Posts Tagged ‘D/s’

“Bull’s Blood” Chapter 3….

July 2, 2019

Cover for Bull's Blood

“Bull’s Blood” is now published on


Vadas stood by the window of his suite and drew deeply on a cigarette. The first smoke in the morning was always the best, but he knew he was smoking too much. He thought of that last phone call from Miklos. He didn’t have much choice in the matter. Business was business; he wasn’t his own man.

Already Miklos was in a pissy mood. Budapest was five hours ahead and he had used those hours to get up a full head of steam. Miklos knew better than to hurl threats, for Vadas had enough on Miklos to sink his ship, but it would take both of them down.

Ah, Miklos, thought Vadas, our strange life has affected you for the worse, my friend. If we could just return to our days at university, when the world was fresh, and we looked on the future with expectation. Nothing excites now, not even the best wines.

Except this woman Elizabeth. Vadas shook his head, surprised at his thoughts. Who was this little chit? She was nothing special, not a great beauty, no endless legs, not much of anything. But she was…different. Perhaps she was different because of the Strauss, or because she didn’t have a clue who he was. Or what he was.

Vadas picked up the remote and pressed some buttons. The strains of Mozart filled the silence in his suite. Vadas took a sip from his cooling coffee and looked out on the bay. That was part of the problem. Life was empty. Even if he went back to Hungary, what was left for him? He could retire from the business. Money wouldn’t be an issue, not right away. He would work his vineyard, work the hills among the men. He was still too young for nothing at all. The endless hours of a flat life, as flat as the soil around Lake Balaton, stretched before him like a dwindling ball of yarn. No, there had to be more than just breathing the air. And more than climbing the hills looking for diseased vines.

Vadas’ cell phone chimed. He crossed to his desk, flipping it open. The voice on the other end reminded him of an event that evening. He had already forgotten, and his presence was expected. Ah! He would bring Elizabeth. She would entertain him with her innocence.

These people were an unusual crowd, thought Vadas. Unfortunately, his crowd. Even in Paris they would be unique. A mixture of men with doubtful pedigrees, and the women? Well, the women were elegant, well groomed, dignified. Glossy covers on polluted books.






Two days since my “date” with Vadas, thought Elizabeth, and I’m regretting my behavior. He must think me a slut.

Why had she behaved so with Vadas and why did she give herself without a chase? Wasn’t that the point of it all and didn’t she know something about men now that she was well over fifty?

She had sold herself cheaply. He would be right to find her contemptible. It was an uncomfortable feeling, for if she was honest, Vadas interested her more than just his cock. Well, his cock did too, all that howling and writhing around, but his kiss led off nicely. Tongue and cock, cock and tongue, two pieces of flesh making her act like a whore.

Two days since they had sex. There was no way of dressing it up. She remembered him carrying her to the bedroom, and even now, the hot cup of coffee in her hand trembled, her knees weakened.

Vadas was a puzzle. Older, sophisticated, she wondered if this would go anywhere. What did they really have in common?

Vadas of the long kisses. Perhaps that was all she needed right now. A day ago, she ached between her legs, but the pain was not of desire. Vadas gave her a good screwing, and if it weren’t for the wine, she would have had more of him.

Some things troubled her still, like his insistence she eat no meat, that he would feed her. And then the spanking! Perhaps this was how they did it in Budapest? There were lots of unknowns with Vadas, but he drew her like a bee to honey. It was crazy, probably dangerous, and she didn’t want it to stop.

She was surprised when Vadas called her. She wasn’t prepared. Her stomach flipped and she had to lean on the couch. He wanted to go to a party that evening. She tried not to sound eager, too compliant, but she would have done anything at that point to be with him. What a goose she was!

Vadas’ driver brought Elizabeth back to the hotel. Vadas was again on the phone, and pulled her into the room, his eyes sweeping Elizabeth from head to toe and back again. She rolled her eyes at him. At that moment he yelled something Hungarian, snapped the phone shut, shaking his head.

“I am sorry Elizabeth for my foul mouth, but perhaps your Hungarian doesn’t extend to those words?”

He smiled, embraced her, and kissed her on both cheeks. Obviously, his mind was still on the phone call, for his manner was distant.

“We won’t need my driver tonight. I will drive. You will stay here tonight, we will get back very late.”

She thought at least she should raise some objection or ask some questions.

“What? You have a cat at home? Why wouldn’t you want to stay with me? Didn’t you agree I am to make the decisions and you to obey?” Vadas kissed her on the forehead. “Come, we leave, we have miles to go.”

Vadas owned a grey Mercedes and drove too fast. Elizabeth, white knuckled, gripped the door panel. He was an aggressive driver, horn blaring and soft curses at anyone he considered too slow on the road. No wonder he had a driver!

“This isn’t the Autobahn, Vadas!” She yelled. “It’s New Jersey!” Only after he saw the distress in her face did he drop to a normal speed.

They were deep in the countryside when Vadas turned down a road and pulled up to a large gate. Pressing the button on the callbox, he gave his name, and the huge iron gates swung open. They drove through a small wood and suddenly a large Georgian style house appeared to the left. Vadas pulled to the front, helped Elizabeth out, and tossed his keys to a valet.

Vadas held her hand, but otherwise was silent. He explained on the trip out that many of these people were either old friends or business acquaintances, and she would know no one. Many of them would be Hungarians, friends of the host.

A maid met them in the wide central hall, and took Elizabeth’s shawl. Vadas directed Elizabeth to a room on the right. They entered a large area with people standing in groups. Vadas was greeted in both French and Hungarian, acknowledging friends with a nod of his head. Just then a tall, thin man came up to him, and embraced Vadas, kissing him on both cheeks.

“And who have you brought to our little gathering, Vadas? You always have an eye for the prettiest of women.”

“May I present Elizabeth Kovacs, Janos? Elizabeth, Janos de Laszlo, our host.”

Janos de Laszlo took her hand and kissed it, something she expected among the older Hungarians. They were a formal and gallant breed, rather stiff. Janos stared deeply into her eyes, another typical Hungarian gesture. The men would woo you first with their eyes, secondly with their voices and then hands if they could find the chance.

