BDSM Fiction and Authenticity

As you’re all aware by now, we write a lot of BDSM fiction. We’ve noticed a lot of concern about the non-consensual writing that’s around being a ‘poor representation of the BDSM world.’ (this came from an Amazon review of another author).

Fiction is fiction, and I doubt this same complaint would be levelled at a murder mystery or a sci-fi novel in which characters are treated badly and not as we would like in an ideal world. What is important, I believe, is that if a story is non-consensual, it is honestly marketed as such. The reason for this is so that newcomers to the scene, many of which learn through reading, (and that’s often fiction), can see the clear boundaries which should not be crossed in reality. After all, you wouldn’t really expect a zombie to stomp round your living room or a vampire bite you, would you?

I have no problem with writers or readers who produce or have fantasies of non-consensual play or sex. What is of more concern is passing those fantasies off as acceptable sex or BDSM practice.

We try in our stories to make these things clear. My fiction is always consensual, primarily because non-consensual is too far off my radar and I wouldn’t be able to write it convincingly as a result. Fulani stretches the boundaries a little more, but always makes this clear for the reader so they can make an informed choice.

What we are proud of is the inclusion in our fiction of safety awareness. I like to include some details of things to be aware of, such as characters having some way of communicating their hard limit if gagged. A safeword of course cannot be used when gagged, so characters are given a ball or something similar, which they can drop to alert their dom to stop the play. I feel it is important that anyone thinking of tying someone up, making them helpless and creating pain for them should be very aware of their responsibility to that person.

This has all come from personal experience. I know how it can feel when someone does something to you that you did not want to happen. I know how it feels for someone to try and push you to use your safeword, thinking this was the way to play. It is not. Safewords are intended to STOP play for whatever reason. For either the sub or the dom, a safeword is just that. A word to use to keep you safe. And that means safe physically, mentally or emotionally. It is used in extreme situations and not as a goal for the dom to reach. A responsible dom would set up a scenario in which he/she could PLAY at pushing a sub beyond their safe limits, but not as an aim in reality.

There are types of BDSM play a few people wish to indulge in that are not safe, such as choking, or breath play, which can result in death long after a session due to heart attack or stroke caused by the interruption to normal heart rhythms. There is no doubt that breathplay ranks among the more dangerous practices in BDSM, and infosar as you may find a little of it in a few of Fulani’s stories, you’ll also find commentaries in the text that make those dangers crystal clear.

So, reader beware. Ensure you realise that what you read in fiction is not always acceptable BDSM practice. Nor is it always a fair representation of the BDSM world any more than crime novels always accurately depict how detectives work.

Jackie Adshead. Erotic Artist Interview


Jackie Adshead is an artist with a great interest in erotic art. We wanted to know more about her, and are convinced you will too. Her work is intriguing, very individual and beautiful. There is plenty more of it on her own website, which we’re sure you’ll want to visit once you’ve read her answers to my questions.

To start with, what is your artistic background?
I’ve spent all my life painting pictures. I’ve never stopped since I first picked up a crayon as a toddler, and I had my first commission at the age of 13 for my history teacher at school, but the artwork has changed a bit since then! So I’ve always had the talent to paint within me, but I like a challenge, and love to be creative so for that reason I am probably unusual in that I will paint any subject matter, I don’t limit myself to just painting flowers, or animals, or landscapes, or people, or to a certain style. I love to paint in watercolours, pastels, acrylics or oils, and draw in pencil or ink. And do surreal, abstract, fantasy, as well as representational art. I am a painter rather than an illustrator in that I try to catch the essence and feel of the subject rather than a totally true representation. My artwork is softer than stark reality, accentuating the good bits, and lessening the bad bits. I am different to most artists in that I prefer commissions than exhibition work as I feel I have more empathy with my clients because we’ve discussed a special piece of art that they want me to create just for them.

How long have you been involved in erotic art?
About twelve years ago I started attending life drawing classes like most artists do, and I quickly realised how difficult it is, because if you draw a tree, it doesn’t matter if the trunk is a little too wide, or if one of the branches is too long, but it does if it’s a human body, the measurements have to be right, and the arms and legs need to look like they are all connected to the body and that the head sits on the shoulders. I found it very helpful for teaching me to look properly at a subject, but after a few weeks of being at the life drawing sessions and looking at the work I’d done, I wondered how I could make it look more interesting and life-like from the stilted poses that the model was in and I realised that it’s what I was leaving out that made the picture far more interesting, as it leaves more to the imagination. I didn’t need to draw all of the body of the person infront of me, for anyone looking at it to know that they had legs, or a back, I just captured where the light touched the body and found that anyone looking at it much preferred it as their brain was filling in the parts their eyes couldn’t see and it made it erotic because of that. And it evolved from there. Plus, wonderfully, I found that I got far better feedback for my erotic art than I ever did for the landscapes!

What started your interest in erotic art?
I can never get excited looking at a painting of a vase of flowers, as all you will ever see is the flowers no matter how well they are depicted so I’ve always preferred figurative art and the interaction between people. Life drawing though wasn’t enough of a challenge for me so the reason I started doing erotic art is because it’s the most difficult art to create I think; it has soft nuances, its challenging, and what I need to capture is that certain something, the essence, that will make the viewer feel erotic when they look at it. And that is such a subtle thing to do, and is something that may be different in all of us. And the vase of flowers would look far more interesting if the petals were made up of naked women, or entwined lovers!

