours but a few records were unrecoverable.   It took less than a week for most people to come forward and claim items which they had paid for and the books balanced again.  Well almost.

Someone, and I really have no idea who, ordered two T-Shirts as illustrated, paid for them and that was it.  When they were not delivered they never said a word.  Two years later, I'm still sitting with the items, and the bloody books are still out by R150.00.  A tiddly amount in the world of high finance perhaps, even an amount small enough to just write off... but I can't bring myself to do it.  

If you are the incredibly patient customer, and can prove they are yours, please get in touch.  

Posted by slavemaster At 8:46 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : hosting adult Publishing
Once again, as is the nature of things I was asked an unusual favour.

Anyone who has ever tried to create an adult content website, has discovered just how hard it is to find a reasonable hosting company who would be prepared to carry the site.  Many years ago I found myself in just such a situation.  The original Slavemaster site was hosted on a small private server, by a friend of mine.  There were no services, no add-ins, add-ons or any interactive scripts allowed.  But it was a host and I was only too grateful.

A year in and that server was closed down and I found myself suddenly looking for a hosting company all over again. The search was long tiresome and fruitless.  The only option was to set up my own server.  With a little trial and error, well lots of trial and even more error, the first server went up and all was well.  As the years passed, a single server became 2, then three.  Today I'm sitting with 5 servers in two countries.  

To get back to the point ... at the beginning of December I received a frantic call from a friend who designed and built a very adult website.  His hosting company, based in the 'States stumbled across it and in a fit of conservative pique, freaked out.  They threatened to close all his sites if it was not removed immediately.  Naturally, they came to me and asked if I would assist.

It took 3 hours and their site was up and functioning on one of my servers.  And thus an idea was born.  I certainly have the space, bandwidth is the only concern, South Africa being one of the few countries still suppling Internet Access with a measured bandwidth. In the UK and the 'States the story is very different, uncapped bandwidth at terrifyingly fast speeds and all you pay for is the connection.

SO ... if anyone is interested is putting up their own very personal site and so long as it does NOT involve anything criminal like kiddie porn, drug dealing or the such... or the generation of endless spam (which should be criminal) get in touch.  I'm sure we can come to an arrangement.

Posted by slavemaster At 11:00 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : Slavemaster
It's really weird, but every time I decide to actually close down the slavemaster website, there is a sudden flurry of activity. It's been an institution for several years now, it's popularity ebbing and flowing much like the libido of an aged bishop.  

I have admittedly been a tad remiss regarding updates, but frankly, after investing and losing everything I owned in The Studio and thus the local leather scene, I am just a tad jaded.  And I'm not alone it seems.  Many of the local stalwarts have drifted away from the local scene.  

Just why remains something of a puzzle.  Some of the people, and there are a few who I still keep in close touch with, seem to think it's because of personalities, others because of a lack of commitment, while others just seem to have got bored with the petty infighting and internal politics.  

It's sad to see that something I loved dearly has deteriorated like this but I have come to realise that the Leather Scene, especially amongst the newbies does tend to be cyclical. This is just a lull in the cycle.

If you have ideas or comments regarding the site, why not take a moment and let me know what you think, what you want and how you would like to see it develop?

Posted by slavemaster At 5:23 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

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One of the phenomena regarding blogs is that so many are short lived.  They start with a flourish, and for a month or so are updated and tweaked and nurtured like children.  A couple of months down the line and the postings taper off eventually to nothing.  

This experimental blog is no different but I have figured out why.  It's simple the complete lack of response.  Nobody out there posts feedback.  On the other blog I write, I am at least rewarded with hate mail.  

Perhaps, it has been suggested, nobody  reads it.  The stats I get prove that not to be the case here.  I get at least 100 - 150 hits a day - yet nobody has the gall to post a public comment.  

Posted by slavemaster At 12:53 AM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : Old Guard New Guard Teaching Learning

As you can imagine, the whole kinky sex thing has been around for ages.  Anyone who suggests that Neanderthal man became extinct some 30 000 years ago has never been to one of the seedier Leather Bars on a Party night.  Once our Cro-Magnon ancestors discovered the effect a well-aimed stick had on a hairy semi-upright buttock, it never really changed and we wield sticks in much the same way today.  

Whether you dress up in Lycra and used aluminium foil, or cowhide and studs will make very little difference to the person on the receiving side of the lash.  All that is of any consequence comes down to two things – can it be done safely, and do we agree to do it that way.  

