Sexy Film Review: The Duke of Burgundy (2014)

When I first started watching this film I found that the sense of artificiality annoyed me, until I realised it was part of the story and then I was able to enjoy the joke. And actually there are a lot of good-humoured jokes throughout, many I probably missed, and at least one I spotted but still do not get – the mannequins dotted about in the lecture audience at the institute; can anyone explain that to me?

All these playful jokes are simply part of the fun in a film which is partly a wry contemporary intellectual comedy, partly a paean to European cinema of the 1960s-70s, and partly a slyly engaging erotic drama.

Cynthia and Evelyn play out their dominant-submissive fantasies in an enclosed, remote and rarefied fantasy world of rambling chateaus, leafy woodlands, dusty academia, lepidopterology (whence the reference to the butterfly called The Duke of Burgundy) and no men. Alongside the minutiae of insect anatomy, life-cycles and communications, the couple’s private role-play takes centre stage as we learn the script they enact and the nuanced variations of the kinky story they repeatedly play out together.

As the film progresses with its hypnotic tempo, delightfully playful soundtrack and mesmerizingly sensuous cinematography (Nicholas D. Knowland), we discover unexpected relationship dynamics between the two leads and notice fractures of jealousies and dissatisfactions creaking across the leisurely surface. Until eventually we find ourselves involved with a real romance, with real issues, for real characters of substance and fragility.

And this is where I feel the film really delivers. Beyond the beautiful and playful surface, I became engaged by the central characters and I found the film proved to have true poignancy and depth.

Even given its playfulness, its subtly fairy-tale like setting and its esoteric cinematic nostalgia, this film ultimately stands as a serious study of a specific relationship, and also of relationship issues more generally.

The excellent performances of the two leads Sidse Babett Knudsen (Cynthia) and Chiara D'Anna (Evelyn) are absolutely pitch-perfect in guiding the audience through the complicated emotional maze of the central relationship and provide us with wonderfully rounded portraits of two flawed and enigmatic central characters; portraits full of wit, sexiness, tenderness and depth.

Director Peter Strickland creates a wonderfully accomplished pervasive atmosphere of warm hues, rich textures, soft light and muted restraint which has the effect of perpetually augmenting an inherent sense of rich eroticism in a film which is never explicit. Not that there is necessarily anything wrong with explicitness per se, but it is nevertheless a point to be noted in describing the internal syllabus of The Duke of Burgundy.

Altogether a marvellous adventure for the senses. Witty, thought-provoking, engaging and very sexy. An artistic, erotic and dramatic success.

Muscle Mentor

How does a hitherto sexually vanilla young white man discover he’s actually a kinky submissive black-muscle worshipper? I guess everyone learns these things about themselves in different ways at different times. So how did it all begin for me? Well, I really don’t know if my being aged twenty-nine at the time made me a youthful prodigy or a late bloomer, but one thing’s for sure, my journey into submissive self-discovery began with a thunderbolt from the blue.

I was visiting the city for a work-related course, and found the hotel gym was actually quite nice. I worked out in there a couple of times each day over the course of the week. It wasn’t the biggest of gyms, but modern and spacious enough. And it had a quiet, laid back vibe, not too busy all the time. And they didn’t have music blasting out. They let you decide for yourself if you wanted something via your own earphones. And I appreciated that. Sometimes I work out to music but usually I like the peace and quiet. I like to let my thoughts run, and I enjoy hearing the weights clack and thud.

A few times earlier on in the week I noticed an attractive older black woman working out in there. Mid-forties or thereabouts. Obviously been bodybuilding for a long time. Muscled. Sleek. Powerful. Her dark, sculpted physique perfectly accentuated by the matching two-piece kits of shorts and sports bra in fluorescent orange, pink or green she wore on different days.

Obviously, I tried not to stare, but I have to admit it was difficult to stop my gaze returning to her. I just tried not to be too blatant about it. It was about the fourth or fifth time I saw her that we found we were the only two people in there. And it felt comfortable. And again the next time too, one morning. And that morning was the time we first acknowledged each other with a nice courteous greeting.

And it was that evening, with a couple of others working-out here and there, that after a while she called over to me and asked if I’d mind spotting her a few presses. I told her I certainly didn’t mind and went over to join her. She had such a bright, beautiful smile, and an air of great gracefulness of soul. She also possessed an undeniable latent poised power and finely tuned agility in her well-defined physique.

“I’m Marion,” she told me.

“I’m Sebastian. Seb, please. My friends call me Seb.”

