I’ve Been Very Naughty

The other night, I was feel­ing all bereft because I had just fin­ished read­ing Lauren Groff’s won­der­ful book, Arcadia, so I went into my Kindle and started fish­ing around for some­thing new and while I was there I dis­cov­ered that I could sub­scribe to blogs.

Naturally, I went into the  Humor and Satire sec­tion where I stum­bled upon Amazon Erotica Blog. Ninety-nine cents a month with the first 2 months free? Hell yes, I’ll roll the dice on that! My dis­cov­ery was so excit­ing that I didn’t ques­tion why erot­ica would be filed under Humor and Satire.

When the blog fin­ished down­load­ing, I dove in and was rewarded with a really dis­mal thumb­nail pic­ture of some guy in a rub­ber suit. I may be Mistress Pixel, but I only admin­is­ter dis­ci­pline to way­ward art­work and naughty pixels.

Despite my igno­rance and inex­pe­ri­ence with the real thing, I like the clas­sic imagery of the saucy dom, strid­ing about in her stil­letos and fish­nets. She’s endear­ing, empow­er­ing and iconic.

The image of some poor schlub cow­er­ing in a rub­ber suit on the receiv­ing end of her whip was not some­thing I had ever visu­al­ized, but I was will­ing to go along for the ride if it was going to be, um, erotic.

In spite of the dreary image, I began read­ing the first story, and I am at a loss to even describe what it was about, except I do remem­ber that the nar­ra­tor was tied up in rub­ber suit. The next story was more of the same. The third looked promising—a voyeur busted tak­ing pic­tures by a bunch of nud­ists. Yessss! But, nooooo. He wound up in a stock­ade and was then pun­ished by a bunch of the irate nud­ist dudes. Not really my thing, so I fell asleep.

The fol­low­ing morn­ing I logged into Amazon and can­celled my sub­scrip­tion. With just that first down­load, I now had an embar­rass­ment of riches resid­ing on my Kindle, and didn’t think I really needed any more for prob­a­bly the next six months.

The following morning I logged into Amazon and cancelled my subscription. With just that first download, I now had an embarrassment of riches residing on my Kindle, and didn’t think I really needed any more for probably the next six months.

Voila, the essential SBR Mackintosh

The next night, I still had not decided on a new book to read or add to my wish list, so I wearily opened the blog once again and sol­diered through the next story. This one had another really depress­ing pic­ture of a rubber-clad guy, and began with his descrip­tion of a very sweaty night spent tied up next to a portable heater.

After that hel­la­cious night, his mis­tress made him do plumb­ing in his rub­ber work suit and an SBR Mackintosh, before mak­ing him change into proper rub­ber din­ing attire and then eat soup with­out spilling a drop while hogtied in a high chair.

I don’t know why an SBR Mackintosh is so impor­tant, but it is, and prob­a­bly because it is so impor­tant the author could not bring him­self to use a pro­noun to des­ig­nate the SBR Mackintosh. Only the proper name, SBR Mackintosh, would do.

The SBR Mackintosh reeled me in. I had to keep read­ing. I read, and read, and read, and noth­ing hap­pened that couldn’t be described in a cloth­ing catalog.

There were excru­ci­at­ingly detailed and lengthy descrip­tions of rub­ber gar­ments being put on, fol­lowed by even more tedious  descrip­tions of them being taken off, only to be put back on again. The mis­tress seemed to have an end­less sup­ply of rub­ber out­fits for every pos­si­ble cloth­ing contingency.

While I patiently waited for the sex to hap­pen, my mind wan­dered and I started to worry about Youngest find­ing this on my Kindle the next time he bor­rowed it. I am not going to lie. Mention was made of catheters and cot­ton nappies.

Starved for some­thing inter­est­ing in this inter­minable tale of ser­ial cloth­ing changes, the sud­den appear­ance of Nurse White and her catheter were like a breath of fresh air, except she made very short work of her nurs­ing duties and like the tire­some mis­tress,  she just fid­dled around with end­less lay­ers of rub­ber cloth­ing. Bondage fetish is one thing, but med­ical and bath­roomy stuff is quite another. I could pic­ture myself sit­ting Youngest down for a lit­tle heart to heart. “See, Mommy acci­den­tally down­loaded the blog. She didn’t know that the writer was a rub­ber bondage slave.”

As I read, I started to won­der about vaca­tions days and week­ends. All the cos­tume changes took time, and I knew that if I was feel­ing exhausted and sweaty from just read­ing, then the  poor rub­ber bondage slave must have really been feel­ing it too. Did the mis­tress ever give him a day off, or was this as good as it ever was going to get for the rub­ber bondage slave? I imag­ine the mis­tress needs a break from time to time too. What does she do on her days off? And how does she afford all those bespoke rub­ber out­fits? Does she work, or did she inherit?

I even­tu­ally got so wor­ried about the idea of Youngest being scarred for life that I couldn’t stay focused on the fas­ci­nat­ing wardrobe changes a minute longer. I started to stress out that the Amazon Erotica Blog was on my Kindle for­ever, so I tore myself away to tackle the prob­lem of how to remove down­loaded stuff.

I am regret­ting my prud­ish repu­di­a­tion of the Amazon Erotica Blog because now I want to get some more back­ground infor­ma­tion on the main con­trib­u­tor, the mys­te­ri­ous David Castaway. I would have loved to share with you some of the choicer para­graphs in one of the sto­ries that actu­ally involved sex, such as the one that fea­tured a “ram­pant penis.” The ram­pant penis was about as hot as it got, but sadly, it was pitch­ing for the other team, and  even if it had been ram­pant in the ser­vice of the ladies, I would have been too dis­tracted by the ram­pant mala­propisms to have really enjoyed it.

I don’t think David Castaway would have pur­pose­fully filed his blog under Humor and Satire, but maybe some fiendish edi­tor did. The joke was def­i­nitely on me.


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