Let’s Discuss The Eroticism Behind Beauty and the Beast!

Originally written by French author Gabrielle-Suzanne Bardot de Villeneuve and later re-written by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) has had countless adaptations in Theater, film and television – most notably Disney’s 1991 animated film.

It has changed a lot since it’s original version, trimming down its large cast of characters and vast collection of magical elements, but it’s the backbone of the tale remains – Belle, through a series of unfortunate events, finds herself face to face with a hideous and aggressive Beast, only to gradually find there’s more to him beneath the surface. Eventually they fall in love, the details of his curse from a petulant prince – Sometimes this prince merely rejects the advances of an evil fairy and she curses him – come to light and the spell is broken, reverting him back to his original appearance.

As far as fairy tales go, Beauty and the Beast doesn’t come laced with the macabre edge of a Brothers Grimm tale. Instead it enchants through its complexity and its intriguing and mysterious narrative that gradually reveals its twist over time.

To this day, the animated version of Beauty and the Beast is among my favourite adaptations. It is not my absolute favourite, I think that honour would go to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but it’s somewhat a personal film for me.

It was in my teens that I realised that I could identify with the Beast – an outsider struggling with his identity, his inner turmoil. In my twenties I would see it as something primal, and link it to my own primal tendencies, but as a teen, I understood his emotional turmoil – his struggle to let go of that anger.

When I first started writing this blog, I wrote a lot of erotica based on Disney, or should I say fairy tales. Ariel became a Slave to the villainous Ursula, Anna realised she could temper Elsa’s insecurity and rage and I’m sure I wrote about the rape of a woman dressed up as a princess at a Disney park.

I write this because it was interesting to read the reactions from readers when I published these stories. Most were conflicted at the idea of twisting these stories in a dark manner, but confessed they enjoyed eroticism of such a concept. Some even wrote in personally to me to express such internal conflict, with some even going as far as to express anger.

Surprisingly, and the reason why I mention this, is because Beauty and the Beast was the most common fairy tale raised, by people who would write in, as being something so grand and erotic that they personally connected with. It wasn’t Snow White being violated by the Evil Queen, it wasn’t Sleeping Beauty being raped whilst under her spell – it was the interaction between Belle and Beast.

Even in a vanilla context, there was that meme captured from the Disney adaptation: At the moment the Beast reverts to human, a subtitle has Belle saying ‘Change Back.’

In a vanilla context, one can see why – the smooth and gentle appearance of the Beast’s true form isn’t as appealing as that rugged, domineering animalistic form. Maybe normalcy isn’t as interesting as the persona that came out through Beast’s internal struggle in his transformation.

In a BDSM and D/s context, we fall further down the rabbit hole. The Beast represents this dominant force, this aggression there that Belle has to fight back against, like pushing through ocean waves in a swim.

Belle is a prisoner to the Beast at first, a Slave to his whim. Forced to confront – head on – his relentless anger and beastly appearance.

Behind all this, I would wager that people would sense the total power exchange amongst the two. Belle, after all, has had her life traded for her own fathers – to a literal beast of a man. For all intents and purposes, her self has been stripped away no matter how hard she fights back.

So there is that underlying psychological aspect at play, but let’s dig a little deeper – what is it that toys at these concepts within the mind of a submissive. I can only guess. Is it the anger that entraps their mind in sickening sweet arousal? Is it the idea of having all right taken from them? Is it being yelled at cruelly? At the whim of animalistic desire?

There is a joke that it’s a bestiality situation – and I’ve no doubt some consider that fact arousing. You’ll find no judgement from me here. But I think with some it is the concept of this animalistic persona. This primal entity.

As a dominant, I will admit that the story brings conflicting emotions to the forefront. I am fascinated by the concept of total animalistic behaviour. Degradation and humiliation and primal anger – all of these things make my cock hard. Entice my mind.

All of these aspects in this scenario, that I can sense in the Beast, are things that make up the darker side of my brain. Things that I’m drawn to outside of looking at this fairy tale.

Kidnapping and letting go of societal norms and structures – these are all fantasies that come to mind when I read or see something like this – these are things that I’m normally interested in, but also things that I just happen to look between the lines and see for myself.