Still holding his gaze on Elizabeth, Janos de Laszlo addressed Vadas, as if Elizabeth was invisible. “And where did you find this little morsel, Vadas? How long have you been hiding her?”

“Janos, behave.” Vadas’ voice a low growl. “I have just met Elizabeth. She is unknowing of our ways. Do not scare her, my friend.”

Janos looked Vadas in the eye and gave a low chuckle. “Ah, Vadas, you are still the romantic. But do not mind me. You are master of it all.” Turning back, he spoke kindly. “Welcome, Elizabeth, to my home. You will make new friends amongst us.”

Kissing her hand again, Janos looked up into her eyes, smiled and left to attend other guests. Vadas watched his retreating back, a sour expression his face.

“Come, Elizabeth, let me get you a glass of wine and introduce you to some friends.”

Vadas led her to a group of men and women, mostly older, and made introductions. They were cordial, two women making room on a sofa for her. When he left to get a drink, a woman came up to the group.

“I am Alexandra de Laszlo.” She was older, with what appeared to be a diamond-encrusted collar around her neck. Elegant, with short white hair, obviously a beauty when younger.

“I am the sister of Janos, your host.” She looked at her closely. “Did you come with Vadas Dohendy?”

“Yes, I did.” Elizabeth could not help but look at her collar. The woman saw where her eyes landed and nervously touched it.

“I understand from Janos you have just met our Vadas. Come walk with me, I would wish to learn more of you.”

Another command, but she dare not refuse, certainly not an order from the host’s sister.

Alexandra de Laszlo led Elizabeth back down the hall. They entered what was obviously a library, passing through French doors to a sunken garden. It was large and walled with a lovely square Tuscan fountain, very formal, in the middle of the plot. Trees formed an arcade to walk under and there were niches in the back mortared walls, all of them empty. Alexandra wrapped her arm in Elizabeth’s, and they walked around the garden.

“So, Elizabeth, I take it by your last name you are Hungarian?” Her voice was low, like the buzz of bees flying in and out of the plum blossoms around them.

“I am half Hungarian, my father’s family. It seems they have nothing in their line except Hungarian blood.”

“Do you know what part of Hungary they came from?”

“My grandparents came from Győr, I believe, but they moved to Budapest at the turn of the century.”

“Ah! Budapest is so beautiful. Have you visited the capital?”

“No. I have been to parts of Europe but never to Hungary.”

Quel dommage. Perhaps someday you will go.” She paused for a moment, patting Elizabeth’s arm with her hand. “And how did you meet our Vadas?”

Her question should not have startled Elizabeth, but it did. Perhaps Alexandra felt her nervousness, for she tightened her hand on Elizabeth’s arm.

“I met Vadas in a restaurant, while dining with an elderly aunt.” She felt she could reveal at least that much.

“And how long have you known him?” Her voice was liquid silk pouring into Elizabeth’s ears.

“Only three days.” Again, it was the truth.

Alexandra was clearly surprised by this. “Ah, so you know little about our Vadas,” she stated.

“Yes, or no, I know little about Vadas, except he is kind.”

At that moment, Vadas found them in the garden. Elizabeth turned with a smile, relieved he interrupted Alexandra’s line of questioning. He was carrying two glasses of wine and kissed Alexandra de Laszlo on both cheeks, presenting them each with a glass.

“Ah, Vadas! So good to see you, my darling,” said Alexandra. “I flew from Paris three days ago and had hoped to have you here for dinner. And now you come with this lovely woman as your guest! Well, we are twice enriched, we will have you both.”

Vadas cocked his head on one side, like an owl, and narrowed his eyes. “Ah, Alexandra. You don’t change a bit. Still the same woman.” He smiled at her ruefully and turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, I have to talk with someone about business. I won’t be long. Alexandra, would you take Elizabeth under your wing while I am gone?”

Alexandra smiled, staring Vadas in the eyes. “Of course, Vadas, my darling. It will be like old times.”

Vadas moved towards Elizabeth and left a kiss on her forehead, a rather strange, fatherly gesture to her mind.

“Alexandra, play nice.” He turned and walked back to the house.

They continued to stroll, Alexandra chatting on about Paris, where she lived most of the year. The name “de Laszlo” was a bit familiar to Elizabeth, but she couldn’t remember why.

“Ah! So you are an artist!”

Elizabeth revealed she was a landscape painter but the recent shift of house after her divorce was giving her a welcome vacation from galleries and other attempts to sell paintings. After her last divorce, she was finding life not so easy.

“Fulup de Laszlo was our grandfather,” said Alexandra. “You might have heard of him? The last of the court painters you know. There was recently a revival of his work, but unfortunately that was mostly in London. It hasn’t spread to your shores. Janos has a number of our grandfather’s paintings. Perhaps you would like to see them later this evening?”

“Of course! That would be wonderful”.

They continued the round of the garden, with Alexandra pointing out the different kinds of early roses, most of them old-fashioned species. They were trellised, the kinds of roses that did not bloom more than twice a year, if that.

“You must be a very interesting woman to keep the attention of our Vadas. He is not known for his, ah, constancy. He goes more to the men for his intellectual pursuits.”

So, Alexandra was challenging her? It was good that she did not know the full extent of their short relationship.

“Vadas seems to love music.” she said, sounding a bit defensive. “And history, or at least European history. And wine, too.” She wondered if it was obvious to Alexandra that they had been intimate.

They sat down on a stone bench towards the back of the garden. From here they had a view of the fountain and the steps leading up to the rear elevation of the house. It was a beautiful evening, warm and still. The sounds from the house did not carry on the air. It was as if there was no one around. The lyrics of Richard Strauss’s “At Gloaming” crossed her mind. She started to laugh, reflecting her general lightness of mood and the wine she was drinking.

“What inspires that laughter, my sweet child?” Alexandra’s voice was soft. Elizabeth didn’t mind the “sweet child”. She was full of peace, feeling safe. Vadas was somewhere nearby, and Alexandra’s company was pleasant enough. She recited the lyrics of the Strauss song:



Through want and joy we have

walked hand in hand;

we are both resting from our travels

now, in the quiet countryside.



