Not Just a Masochist

November 7th, 2016

I’ve talked about my masochism many times before. About how it’s not just about pain, but “intense sensation.” Especially controlled, intentional, intense sensation. I’ve talked about my RA, and how that pain is unwelcome, unsexy, and uncontrolled. I’ve talked about pleasurable stimuli, as well as painful stimuli.

Sometimes, though, it doesn’t even have to be intense. Light fingertips on my skin. Warm hands stroking my body. Whispers of breath on my neck. Lube rubbed over latex clothing. Rope pulled across skin, or wrapped around limbs. I like sensations.

But not just sensations. I, like most people, am far more complex than a single kink, or even two, or three.

I like power exchange. The way he can just look and point. Or grab me by the hair. Or smack my face. And I’m there, reeling into subspace.

I like roleplay. School girl, vampire, predator/prey. Fulfilling deep hidden desires as someone, something, else.

I like sex. Teasing, toying, hands, mouths, bodies, hours long sex.

I like bondage. Take down ties, corsets and clothing, prisoner ties, eeling, transitions, suspensions, flying, experimentation, encasement. With leather, metal, ropes, saran wrap, duct tape.

I like fear. Playing with breath play, needles, stun guns, sparklers.

And many more.

Sure, some of these things have the intensity in them, too. Though, not all, not always. Sometimes it’s about relaxing, spacing out. Letting go of the “real world” and delving into yourself, or each other. Making those connections that keep us grounded, secure, and happy. Or making connections that send us soaring into the sky, if only in those moments.

There’s no reason in this world to be just one thing. Be everything you want to be, everything you can dream.

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Consent, Sexual Assault, and Rape Fantasies

November 4th, 2016

I’ve talked about this before, and I’m sure I’ll continue talking about it forever. I saw this article the other day: http://www.cracked.com/blog/how-men-are-trained-to-think-sexual-assault-no-big-deal/ and it was, IMHO, really well written. It talks about how the media shows male aggression as the path to love, it talks about the sexualization of women and their bodies, it talks about rapey movie heroes, and it even talks about the idea of the sin of extra-(or pre)marital sex making all sexual acts (outside a marriage) bad, regardless of consent. Honestly, this last part, is the basis of many of my school-girl fantasies – the idea of being a “naughty girl” (thanks, religious upbringing).

But let’s talk about the rest, too. The article was written about how men are trained, but women are watching the same things. We are being taught some of the same “lessons” about how relationships work. We are taught that aggressively strong men are sexy, that pushing our boundaries is what men do to get our attention and our love. We are taught that (sexual) violence is “just what men do” when they are interested in us. Either fighting each other, or pushing themselves on us, or playground bullying played off as affection. That our bodies are their rewards, but only if we’re beautiful, for whatever their definition of beautiful is. That strong men don’t ask permission, don’t ask for consent, they take.

And here’s where it gets complicated. I like that feeling – of being taken, of being prey to his predator. But here’s what’s NOT complicated – I only want to be taken by those I want to be taken by. I want them to ask for my Consent, I want them to make Me ask them, beg them. In many of those fantasies I write in my head while masturbating late at night – even my rape fantasies, when they’re longer than a quickie – the attacker makes me ask for it. I could write a few of those up, but I always find it strange to put them on paper, as though others would not understand. Because they are still rape fantasies, because forced consent is not really consent. But they’re my fantasies, dammit, they’re not real, they’re stories. Ah, cognitive dissonance. My schoolgirl fantasies, aside from the naughty part, the “teacher” always makes me ask for, or offer, the sexual favors. Always makes me say Yes, this is what I want. My partner likes to have me ask him to do things, tell him what I want. And it turns me on too – especially when I ask him to take me.

The difference between sexual assault and consensual sexual aggression is just that – Consent. Even in a relationship, even in a marriage, even in a swinger club – Consent is the difference between assault and fun. And not coerced, fearful, forced, or impaired consent. Eager, active, joyful consent.