The primal aggression and possession that are aspects of me bring bouts of guilt and shame. Suddenly I’m confronting these feelings and it’s both wildly arousing and a little deflating, as if thinking and feeling so animalistic is inhuman.

The thing is, I’m not alone – whether it’s a lewd drawing or a short story ebook, the psychological component has been mulled on and explored by others – countless others – throughout the years, some probably through the Disney adaptation and some feeling guilty just like you or I out there, dear reader.

That just means it’s nice to know I’m not the only one out there with deep, dark thoughts.

Manic: Free Form Poetry

Sleepy, hot, high-anxiety, I wrote this as it came to me, fiery and intense and strange and possessing all the tendencies of a Master / Slave Dynamic mixed with a dash of self loathing. Not sure what, if anything, it represents, but as a piece conjured from anxious consciousness, maybe there is something to be found for the curious reader – TD&D

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You know it’s wrong – to come to her

Moving so fast that if your life was a film,

It’d be shot with a handheld camera.

You know it’s wrong,

To stand before her and demand

Something of her

It’s like being on the outside

Looking in on an asshole.

You know it’s wrong

When she obeys

Her eyes glistening with understanding

As she dresses down before you.

You know it’s wrong

Wanting. Channeling. Breathing. Taking.

So why do you do it?

Vacancy

I feel like, from here until November the first, in the spirit of Halloween approaching, you can consider my blog like a dusty hotel on the highway.

I’m sure you know the kind – the N in Vacancy blinks in and out of existence, there’s not a car in the parking lot and you’re reminded of a fellow that had a house on the hill behind his very own motel from long ago.

You, my dear ladies and gents, are the people stopping by to rent a room. Me? I’m the lowly owner and operator, something, I’m sure I’ll say to you, I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember. I’ll greet you with a warm smile and a story from my past, I’ll tell you about the history of this place, that the pub up the road does the best meals for the best prices. I’ll say all this and more with a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye.

Each room might have the same decal, the same musty smell, the wallpaper beginning to crack and peel off, but there’s personality I would think you’ll find. Personality that creates charm. Charm that makes you feel at home.

Oh – and should you find yourself awake in the middle of the night, maybe you’ve ducked out into the dark for a smoke beneath the flickering neon light, maybe you can’t sleep because this bed is not your own, if you find yourself hearing the cries, the sobs, the walls of a young woman, do not be disturbed. For that is my kitten, which I totally do not have chained in the basement, like the little well-behaved Slave pet probably she is.

If she’s wailing, do not be alarmed. She likes to act out when it’s feeding time, she likes to test my boundaries and patience when she’s cuffed. We’re working out some of the kinks, you see. That’s all. Nothing a good discipline will not solve, yes indeed ladies and gents. She’ll be herself in the morning, she always is. It’s just that the evenings make her go a little mad. And in turn that makes me a little mad I suppose. I can’t seem to help myself when she clicks her tongue and calls to me so sweetly. I just can’t. There’s just something she does to me, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Things need to be twisted and taunted, things need to be corrected so she will learn, this I keep telling her.

Anyway. Don’t let me keep you. I hope you enjoy your time here. There is a lot of history to be had from these walls around you. I hope you are open to it’s charms.

If you need anything, anything at all, give me a call. I’m a night owl and welcome the company. Good evening.

Sweet Relief

We talk about relief in terms of domination and submission, of orgasms, forced or denied until madness. We talk of the build, the pressure and the release as the holy trinity but something else that I can see being added to all this is the sensuality behind urinating. In certain situations, of course.

I’ve never been one to think of golden showers as erotic but I’d be a liar if I said it hasn’t started to occur to me as of late when it comes to the holy trinity, the three stages of sweet relief.

I’m guilty of letting things build. I delay the release in favour of the thing I’m writing or the movie I’m watching or if I’m enjoying a walk with company – insert numerous situations. Sometimes, dear reader, I admit to lying in bed, unable to find motivation, denying myself release as I browse WordPress or see to daily tasks.

When it comes to the pressure, the act of relief is in the back of my mind. The urge escalated but so does the eroticism. In my mind’s eye, I’m starting to transform, like a werewolf under the full moon, and I’m above a Slave about to commence a daily ritual.