Elizabeth thought it presumptuous to say: “Wir sind durch Not und Freude”, her German being slight. Perhaps Alexandra did not speak the language.

“Ah, a nice translation, but the drama does not carry from the German, n’est-ce pas?

Alexandra did indeed speak German, and more importantly, she knew the lyrics of the Strauss song. Elizabeth looked at her with interest.

“Perhaps you believe the words apply to you and Vadas?” She smiled, but there was something Elizabeth could not read in her expression. “You know very little about our Vadas, do you not? Would you like to know more?”

She knew that she should not be curious, but the temptation was just too strong.

Alexandra looked before her, seemingly concentrating her thoughts.

“Vadas lives mostly in Budapest, but he has his parent’s manor house near Eger. That is in the northeast part of Hungary. They had a very famous vineyard before 1956. Now, with both parents dead, Vadas, as the eldest son, inherited everything. One of the famous ‘Essence’ wines comes from his vineyard. There are others, but the fertility of his soil grows the best grape.” Alexandra drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Vadas does not tend to his vineyard much, not since the death of his wife, only a little for the last few years.”

His wife! She realized she knew nothing about Vadas.

“It is not talked about, but perhaps explains Vadas’ behavior now. His wife was young, beautiful. Her name was Marta. He was frantically in love with her. She conceived, gave birth, and died, along with the baby.”

Elizabeth gasped. Ah, Vadas. What a sadness to live through.

“It was, in the end, a great mercy.” She heard Alexandra’s voice muted against the whirl in her head. “The baby was a monster.”

The word “monster” was the only word she remembered. “Oh my God.” Nothing could soften that shock.

“So perhaps we forgive Vadas for what he does with life. Men are very fragile creatures, Elizabeth.”

“What I know of them, they would appear to be.”

A moment of silence, and Alexandra spoke up, her voice now different. “Would you like to see some of the paintings?”

“I’d love it. But I have taken you away from the party long enough.”

“No. Besides, I promised to take you under my wing. Vadas would want it.”

They walked to the house and through the central hall. Alexandra led them up the main staircase to another long hall.

“I believe there is one in this room.” Alexandra opened the door and ushered Elizabeth before her. The room was darkened, the draperies pulled. It was a bedroom, for the first thing she saw when her eyes adjusted was a four-poster bed. The room was large, and a woman, gagged and bound, was suspended by ropes from the ceiling in a corner. An unknown man was standing beside her, talking softly. A riding crop was in his hands. Elizabeth stood transfixed, knowing somewhere in her mind she should leave. Nearby, backlit by a window, was Vadas, his suit jacket removed, sitting in profile. He too held a black riding crop. She gasped, throwing her hands over her mouth. Vadas turned his head and stood up fast.

“Elizabeth! You should not be here.” She backed away from him, into the hall, and saw a look of triumph cross Alexandra’s face. Vadas muttered “bitch” in Hungarian as he passed her.

Elizabeth continued to back up, avoiding him. She struck at his hands as she turned to run down the hallway. Vadas grabbed at her arm, swinging her around.

“Elizabeth, stop being a child!” She started to yell, to tell Vadas to leave her alone, when he slapped Elizabeth across the jaw, making her head jerk back and she fell to the floor.

She woke up in a bedroom, struggled to sit up, and saw Vadas sitting across the room, watching her.

“Elizabeth.” He looked grim.

Gingerly, she felt her jaw. Apparently, she had a glass one, for he didn’t hit her that hard.

“What? Am I now to expect your apology?” Her voice was bitter; she refused to look at him.

“That, and an explanation.” Vadas had some nerve. “For years, Elizabeth, I have been involved in a different life. I am a trainer of men and women. I am a Dom. Do you know what that is?”

Vaguely, but she had little kink in her life. And now the first man that looked good was a “Dom.” Great luck she had with men. She shook her head. Let him talk, there was no excuse for him hitting her.

“What you saw, Elizabeth, what Alexandra made you see, was a man and his wife engaged in some bondage and discipline.”

“You are telling me the woman actually wanted to be whipped until she was half-dead? Do you think I am crazy enough to believe you, Vadas?” She turned to face him, wanting him to see her scorn.

“Elizabeth,” said Vadas, moving to the bed and taking her face in his hand. He carefully felt her lower jaw. She scowled at him and pulled her face away. “Elizabeth, she was not unconscious. She was in an altered space. You know this deep meditation, right? She was in ‘sub-space’. Pain is a path to it.”

She thought of what he was saying. “Altered space”. You meditated for that. Drug-free trip.

“Sub-space? Explain that.” She shouldn’t show him any interest at all, but inspired by her sore chin, she deserved some answers.

“Sub-space. Ah, Elizabeth, there are many ways to get there. Applied pain is only one way but seems popular.”

“So, Vadas.” She tried to sneer at him. “You apply the pain?”

“Elizabeth, don’t act stupid. Of course I apply the pain. I train men and women. They have to be taught, to be educated. How else can I show a man how to whip his woman without demonstrating?”

“Whip his woman.” That was interesting, but of course, she was talking to a Dom! It all makes sense now. But it didn’t.

“You train women too? As in dominatrix?”

Vadas chuckled. “Yes, Elizabeth, both sexes. Women can be brutal Dommes, you know.”

Ha! He dares talk about “brutal”? “Vadas, when were you planning to tell me?”

Vadas gave a slight shake of his head. “Soon, Elizabeth, soon. Perhaps I was having fun with you. It wasn’t business, it was friendship.”

“Do you fuck all your friends?”

“Elizabeth, such a word in such a beautiful mouth.” Vadas held her face a little too firmly and looked at her closely.

Vadas, she thought, you are either a con man or a very dangerous man. But sometimes you amaze me. Elizabeth was intrigued with Vadas and his secret world. She ran like a river when he spanked her the other night, though she hated him for making her so.