“You have some nice definition forming, Seb,” she observed, pointing at my arms.

“Thanks,” I said. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, beaming that radiant smile at me.

I was desperately trying not to ogle as she got into position for her bench presses, but it was impossible to simply ignore her attractiveness and the vigorous allure of her physical presence. After helping her, she returned the favour and gave me a few tips as well. Then we just shot the breeze for a while as we warmed down. She told me she was only in town for the week as well, running some seminars for her company. She was a Senior Clinical Pharmacologist, which made my administrative job seem a bit bland. But there was certainly nothing bland about Marion. I actually felt quite dizzy and weak-kneed being near her. And I really enjoyed her company. She was very easy to be around, with a confident, sunny personality.

Towards the end of the week, on the evening before the last day of my course, there were initially a handful of people about in the gym, including Marion, but then the other people left, and there was no-one else about, leaving just Marion and I alone together in the serene, peaceful space again. We partnered up again for a while, as we’d got in the habit of doing as the week had progressed, and then we each did our own thing for a bit. She eventually began her warm-down while I was doing some forward lunges with dumbbell extensions.

“Hey, Seb,” she called over after she’d finished on the treadmill.

I placed the dumbbells on the floor and stood up straight. She motioned me over and I walked across to her. She studied me as she drank from her bottle. Then she smiled and threw her towel at me.

“Would you dry me off?” she asked.

I grabbed hold of the towel and felt my jaw drop. I stood there like an idiot, stunned and unable to respond. “Of course,” I finally managed to mumble as nonchalantly as I could, although I’m sure there was a noticeable tremor in my voice.

I turned her towel over in my hands, feeling the softness. Marion turned her back towards me and I reached out and slowly wiped her broad glistening shoulders. I couldn’t believe I was actually being permitted to touch this magnificent woman. I glanced around nervously but no-one else was about by then.

“Well, Seb, thank you for this. I like the feeling of having someone wipe me down. Know what I mean?”

“Sure. You’re very welcome, Marion,” I replied, trying to calm my nerves so as not to rush and yet trying not to linger too conspicuously either.

Through the soft fabric of the towel my hands smoothed over her compact triceps and round to her biceps on each arm and down over her thick forearms in turn. The strength evident in her beautifully developed physique was exhilarating. An erection grew quickly and prominently in my shorts.

“And my legs, please,” Marion said.

With a flick of my hand I pulled the front of my shorts to accommodate my hard-on as I knelt on one knee. And from behind her where I knelt I carefully and respectfully, whilst struggling to quell an excitable nervousness making my hands tremble, wiped down her right thigh, front and back, and smoothed seamlessly down and around over her calf and shin. I think I might have stopped breathing for a moment, out of sheer fear of giving away my excitement. My heartbeat was absolutely thundering through me.

I moved to Marion’s left leg, again wiping smoothly and methodically down her right thigh, front and back, and then down over her calf and shin. When I’d finished, Marion turned round to face me and I stood, concealing my arousal at first by holding her towel in front of my loins.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling serenely and reaching for her towel. “That was nice.”

Handing over the towel, there was no hiding the bulge in my shorts. I felt myself flush red with embarrassment as she saw it. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Think I better go cool off.”

Damn! - I thought as I slunk off shamefully - Why’d that have to happen? She must think I’m a total fucking creep!

In the men’s changing room I was about to slump dejectedly onto the bench when I felt Marion’s nimble presence behind me. Even though I was surprised, I didn’t even flinch, her aura close to me like that just felt so warm and natural, enveloping me, emanating an intimate, positive sensual vibrancy that truly touched my soul. I felt her firm, gentle, reassuring hand on the side of my torso. I was about to turn around when I realised the stiffie in my shorts was still very obvious.

“You seemed to like wiping me down,” she whispered placidly into my ear, her breath on my skin sending tingles down my spine and making me shiver.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, “that was…”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said.

She stepped in closer. Her front pressed firmly against my back. Her arms slid underneath my shoulders and around my torso. I fell back breathlessly into her embrace and she held me securely as her hands brushed up under my t-shirt and stroked my stomach and my chest, her skin all over my skin. I just melted into the incredible electricity of her touch. In the same moment I was soaring freely and yet also buffeted by the turbulence of adrenalin, nervousness and desire. I had never felt so intensely aroused and wholly enlivened.

“You like some black muscle, do you, Seb?” she asked, and flexed her arms to tighten her hold around me.

“Yes… yes… it seems I do,” I replied, shaking as her hands slid down into my shorts and she began tenderly massaging the length of my rock-hard erection and my full, round balls.