With every resurgence of Kinky or Leather Sex, the new generation or “New Guard,” seem to delude themselves that they are inventing something fresh and original.  Bound up in this belief is the idea that the new way is somehow the right or only way.  Anyone who does anything else is considered “Old Guard” – old fashioned and a dinosaur – worthy of only scorn and derision.

I can only speak for myself here, but frankly, do I need your or anyone else’s acceptance or approval?  Do you think I lie awake at night worrying about whether I fit into any proscribed sexuality?  Do you believe for one minute I follow any rules other than those I lay down myself?  I’m not saying I have a blatant disregard for all the rules of society, when I’m in company I behave accordingly, but my private life is mine.  My sex life is by consent.

Personally, I think it’s all semantics - the main reason I dislike the term Leather Sex in the first place.  Rubber, Latex, full-on Drag, Lycra and yes the used aluminium foil can all have their place in the sleazy scheme of things.  But I also consider myself a realist and have learned from experience that trying to unite all the practitioners of alternative sexuality under one big banner does not work.  There has to be compromise to a degree but trust me, the boys into heavy pain are really not going to be satisfied with a little suck and fuck with an adherent of a boot fetishist for example.  

While it might be nice to think of all Kinky Sex as all embracing, and the group one homogenous and tolerant society just think how a cross dresser is received into the Leather Society.  How do you respond and react to such situations when they arise?  

The reality is that the tie-me-up-and-fuck-me boys tend to congregate together, as do the rubber boys, as do the fisting boys and the multitude of other groups.  Real problems arise when those into dressing up in a bit of leather for a little rough fucking pass themselves off as being experienced Sadists.  People are not only disappointed but get hurt too.  And this is my point. No matter how "Old Guard" or "New Guard" you  present yourself / like / want  to be, the skills required are much the same. A whip is handled thus, a cane is used just so...

It's the skill set that needs to be learned.  And this is where the more experienced, which implies older people, do tend to know what they are talking about.  "Old Guard" they may be, dinosaurs too, but they know things, things they learned the hard way, things that you might benefit from knowing.

Posted by slavemaster At 12:47 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : The Studio

Here's an extract from the book on the Studio I'm busy with ...

By 11 o’clock on a Saturday night, the straight party was well underway.  As is the nature of these things since time immemorial, liquor was flowing, the music was blaring, poseurs posed and the perves were perving.  I was doing my usual meet-and-greet number in amongst the crowd in the lounge area.  Robert was managing the bar, dispensing booze and wit in equal and liberal measure.  The man can charm a herd of water buffalo when in the mood.  He was obviously in the mood and practising.  His rapt leather clad audience playing their part, completing that little analogy with unnerving accuracy.  

As was commonplace, people would arrive in dribs and drabs through the evening so the chime of the doorbell was not out of the ordinary.  Nobody but Robert paid any attention.  

Security at The Dungeon was rudimentary and unusually efficient.  Being a more or less abandoned industrial area undergoing a major decline before an optimistically anticipated urban renewal, there was hardly any traffic after 5 pm during the week, and almost none at all on a weekend.  Having the police drive past on their way to and from the barracks which were literally within spitting distance, left me feeling safer than when I lived on the recently vacated farm.  I parked my jeep outside on the street for two years, and it was only a few months before I left that it was broken into, and on both occasions, the floodlights had not been operational.

People parked their cars in the street and the small brightly lit forecourt fronting the warehouse.  The tenant who occupied the ground floor had installed searing floodlights and an impressive alarm system so assaults and muggings were not likely.  What happened after admission however was another story.

My contributions to safety were limited to hiring a couple of off duty security guards who lived behind the warehouse to keep an eye on the cars, and installing a small and expensive intercom, replete with video link and a button to open the electronic gate.  People pressing the button at the door downstairs activated the system and could be seen from the bar.  Once identified as either friend or foe, they were buzzed in, or told to bugger off.  The only trouble I ever encountered was from the car guards who would regularly report for duty so drunk they could not stand, or got into very loud and heated arguments between themselves as to who’s turn it was to earn some extra cash.  These minor irritations I accepted and dealt with as par for the course.
 
“Torch!”  Robert’s voice carried across the room, over the music, weaving through sounds of buttocks being paddled, nervous laughter from those with clenched buttocks about to be paddled and the cackles of various dominatrixes wielding said paddles over aforementioned buttocks.