“What else do you do, Vadas? Are you a white slaver?”

Vadas laughed and sat on the bed. “Elizabeth, I train slaves, I don’t export them.”

“This just gets worse and worse, Vadas.”

“Elizabeth, slave training just means instructing a submissive in what a dominant wants, his preferences. I condition the submissive behavior.”

“What, Vadas? With whips and chains?”

“Sometimes. It depends generally what both want.”

“You are telling me a woman wants to be whipped until she is unconscious?”

“Elizabeth, it is called sub-space, and she wants to enter that condition. Nothing is done the submissive doesn’t ultimately want.”

She felt her jaw. “Vadas, why did you hit me so hard?” It was tender now and probably bruised by tomorrow.

“I didn’t hit you hard, Elizabeth. I tapped your chin. There are guests here who don’t know this life. Janos has many friends and associates present. You were on the point of hysteria. I had to get you under control.”

“Vadas, what part does Alexandra play? I saw the diamond collar around her throat.”

“Ah, Alexandra! She likes to play the part of a woman scorned, Elizabeth. She is vengeful.” Vadas shrugged his shoulders.

Elizabeth could only guess what part Vadas played to Alexandra but thought better of asking. She was still trying to take in the scene of the limp woman, tied to the ceiling and what Vadas was saying.

“Vadas, shouldn’t we be downstairs? Janos might wonder what has happened to us.”

“Don’t worry about Janos, Elizabeth. He would be more worried if I brought a beautiful woman to one of his parties and stayed around drinking.”

“Vadas, why did you invite me? Why did you want me to come here?”

Taking up her hand, he kissed it. “Only for your company, Elizabeth. Only for that.”

He gathered her in his arms, and she heard his voice above, muffled in her hair.

“Remember Elizabeth, the first day we met, I told you I make the decisions? Are you now too afraid to agree?”

“No, Vadas. Just never hit me again. Agreed?”

“Elizabeth, I promise the only pain you will feel from me you will beg for.”


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2019




“Bull’s Blood” Published on

June 14, 2019


That’s the address where you can buy “Bull’s Blood”.

This book took 12 years in the writing, editing and finally publishing.

It is a story of Art Thieves, D/s, and lots of violence. Art thieves in Paris, Budapest, and around Europe.  And a run down vineyard in Eger, Hungary, and corrupt local police.

The blurb from the back cover:

“A chance encounter with a charismatic and dangerous Hungarian man plunges Elizabeth Kovacs into a dark world of extremes. Attracted and repelled in equal measure, Elizabeth wonders why she stays with him. Her situation is further complicated when she becomes embroiled in a conflict that threatens to culminate in violent retribution.”


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2019



The Passage of Time, The Desired Fruits of Contemplation.

August 23, 2009

Some of you know what I mean.

We can only hope  we grow in compassion and our humanity.  There are no guarantees, but we try. We already know we don’t have all the answers.  Just some as guideposts for life as we walk.

We hope we  are still open to learning,  because the options are many out there.  And so is the concrete of ego.

Hildegarde of Bingen has been on my mind of late.   Her calling to us to remain “juicy” as the Earth, in it’s profound greening, calls us to the creative and spiritual.  But there are seasons, and to hold to this is something we can forget through the passage of time.

We must hold to that verduncy, to that greening of the Spirit and Spiritual.

To rejoin the better parts of humanity.  To be open again.

Hildegard is deeply ecological in her spirituality.  The basic thrust of our time is the movement from an egological to an ecological consciousness.  Perhaps ecological injustice reigns because we lack an ecological spirituality.

We are out of balance.  We can not be proportionate until we honor that wilderness of Earth, that juicyness, that indominable greeness, that verduncy of the land and the natural persons within ourselves.

We can not be in balance until we honor the indominable push towards justice, towards a healthy humanity, towards an equality of sexes in the most fundamental of ways.

Nakedness without the role playing.  And this applies to all things D/s.

The psychic price we pay for being out of sorts, out of balance with  nature is unmeasurable.   A lost of identity, a loneliness, an incomplete understanding what life can be.

I pray for, Hold in the Light, a man I know who is considering his options right now.  I hope he benefits from an attention to  spiritual thoughts.  I hope for a greening of his soul.  I wish him Peace.

Today, Gary Russell of ERWA asked for a poem:  “A New Song of Songs” for the ERWA pages.   I don’t know  if this would be offensive to post here because of it’s ‘nature’ but I will chance it.

It is especially poignant to me that he has asked for this poem, today.

There just isn’t a question of coincidences to me anymore.  Perhaps I am opening to the broader universe.

Lady Nyo


In the Song of Songs,
a woman’s breasts are compared
to the young twin roes which feed amongst
the lilies.

Her ass is not defined, but I think of my own,
two sloping sides, bottoming out
in rounded halves, a peach if you will,
with the fuzzy softness that sits
sweetly in the hand.

Did you pity me, in all my milk-white
virginity, at least back there….
when you bound my arms behind
and with your glass- hard cock
pierced the fundament?

I screamed that day,
a hunting hawk who missed her first strike,
but my keening, though pleading at the end
of its tones,
was more piteous and haunting than any bird of prey.

You lifted my bound arms, ripping
muscles at the shoulders, and the pain
above and below,
equaled out along my spine.

You were the Bird of Prey,
And I, just a sparrow.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009

A Worthy Post from “Z” on Submission, ‘Natural Order’ and D/S issues.

August 16, 2009

I received this today from a reader “Z” who chimes in every so often.  I have known this person for a while, and I find him to be sensible and balanced…and cautious with these myriad issues of dominance and submission, bdsm, etc.

Over the course of time, and it’s not that we haven’t disagreed on things, we have discussed many issues and have come to a place where we see things as they are:  “Z” is the ultimate realist (though also a romantic) and I have respect for his experience.  He has guided me on some important issues, and especially around a particular ‘thorny’ individual.  He was able to see what this fellow really was when I was resistant to the truth.  So when “Z” sends a comment, I find a lot of pre-chewed sense….

I am glad to have his input, and in spite of some issues,  we remain friends.  That’s a bit of the measure of mature adults.

