Leatherbound

Our leather collection, so far...

As a self-confessed bibliophile, the draw of the leather-bound tome is undeniable. The book is a living thing, its changes over time as much physical as psychological, its meanings altered as its possessor ages. To wrap these timeless but fragile entities in leather is to endow them with skin, to admit that they are meant to live, to last.

I have long been fascinated by this book-flesh. As a child, it would have been my first experience of leather. My clearest memories of childhood are of bookshelves. Leatherbound volumes cannot help but be a part of those memories. I remember the difference between stroking leather and stroking the naughahyde (faux leather) of our reclining chair. Is it any wonder that I now stroke straps and belts, tawses and leather paddles, noting their differences in thickness and pliability, their texture and bite? These are the stuff of skin on skin, of the vicious effect of flesh on flesh. On a pessimistic level, a beating with leather is a microcosm of the plight of humanity. On an erotic level--ohhh. A beating with leather is a mercurial sensuality.

When whipped for an extended time with a strap, my flesh tightens, becoming the infamous bright red leatherbottom of spanking yore. I am fascinated by this, spending time looking over my shoulder into a mirror, stroking the stiff rounds of skin that are normally so yielding. A tawsing, for me, is best described as a leather caning--biting at impact, fading in the seconds afterwards, stinging more thoroughly with each stroke. A leather paddling is painfully sexual--I'm not sure I can even explain it further than that. I hate it, I adore it, I crave it.

I've noticed that I am not the only one compelled by leather on flesh. I think the clip I posted from "Time for the Belt" in "Doctor When" has been one of my most viewed blog entries ever. I think it's also interesting that so many caning scenes begin with some form of leather strapping. It serves as an excellent warm-up for the punishee, but I can't help but think it's a warm up for the top and the viewer as well. I know there are certain videos where that first part is all I need, and I can't imagine I'm alone in that. I also know that right now, despite my facination with the cane and my new paddle, all I want is a leather strapping (as may have been apparent recently). Is it too much to say that after I walked off screen in "Time for the Belt," my lips attacked poor Mr. Williams' face? I went straight from screaming into a pillow to, well, screaming for other reasons. Leather makes my bottom so hot so fast. I suppose it's no surprise that it does the same for other parts of me as well.

I am compelled by comparing my body to a book, to say that a leather beating is comparable to a leather binding. Although I may not be physically bound, I am psychologically wrapped in leather. These writings and films on the subject immortalize me, to a degree, as a leather binding extends the lifespan of a text. The irony there is that during a punishment with leather, I feel as if I am certain to die. Thus can I not help but compare a whipping to a classic Shakespearean passage? To die, to sleep, to sleep perchance to dream of spankings. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time...?

In order to experience the eternity and transcendence of leather, oh I would. I would. I would.