This ties into a Master side of me I would guess, because in my mind, it’s a ritualistic encounter. In my mind, I’m delaying her pressure like a dick sadist. In my mind, there is no God because I’m the devil here. You see what I mean? It’s a gut-wrenching alternate me. And it’s profoundly erotic in ways I’d never think.

And then there’s that millisecond of ecstasy where you let go – you’re not afraid to release, you are free. I can almost feel myself plummeting from the top of a waterfall down into the lake, ready to be reborn by the act as much as she will be. We’re born together.

Maybe I’m being pretentious but I don’t know if I am. There’s a lot going on in my mind at times when I urinate that I’m not sure you could boil it down to sheer over-thinking. I mean, there’s a ritual there. Something sacred. There’s worship and the idea of being worship. There’s ownership and trust and a shared connection.

I can picture myself being right there with her, elated with her, transported with her, high on the act just like her. But I can also sense, on my part, in my Dominance, feeling that relief of letting go, of shedding my skin and feeling my new body for the very first time.

I could get used to that ritual.

The Master in Me

So here’s the thing about me.

You could say I’ve been in this lifestyle since my experiments with it as a teen, but I really didn’t start to understand the depths to which it was a part of me until my mid 20’s.

Only then, through educating myself through various web pages and through friends across Fetlife, Whisper and Collarspace did I start to understand what I was feeling.

The thing is though, I didn’t learn everything in my mid twenties. Some of it was yet to come later – like the fact that I realised the Daddy dynamic – or that mentoring a student who began to identify as a Slave made me realise my own tendencies as a Master.

A Master.

The Master in me has always been a mystery to me because it’s so far removed from who I am outside of my Sex life. The Daddy side I understand – nurturing people, friends of friends, mentoring newcomers, reading to my kitten – these things come naturally to me. But my Master side is a bit more elusive.

It’s not just because it’s not always a fit for my relationship with my kitten, that I understand. We fulfil each other in a different way.

It’s that it comes out – is triggered, I guess you could say – at random, like I’m possessed by some otherworldly being.

I remember explaining to this student this visceral mindset and their reaction being one of ‘You’re kind of a different person’. A similar reaction occurred with my kitten in an organic way, though our personalities, melding as they often do, seemed to thrive off of each other as totally different people from our softer sides.

Maybe that’s the appeal? The contrast between different lives?

But then again, as I write this – I realise a lot of the M/s style appeals to me – the symbolism and rituals, the exchange of power, the slave training – all of these are things of beauty for me and appeal to me greatly.

Like I said with my relationship with Sadism, I haven’t fully understood what this all means for me but it’s an entity that takes up rent in my head and is along for the ride.

And as always, I’m eager to hear from both sides of the coin, the Master/Mistress and Slaves-mindset, new to it or otherwise, that are out there and lurking. If you care to, please feel free to share some of your own experiences with your journey so far – either in the comments or at email!

We Are The Masters Of Our Own Fate

I was cleaning my MacBook and I stumbled across some old text messages that dated back before my relationship with my lady (Thanks, iMessage!) and one of the files was from a Fetlifer I befriended on my travels before losing contact – and something she expressed to me, which has since struck a chord again here in the future, was her pull of submission towards her ex, who, for whatever reason – maybe he was manipulating her, maybe he himself was trapped in that comforting yet vicious cycle, maybe they were working things out – felt that same animalistic pull.

Now I don’t want to seem like I’m focusing on the negative here, but something I have come to read a lot of, and occasionally sense first hand in relationships, some right before my eyes, is this dysfunctional relationship between a submissive and a dominant.

It could be a conscious thing. I have heard many stories of men, thinking they understand Dominance, abuse the power with malicious intent. I’ve heard of submissive women feeling trapped, either in their marriage to a controlling man or maybe they’re feeling different in a irreparable way, maybe it’s a man, stuck on how to express his feelings, either to his wife, or about his own sexuality, maybe he is unable to proceed with his dominance because the progress eludes him – the variables are endless.

The thing is…we are the captains of our own ship. We are the masters of our fate. Today may be a shit day but tomorrow may be better, if not a step towards being better. Something that people don’t realise, I certainly forget often, is — you’re in this for the long game. Progress takes time. You’ve got to fight like hell even when you feel you’re already there.