Yes, I’d like a cup of tea now, thank you.

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Do you Really want me to Scream your Name?

November 2nd, 2016

I really like words. Half my fantasies start with describing sexual misbehavior, or threats, or instructions, or verbal seductions. I really like talking about what I like or want to do, despite my utter shyness in doing so, it really turns me on. But screaming his name in the throes of passion?

I see it on TV and in Movies – lovers calling out the name of their partners. It is prevalent enough to even be the basis of jokes – calling out the wrong name in the midst of passion. I’ve never done this – not called out the wrong name, but called out any Name during sex due to the intensity of passion. Due to my fetish for orgasm control, I have called out Sir or Master, in concert with begging for permission to orgasm, or to thank him for said orgasm. But I have never, while having sex, simply turned my moans or groans into his actual name.

It was a desire expressed by my sexual partner recently, during sex. Said once, and while not ignored by me, I wasn’t sure how to respond. And he did not say it more than once, and the desire was not discussed further. After, however, in the following days, my brain started tossing it around, thinking about how I felt about it. And mostly, there was confusion.

I have a thing with Names. Names have power to me. Not just the “oh, she said your full name, you must be in trouble” kind of power. I’m not sure how to express it, but to me, hearing “I love you” feels different than hearing “I love you, ____.”  Starting a sentence with my name, in any tone but casual catches my heart or tightens my stomach (depending on the tone).

On the BDSM side of things, with my boyfriend – he uses his real name as a safeword for us. A mental safeword – if I say his real name, it is stronger than a Red – something is breaking inside of me, not just on the physical plane. So, calling out a real name while playing has that baggage, too.

It was strange to me to consider calling out my sexual partner’s name in the heat of passion. He likes my moans and groans and squeaks and such. They are pure and honest reactions to what we are doing. To call out his name would take real, concentrated effort. Not that he isn’t worth that effort, but it’s something I would need to prepare my brain to do beforehand. A script to implant, code to rewrite.

So, it is a discussion to be had, and an understanding to create. If it is what he truly desires, then it is certainly something I can work on for him.

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Sex, Words, and Trauma 2015

October 18th, 2015

“So, you’re not going to write about me?”

I don’t write about the sex I have. I don’t write about things I’m not willing to do in public, because let’s face it, the internet is public. Intimacy is intimate, to me. Bedrooms are private. I write about scenes, and if they were private scenes at the time, that led to sexy things, I generally have a fade to black. Or did not describe that part specifically. So, when I have a relationship that is more intimate and less kinky, I don’t write about what we do. I think, instead, I might give a try writing about how it makes me feel.

I am also having a love languages issue, complicated by my ever-present battle with insecurity. Service is my main love language, and it is present in all of my relationships – taking care of one another. It is the Words of Affirmation, that I am finding myself stumbling over. Part of my brain says that service, actions, should be enough. That I shouldn’t need specific words, or that I should hear the words in the actions. But I have discovered that I do want to hear the words, as well, far more than I realized. So, I’m working on the how and why of that.

Trauma is coming! Two weeks from now, Trauma will be over, and I will be Sleeping. Crew is shaping up nicely, much better than my exhausted brain remembered Friday night. So that’s good. I’m looking forward to it with the same kind of dread and excitement as always, though perhaps a bit more dread as it coincides with the weekend between my last two weeks of internships, and the weekend has a wedding to go to, as well.

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Love & Sex

August 3rd, 2015

Why don’t you want to have sex?

I have a lot of friends, and I flirt with many of them. Some of them I get physical with, either kissing or kink-wise. But I stopped having casual sex years ago, for a handful of reasons. I no longer have sex outside an established relationship.

This does not mean he has to call me girlfriend, or be madly in love with me. What it does mean is that we can’t be just friends. I need to have a deeper connection than that. I have to know that I mean more to him than that. He has to mean more to me than that.

In my poly world, it also means everyone involved has to be okay with it. It also means our connection has to be strong enough that he won’t ditch me at the slightest bit of metamour upset. And that she would not expect him to.