What inspires your erotic art?
I love the interaction between lovers of both sexes, straight, bi or gay. I love the muscular bodies of fit men, and I love drawing women, as I believe all women can look attractive regardless of their age, race, or body size. I love seeing and drawing the curves of women and agree with many people that a naked woman is the ultimate piece of art.
I love it when someone contacts me and wants me to paint their passionate desires for something or someone that makes them feel excited.
I’ve always loved the dramatic strong light and darks of Caravaggio’s work and found it immensely inspirational, and use that powerful effect in my white on black erotic drawings.

What are the most important aspects of erotic art for you?
Painting other people and making them look good and feel good about themselves and their bodies. Making people feel empowered through the paintings I’ve done of them. Capturing the essence of a person and putting it into the painting. Knowing that the art I do is therapeutic and life changing in some cases.

There’s a lot of controversy about the difference (or not) between porn and erotica. How would you differentiate between erotic art and pornographic art?
Pornographic art leaves nothing to the imagination – it’s all there in stark sexual detail.
Erotic art is the sensual, and the suggestive which is far more sexy when you wonder what is going to happen in a minute…… what has that person done beforehand to now be in that position and place and time, and what are they going to do next? Or if there is more than one person in the picture then it makes it a little easier to imagine – so just think what a whole orgy could produce!!!! But I can draw an image where the woman in it is fully clothed and make it erotic just because of the look on her face or where one hand is carefully placed.

Are there messages in the art you produce?
There is always a message in art – even if it’s only a celebration of a simple subject matter. But, other than that, I love painting secrets and incorporating them in my artwork. I’ve painted erotic landscapes when the client has asked me to paint a typical scene but with an erotic couple hidden within the painting so that people viewing it wouldn’t know unless they looked closer or had it pointed out to them. And also I was commissioned to do a painting for a woman who wanted an erotic picture to hang over her bed that her four year old son wouldn’t recognise as anything other than a landscape. She wanted me to paint an erotic landscape where the couple are actually the geography of the land. And to innocent eyes, this picture is nothing more than a view of Lands End. But to less innocent people, it is far more than that. You can see the man and the woman within the picture, and you can see that they are having sex. It is both truly erotic, and an innocent landscape, and I loved the challenge of creating it for her!
But as well as that I love hiding the subject matter within my art too – like my collection of “Fantasy Fannies”- which are erotic feminine paintings that just look like brightly colourful abstract shapes, but are actually a very intimate picture although most people looking at it wouldn’t have a clue – which makes it the ultimate conversation piece as far as I am concerned! They are portraits but not the traditional ones of the women’s faces. They are currently hanging on walls in America, and England, and a woman contacted me from New Zealand in raptures over them and the empowerment they stood for. I love the fact they are affecting women worldwide. I painted one for a woman in Canada whose young step-son described it as “the sky diving picture”, because that was what it looked like to him. I just have visions of him looking at it in a few years time and thinking “Oh, that’s not sky diving at all!!!!!”
And I like to hide secret messages within my art too – like when I was asked to do a painting for a couple from London of a particular village in Southern France that they had visited a lot, and I suggested that they might like their initials hidden within the buildings itself. They loved that idea, as it made it far more personal to them, but I knew we were going to have a problem, as did they when I mentioned it. So, I had to just put in just their initials, and not the “and” part – since otherwise it would have spelt out “M & S” or better still “S & M”!

Where do you see this type of art going in the future?
I think more and more people are plucking up courage and willing to pose for an erotic artist, and I know that people like to see what they look like through another person’s eyes, and I know I have been good therapy to some of the people who I have drawn, because they’ve told me so, with emotion in their voices. So I think it will become more main stream, although some people are still worried what their family or neighbours might think if they see an erotic picture on their wall even though we all look at erotica and love it and know others do too.

Do you have any advice for aspiring erotic artists?
Follow your passion, and try to touch people’s hearts and hope that they feel more enriched through how you depict them. Leave something to the imagination. But most importantly try to bring pleasure to people through your art.

Thank you Jackie. We look forward to seeing much more of your work.


DauntedJackie can be found at

Her website

Her blog


New Novel Corporate Slave

Corporate Slave Cover

It’s out. It’s finally here! Fulani’s latest Novel Corporate Slave will be available from Friday 2nd November. After Twelve months of Slaving away over a hot Mac, editing, proofing, then finding a delightful cover, it’s ready for you to enjoy. And I’m sure you will enjoy it. Fulani’s top quality writing (I know I’m biased, but see for yourself) will keep you turning the pages, stopping only to cool down!

You’ll be able to find it at Erotic Book Network initially, but later on Amazon and on lots of other websites such as Smashwords. 

Here’s the lowdown:

Life isn’t easy for Cassie. She’s a sales assistant in a convenience store, in a society where sex is used to sell everything and is one of the main commodities for sale.

When she buys one of the new Intelligent Dresses to wear when she’s out clubbing, it sparks a sequence of events that lead to her being accused of using the garment’s on-board computer to carry out industrial espionage. Her captors assume she’s part of the resistance movement, seeking to bring down the group of multinational corporations that rule the country. She is imprisoned, interrogated and tortured, and ultimately sold as a slave to a senior corporate exec, Mistress NightMaire. She becomes a pleasure slave to be used for the entertainment of guests and clients.

Meanwhile she discovers a friend of hers, Lorne, is also being held by Mistress NightMaire. And Lorne, it turns out, does have connections to dissident groups.