Lady Nyo


Just a few words from me.
You are indeed fortunate that you have the opportunity to settle into a natural balance and rhythm with your partner. I do not confuse that balance with the ‘natural Order’ espoused by some cultist groups.

(Well, “Z”, it wasn’t without a struggle.  My Husband and I had to see up close and personal some prime examples.   This “Natural Order” thing I confess to not having  studied in the light of more scientific thought: I took the thoughts  of  John Norman, who wrote the “Gor” stories to be the philosophical basis of his “Natural Order”.  I’m not sure now that he was only  trying to form an apologia for his and his wife’s bdsm practice with the Gor series.  Too outlandish to really consider to base the practice of a marriage.

I like Norman better in his “The Cognitivity Paradox” (An Inquiry Concerning the Claims of Philosophy), under his REAL name, John Lange, Princeton University Press, 1970.  That is a statement that you can get your teeth around, IF you really care to do so.  That short book is also not generally known or read by the so called lifestyle Goreans I have met.  They are generally not interested in such claims of philosophy.

And you can’t disabuse me of the cultist behavior and intention.

You have achieved a level of satisfaction that is reflecting the biological and psychological functions of male and female. The female nurturing and bringing comfort to a true partnership.

(But not without struggle.  I was filled with the ideas that I was somehow cheating myself in doing so.  I was very short sighted.)

However, our society no longer reflects that ancient arrangement. Our intellectual achievements and aspirations take us all in a different direction.
Setting aside the spectrum of human sexuality and behaviour most women in the Western world have taken on a homogenity of function with men.
Both sexes find themselves out of the balance you describe so eloquently.

(Thank you, Z, and this is in no way is an argument for “Natural Order”.  At least as the readers and practitioners of Gorean ‘philosophy’ see it.  What I think is that there are a lot of weird pathologies in the followers of things Gor. Visit the Gorean Boards for some of that.  Of course, there are ‘normal’ people there, too…but if they are so normal, why are they there?

I have seen some of this first hand.  These people are not a good basis to further a philosophy.  They are mired in their own confusions and give this over to the ‘practice’ of something that is a fairy tale in any case…well, fiction, and not very well written fiction at that.  Norman should have stuck to his Princeton days philosophy.

However, Norman was writing the Gor series pre internet, and some of the details and research is marvelous.  He did have a couple of degrees in study that shows a deep and abiding understanding of a lot of cultures, especially in the Middle Eastern settings.  Some of the traditions, like bread/salt/breaking the water bags, and their social/cultural consequences are spot on.  Some of the customs he wrote about were not well known in the ’60’s by the majority of his readers.   It’s unfortunate that people embrace some of the other stuff instead of taking Norman for being a pioneer in some interesting cultural issues brought forth in fiction. )

Hence the searching for something to satisfy those un met psychic and biologic urges.

In some cases that searching leads to the excesses you have described in other posts.

You know that I dislike stereotypical labels. D/s and BDSM can be like uniforms constraining one into a set of alternate social ‘norms’.
Sex is the closest and most intimate of partnerships. The libido perhaps the strongest biologic driver we have. It is no surprise that this arena is where our most basic needs are often expressed.

To be ’submissive’ is quite natural. However, it does not have to entail bindings and whips, nor utter slavery to another.
It is naturally expressed in the opening to a lover and receiving what they g

(Exactly…and this is where ‘submission’ is distorted by Gorean/D/S/bdsm adherents.  We went through hell trying to conform to these ideas, and there were many of them, and in the end… was a very simple  issue.  It didn’t have the ‘drama’ of all this above.  It became a simple bond between a normal man…and a normal woman.  Those ‘awakenings’ to a very interesting issue were fulfilled without the trappings ….just a peaceful resolve in a long term marriage…which at first seemed wanting of something…until we saw what was the plight of others.  And it didn’t hold expressed fear or trepidation, a pandering to an overwhelming and unhealthy ego, a dominance that was ‘on’ because it was fearful of being ‘off’.  (Of course, the issues of sadism here compounds the issue)

It was a bond of respect and admiration for the creativity and strength of what was opposite without jarring behavior.)

I guess that where the balance you have now found is missing from their role, the reaction is to seek a more intense expression of submission. It may be this is where the problems of abuse and violation can arise.

(I think you very right, Z.  That intensity is on both sides:  it’s the submissive trying to ‘prove’ that she really is a ‘submissive’  (and I have been accused of ‘denying my submission’..or submissive state) to gain the approval of this Dom…. to placate his insecurities and anger.  So the submissive opens herself to more and more …ah….abusive behavior…or degrading behavior, or humiliating behavior… if the Dom so pleases….and the Dom takes it as his ‘due’.  Because he’s the Dom.

Or because he’s a real  sadist.  I have found that not all Doms are made of the same cloth.  In fact….real Doms are not tied up in these behaviors above…they know play from real.  I didn’t.

LOL!….I am glad that we  found other ways to address this issue of
Domination and Submission in our marriage. Perhaps where there is a lot of hurt and history, couples apply the whip and try to get ‘deeper’ into this issue of  D/s, but I think it does come down to a ‘natural order’…a balance of natures and attendant tasks…

Just not what some make of it.

Just a few musings

My regards


And thank you, Z.  Always informative and a pleasure.

Lady Nyo…who would like at some point to address this knotty issue of ‘service’. ( but really not so knotty)

Grasping at straws, or maybe signs….

March 18, 2009

Lately I’ve been preoccupied with ‘internal’ issues…mostly spiritual issues.

We go from concepts to concepts without ever really touching down, or if we do…we land hard and uncomfortably.  Well, I do.  The ‘issue’ of becoming a writer, and mostly in the genre of erotica, has been a downward rolling snowball, but it has to be juggled with the reality that many people don’t read erotica for many reasons.  I am finding that out with sending my first book, “A Seasoning of Lust” out to relatives and some friends.  Probably sending the book to elderly relatives and friends is NOT a good idea, but sometimes you stretch the boundaries of reason.  And then, sometimes you are pleasantly surprised….