In the middle of a conversation, I turned to see what he wanted.
“You better check this.”  He indicated the small still lit video screen with a nod of his head.  In the ghoulish light, his eyes were round much like those of an innocent little bunny in the path of an oncoming freighter.  Curious but still calm, I eased my way idly through the crowd.
“Wassup?”
“We might have a problem…  ” His words hung in mid-air, undecided if there was more to come or the sentence was complete.  He tapped the view button on the intercom again.  An image filled the diminutive screen.  The stragglers around the bar all eased forward to discretely elbow in on this new drama that seemed to be unfolding around them.  From where I was standing, I could not see a damned thing apart from a greyish blob.
“What?”  I leaned over the counter to get a better look.
He leaned forward, and in his best, most practised vibrato whispered one word.  
“Cops!”

One of the emotions most inappropriate in any Dungeon is true and real terror.  I was emotionally inappropriate as every sphincter and valve in my body tensed simultaneously.  There was no need to panic the guests; the police would do that shortly if this were a raid.  I said nothing and headed downstairs to the front door, trying to head them off at the pass so to speak.

I can honestly say I don’t remember much of the trip down the two flights of stairs to the front door, other than it was fast.  All that kept running through my mind were the details of the last police raid I had heard and read about.

The previous month, police had made a very public raid on a seedy but discrete sex / nude bar down the road from me.  The reports of the fag bashing, the very public humiliations, the inappropriate body searches and the expressions of rampant homophobia made the local newspapers where even the community at large were mightily and vociferously upset.  It had taken over 30 heavily armed police operatives, male and female, to raid a small club occupied by 20 or so naked gay men.  One person was arrested, one of the owners, nabbed for selling liquor without a license.  I doubt it was the kind of publicity the police were hoping for.  It was certainly not the kind of publicity I was looking for.  I’m positive my guests upstairs were in full agreement with me on this count.

One requirement for any half decent dominant Leatherman is having supreme confidence in one's abilities and strength of character.  You have to be a little intimidating, not just pretend.  It's something I believe in, I teach, and something I believe I have, especially when I am suitably dressed and in control of a situation.  It was all I could rely on to get me through this.

At the entrance, pressed up against the security gate, completely blocking way stood a short and stocky police officer.  Behind him was what appeared to be the rest of the South African Police Force. All of it. The road was jammed with cars, vans, and trucks, all flashing their blue lights in a monochromatic and vertiginous disco.  Policemen and women, truncheons and flashlights drawn and at the ready, even a few very undomesticated looking sniffer dogs straining at their leashes.  Somehow, I always anticipated pitchforks and burning torches (leading to burning Torch) when imagining such an eventuality.  Shows just how wrong we can be.

“Can I help you Officer?  Is there a problem?”  I pressed the buzzer to open the gate.
“Naand Meneer.”  He attempted to open the gate by pushing it.  As is universally the case in such things, it opens outwards.  I pressed the buzzer and again he pushed.  A little flustered, he stepped back, I pressed the buzzer a third time, and pushed the gate open, towards him.
”What kind of club are you running here?” he asked as walked around the gate and swaggered, not too confidently, into the small foyer.  His eyes flitted around the tiny space, not missing a single detail.  Behind him, Johannesburg’s finest moved forward.
“Club?”  I was innocence itself.
Once inside, our size difference became more noticeable.  Towering under someone a good 30cm taller than he was, someone kitted out snug black leather trousers; studded and buckled knee high boots with 3-inch soles seemed to unnerve him.  I have that effect on people.  Ask anyone who has ever encountered me in a dungeon.
“All the cars … “ He gestured towards the gate. “  And the music…” he gestured towards the stairwell behind me.
By this time, there were three more policemen in the foyer and a few more trying to edge their way in.  It was starting to get a little close.  I backed up and was now standing on the first step.
“I’m having a few friends over for a party.”  They looked at me a little confused.  “Is the music too loud?”  I added.
“You live here?”
“Yeah, it’s my residence.  I rented it and turned it into a loft.  Nice big place … “ I could feel myself starting to babble nervously and fought the urge.

Had I stripped down and started blowing myself in front of them I could not have produced a better effect.  They paled a little, and started backing out the gate.