For submissive folk, don’t you ever feel weak. Realising you’re submissive takes great courage. Tapping into that submission takes great bravery. Exploring the aspirations of a submissive and it’s dynamic qualities takes tremendous strength.

Always remember that submission isn’t just simply obeying a dominant persona. It’s choosing a dominant persona. It’s granting access to your heart and mind. That takes guts, that takes a certain fearlessness. You should be proud of yourself.

For Dominant folk, remember that being dominant is so much more than protocol and order and sexual gratification, it’s love and trust and harnessing your mind – not just yourselves but the mind of your submissive. It’s about being tender, about being attentive and it’s about care. Here and now and in the future.

And if Dominance and submission is a one night thing, see it has tender and care and harnessing minds for that brief period. There’s still a moment that takes patience and respect into equation.

More importantly, and I speak to both dominants and submissives, don’t let someone walk over you. Don’t let someone boss you around. Don’t let your current situation, of destructive or helpless, put you down – because you can strive for a better future in which all is harmonious. And you can achieve that. It’ll take time, you may need to reboot your life, but you will survive so long as you believe in a positive future and in yourself.

You’ve got this.

Some Version Of You

Some version of you exists in my mind,

Drenched in sweat,

Quivering

So degraded and humiliated you’re trembling,

Skin stinging from rope and an open palm,

A clit so sore you don’t want to move,

Burning, scorching marks from the paddle,

Nipples pulsating from the bite.

You don’t understand. You don’t understand. How could you? No one’s ever tested you, ever tested your limits, ever twisted your mind. No one has ever been curious enough to wonder how your mind sounds when the last moment of sanity slithers from your lips, and drips, down your throat like the bead of sweat from your temples.

But I do. He does.

We want to break you, to violate your sweet tight cunt till you are forced to come, till your thighs tremble to rock with the umpteenth orgasm that will wash over you. And when you’re spent, we will flip you over and fuck your untouched ass till you feel so disgustingly full you will squeeze your eyes shut tightly and feel the nagging presence of a headache.

With each thrust, you’ll repeat back to me. I am Nothing. I am No One. I am Ready to be His Toy. With each forced orgasm, you’ll thank me, through gritted teeth, till I don’t have to remind you, till you know the words.

And when I fuck your salty mouth with my aching cock, grasping the nipple clamps planted fiercely on your tits, tugging them like a rider alerts a horse, you fucking animal, I am going to shoot my load down the back of your throat till you swallow.

Only then will you be free, left to curl up, left with the ache, left with the come drying on your lips, rocking and panting and promising and pleading:

I am nothing. I am no one. I am ready to be His toy.

The Rope

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Tangles of red rope reached across her pale flesh, cuffing around her inner thighs, resting at the edges of her lips.

The rope stretched along her stomach, forked diagonally upwards across her tits, where it would grind against her light pink and puffy nipples.

The rope scorched her, leaving behind thin broken lines seared into her flesh. Like dunes in a desert.

 

She was to remain on her stomach on the floor, her legs held up across her back and bounded by the rope.

Every inch of her was met with the coarse material. It was perverse, painful.

Even though she was only in the middle of their lounge room, she

felt exposed to the world and all its elements. Like a girl, like a lost little girl.

The knots started to itch against her, yet she became its slave, open and willing.

She dare not move, for the rope would only work against her, twisting and digging in a delightful mix of pain and pleasure.

She hated it yet loved it. For every thrill she felt from the sting, the rub of pain, she wanted to relieve her ache. She wanted to dull it, just a little. A little squeeze of her nipples, just a little. But she was bound, left to feel the lingering kiss of the rope.

 

She had learnt to be still the hard way.

Pressed against the wooden floor, she felt the cool teasing ache of its touch against her nipple. In her absence of reason, a fault of no one but her own she reflected soon after, she tried to move her body up, if only to slightly drag her hardened nipple across the floor, to satiate herself.

But upon even an inch of movement, the rope tightened. It dug a nice crevice into her breasts and began to leave its mark.

Oh, she had whimpered, had tried to flail like someone half her age, but in the end, she was bound to that spot on her stomach.