Cassie begins to plan her escape. But will she be able to find Lorne? Will she be able to join up with the dissidents? Can they change the world? And just as importantly, now she knows the capabilities of the Dress can she get her hands on another one?

Don’t miss this one! VelvetTripp

[Edited 1st Nov to add: read a short sample of the novel, which sets out some of the setting and characters, over at Fulani’s other blog –]

Fire Flogged!

Following Fulani’s post about our holiday, I’ve been asked what it feels like to be flogged by fire. I wonder how people guessed I might know the answer to that? It’s an interesting question. Of course, we take thorough precautions when playing with fire, and have an extinguisher ready, as well as lots of cold water to treat any burns with, a first aid kit and my own first aid trained Fulani. I have to strip, as clothes could cause serious burns if they caught alight. Don’t try this stuff if you don’t know what you’re doing, please. A recent domestic accidental burn has left me even more careful as the pain was ridiculously high and has left a nasty scar.
What does it feel like? Well, an ordinary flogger is quite thuddy and hard, but a fire flogger is surprisingly lightweight. When used correctly, it hits the skin very quickly, and for this reason, believe it or not, doesn’t hurt. It’s an interesting experience. You feel the flogger, and feel the heat, but it glances over the skin so fast that, although I have in the past been convinced that there would be marks or burns, fire flogging has never damaged my skin or even left a red mark. I am so confident I’ve recommended to friends to try it. One of those friends is in the pictures in the last post. He loved it! You feel a stingy glow and of course the excitement (biggest BDSM tool being the brain) work wonders. We have been known, after doing a demo, to disappear for a while on our own. Over to your imagination now!


Tuesday afternoon, comic store – free erotic fiction by Fulani

I wrote a piece a couple of days ago that I decided to keep back for a collection. Thought I’d do a 500-word short to keep you entertained instead but I got over-enthusiastic. It’s around 2400 words… I have changed some details. The story is set on a Tuesday, but actually it was yesterday. No baboons were harmed during the writing of this story. For those who know their pulp history – no weasels were used to rip any flesh!


You may not have caught up with this, but there’s been a resurgence of interest in men’s adventure mags.
They were big in the fifties and sixties, which is to say before I was born and up to the time I was in kindergarten. So all I knew about them, really, was from the internet. And that wasn’t going to be enough to write a story about them.
These magazines were a type of pulp fiction, cheaply produced sexploitation and violence. Key themes: World War II, gangs, bikers, the occult.
Exhibit A, your honor, taken from the internet: an issue of Man’s Daring, with a cover picture of a woman in a white dress reduced to rags, kneeling, tied to a bamboo X-frame. Look of terror on her face. Approaching her is a Nazi officer who holds the leashes of two ravening baboons that are evidently intent on fucking her, eating her, or both. Maybe even at the same time. This relates to a story inside the mag: ‘Hitler’s Baboon Tortures in Mabuti’.

Man's Adventure, Oct 1967

Man's Adventure, Oct 1967. See below for details.

Exhibit B from the same source: Man’s Adventure, cover picture of a woman in ripped red dress, tied standing spreadeagled. Whip marks clearly evident on her torso. A bare-breasted female interrogator is standing by as two soldiers pull on the ropes to stretch her tighter. Stories trailed on the cover include ‘The Sex Show That Tricked the Nazis’ and ‘Women who Like Pain’.
The Nazi thing – I don’t know, but given the period when they were popular I guess a lot of the men who read them had served during World War II. Seen cruel, extreme stuff at first hand. Heard stories. Brothels were commonplace. These experiences defined their sexuality. World War II was still a big thing in films through the seventies but by then, porn was more photographic that art illustration. The mags faded away.
They were called ‘sweat mags’ or ‘sweats’. I don’t know – maybe because men got all sweaty reading them?


So on this lazy Tuesday afternoon I head off to a little independent second-hand specialist comic and magazine shop. I pass it occasionally and I’m always surprised it’s still there because I never see anyone inside. I’d guess it does most of its business on Ebay and Amazon?
I push open the door. The music coming from behind the counter is heavy gothic; it alone would be enough to make the merely curious walk straight out. The owner is a mumsy figure dressed in what might best be described as Victorian window’s weeds. Black, lots of lace, jet necklace. She nods at me kindly.
‘Oh, those,’ the owner says when I ask. ‘I don’t have any in stock. Actually they’re mostly collector’s pieces now, the kind of thing people buy and keep in plastic wrappers because the paper’s so fragile. And you’d be surprised how many of the collectors are women.’ She smirks. Like she’s a collector herself. Of mags? Of women?
Well, OK. But I browse anyway. Mostly what they have is contemporary manga, TV spinoff magazines for SF and fantasy, runs of old Marvel and DC comics. A few old copies of Analog and some other SF.
And then I get intrigued by another voice, a female one. Goth girl, twenties, old enough to be my daughter. Flame orange long hair. Black summer dress, strapless, the kind with a lot of net underskirts. Stockings, holdups, because I can see flashes of their tops when she shifts her weight from foot to foot. Big red boots.
The snatch of conversation I get is this.
Girl: ‘I have fantasies like that but you know what, I’ve never yet met a man who could carry them out.’
Owner: ‘Most men just aren’t skilled in being dominant. A good one is hard to find.’
I turn round and the girl looks at me accusingly, like I’ve crept up on her. I look at what’s on the counter between the two of them. It’s a copy of Men Today, featuring a woman in an extremely tattered and revealing red dress – almost every woman on these covers wears red – with wrists bound behind her back. A soldier holds her while an officer pulls at the hem of the dress and brandishes a whip. On the cover it advertises a story that may nor may not be related: ‘Nude Virgins for the Devil’. The thing is in a plastic wrapper, and looks like it’s not in great condition.
‘Clearing my grandfather’s house after he passed,’ the girl says defensively. ‘I want to get it valued. He had hundreds.’
‘Wouldn’t you agree,’ the owner says smoothly, ‘that truly dominant men are hard to find these days?’
She’s never seen me before. I’ve never been in here before. But that’s an introducer if I ever heard one.