It turns out that as a private residence they had absolutely no right to be on the property performing a raid without due cause and /or a legal search warrant, which they never had.  Had I wished to, I could have turned this into a legal nightmare.  The officer, obviously in charge, pointed to my jeep parked right next to the entrance.
“This yours?” he asked.
“Yup.  I’ve been parking there for ages and never had any problems.”  The vehicles regular presence had been noticed.  However, he was not completely satisfied.  
“Why not come around sometime during the week, and I’ll show you the place if you like.”  I offered, still babbling.
“Tonight might be a little awkward and I have guests to attend to.”  I continued, following him onto the forecourt.  He looked up the side of the building.  My bedroom light was on and could be clearly seen.  Following his gaze, I pointed out the lit window.  
“That’s my bedroom, “I continued. “  And there’s the spare room...”
He muttered something to the cops nearest him and they retreated to the relative safety of their vehicles, all looking a little crestfallen if not disappointed.  
“It’s big hey. ” he said.
“400 square meters. ”  I replied.  “A bit cold in winter and a bitch to heat…”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
He politely apologised before heading off himself.

I returned to the foyer, and closed the gate behind me while they huddled together and planned the rest of their night’s festivities.

Half way up the stairs I started shaking uncontrollably and a wave of nausea struck.  I rested for a few deep breaths before continuing up to the bar and main play-space.

Eighteen pairs of wide eyes greeted me from the seductive gloom.
“No worries.” was all I could manage.  Robert and I had a complete conversation in a single look and both breathed a sigh of relief.  He placed two shot glasses on the counter and poured the tequila while I want upstairs to throw up.  The party picked up where it had left off.

I will never really know what Robert did or said to the guests while I was downstairs, or who’s idea it was, but I’m not sure that trying to hide a tall skinny incandescently white man, in late forties, buck naked but for some rope, a collar and his boots, under the pool table was a significant gesture.

Posted by slavemaster At 1:45 AM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : Humour

In Bremerton, WA, Christopher Coulter and his wife, Emily, were engaging in bondage games when Christopher suggested spreading peanut butter on his genitals and letting Rudy, their Irish Setter, lick them clean.  Sadly, Rudy lost control and began tearing at Christopher's penis and testicles.  Rudy refused to obey commands and a panicked Emily threw a half-gallon bottle of perfume at the dog. The bottle broke, covering  both, the dog and Christopher, with perfume.  Startled, Rudy leaped back, tearing away the penis.

While trying to get her unconscious husband in the car to take him to the hospital, Emily fell twice, injuring her wrist and ankle. Christopher's penis was in a styrofoam ice cooler.
 
"Chris is just plain lucky," said the surgeon who spent eight hours reattaching the penis. "Believe it or not, the perfume turned out to be very fortuitous. The high alcohol content, which must have been excruciatingly painful, helped sterilize the wound. Also, aside from its being removed, the damage caused by the dog's teeth to the penis per se is minimal. It's really a very stringy piece of flesh. Mr. Coulter stands an excellent chance of regaining the use of his limb because of this."

Washington Animal Control has no plans to seize Rudy.

www.darwinawards.com

Posted by slavemaster At 6:24 AM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : Humour Bondage Kinky Sex Guide

Berlin - A German bondage fetishist got so chained up he had to call police to remove his cuffs after he was reduced to waddling around helplessly like a "penguin", authorities said on Thursday.  Officers sent to his rescue in the western city of Aachen told him he should use a specialised establishment rather than practise at home.   Police received no answer from the house until the man appeared at a window and flung out the door keys with his teeth.  On entering, they were met by the sight of a heavily chained man shuffling towards them on his knees with his head bowed, dressed only in shiny black leather and white socks.

"To visualise the appearance of the afflicted party, one would have to imagine a penguin of waist-height waddling with slightly protruding wings," Aachen police said in a statement.

"We thought it was a joke at first," the spokesperson said. "But the chains were bound so tight with handcuffs he could hardly move anything except his head."

Police released the man using their own handcuff keys. It was not clear how the man became ensnared.

"We suggested in future that he go to places where that sort of thing might cost a bit more but would definitely be safer for him," the spokesperson said. - Reuters

This article was originally published on page 1 of The Mercury on February 20, 2004

Posted by slavemaster At 12:33 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |      

Tags: : Kinky Sex Guide Psychology Trauma

I have been approached several times by people who have certain issues that they think these kinky games can help them work through, poor self esteem, rape and molestation being a couple of the more frequent.  I asked the resident shrink for an opinion...

The Psychologist said...

Author :"RCS"
Registered Psychologist
Traumatic-Stress Specialist

A key component of coming to terms with traumatic experiences is "re-exposure". In other words the person is encouraged to talk about, write about, act out the traumatic experience in a way that enables them to "work through" the experience. This "working through" is extremely distressing but brings great relief if done correctly. Of course it can be argued that a game might be designed to help a person "work through" their traumatic experience.