“You like that?” she asked.

“Oh fuck yes!” I told her.

Her fingers adroitly rubbed the head of my cock so that I was paralysed with pleasure. I moaned loudly. “What if someone comes in?” I panted.  

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, and stroked my cock forcefully up and down with quick, rough strokes, making me jerk like a marionette. “You just do as I say. I like my men nice and compliant. Got it?”

“Y... yes. Sorry.”

“I’m in charge. Understand?” she said into my ear.

“Yes, I understand,” I gasped as she continued her rough jerks on my cock.

“And what I say goes. Right?”

“Yes... uuh... of course. what you say... oh shit...”

Then Marion released me and turned me round to face her. I smiled meekly. She was so gorgeous and magnificent. And her dark, chiselled figure looked so splendid in the yellow fluorescent two-piece kit she was wearing that day. I hadn’t seen that colour on her before. I think it was my favourite of hers that I’d seen.

She ran a hand affectionately up the side of my face to my scalp and grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged it abruptly. She enjoyed seeing me jolt in her grip. Then she raised her other arm in a bicep flex and drew my head to her bulging bicep.

“Kiss it,” she told me.

Of course I did so. And she directed me to kiss it again and again. After which, with her firm grip of my hair she guided me firmly down to my knees, and told me to kiss the front of her right thigh. And again, she had me kiss it repeatedly. It was at this point I began experiencing what I later learned is called ‘subspace’. To me at that time it was an entirely new feeling, and one I instantly took to. I surrendered myself completely to the strange, intoxicating euphoria that filled my whole being, body, mind and soul. Everything just felt so perfect. Looking up at Marion from my kneeling position at her feet sent chills of pleasure and joy rippling through me.

She gazed watchfully down at me, serenely, approvingly, and rested my head against her thigh. I closed my eyes and drifted in clouds of bliss. All was still. We remained like that for long rapturous, lingering moments.

After a while, Marion’s voice caressed the stillness, “Isn’t this nice?”

“Yes it is,” I responded. “Thank you.”

“Okay, up we come now,” she said, and guided me to my feet by her handful of my hair.

She released my hair and walked me backwards until my back was against the wall. Then she placed her forearm across my neck, turning my head to one side, not pressing solely against my neck but with her elbow on my shoulder and her forearm rising up over my neck and the side of my head, pinning me there to the wall while her other hand pulled down the front of my shorts, and she massaged my erection again. Her face was millimetres from the side of my head. She was studying my expression intently as she pleasured me, breathing all over my face, her sweet, warm breath becoming my air.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she whispered into my ear, “give Marion all that pretty white boy cum.”

She started jerking me off faster and rougher. I was squirming and panting in her grip. She pressed me more forcibly against the wall and speeded her hand on my shaft even more. She was absolutely merciless.

“There you go,” she laughed, “getting nice and sticky for me now.”

I moaned as I suddenly tensed and shook in incredible orgasmic spasms. My semen leapt high into the air for her. One, two, three, four long strings of thick jizz spurting in huge arcs and landing on the floor, over my shorts and over her hand.

“Oh yes,” she purred. “Oh what a good boy you are.”

After a silent, motionless lull, during which she effectively held me up, she released me and stepped back, and I collapsed to sit on a bench beside me.

“Fuck!” I spluttered. “Marion… Marion… that was incredible!”

She put a foot up on the bench beside me and rested an arm across her knee. “Yes, that was sweet,” she said, smiling down at me as she smelled my semen on her fingers. “I love making you subby white boys come.”

“Subby? What does that mean?” I asked, still a little breathless.

“Submissive.”

“Well, I didn’t know I was a subby white boy. But I definitely know it now.”

Marion wiped my jizz from her hand with her towel. “Hope I wasn’t too rough,” she said.

“No, not at all. You were amazing. It was perfect. You’re incredible! Just wish I wasn’t leaving town so soon,” I told her.

“Well,” she caressed my cheek affectionately, “tonight’s your last night at the hotel. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine too,” she said, lifting my chin so that I was looking directly up into her beautiful face, her dark eyes twinkling with mischievous intent. “So let’s go to my room. We have tonight at least. There’s a lot more I can teach you about yourself. Would you like that, Seb?”

“I certainly would,” I rasped, my mouth dry with excitement.

“Good boy,” she smiled brightly at me. “We’re going to have a fine time. I’ll let you get dressed now. Come to Room 419 in ten minutes. And don’t you dare keep me waiting.”