I need clear communication. I need emotional connection. I need security.

I play a long game. I had a lot of short relationships in college, but most of them continued long after they were over. I don’t stop loving people just because dating them didn’t work. So, if I am going to emotionally invest in someone, there has to be some investment in return.

Because I fall hard and deep. Because I am not afraid of pain, but I’d rather have joy. Because life is too short for one night stands, even when they are months in the making.

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Have You Been Naughty?

July 16th, 2015

She fidgeted with the hem of her short skirt. Too short, by strict reading of the rules, but no one ever bothered her about it. No one minded that she showed a bit too much leg, kept her shirt unbuttoned a little too far, flirted a bit too easily. Not until today, that is. Today she had been called to the headmaster’s office of this private, all-girls college, that her parents had shipped her off to last fall. She would be safe there, they had thought, safe from the temptations of boys, and the dangers of alcohol. She wondered sometimes, if her parents had any clue about the real world.

“Excuse me, Miss.” The sharp tone pulled her out of her thoughts and she glanced up. From the thin, tight lips and the narrowed eyes, she was certain it was not the first time the secretary had tried to get her attention.

“Sorry.” She mumbled and stood up, as the woman motioned her towards the office.

“Close it.” The headmaster did not look up as she entered, and she pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind her, cutting off all sound from the outer offices.

She hesitated by the door for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and walked forward to stand before the large wooden desk. He still had not looked at her, his eyes focused on the computer screen on the right side of the desk. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep herself from pulling at her skirt again, and waited.

She focused on the edge of his desk, not wanting to stare at him, needing to keep her mind from wandering too far afield again. Why was she here? The professor had not said. He had been given a note in the middle of his lecture, and, when it was over, had told her she was to report here immediately. She had not broken any rules today, nor yesterday. Sure, she had broken a few over the weekend, but why summon her today, then? It wasn’t like she had done anything new last weekend, and she did not remember being seen sneaking back into the dorm. Had someone else gotten caught? She hadn’t heard about it. Did someone rat her out? Who would…

“Miss Gruenwald.” She managed not to jump when he finally spoke, startling her out of her ever deepening spiral of thought.

“Yes, Sir.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Do you know why you’re here, today, Katherine?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” He arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“No, Sir. I mean, I don’t know why, today, Sir. I mean…” She stopped short and took a breath.

“You mean that you’ve broken so many rules over the last six months, that you’re not sure which one has brought you here today?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir. I…” She flush bright red and dropped her gaze to the floor as he laughed.

“Katherine, you don’t seem to know what you mean. But I do, I hear things, you know, all sorts of things. Being the headmaster of an all-girls college, I’d wager, is the best place to hear the most interesting stories. Most of them I ignore, girls out on their own for the first time, having harmless fun. But sometimes, Katherine, it goes over the line, and I have a responsibility to the parents who pay my salary, to protect their daughters from themselves. To correct certain behavior, and yes, sometimes to… punish… the girls under my care.”

The way he said punish, with a pause before, and again for a breath after, sent a shiver down her spine, and her flush deepened. He had stopped speaking, but she could not bring herself to look at him. Not yet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then lifted her gaze back above the desk, to his thick hands clasped before him, his tie, his collar, up to his face, and then met his eyes.

“That’s better. Now, why don’t you tell me about last weekend? Ah! Don’t drop your eyes. Look at me, and tell me about Saturday night.”

“I… Yes, Sir.” She cleared her throat, and began again. “I went into town to see a movie, Sir. Alone.”

“Alone?”

“I mean, I left here alone, Sir. I was meeting someone, a boy, Sir.” He nodded and she went on. “We met up at the theater, had popcorn and soda, and after he walked me most of the way back to campus. It was late, so I climbed up the fire escape and in the window to get back in.”

“I know all of that, Katherine. Tell me what I don’t know.” The flush had been receding, and now came back full force. “Yes, that’s it, those thoughts are what I want to know.”