This hasn’t stopped me from compiling Vol. II of “Lust” to be released sometime this summer…and it will be very different from Vol. I.  That’s the ‘uplifting’ part for me.  Erotica is still a fascinating subject for a writer, and I intend to pursue and develop this in my writing for the future.  But it’s only one part of being a writer.

I’ve experienced a lot of different influences over the past two years, since I started writing online.  Some of the influences were good, and some I should have had my head examined.  Some fell into the category of  “think…where is this going?”.  But mostly we don’t. Think.  We respond and ‘feel’.  We are led by our curiosity and sometimes we adopt things that aren’t exactly healthy.

The issue of domination and submission is one of those mixed bags. There are people who are good influences in this knotty subject, and there are people who should be avoided.  When you are so inexperienced, it is the ‘luck of the draw’.  But you learn, and hopefully you learn to discern better.  My husband and I have settled into our own ‘brand’ of D/s, and it’s not a carbon copy of others.  We laugh a lot, and we are very much more cognizant of each others natures and surprisingly, abilities.  He has blossomed to me, and I have surprised him, as he tells me.  This is wonderful news after so many years of marriage.  For us, we may not look any different to outsiders, but there are definite changes between us.  There is a process of discovery going on.  That makes for a lot of interest and surprises.

I have stepped out into the study of Jewish Religion.  I do this for personal reasons, but I have had an abiding curiosity to do so for years.  I have never really been a Christian, and many of the issues inherent in Christianity are alien and strange to me.  Very recently, we celebrated our first Shabbat as a family.  We were helped and guided by a lovely Rabbi, Loren, from The Temple here in Atlanta.  I am still amazed at the way my family responded, and the feelings I had holding these rituals.  They were alien and at the same time, they were not.  Full of intense and purposeful meanings, we sat over our Shabbat meal for three hours and played Scrabble and chess.  This is the first time I can remember where we actually enjoyed each others company and for so long a duration.  We were invited to a Bat Mitzvah the next day, and our spiritual joy and opening continued.  The Temple is a Reform Synagogue, and I understand that there are a lot of issues with Orthodox/Conservative/Reform/etc. demoninations.  Some say Reform ain’t Jews…but we don’t have the reasons to distinguish this.  We don’t care.  The community and welcome and mostly the Spiritual lessons we found trumped any other concerns.  However, this above, the differences between them…reminds me of the same arguments in the Christian world.  We only want to draw nearer to God and have this effect on our family.

This time approaches Easter and Passover.  It is a time of great considerations.  Spiritual issues abound.  Life issues also.

Last night, our only child, in college, announced that he was seriously considering entering the Air Force to continue to train in aviation mechanics.  He has been studying this for two years, along with recent computer courses.  Of course this is unwelcome news to his mother.  There is a war going on, and more troops have been sent to Afghanistan last week.  I am hoping that his decision will be blessed with his personal safety.  However, my best friend of many decades, Jerry in NY, tells me that the employment situation for college age kids is horrendous.  He is facing some of the same issues with his child.

I have spent a restless night thinking of all of the above.  This morning, my son called to me to come look outside.  There was a white dove perched for the longest time on my neighbor’s roof.  I don’t know if it was a pigeon or a dove, my son who knows better said it’s definitely a dove, Mom….and I will take his word for it.

Hence, the “Grasping at Straws” in the title of this blog.  I embraced my son, and we are a bit more at peace.  It was a good sign and helps restore many things right now.  Important things of the heart.

Lady Nyo


from the “Shibari Series”

January 31, 2009

I don’t know.  Perhaps I am just too tired to evaluate this whole issue of the binding, etc. right now.  I do know that my thought processes have been interrupted, my attention span disrupted with the news (unexpected) last night of the status of “Seasoning”.

I’ve heard from a lot of people about the poem “Shibari”.  Some are practicing shibari experts, some are not, just curious about the subspace issue, others more interested in the power exchange.

Right now I am shifting through the emails, and later will come up with an entry, trying to cobble the different opinions and points of view on this event.

So, I will do what I usually do when I am full of doubt and confusion.  I will post a piece of work and avoid ( in this case) or probably complicate the questions.

Lady Nyo….and thanks to the usual suspects…

FROM THE SHIBARI SERIES….#1 included in “A Seasoning of Lust”.

Japanese hemp coiled about the torso, creating diamonds where there was once only skin, looping back upon itself, over and over. Breasts now defined by a rope cut-out bra, while waist, love handles, now enclosed in more diamonds, thighs entwined.  Added turns and thin jute split my cleft with a hard caress, the large knot on the bottom shifting upward. It would tease in mid air.

Dance comes from the earth, through the feet, up and out, giving shape to song. This time I would dance in flight, the pull of ropes challenging gravity, compounding my efforts.

Movements liquid and extreme startled me, the kikkou and hemp anchored me in space, my first taste of freedom in the ropes.  Suddenly I felt the sting of a whip and I jerked out of time to the beat. I fell deeper into the dance, determined to continue.  Again the whip’s sting and I faced a split reality: pain or pleasure. I went inward, deep into the music and rhythm, where movement was birthed and pain banished.

I flew, hollow bird bones filled with joy.  Cradled within the ropes I spiraled up from heavy earth.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008, 2009

“Slave Fire in the Belly” Part II

December 31, 2008

Oh, this is not going to be popular.

How can one hold to the scientific basis of Athene’s argument

and at the same time feel this:

“A woman is a helpless prisoner of her sexuality.”

But there it is. Is this an argument for Natural Order??

I don’t think so…but who knows. I just feel…or know somehow deep in my belly…or lower thereabouts…that most of us do recognize our desire to be acknowledged as deeply female…and do things, naturally without consciously thinking, or perhaps consciously doing so…

That we bend Heaven and Hell, to express that feminine nature…when we find a man opposite ourselves, who is strong and attractive enough and intelligent. We sent out ‘signals’…perhaps challenging them to ‘prove it to us’ that they ARE strong, will protect us from pitbulls and flying glass, etc. Perhaps we constantly test them…because we must have this security. This assurance that they really are worthy of our submission or service or whatever you call it.