I didn’t.

A Glorious Day

She loves her herbal and fruit teas. Peppermint. Rosehip. Apple and Cinnamon. Lemon and Ginger. This morning she is having Rosehip. And as always, as is only proper and refined, she is using her Fine Bone China teapot and a cup and saucer from the same set. She sits in the kitchen after her shower, absent-mindedly stroking a pack of cigarettes, about to enjoy the first of three cigarettes she allows herself daily. She will wait for her tea to steep before she lights up.

Her silk dressing gown is lime green, patterned with bold red flowers in thick black outlines. She reflects with serene satisfaction on the fact that lime green always looks so exquisitely dynamic on dark brown skin such as hers. She pours herself a cup of the scarlet-hued tea and while it cools she listens to the birdsong beyond the open window. It will be another bright, warm summer day. The sunlight already has that fine clear vibrancy to it.

Then he staggers sleepily into the kitchen in his blue boxers, waves absently at her and starts making himself a coffee. She examines the milkiness of his white back in the vivid morning light, his lithe, supple torso, his strong arms, and that stunning shock of snow-white hair to his square shoulders. He’s a beautiful young man, she affirms to herself. However, she is none too impressed by his blasé, almost offhand greeting. She decides, in fact, that she is somewhat miffed about it, and she feels displeasure souring the edges of her countenance.

No, this will not do. Not at all. He requires a reprimand. She clears her throat. He turns to look at her with his sleepy blue eyes. He is ridiculously good looking. And he knows it. Smug bastard. Just how she likes them; handsome and smug. And a little bit rude of course, otherwise there’s simply no room for improvement. And she does like her young men to be teachable.

She beckons him with a finger and he comes and stands in front of her.

“You really don’t know you’re alive, do you?” she asks.

“Sorry?” he mumbles.

“It’s foolish, not to mention downright immoral of you, to stagger through life so utterly oblivious to the God-given splendour and beauty all around you.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean,” he says with a bemused shake of his head, his dozy features crimped with a frown.

“Evidently. However,” she persists, “you will need to find out very quickly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How long have we been dating?” she asks.

“About three weeks, I guess.”

“Well, let me advise you, it would be foolhardy of you to think it will be for much longer if it transpires that you do not have what I’m looking for in a man.”

“What’s that then?”

“Essentially,” she elucidates as she takes a cigarette from the pack and places it beside her lighter, “appreciation. Everything else flows from that.”

“I understand,” he says, reaching out and holding her hand. “You know I appreciate you.”

“I’m far from clear you even appreciate what appreciation is,” she says, removing her hand from his.

Obviously baffled, he shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “Can I finish making my coffee?” he inquires with the faintest edge of irritation in his voice.

“No, you may not,” she says curtly.

He frowns, perplexed, uncertain. She loves this moment of hesitancy induced in a man when her tone hardens.

Time for a lesson.

She tugs the top of her bathrobe aside, exposing her full, mature bosom.

“Aren’t these simply magnificent?” she asks, her hands stroking the heavy round undersides of her dark breasts.

He is mesmerised.

Her fingers circle her large areolae and she flicks her nipples.

“I asked you a fucking question,” she says.

“Yes... yes... they are,” he answers.

She slides her hands down over her tummy, opening her dressing gown further until the front panels fall either side of her hips, revealing her lap and her crossed legs. Stroking her smooth thighs, and glancing up to confirm his rapt attention, she inquires, “See how silky my legs are?”

“Yes,” he says.

She can tell he is struggling to swallow, as if his mouth is drying out. She uncrosses her legs and sits with them apart to display her full dark bush in all its transcendent glory.

She notices a little twitch in his boxers.

She rubs her mons pubis and then begins to finger herself with two fingers, luxuriating in the memory of how that big cock felt inside her last night. Thrilling tremors convulse her nervous system. She stops and removes her fingers and waves her hand in front of his face.

“Fancy a taste?” she asks.

“Yes please,” he says, his eyes widening with glee.

And he leans forward expectantly, but she withdraws her hand.

“Well,” she tells him, “if you had any idea how to behave, you could be breakfasting on this sticky coochie heaven right now.”

“Can I?”

“No,” she says. And then, pointing at his boxers, “But you can take those down.”

He takes a moment to process the instruction before pulling his boxers down around his thighs, revealing his growing enthusiasm.

“Okay,” she continues, contemplating his swelling erection, “so now you’re beginning to understand what I mean about appreciation.”