“The movie was boring, and there were only a couple other people there, all the way at the bottom row. We were up top. So, we made out some…” She trailed off, glancing away.

“Look at me, Katherine.” She pulled her gaze back to his. “Go on…”

“Yes, Sir. We, I mean, he… I…” She stopped and took another breath. “The movie was really terrible, Sir. We did more than just kissing. Eventually, I even went down on him.”

“You sucked his cock in the middle of a movie theater, Katherine?”

“Yes, Sir.” She clenched her jaw to keep from looking away.

“Say it.”

“I sucked his cock in the movie theater, Sir.”

“Did you swallow?”
“Yes, Sir, what?” She was so flustered, she answered without thinking about what he had said.

“Good girl.”

Her mouth fell open, but she could not think what to say, so she closed it again.

“Then what?”

“He…uh… we left after the movie to come back here.” He nodded, and she was glad he did not want any more details of their movie make-out session.

“What happened on the way back here?”

“We… he… He wanted to thank me for the blow job. So, we stopped for a bit in the softball dugout on the edge of campus.”

“And…” He prompted.

“And… first he put me over his knee, and spanked me, Sir.”

“Spanked you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”

“Because I like it, Sir.”

“Tell me about the spanking, Katherine.”

“He pulled me over his knee, lifted my skirt up, and yanked my panties down. Told me I was a very naughty girl for sucking his cock in a public theater. And that I needed to be punished. Then he spanked my bare ass with his hand. He spanked me until I begged him to stop.”

“If you like it, why did you beg him to stop?”

“Because I wanted him to fuck me, Sir. And he did, Sir, we had sex on the dugout bench.”

“I see. Well, he was right, you are a very naughty girl, and you definitely need… punished.”

He did it again, that pause for emphasis that made her shiver, this time it also made her a little wet.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a very naughty girl, Sir, and I need to be punished.”

“Good girl.”

“Would you like it if I punished you, Katherine?”

She bit her lip, not sure how to answer, but nodded anyway.

“I won’t fuck you like your boyfriend did, but I do want to spank that bare ass of yours.” He stood up and pointed at the front of his desk. “Bend over and brace yourself. Count for me, and say thank you.” He came around the desk and she spread her legs for balance and bent over.

He lifted her too-short skirt, laying it over her back. Then hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and pulled them halfway down her thighs. Placing one hand on the small of her back, he left out a soft noise of appreciation.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smack.

“One. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Two. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Three. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Four. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Five. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Six. Thank you, Sir.”

Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten… on and on the smack of his hand against her bare ass. She counted and thanked him for each one. Moaning out the numbers by the time he reached the teens. Dripping wet by the time he got to twenty. Desperate by the time he got to thirty.

“Oh, please, Sir.”

“Please, what?”

“May I orgasm, Sir?”

“No.”

Smack.

“Thirty-one. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-two. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-three. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-four. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-five. Thank you, Sir. Please, Sir.”

“No.”

Smack.

“Thirty-six. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-seven. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-eight. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-nine. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Forty. Thank you, Sir.”

He stopped, pulled her panties back up, and her skirt back down. Then went back around to his chair and sat down.

“Miss Gruenwald, you will return to your room now, you will not masturbate or orgasm for a week, and you will not leave campus again without permission, is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” She reeled away from his desk, stopping at the door to gather her balance and her composure. “Thank you, Sir.”

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Upworthy

August 30th, 2014

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Weeeeeeee!

July 20th, 2014

Brain running all over the place. It’s almost still Saturday, so I should post. Or something. Legs have pretty bruises, from practice, where our resident woodwoorker brought new toys for everyone to try. “Wicked sticks” of two different thicknesses, a variety of lengths, and solid wooden handles. We had a lot of fun testing them out. I was told I should teach a class on how to not scream. There’s a gag-rule in place at our weekly venue, but we rarely pull out the gags. Reminds me of a comment from last weekend, a friend was talking about being shushed without being given a reason. I take shushing as a challenge, myself. Still having trouble with my hands though. He kept having to order me to stop touching him. My instinct to touch, if not stop, incoming hands has grown stronger and needs to be stamped down again.

