Tag Archives: D/s

Pipe Dreams

 

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I always took great pleasure in my submission.   I am a giver by nature.  I love to please.   I was the type of woman who could give and give and give, to the point that I would become drained and exhausted.  No one that I was ever in relationship with gave back to me, so I became depleted because I gave until there was nothing left.  The gift of my submission was exploited in that D/s relationship 10 years ago, my giving nature has been just exploited in my life overall. Something in me just broke after all that giving and has just never been the same.   I began becoming calcified over time, resentful at all the lies, the cheating, the beatings.  Perhaps a penchant for revenge began to take shape, I don’t know.

On one occasion I had the opportunity to to try my hand at using a cane on my Dominant’s ass.  I reasoned with him that if he was going to make me take a bunch of lashings from it and he was such a tough guy, he should have no problem letting me try striking him once or twice.  He agreed and I did things very carefully showing extreme restraint.  I didn’t want him to go medieval on me following this.  I remember feeling alive, strangely titilated by the experience.  There is too much confounding though.  Was it because of the subject who was spread eagle before me in such a vulnerable position; the very person who for so long had such power over me?  Or was it something else all together.

Since leaving my Dominant, I began a LTR with a vanilla man.   We have been together for 6 years now.   Over the years I’ve often missed being in a D/s relationship as well as missing kink itself.    There is an intensity I just haven’t experienced again,  outside of the lifestyle.  I’ve tried sliding in bits and pieces of kink, rimming him, tea bagging him, sliding just the tip of my tongue all up and down his frenulum, sucking, tugging and biting on his nipples; extending foreplay so long that his arousal is so heightened that there’s pre-cum dripping off his shaft and he’s begging me to fuck him.  Things designed to elicit maximum orgasm and pleasure for him.  Tantric elements and things of this sort.   Of course I’ve hidden the fact that I’ve fantasized about wanting to taking a strap-on to his tight little virgin ass while I reach around and stroke his manhood so that he cums harder and better than he ever has his entire life.

He would never go for this.  He is too vanilla.  He’d never let me spank him in the right place so that he’d be wanting to be spanked.   He’s too sexually repressed.

I often wonder what it would be like to return to the lifestyle but this time from the other position, from being the dominant one. Could I make a good Mistress?

I am not a sadist.  I do not enjoy inflicting pain.  I don’t even like hurting a caterpillar.  However,  I can see myself using pain for teaching, learning, exploring.  If I felt like it would better my partner in some way, I may consider it, but only the minimum amount necessary to achieve a means to an end.

Within the context of a loving, monogamous D/s relationship, I could definitely see myself using pain to enhance sexual pleasure. Anyone who has ever done kink knows there is a thin line between pain and pleasure.   Deliciously so.   This I miss.

Alas, this is all a moot point, for I am with an extremely straight-laced, dare I say almost puritanical man with regards to sex.  He thinks kink is sick, dirty, and the people who do it are “fucked up” and “crazy”.  On many occasions he has said to me “I just don’t understand why a person would want to get whipped.”  Try as I have over the years to explain and bridge the gap, there is a disconnect.   Perhaps if one has never delved in, one can’t understand.

Sometimes you have to let certain things go and realize the grass is always going to appear greener in another yard.   Sometimes that’s okay.   Life will be okay even without strap-on fun.

 

 

 

 


Puppet

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I try and pinpoint the exact moment when I realised that my emotional movement was being controlled by his dark choreography.   I wasn’t aware until the merciless incessant tugging, left me tangled in the cords, unable to move.

It was then I knew, I was dancing for the Devil.

Liberation first begins with the realization one is captive.

I cut the strings.

I am bound no more.

To all the girls and boys out there who have become insidiously ensnared.

Freedom is within your reach….it always has been.


Drawn to Illicit Sex

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World English Dictionary
illicit (ɪˈlɪsɪt)

— adj
1. another word for illegal
2. not approved by common custom, rule, or standard: illicit sexual relations
For the purposes of this post I am using the latter definition.

The sexual abuse I had endured as a child left me so terrified of my own sexuality and of men that it left me completely disconnected with and at times dissociated from my body.  When I finally ended up dating it was nearly all abusive men, active substance using men, and narcissistic men. It seemed strange that over and over it was the wrong guys. Bad luck I thought.

Why couldn’t I have been the girl who got asked out by some nice fellow and progressed in a slow and steady fashion within a relationship?   I’ll tell you why because I was a victim of incest at the hands of my brother and it had been going on since I was 8 and it didn’t end until I was in the middle of high school. And by then I wanted to commit suicide.

So when I grew up, I had become THAT girl. You know the one that tells my date my entire life story over a few drinks in under ten minutes and then let’s him finger fuck me underneath the table at the restaurant, while telling him as he is doing this, that I want to take things slow.

Or I have a guy friend who says he’s hoping my recovery moves more quickly because he’d like to fuck me. After a tongue lashing from me, on how I value our friendship, and that we’ve been friends for so long and he can’t do this! I climb right up on his lap, straddle him, kiss him, gently bite his nipples, rhythmically move my hips over his pelvis while my body betrays me as I get wet under my skirt all over his jeans.

Oh wait, here comes the shame again, along with guilt. Why couldn’t I have just tongue lashed him and left it there? What’s wrong with me.

After restaurant guy finger fucked me, I hid in my apartment for weeks every time he rang my buzzer. So much shame. Eventually he didn’t come around anymore, Thank God. When you couple shame and guilt, this wedding along with a lack of ability to dialogue about your emotions… You spend your life either running or hiding. Building thicker walls to keep people out so you don’t get hurt again.

My shrink says lots of incest survivors  are at higher risk for developing sexual problems and problems with setting adequate boundaries overall.  When your body is not your own as a child, because your brother has access to you 24/7 you don’t ever have a “no,” to his sexual advances. You can never escape.

As an adult it was quite an easy transition for me to slide into the world of BDSM, fetish, and kink .

I was too busy figuring out how to stay alive amidst trauma in childhood and adolescence and I never learned the healthy boundaries needed to navigate adulthood. So the cycle repeated.

I’m a walking talking paradox. I really DO want to be the girl who goes slow and have healthy boundaries AND also, I don’t. I crave that which is taboo, and sometimes I recoil from that which is taboo.

I think back to Stanley Kubrick’s film, A Clockwork Orange. If I’m wired to respond sexually in a maladaptive and deviant way for so long, what are the odds I can re-wire now? There is a saying that once a cucumber has become a pickle, it can never go back to being a cucumber again.

What if I am that pickle?

What if there is hope for all of us for redemption?


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