I wear glasses. I incline my head to look at you, schoolmasterly, sternly, over the top of the lenses. It makes you squirm. You shuffle those big red boots and I can sense your stockinged knees rubbing together.
‘Kneel at my feet,’ I tell you, ‘and I’ll tell you how you can find one.’
You look at me quizzically. Big round eyes, lots of eyeliner. You look back at the owner, whose face is totally impassive, blank. And you kneel at my feet.
‘Interesting,’ I say. ‘You really want to be tortured the way the adventure mags depict it?’
‘Who are you?’ you ask.
I look at the story title on the magazine cover. ‘The Devil, evidently.’
You get it. ‘I’m not exactly a nude virgin…’
‘Perhaps not. But they’re in short supply, so you’ll do.’
‘Perhaps,’ the owner says in the same voice she’d use to offer a cup of coffee, ‘you two would like to use the stockroom upstairs?’
I look down into your big eyes. The pupils have grown wider. You’re breathing more quickly.
I take the belt off my jeans and loop it around your neck. When I tug gently you stands up, puts your hands behind your back submissively. Like you’ve done it before.


The stock room is packed with boxes upon boxes of old magazines, partly covering a worn brown carpet with a sixties pattern and grimy walls that were once cream. The storage rack against the far wall is robust, though.
‘The dress comes off,’ I you. You’re obedient. Stand there for my inspection in a thong, stockings, big boots. Then you’re standing there with only the stockings and boots. You’re not model thin. Carry a bit of spare weight, in fact, on your thighs and hips. Classic pear shape. The net underskirts would have helped to hide that, of course. Shaven to a thin landing strip.
‘You want me to tie you up, beat you and fuck you like you’re being tortured by a devil,’ I say. ‘But in the real world we do these things by consent. You know the meaning of red?’
You look at me blankly. ‘Saying red means game over,’ I explain. For a first-time meet it’s a useful let-out if you can’t handle what I’m doing to you.’
‘I don’t want it,’ you say. ‘Won’t use it.’
I yank on the belt. Pull you towards me. Exert a little power, get your attention. Smell your perfume. Patchouli. Very gothic.
‘You’d better shut up,’ I tell you. ‘You’ll only encourage me.’
You smirk.
I don’t exactly walk around carrying ropes and cuffs, and there’s not a lot in the room designed for bondage and torture purposes. There is, though, packing tape. I take you by that long orange mane, feeling the tremor on her body as I pull your head back. Have you kneel and use the tape to secure your hands, outstretched in front of you, together and to an upright of the storage rack. Stand back to admire my handiwork.
You’re good. Don’t look round at me. Don’t speak. Go into role.
‘If you want me to beat you,’ I say, ‘You’ll have to ask politely.’
That’s seems to disturb you. You shift uncomfortably on your knees. Breathe shallowly and fast.
‘Please beat me, master.’ Quiet, pleading voice.
I use my belt. I’m not gentle. I’m going to leave marks. I like the way your whole body jerks, reacts to the impact like a wave of shock rolling up your body. I like the hiss you make in response, like a provoked snake.
I take my time, leaving ten, twenty seconds between blows so you can compose yourself after each one.
Eventually, instead of hissing, you become more vocal. Your thong and more packing tape aren’t fully effective as a gag but stifle the loudest of your high-pitched yelps and animal grunts. The gag makes you look very damsel-in-distress.
You’re right about refusing to use red. Instead your body goes red: ass, tops of your thighs, and a large part of your upper back display an inflamed rosy hue with streaks of purple.
After a while I change my angle, swinging the belt so that the end of it wraps around your hips. While the earlier blows seemed almost to hypnotize you, the wraparounds make you squirm prettily. Display pain. And breathe more heavily.
‘Uckle en?’
‘You want me to use the buckle end?’
You nod.
I use the buckle end, twice, swinging metal harshly into the flesh of each ass cheek. It triggers something for you. A memory, maybe, that you’d repressed, or need to recreate. Tears on your face. Streaky mascara.
I run my hands over your body, feel the heaviness of your breasts, the heat coming off you. Pinch nipples until you take a breath in and are too shocked to exhale. Run a finger around your clit. It’s receptive. Attention-seeking, even.
I shift a couple of heavy boxes. Put them down in front of you so you can lean your breasts on them, your torso flat. This presents your ass and cunt very prettily and you’re intensely aware of it. Wriggle provocatively. Probably, wriggle to find a comfortable position but I find it provocative.
‘You have to ask, slut,’ I tell you.
You take a deep breath. ‘Please sir, master, Devil, I would really really like you to fuck me right now.’ No, not as clearly as that because the gag is still in your mouth and you have to pronounce each word separately and as clearly as possible. You say it like you’ve been rehearsing the line in your head.
No condoms. I’m not the kind of guy who carries them around in his wallet just in case.
I pull your head up by your long hair and whisper quietly in your ear.
‘I’m going to blindfold you,’ I say, ‘and leave you here waiting for me. I might be two minutes. I might be an hour. I might go and have a coffee before coming back. I haven’t decided yet if I want your cunt or your ass. Maybe both. I expect you to be in this exact position when I return, or I’ll take your styling red boots off you and use my belt on the soles of your feet.’
Your response is along the lines of ‘Mmmnngh!’
As I’m saying this I notice some elastic bands on the floor. Interesting. I double them up until they grip tightly on nipples and around your clit, compressing it until you squeak. The blindfold – well, some old newspaper and more packing tape.
When I go downstairs, intending to explain I need to find a convenience store, the owner is standing behind the counter. She has two condoms out next to the till.
‘Just in case,’ she says conspiratorially. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
She can’t tell me anything about you. You come into the store once every month or so, buy back copies of occult fantasy magazines.
‘So you introduced us to each other despite not knowing either of us and sent us up to your stockroom to play?’
‘Well, two people in one day asking about men’s adventure magazines. It was too much of a coincidence. And this place can be a little crazy-making sometimes. I mean, last week I had a whole porn shoot going on here after hours, and before that, a group of witches wanted to use the roof of the building for a rite.’