 

There she would remain, a wretched prisoner, a willing slave, till he returned home from the shops, just like he said he would.

 

His Slave: A Free-Form Writing Piece

She rises from her bed and the first thing she feels is the winter morning.

Her nipples harden at the winter’s kiss so cool that her raven hair, strewn across her chest like a Disney princess she ponders, can hide from the warmth.

Her feet hit the floor, becoming stuck in ice.

She gropes for her phone, rubs the sleep from her eyes, makes sure her breasts – large, uneven, lopsided she thinks – are not hidden from the camera.

She practices her smile, raises the camera high to her left – her best angle – and snaps.

She views it. Frowns. She doesn’t like it, she doesn’t like her tired eyes or the way her breasts sit, but she relents. Digresses. She brings up Master’s chat window. She finds the picture, a long line in a list of images, some requested, some part of her daily ritual, some she took feeling good one evening.

She hits send.

With that, she climbs out of bed and into the arctic.

In the shower she masturbates. She thinks on many things – Master’s cock from a world away, a world she’ll see again on the weekend. She thinks of him asking to watch her and though she feels she wants to join him, she relents. Digresses. He always taught her of equality but she wants to see him smile.

When she comes, it’s at the point in her fantasy where their eyes interlock just as she climaxes. She can feel him now, those dark eyes. She can’t quite unlock them. They do not betray what he’s thinking.

On the chair in the corner of her bedroom sits her outfit of the day. She laments her work uniform, that there is not much choice, but Master wants them anyway. He likes it that way. He still picks her bra and panties every day. Today’s being black and elegant but with a fun g-string she bought – black and white strip pattern with a black lacy edges and a cute bow at the front.

When she sees this, she giggles to herself, and a warmth, despite the frozen world around her, rushes through her, fills her with delight.

She gets dressed, but takes her time, feeling the fabric against her skin, knowing Master picked it out makes it all the more exciting.

In her underwear she glances in the mirror. She doesn’t like what she sees, it is true. Where Master sees curves and beauty, she sees fat. The thought darkens her mind. She can feel herself and frown and tries to lift her face away from it.

They’re working on it, she thinks, straightening out the twist in her panties.

Deep down she knows she doesn’t need this, or him, to feel positive. But, she says out loud, the support means everything.

Fully dressed, she pulls her phone off charge. She opens a note saves on her phone – her mantra. She recites her inner strength, her ownership, her goals, her heart. Her reminders. This makes her smile, the warmth pulsating within her.

Before she can put the phone in her pocket, her phone buzzes. Her Master sends his good mornings, reminds her of her importance, not to him but the world around her.

They would talk from the moment she left home, during the train ride into the city, and on the approach to her work.

Him, her Master, and her, His Slave.

This Couple In A M/s relationship made Australian News?! 

For the original story, click here

So, hang on a minute. Hold the phone. Or go to press, whatever you’d like. 

I mean, yes hi it’s me. I’ve suffered a cold and have been reborn, but just look at this. 

This article, written by a Danielle Colley, about a middle-aged couple in a M/s just popped up in my NEWS section of my phone and….huh? What? This is news? Where did this come from? Why? And why now?

I’m baffled, really. You don’t see this sort of thing happening – and it’s in my home state as well so extra wow factor – it’s always nice seeing people so close to you in this life –  but good curly fries, what a surprise that this made news at all. I opened the article expecting to have a giggle at the way the person documented it, and does get a giggle for sounding a bit distanced from the subject, but it’s still here. Someone signed off on this, someone thought of reporting it. Why? I have no idea? Because of click bait?  No, let’s not be cynical. It’s about love. It’s about love in all the different places. 

While we may not grasp this kind of lifestyle, there is no doubt that this duo of kinksters are deeply in love. Kim says, “i am safe, i am loved, i am cared for, i am protected, and i am complete.”

All anyone can ask is to feel secure, protected and happy in a relationship, and we all get there in different ways.”
This, ladies and gents, is just sweet. It’s the perfect tonic for the night! Kim Debron, Master Joe! My hats off to you all! Especially you, miss Colley, for writing or wanting to write something about this. 

What a lovely little sentiment! Ole!