Over four years ago, I wrote a post called Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby. Where I talked about how sexually shy I am. A lot of things have changed in the last four years. I have gotten a lot more confident about my body, and comfortable wearing little or nothing. There was a big paragraph about the change to not wearing underwear, and now I hardly even think about it. I’ve had annual STD tests since that post, and can openly talk about sex with my Doctor. I can wander around naked at an event with no problem. And yet, someone pointing out my arousal still makes me blush.
It’s totally fine that I like getting the shit beat out of me in public, and can talk with people about masochism and submission until my voice is gone. But ask me what turns me on, and while I’ll tell you, my cheeks will be burning. Toss me over your knee and spank me in public – awesome. Point out that I’m dripping wet from it, and I will try to melt into the floor. Appreciate my screams of pain, and I’ll giggle. Appreciate my moans and gasps, and the blush will blossom.
But it works for me. That’s the kind of humiliation play that turns me on. I was recently asked how I process humiliation scenes. I told her one of my biggest fetishes is the bad little school girl. Feeling naughty turns me on. Self-perpetuating cycle.