Our power, as women….lies in part in our ability to seduce…to utilize our feminine power to impact with our beauty, wit and intelligence.

Lately I have been feeling this sentiment very strongly as a dancer.  I realized recently that I was not just learning bellydance for the pure ‘joy’ of sore muscles and a strained back, but because I realized these movements reached something very deep in me…something dark and primal and sexual.  It reached into a core of femininity that I hadn’t understood before.  It is not just for myself that I dance, but to express the essence of me.  I am a woman in full power when I dance.

And that power opens me sexually.  I am strong and totally female when I dance.

Also recently I wondered if it was ‘proper’ to dance with such ‘openness’…even to thinking of these objectives?  Well, belly dance is a dance of seduction, and we can call it ‘birth movements’ all we want, but in the beginning… and the end, it is all about our seductive feminine power.  The beauty of expressing the essential female.

Perhaps we aren’t so helpless after all. Perhaps we are more powerful than we imagine. Perhaps with our seductive abilities, hell the essence of our femininity…we make prisoners of men.

Lady Nyo


scowl deeply,
continue to
dance around
of annoying.

La, La,
silly, silly
a dervish,
arms touching
your territory
of grimace.
pushing the
of your nature.

Oh! such
a witless tease,
your anger
I continue
my revolving.

You growl,
me still
the corral
of your arms

slyly I smile

my orbit
into your own.

Copyrighted, 2008

What is Submission?

December 13, 2008

We had some discussion a while back about submission, but it wasn’t completed. Because of further private discussion I am raising it again, thought it will make some groan. Tant pis.

Friends (and some enemies) know that I have struggled to come to a place with this issue. A year ago I started some research/discovery, and was caught up in so many harrowing issues. I either fought it/denied it/tried to manipulate it/disown it…sometimes all at the same time. I just couldn’t get a handle on it.

Part of the problem I believe was I came to the ‘subject’ late in life. I’m no spring chicken. I also have had to be very dominant in my life before. Some know that because of some particular work I carried a gun. That will impact your ideas about yourself, even if you have no idea of submission. Coming upon this issue of submission, I really struggled…still do. My husband was of no help at all. He was hoping any D/s issue would fly by and I would come to my senses. Well, I didn’t…..and once that became obvious to him, he started to get interested…in part of being a dominant. But there was a lag of almost two years and I went through a lot. I admit I have resentment towards him today because instead of partnering with me in this investigation…he ignored it. He’s interested now because he knows that this issue is sticking around, and underneath it all, he’s a very traditional man, with some real dominancy in him. Before I thought he was just stubborn. Now I know its purpose.

He’s a man….and he’s not broken.

I have come to the conclusion that submission can take many forms…not just the stuff we see and read about. I have to be careful, because I am reading the Gor books from the first onwards. There are some very seductive parts of Norman’s philosophy that make me double up..and not with laughter. There is this issue of submission and submission that is slavery, and some of it hits my gut hard. Perhaps it’s the overpowering presence of a strong male with power and control at his command. I don’t know, but I do know that we live in a real world, and men just aren’t like Norman’s sexy characters.

( has so much to do with it. I was thinking last night how wonderful that our genitals basically never wear out. Maybe our desire for our particular partners does, but our apparatus keeps going like the energizer bunny. At all ages…in I grow older, the sexual interests and desires reveal themselves to have different levels and a zest for adventure. That’s the good news. I was told so by a Dom I respect this is true. He’s in his 60’s and doesn’t seem to have any flagging yet.)

However…..I have noticed a change in my behavior for a while now. Before, faced with a dominant man, I would get mouthy and challenge him. I seemed to ‘have’ to reestablish my own power in light of what was in front of me. Now? Well, perhaps it’s a more ‘natural’ thing….

but if a man is truly powerful…I am amazed and I find myself reacting in a much different way. I feel more feminine. I feel that I don’t have to challenge him. And if I get to know him a bit….I assume that he will ‘protect’ me. Don’t ask me from what….pitbulls, flying glass, but that he just will.

A lot of men rail against feminism and the women’s movement for changing women from more traditional behaviors and in the doing..changing men. Confusing them. I think this is too shallow an answer to what shifted, happened, changed, between men and women over the last few decades. Economics and social pressures happened…women worked and had to for survival…and that of their families. Divorce, etc. All sorts of social changes happened.

John Norman talks about something called Natural Order…I’m not going to open a discussion here about that today, but perhaps if there is interest later…ok. (I find that there are numerous Goreans reading this site, though they rarely show their faces, but my stats show they are coming from Gorean sites or whatever…)

A lot of people in D/s blame women for being bossy, but from where I sit…men are just too lazy. Many like the fact that they don’t have to put forth any effort to ‘head the household’. I see this in many cultures, not only my own. They are broken men.

So, what is submission to you? I am getting a better idea what it is to me….but damn if it still isn’t so sexual.

I guess I just can’t get my hands out of my crotch.

Lady Nyo

One Man’s Experience in Domination….

October 9, 2008

Since the recent postings on Domination and Submission on this blog, I have received a number of queries and statements from men who have been involved in the D/s world. If they have questions I can’t answer, I will direct them to others who have more experience, especially in answering questions of Dominance.

However, lately there are more men writing in about their general experience on this issue. I will post them as they appear, because I think it is very good to hear the first hand experience of men. It seems that many Dominant men don’t talk about their experience and that is a lacking in general.

This from “M” this morning:
My partner and I had some light experimentation with d/s, mostly very light bondage, but not enough of the physical, verbal, and psychological aspects I was looking for. I’m not a sadist or a masochist, but I like sensation. I like getting, or being taken, out of my head. I like the focus d/s demands of both partners. I was generally, and broadly, a top.

I met T through the friend of a friend. Not tall, french, and not what you would call classically attractive. But compelling. She worked from her apartment which was a 10 minute cab ride from my work. We began to get together for lunch here and there. She invited me to meet her at her apartment one time, as she was ‘running late.’