We played CAH tonight, and my brain was being too rational. Fortunately, it was a very loud and rambuncious group, so my logical comments did not make it through the noise. And because we played CAH, my mind was thinking about sex a lot, too. Which, on the drive home, turned into “conversations that must be had before sex with a new partner.” Don’t ask me why, it was after 1am. Things like: What is your definition of Sex, Total number of sexual partners, When were you last tested for STDs, What is your STD history, What are your thoughts on Birth Control/sexual barriers. Cuz, someday, I might actually have another partner again. (Yes, it’s after 2am now, brain needs sleep.)

Birthday this week, yay!

Good night.

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At First Blush

June 5th, 2014

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.

 

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Needs, Wants & Desires

June 27th, 2013

Last night, I was introduced to a new way to view things. I have talked before about wants and needs, but this is a different way to look at them. We were talking specifically about scening, and broke it up into Needs, Wants, and Desires. We were talking about Role Play, and the presenters set forth that if you know what you need, want, and desire, then you can find creative ways to do have good scenes. I found this concept very interesting to think about narrowed down to just scenes/play.

I will be addressing these, first, as a bottom, which is my preferred place in a scene.

Needs. What do I need in a scene for it to work for me? Without what, is a scene just pointless and flat? First, connection. I need to feel an emotional connection to my scene partner. That can be friendship, love, or even just attraction. Second, power exchange. I need there to be some giving and taking of control. This necessitates the third, trust. Without trust, there is no scene.

Wants. What do I want out of a scene? What, if I don’t have it, will make the scene feel off afterward? Bondage. Mental or physical. Rope, leather, chain. Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t let go. Keep quiet. Hands behind your back. Hands on the wall. I want the power exchange to result in control of my physical being in some manner. Intense sensation. I’m a masochist, I love intense sensation. Pain, pleasure, adrenaline, endorphins. If I’m blacking his boots, I don’t need him to grind the sole into my leg, but I certainly want him to and I feel like I missed something if he doesn’t. If I’m flying through the air, I want to feel the bite of the rope, and the adrenaline of the flight, and the pull when I spin. Floating can all soft and comfy just isn’t the same, fortunately hemp is good at biting in even in floaty scenes. Not to mention the feel of it sliding over my skin going on and off.

Desires. What are the figurative cherries on top? What makes a scene extra special? Spacing out. Reaching rope space, pain space, sub space. Often in that order. I love pushing through pain space to bliss out in subspace. Or using rope space to get to one of the others. Break down. Sometimes pushing through pain space doesn’t get me to sub space, it leaves me in a puddle of sobbing goo, and that can be awesome, too. Sexual intimacy. Orgasms, hand jobs, blow jobs, boot licking, sex. Even just cuddling up naked after a scene. That skin on skin contact to ride the waves back down.

So, how do these things play out. Let’s take last night’s play as an example. A dragontail and paddle scene.

Needs: connection, power exchange, and trust. He and I are very connected, in a loving relationship for over three years, and a friendship for even longer. I am submissive to him, and when he comes at me with that dragontail, it is definitely me giving up control to him to let him hit me with it. And I trust him absolutely, to not slice me open or hit me in the face.

Wants: bondage, intense sensation. When he comes at me with the dragontail, my hands go instinctively behind my back. When we play in that venue, I have to control my volume, or cover my mouth. When he’s hitting me, I have to try my best to be still. Pain? Oh hell yeah. Dragontail stinging and paddle smacking, awesomely intense sensations.

Desires: Last night, the cherry was pain space, into sub space. After a while, I was squeaking less and breathing more with the strikes. When I was done, I was all cuddling dopey sub spaced out for a few minutes. And I got some hugs and kisses to top it off, too.

Needs, wants and desires met.

Part Two

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