It’s maybe twenty minutes before I get back to you. By that time you’re whimpering, drooling, and the makeshift blindfold hasn’t stopped the tears staining your face. Your chest is heaving and you’re struggling to deal with the sensations of the elastic band. For all I know you’re struggling to subdue your raging emotions.
I do exactly what I promised: fuck you hard in the hole of my choice. You’re at a pitch now where you come very quickly, maybe within thirty seconds. I take longer and that’s how I find out you’re capable of multiple orgasms.
Fifteen minutes later you’re lying on the floor, splayed out, trashed, wrecked, shaking.
‘A true dominant,’ I say, ‘would probably make you kneel up and thank him for the experience. Then he’d slap your face hard, turn on his heel and leave you to take off the elastic bands, which in itself will be painful as circulation returns to your nipples, and sort out your clothes.’
You lever yourself into a kneeling position.
‘Thank you for the experience, master,’ you say humbly. And turn your face up to receive the slap.
‘May I,’ you whisper, rubbing your cheek, ‘have a way to contact you?’
‘With the owner downstairs,’ I snap, deliberately sounding annoyed.


Next day you text me pictures of your ass and back, with a message ‘I’m proud of these. Am I a sick pervert lol?’
I did a thorough job, evidently. More bruising came out overnight.
‘Yes,’ I text back. ‘Just let me know when I can do it again.’
Ten minutes later my cellphone bleeps. There’s a pic, something that looks like a screen capture from a retro fetish movie. A naked woman hanging by her wrists, legs wide apart, feet several inches off the floor. Probably caught mid-scream except a ballgag plugs her mouth and distends her jaw. Next to her is a bare-chested man in a torturer’s hood, wielding a flogger. There are stripes on her breasts, stomach and the fronts of her thighs. The message is: ‘Can u do this to me? Make me ur dungeon slave!! Am free whole weekend Friday to Sunday!!’
It’s going to be an entertaining weekend.


Footnote: classic pulp covers can be seen on the Men’s Pulp Mags blog, Fantasy Ink (which covers the SF/fantasy end of pulp), Killer Covers of the Week (for murder/detective pulp, mostly novel covers), Pulp International (check out the vintage Japanese porn covers), Stagmags, which is the source of the image used above and a seller of classic pulp on Ebay, and last but by no means least, Comic Book Bondage Cover of the Day which has a massive archive.

Or if you want to read something that’s a bit like pulp but not quite, and does have extensive scenes of bondage, torture, whipping and other diverse bdsm activities, you could have a look at The Secret Circus of Pain and Degradation, which is also now available on Kindle.

Have fun!

Product review – the Ocean BiMiNi vibrator (by Velvet)

Well, here’s something a bit different from our usual stuff for you. We went to the BBB (Birmingham Bizarre Bizarre) a couple of weeks ago and spent some money on new treats. One of them so impressed me that I decided to do my first product review for you.

The exciting new purchase seems nothing special when you say it. A vibrator. This particular model is the Fun Factory “Ocean” BiMiNi, from their ‘Mini’ range, a term they use for vibrators up to 14cm long. In other words, compact and capable of being carried discreetly in a handbag.

All much of a muchness, you might think. Well, let me tell you that in all my years I have never found a vibrator as functionally efficient at what it’s meant to do, nor so user friendly. It’s brilliant. From the packaging to the handling to the using it’s a delight. The materials used are lovely to touch and have touching you. The shape makes it possible to stimulate all the exact right areas. It can be used with lube, is very quiet (even if you’re not) and the first time I tried it I was, well, amazed at the feel of it on…in…well you know where. Vibrators have certainly come (if you’ll pardon the bad pun) a very long way from the original Non-Doctor (for those of you with elephantine memories).

The recharging is done by magnetic connection, and is so easy to do, leaving the device wire free. If you buy more than one of their range of designs, you only need the one charger, available separately. That’s great news for your pocket and the environment.

There are three vibration settings, all very easy to use while playing with it (plus and minus button controls). One charge will last a couple of hours, even if you can’t!

Fun Factory are German, and this is a high quality design with great attention to detail. The model I bought, the “Ocean”, is one of six mini-vibe designs and they also have extensive ranges of attractive maxi, lay-on and ‘G4’ (fourth generation?) designs in different sizes and shapes. It’s silicone and they say it’s a skin friendly fabric. It is most certainly that! In fact, it’s deliciously good fun, if not classed as deviant these days.