As I stepped into her apartment, she grabbed me and pressed me against the door, kissing me hard, her tongue invading my mouth, her scent, her passion overwhelming me. She put my arms over my head and held them there as she kicked my legs apart and bit my neck.

When she came up for air, she asked, yes or no, if I wanted to continue. It seems like a cliche, like fiction, but she told me what my safeword would be, but it was either continue or leave.

Beyond the mechanics of what occurred, what it meant for me, and I believe for her, was an hour of release, an hour of total focus on each other. We’ve moved on and I’ve since enjoyed learning how to incorporate some of T’s techniques to bring pleasure to submissives and how to tap my inner focus to make it memorable for both partners. Sure, I have my cliches (its amazingly sexy to see a woman in boots and lingerie… well that’s another story).
Thank you, M. It gives us a better sense of the variations on this general D/s theme. Thank you for allowing me to post your words here.

Lady Nyo

Weird Prayers, Friends, Growth, Ego and John Ralston Saul.

October 1, 2008

As my friends know, and readers of this blog,…. I have been writing my fingers off….but also preparing for the ‘birth’ of “A Seasoning of Lust”, my first published book. It’s a slight volume of poetry and short stories (not so slight, my editor has divided it into two volumes)…one for before Xmas publication and one for (hopefully) publication on Valentine’s Day. Seems appropriate for issues of ‘lust’.

I didn’t realize that when you start a blog, and IF you get some regular readers, you have a responsibility to keep writing your thoughts and experiences and what you think are some answers. Or people write private emails with these issues attached, their opinions and either you spend a LOT of time writing back (and I try to) or you present things here on the blog face. My friends, Mary, Rose, Phil, Malkinius, Pat, John, Carol, and others have made this really easy for me lately because they have taken up much of the work. Their writings have allowed me to noodle around with unrelated tasks and my own writing, and I thank them for it.

I make no bones about my own private journey lately. I am seeking answers to some issues. One of these issues is the inner spirit, the search for the Light inside.

People who know me know I was a Quaker for 12 years. I put that aside around 2001, and tried to become more ‘outward’…more worldly. Becoming a belly dancer five years ago was part of this…and I can now say that this activity is more of me than I would have ever believed in the beginning. It forms much of my outward behavior, and it’s not been without struggle to see the changes it has made in me mentally.

But there are other issues that have become just as important as being a dancer. This issue of my submission, something I thought lost or obscured in the past few months, has come roaring back, but with new concepts and a different understanding.

Perhaps the questions have become clearer, or I am more open and less resistant to what it means, but there is something different now in its issue.

The best way to describe is this: it is what exists inside me…and it IS what I AM…a deeply submissive woman that only responds to a powerfully dominant man. It’s this dynamic. I fought it before for lots of reasons, but now I understand more of what I am…and I am a mixture of dominance and submissive tendencies, but they all settle into this person that is ‘ok’. I am not challenged by what others think of me, and I am not challenged by my own doubts that I am a ‘proper’ submissive woman.

I respond to power because I am…fundamentally, a powerful woman. That is very much part of my submissive nature. I need a power equally or more opposite me to respond in the deepest submissive response. I make no apologies for this, thinking that I am not docile enough, or meek enough. I am when I need to be, and that needing to be becomes part of the response. It is rather a startling thing when it happens, but it has happened rarely as of yet. I await with great pleasure knowing that I am accepting of my nature now and aware of its potential.

What I am is the sum total of my deepest and truest nature. I am, simply, a woman who is finding herself and that nature, and I am inspecting that nature like a jewel in my hand: it reflects the beauty of diversity and talents and uniqueness and I am pleased to meet myself finally.

I am ok. And the belly dancing helps me get in touch with that sexual side of my deep femininity, which is a good thing! I am finally able to understand the integration of the parts of me. All these things have a purpose, they weren’t things to dismiss. They might make others uncomfortable, but they don’t make me so anymore. I won’t fit into most boxes of others making.

This morning, I got a phone call from a friend in India….Aman. He is one of the most gentle and generous men I have met. He is a fantastic poet, though too modest by far, but he’s like a Sufi dancer/poet…always full of such spiritual thoughts he leaks prayer and giggles like a boy. Perhaps in India you learn to be so and in doing so you divest yourself of all pompous and self-serving ego that we in the West seem to need to plumb up our images.

Ego. I have been through the ringer with my own and with that of others lately. It has left some wounds.

Aman knows my struggles and has been sending, unbeknownst to me, Prayers of Healing. LOL! They must be working because my mentality has improved and I laugh a lot more.

And damn if I don’t DANCE better, too. I find that I am lifted up on my feet in ways that I didn’t know before. All this inward and outward stuff going on without my conscious knowledge!

I am healing, and the damn ego is not so fiercely defensive. Believe me or not, it’s not so much in charge. I was so defensive, and another man whose ego was even stronger than mine, brought out a lot of my own issues…
Ego against Ego…and there seemed to be little growth in me at that time. There was growth, I just didn’t see it’s projection.

It’s all in how you perceive and how you sum up your experiences.

I have figured when I fight myself and others instead of allowing them to float over me like water, that my ego is trying to make sure IT stays in charge.

Ego tries to make us feel separate from the rest of humanity. Ego tries to make us feel flawed, broken and alone instead of part of humanity.

This is where John Ralston Saul comes in for me because he somehow makes me feel in a philosophical sense, connected with the rest of humanity.

I started out reading Saul for answers to the world’s globalism, etc. But something along the way happened with Saul. The outward answers I was seeking started to turn inward. Our qualities of being human can not exist in isolation. We become unbalanced when we do, or try to do so.

What started out as an exploration into the world’s issues and answers to world crisis became part, a very fundamental part….of an exploration into my own participation in that world. But moreso, not just my ‘self’ vis a vis that world, but a struggle for personal balance.

So…there is growth and change here and I am full of energy again.

And am very grateful for any prayers, weird or healing that Aman and others are throwing my way. I will throw them around too, because I am stronger now and I can share.

Lady Nyo -teela -Jane…all three with a similar purpose in life.

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