This is a very bad idea for lots of reasons:

1. We play these games because they are exciting, intimate and fun. We do not play them for psychological healing.  "Working through" is uncomfortable.  When we make our games into "psychotherapy" we run the risk of losing the joy of the game, the reason we play in the first place.

2. It can go horribly wrong. Therapists train for years to learn how to manage re-exposure and what to do if it goes wrong. If you do not have the skills, do not run the risk of getting in too deep and not knowing how to get out. When trauma goes wrong it leads to suicides, chronic depression, alcohol and drug abuse, and even psychosis. This is a heavy responsibility to bear.

Trust

For many perverts, what happens in our minds is the most exciting part of the game.  No matter what we feel about "mind games", all kinky play contains some psychological dangers about which we should be aware.

In the moments of a motor vehicle accident when the car is spinning out of control, a man might scream in terror at the thought of impending injury and even death. However, that same man on a roller coaster, experiencing the same physical sensations, may scream in excitement and happiness. When the ride is over we want to get back on. The difference between the car and the roller coaster, is the man’s sense that everything is going to be all right in the end.

Every sadomasochistic game walks this line and when the line is at its finest the game is at its most exciting, hence the danger. When the submissive stops feeling that "everything is going to be OK", the game stops being exhilarating and very swiftly becomes terrifying, even traumatizing. This is what we mean when we talk about the all important trust.

When a Traumatic Event Occurs

Psychologists define a traumatic event as an event involving threat of serious injury or death where the person feel overwhelming horror, helplessness or fear. Clearly without the sense that "everything will be OK", just about every game contains traumatic experiences.  When human beings are faced with actual life or death situations we go into "survival mode", a heightened level of functioning designed to save our lives. Typically the adrenaline starts to pump, our pain thresholds drop, our physical strength and speed increase, our thinking becomes coldly rational, and we begin to respond instinctively to the situation in which we find ourselves. Sometimes this is referred to as being in "fight or flight".

Once the danger has passed we quickly come down and are likely to be very tired, weepy, trembling and frightened. This may last for a couple of hours but we recover quickly.  After this we stay extra alert for danger for several weeks during which time we think and dream about our traumatic experience constantly until it is completely processed, or "worked through".

Sadomasochistic play should not be about traumatizing people. If this happens, the game has gone very  wrong.  Should a Dom traumatise his Sub, he might consider a period of reflection to examine his motivation for playing and possible reasons for not being aware of stepping over that very fine line.

How to recognize when a person is in danger of becoming traumatized

For the Dom:

Your sub’s heart rate will become extremely rapid, breathing becomes fast (gulping for air), they will start to struggle very powerfully against any restraints (possibly hurting themselves unintentionally). Of course, a solid flogging will produce all the above without the person being traumatized. The deciding factor should be your sub’s eyes. If the sub’s eyes start flicking around the room constantly, or scan continuously back and forth, its time to start worrying. If he looks you straight in the eye, give him your best shot!

It is unlikely, but possible that the sub will be unable to remember any safewords that have been agreed. The traumatic response is a very primitive one and is not designed around the niceties of modern civilization.

For the Sub:

The exhilaration of the game and the experience of trauma are completely opposite and you will have no difficulty telling the difference. If the game goes wrong for whatever reason you will become afraid and extremely distressed. If this happens it is your responsibility to slow the game down, or end it altogether. Your Dom cannot be expected to be psychic (although some certainly seem to be). When you are not OK, speak up!

What to do if it happens

If the Sub becomes traumatized for whatever reason, it is not the end of the world, provided you both respond responsibly and swiftly.

1. Stop the game completely and immediately.
2. Reassure the sub that the game has stopped, that he is no longer restrained and is not going to be hurt any further. The Sub is likely to be trembling, cold, possibly tearful.
3. Provide a place to lie down, warm clothes or blankets, fruit juice or a hot drink, and if possible something to eat. (Saturated sugar or glucose solution is not appropriate. Neither are sedatives, sleeping pills or alcohol).
4. Give the Sub some time to come down and recover himself. If you try and talk about what went wrong too soon you may restart the adrenaline reaction. If the Sub has not started to recover after about an hour seek assistance immediately.
5. When the Sub is ready to talk, find out what went wrong, reassure each other and plan any future games around this information.
6. The Sub may experience difficulties sleeping and be very jumpy for a couple of weeks. This is normal and passes in time.

Posted by slavemaster At 3:30 PM Location Johannesburg - South Africa | Permalink | Comments (0) |