Interested? Want to know more? By the way, this review is for you. I gain nothing financially from telling you about it. Just the satisfaction of sharing a superb product with people I think will appreciate the thought.

We bought ours from Kinky Monkey  who have a range of Fun Factory toys and regularly attend as stallholders at the BBB, in case you want to handle the product before you buy.

Here’s the official Fun Factory website, straight to the right page. The site’s based in Germany but also has information in English, Spanish and French. There is a UK based site as well ( but it’s currently under construction.

Burnout – free erotic story from Fulani

Firstly, if it’s a relevant consideration for you, we hope you’ve had or are having a happy Beltane or Bealtain (spelling according to choice).

The story below isn’t a Beltane story, and it’s somewhat experimental. You can decide for yourself whether it’s a true story or not. I will just say some of the practices described are inadvisable due to the chemical residues involved. And if you find it too strange – well, there are others on this blog and another one will be along in a few days…


Burned-out carI’m bored with erotic, the cock and cunt and bondage and thwap of the flogger of it. I’m jaded. What I need is some startling image that comes from nowhere and burns itself into my brain, my desires, causes instant addiction. What I need is a new mythos of erotica. Or a new psychopathology. Or something.
Everyday life is always capable of offering the unexpected, though. Out in the local woods on an afternoon stroll – we’d just released the mice we’d caught from the humane trap in the garden – we find a burned-out estate car. It’s still warm, the paint blistered and scorched, tyres burned off, seats and dash reduced to charred fragments. There’s a smell of scorched rubber and diesel hanging in the air.

I like the abandonment, the dereliction, the suddenly frail finality of the vehicle’s state. I like the way the flames have tinged what’s left of the shell, the seared basecoat of paint, a mottled pink that looks surprisingly fleshlike. I like the fact it’s evidence of a crime. Its form has twisted, halfway between the curves of a limb and the evidence of torture. But it’s that smell more than anything that pushes me over the edge, makes me take you by surprise, grasping the back of your neck and pushing your head inside the gaping hole of the rear door.

“Hey! What…!”

Burned-out carYou struggle in my hands, but playfully. You have no serious intent of escaping my grip.

“Just see,” I say, “whether there’s a body in there. Sometimes, you know, they torch up and all that’s left is fried bones.”

“Ewww…” But I’m reaching in over the top of you, pinning you down, and the baked electrical wiring on the rear door pulls away in my hands yet still has enough strength in it to slip over your wrists. I tie them to the metal frames of the rear seat, leaving you bent at the waist. I pull your jeans off. T-shirt and bra – well, I have a penknife in my pocket, always. Don’t often get to use it. First time for months.

The cool blade grazes your skin. Makes you squirm. Then you feel the flat of the blade against your labia and freeze like a mouse in the undergrowth seeking camouflage from some predator.

Your hips are swaying, a complex harmonic that means: “Someone might see us”, “We should stop”, and “I want it now”.

I stand back, admiring my handiwork. My moment of reflection, my making you wait, perturbs you. You twist, trying to see what I’m doing.

I gather up ashes from the ground, rub them into your thighs and ass, reach around to mark your breasts and face. I want you grimy, stinking of fire and diesel. I want you to become a part of the car, indistinguishable from it, grey and black streaks on your pretty skin.

That looks much better.

Burned-out carI climb in through a buckled driver’s door. Kneel on the blackened frames of the two front seats, pull my cock out. Instinctively you lean forward, lips apart, anticipating my intention is that you suck. You can’t get close enough. Instead I breathe the surreal sweetness of incinerated leather and pleasure myself, stroking, one finger pressed into the base of my cock against the vein there to force its engorgement.

You’re making little “Ah… ah…” noises as if they’ll encourage me to lean forwards and let you taste. A look in your eyes somewhere between a question and a request.

But what I do is this. I spurt on your face. Sticky semen plastered across your cheek, eyelid, forehead.

The mix of ash and semen on you. The shock on your face. It’s an almost spiritual, transcendental, iconic image.

I have to give myself several minutes to recover. You pull against the wire on your wrists, to see if you can release yourself. You only succeed in making angry red lines there. But that’s another fantasy, for later.

By the rear wheel there’s a silver puddle, probably an alloy wheel trims that’s melted. It’s paddle-shaped, heavy. As I turn it over I see glass nodules in it, the safety glass they use in vehicles that shatters into rounded pieces. I heft it in my hand.

When I hit your ass with it, you squeak incoherently. Protesting, yet liking it, yet wanting to not scream, to attract attention.

The small pieces of glass make angry bitemarks on your reddening ass cheeks. And since you enjoy being hit with hard implements, you’re soon squirming and hot. In fact, the repeated impacts can in themselves bring you to climax. And when you climax, you…


I give you my leather jacket to wear on the walk home. I like the way it looks on you, delinquent biker grrl style, unzipped and with nothing underneath. I like the fact you still have a smudged and spunk-plastered face.

“Don’t,” you say, “ever do that to me again.”

But a couple of days later you mention, in the casual tone you have that tells me you’re excited and really want me to pay attention, there’s a wrecked sports car that’s been burned out at the back of the industrial estate. You “just happened” to notice it, driving back from work.