She fingers herself again for a moment or two, watching his cock stiffening to rigidity, and then tastes herself on her fingers. “Hmm,” she says, “so rich, so tangy, so delicious. Remember how deliriously happy your naughty dick felt inside me last night?”

“Er, yeah,” he smirks.

“Wouldn’t you like to feel that happy again now?”

“Yes please.”

“Well, you’ve blown it. But you can jerk off instead.”

“Jerk off?”

“Yes. You know how to do that, don’t you? Do it now. Masturbate for me,” she orders him tersely.

He begins to stroke himself.

She tests the temperature of the outside of her tea cup. Just right. She sips her tea, watching him closely over the rim of the cup.

“Slowly does it,” she tells him, and sets her tea down. She picks up her cigarette and her lighter and lights up as she surveys the rewarding spectacle of this smug white bastard pleasuring himself at the sight of her. She exhales a billowing cloud of smoke around his pale torso and watches it caress his form as it swirls and disperses into the bright morning light. She enjoys that first dizzying hit of the nicotine and ponders his fate.

“Leave it alone,” she says and slaps his hand away from his firm shaft.

Such a lovely cock, she reflects, studying the pink and blue veins just beneath the surface of the translucent creamy skin, and the bold, sturdy anatomy with its big bulbous pink head, and the hungry readiness of its full, eager arousal.

“See how much you desire me?” she muses, pointing to his erect penis with the fingers with which she holds her cigarette.

He nods.

“See how enthused your mind, your senses and your flesh are at the thought of being immersed in me?”

He nods again.

“How desperately you crave the satisfaction I can give?”

“Yes,” he says, “I see.”

“So don’t you think, therefore,” she inquires, “that I deserve more than a cursory wave of the hand when you see me?”

“Yes, you’re right, you’re right,” he admits, “I’m very sorry.”

“Good,” she says, “Glad to hear it. Now you can get down on your knees and show me just how sorry you really are.”

He kneels.

“You may continue to masturbate,” she tells him.

He resumes his self-stimulation.

“And I think it’s only appropriate that you kiss my feet to show me that you really do indeed appreciate me.”

He leans forwards on his knees, supporting himself with one hand on the floor while continuing to stroke himself with the other.

She does not lift a foot towards him.

He stoops low to kiss first one foot and then the other.

“Good boy,” she says.

He strains to look up at her.

“Keep going,” she tells him.

He carries on kissing her feet.

She takes another sip of her tea. So refreshing. She dabs the corners of her mouth. It is so distinctly gratifying, she revels inwardly, to feel the soft press of his lips lavishing warm kisses all over her feet. She draws deeply again on her cigarette, purses her lips and blows the smoke down around him, watching it swirl around his head and back.

“This is so much more satisfactory,” she says. “Isn’t this a much more exciting way for you to begin your day, rather than merely staggering around half asleep, waving at me like some oafish bore?”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Would you like to come?” she asks.

“Yes please,” he says.

“Very well. You may kneel up and bring yourself to climax. I’ll accept your tribute on my feet.”

“Thank you,” he says and kneels upright, pumping his hard-on with increased energy.

He is soon panting, agitated, wanking feverishly.

She flicks her ash at him. “Y’know, you’re actually very fortunate I let your lily-white arse hang around at all.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you,” he says. And he groans as he approaches the brink.

“That’s right,” she says with undisguised relish. “Come for missy!”

He explodes in spasms of pleasure, his semen erupting in huge spurts all over her feet.

“Thank you, thank you,” he utters breathlessly, tensing as the shudders of orgasm shake him.

“Exquisite,” she says. “So much more expressive. Wasn’t that more inspiring, more satisfying, than just waving at me like you can’t be arsed?”

“Yes,” he agrees sheepishly, catching his breath. “I’ll get a tissue and wipe my cum off your feet.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she says. “Leave it. I like it there. It’ll dry nicely, and be a lovely reminder throughout the day of how incredibly appreciative of me you really are. Now get on with whatever you were doing.”

He gets up, thanking her and kissing one of her knees as he rises. He pulls his boxers back up and wipes his sticky hand on the material as he nestles his tender cock back inside. Then he returns to making his coffee.

She moves to pull her gown back across her front but stops herself, deciding she likes sitting with her bold nakedness unhidden in the fine early sunlight. She sits back and sips her tea and finishes her cigarette. The faintest of cool breezes momentarily caresses her face and the backs of her hands and the orbs of her breasts and then is gone again.

“What a glorious day,” she observes.

“Yes,” he agrees, “glorious indeed.”