Other offbeat stories? A couple. Try Scaplelfuck, from July last year, on my Fulanismut blog. If you want more fully-fledged auto-sex, there’s always JG Ballard’s book, Crash, and the David Cronenberg film of the same name, based on it… For stuff that’s maybe a little more conventional, there’s a ‘Stories Available Now’ button at the top of this page that shows you other published short stories.

Now why do I feel the need to go out for a walk with a can of paraffin…?

Bondage how-to no. 3 by Fulani – ‘shinju’ style breast bondage

Things at Castle Fulani have been a little hectic recently: new projects happening, some of which may sooner or later make their way onto here. Meanwhile, here’s something I wrote a while back about breast bondage.

It’s a version of a Japanese tie called the ‘Shinju’, which I gather means ‘pearls’. A pearl, of course, is a round and smooth shape found encapsulated in the shell of an oyster and the style of bondage gives, hopefully, a nice round and smooth shape encapsulated between ropes, so it’s not such a fanciful metaphor.


One of the fun things about bondage is being able to use ropes to compress skin, making it more sensitive while the ropes are on and also when they come off. This is particularly true of breast bondage. There are literally hundreds of possible ways of putting ropes on and around breasts, so what follows is a very basic guide to a simple and straightforward tie and you should feel free to improvise and adapt as required.

Obvious cautions apply, however. Don’t do breast bondage on someone who has had implants, or who has known medical problems with their breasts. In this case, since the ropes are around the upper chest area, it’s also highly inadvisible to do it on someone who has breathing problems. Yes, I’ve used it on people with athsma, provided their inhaler was handy. But yes, I’ve refused to do it on someone who wanted very much to be tied, told me they didn’t have any medical problems, and then managed to mention, as the ropes went on, they’d just been discharged from hospital after a bout of pneumonia!

Figure 1 shows the result of the first part of the tie. I started by folding the rope in two, so the middle of the rope was by the model’s spine and both strands went around the torso under the breasts; take the ends around the body again, back through the loop, and  around the torso the other way above the breasts. I then ran the ropes back though the same loop.but this time put one strand over each shoulder. They run over the tope of the upper strands at the front and under the lower torso ropes.

Figure 1

NB: when I say the mid-point of the rope, which becomes the loop through which the ropes feed and which will ultimately become the site of a knot, is ‘by’ the model’s spine, the point is that it doesn’t sit on the spine inself. This could press into vertebrae and become painful quite quickly, especially if the bondagee ends up lying on the floor with their body weight pressing down on it. It could also, obviously, cause nerve damage.

The next step is to pull the torso ropes together, compressing the top and bottom of the breasts. All I’ve done here is take the two ends of the rope and feed them around the top torso rope, back under the lower torso rope, pulled them tight and taken them back over the shoulders again – but with the left hand rope over the right shoulder and vice versa. Figures 2 and 3 show the degree of compression I’ve already been able to apply, and at this point I’ve tied off the system with a hitch at the back.

Figure 2

Figure 2 (front view)

Figure 3

Figure 3 (side view)

OK, so now you have the ropes coming one over each shoulder at the victim’s back. Taking both ropes together, I pushed a loop of each rope under a couple of the torso ropes, fed a second loop through the first one, and the rest of the ropes through that loop – in other words, I used exactly the same knot as you’ll have seen used on wrists in Bondage How-to No. 1.

Figure 4 shows the completed knot.

Figure 4

Figure 4

Something I didn’t do that is a variant on this pattern and often seen in Japanese bondage images, is include the arms inside the tie. It’s perfectly possible to do this, and then fold the victim’s arms behind their back and use the last length of rope to secure them in position. Again, many patterns and styles of doing this but you should aim to end up with the same loop-style knot that How-to No. 1 illustrated. If you do include the victim’s upper arms in the tie, though, there are two things to watch out for.

First, use a short length of rope to cinch the front and back segments of the topmost rope – or indeed all the ropes – together, between the body and the each arm. This makes it more difficult, if not impossible, for the victim to move the ropes by repeated shrugging of the shoulders – and means among other things they’re at less risk of accidentally strangling themselves by getting the upper wrap of ropes off their shoulders and around their neck.

Second, though, it significantly tightens the bondage so if you intend to do this, don’t go too tightly around the body to start with. And remember if it exerts too much compression on the upper arm can, after a comparatively short while it can create muscle and possible nerve damage. Be alert, periodically make sure the victim can still feel their fingers, move the rope by an inch or two on the arms every so often, and basically make sure you won’t be in the position of having to explain to a nurse or doctor how your victim got injured.

Depending on the size of your victim this tie shouldn’t take more than 5-6 metres of rope – though yes, I have done this once or twice on larger sized people and found I used a whole 10-metre length! If you have a longer length, options include: more wraps around the body to start with than I’ve illustrated, or using the remaining 4-5 metres to do something else, like put the victim kneeling or face-down and tie their ankles.

Which reminds me. Maybe sometime soon I should something on hobble ties…

Finally, if the tie is well-adjusted, not only will your bondage bunny be happy in these ropes for an hour or more, they may well look reproachful when you decide to take the ropes off. The sensitivity created by the tie, however, should last for some time after the ropes are removed…

As always, we are not responsible for the conditions under which you use your ropes, expect you to exercise due care and caution, and accept no liability for anything at all.


And finally: If you found this item useful or interesting, you may also like the following stories by Fulani which include some technical descriptions of bondage ties:

Sex, art and aromatherapy, by Fulani. Xcite Books

‘Zen and the Art of Bondage’, by Fulani, in the Cocktales: Kiss in the Dark collection. Xcite Books

Some erotic art links

You may have seen, yesterday and today, the media discussions around Holly – ‘An eight-foot high portrait of a naked model handcuffed to a rock’ which has been shortlisted for the National Portrait Gallery’s annual art prize. There’s a BBC report on it here and an opportunity for a closer look here.

I won’t bore you with thoughts on the significance of the painting here because I’ve already blogged about this over on my Fulanismut blog.

However, news about picture sent Velvet into a paroxysm of activity, gathering together her favourite sources for erotic art. And if you’ve ever seen Velvet in a paroxysm you’ll know that’s an impressive sight… Anyway, the result was a bunch of links to books available on Amazon UK.

The links, though, are all in Javascript and WordPress doesn’t support it. So if you want to know what turns Velvet on, artistically speaking, you’ll have to go to my Fulanismut blog post which fortunately can include links in this format…

Have fun over there, and if you have your own favourites let us know, either on here or over there, because we’re always interested in discovering new stuff.

Just as a PS – I was also hoping today to be able to update a lot of the links on here to things we’ve written for Xcite, but the publishers have somewhat unhelpfully started to use Javascript in some of their banners. So that’ll have to wait for another day. The links on the ‘Stories available’ page, though, do all still work.

Fashion, intent, desire, choice – new free erotic fiction by Fulani

“Question for you. How come I get tied up and whipped and fucked and never seem to have any actual character? You hardly ever write about my feelings on politics or art or culture or fashion or music. I don’t even have much of a backstory or heritage or even much in the way of family!”

“Well, it’s porn. People aren’t interested in your politics, or whether you like old school EBM. Not unless it’s somehow relevant to the basic context of getting tied up and whipped and fucked.”

“Okay, so they just want to know about my body – tits and ass, whether I shave my pubes and what colour hair I have this week?”

“And other things, obviously. What you’re wearing, what kind of scent you have on…”

“That’s another thing. Most of the time I’m wearing hardly anything. I do feel the cold, you know. Would it be too much to ask for a coat when I’m outdoors? And maybe convey a bit of anticipation, instead of just going straight to the sex?”


Cassie pondered the near-certainty that the evening would end with her being tied up – or down – for a whipping, following which she could expect a gangbang that would leave her exhausted.

Exhausted, yes. But also satisfied.

It wasn’t so much a rape fantasy as one of putting herself deliberately in a position where she’d have no choice but to comply, to be submissive to many men. Out of character for a woman with a strong sense of social justice and a broadly feminist outlook?

The whole point of those battles for human liberty, individual liberty, women’s liberty, back in her mother’s day were that as a consenting adult, you should have the freedom to act on your desires, act out your fantasies. And the women’s movement couldn’t prescribe what those fantasies should be, because you were free.

She remembered a story her mother’s friend, Gloria, had told her about a lesbian group. “We were all lesbians, back then,” she’d said. “It was about solidarity and political correctness and not being reliant on men for pleasure. But there was a group called the Kinky Dyke Collective, who were lesbian but into S&M. And the S&M thing meant they were never accepted by the rest of us. They got banned from using the community centre, and in the end weren’t allowed to attend the consciousness-raising groups. Not that they thought that was a bad thing. Those groups did go on for hours and hours…”
She’d never got to the bottom of how her mother knew Gloria, or the nature of their friendship. Maybe that was good. There were certain things one was better off not knowing about one’s mother. Just like there were things mothers were better off not knowing about their daughters.
Like Cassie’s penchant for indulging her desires through submission, feeling the welts for days after a good thrashing and sucking cock until the spunk leaked out of her ears.


Cassie made her choices. What we wear, how we look, is symbolic as well as practical. It’s a statement about who we are, and it can be a way of reaching out to something not quite concrete, something beyond everyday consciousness.

Cassie knew this when she dressed for work: power suits with shoulder pads for the jacket, pencil skirts, high heels, but counterbalanced with pale non-threatening makeup.

Tonight would be a different look, though, projecting a different Cassie.

So: hair a startling red, out of a bottle. Pubes shaved. Eyeliner and dark but glittery eyeshadow. Lips the colour of Jaegermeister straight out of the bottle. A dark, musky perfume heavy on patchouli. Considered what dress to wear, decided on none. What would be the point?

Fashion follows intent.

Instead she chose a long coat that buttoned almost to her chin. The evening was being cooled by a strong breeze and the coat was enough to keep the wind out. The inner lining moved smoothly against her skin, teasing. Teamed it with leather high heeled boots that ended just below the knee.
She walked to the address of her impending degradation. The wind played on her knees, tiny tendrils of cool air worming their way up the insides of her thighs. In her head, an old Nine Inch Nails track was playing. I want to fuck you like an animal. Maybe it was the vibe she was putting out, as well. A man walking out of a convenience store looked at her, looked at her button-up up state, as though he had X-ray eyes. As though she were some exotic creature from another world.

He was right. She was.

Cassie stood for a time outside the front door. Not because she had second thoughts, but because she was savouring the anticipation. The way it made her heart race, the way it wrapped around her and kept her warm. The way it made the muscles in her thighs and stomach firm up.

Music, muffled, from the other side of the door. She recognised the beat, the cadence. Front 242: You put me in a cage.

Well, yes. Probably. He had a cage in his living room, human-sized.

She waited until her body was announcing its desire, clearly and with a moistening of soft membranes. Until she was the very image of unfulfilled desire.

And then she rang the doorbell.


“See? That wasn’t so hard to write, was it?”