Love Isn’t Pretty

My lesson was to love. I’ve loved in the past. I’ve bared myself for others before. I was married once upon a time, for nearly seven years. We’d been together for 10, almost 11 years. There are things that I wish I had done differently, now that I’m older and wiser, but when we got together we were 15. We started young and vowed to work through everything together. We wanted to be married forever. There were a few key pointers to life and marriage that my parents didn’t care to share with me that I wish they had. I wish they hadn’t been so afraid to admit that sex was important. Once I was older, when my mom and I snuck out for a dinner together, I lamented that my sex life with my husband was boring. She giggled over her margarita and said ‘If you think it’s boring now, what are you going to do in seven years?’.

I wasn’t as open with him as I am in my relationships now. I couldn’t be.  I didn’t know myself well enough to be able to be open with him and he didn’t know himself well enough to be as open with me. We were both coming from bad places, leaning on another broken person for support. I learned about a very special kind of love in this relationship. My husband is the one who took me in and sheltered me from the world, for better or worse. He built this cocoon around me and allowed me to sort through everything that had happened in the years before he met me. He allowed me to develop as I needed to. Unfortunately, when I was done, I was someone completely different than the person that he met. He was still mostly the same. It wasn’t until our divorce that he was able to spread his own wings and go out as a new person as well. I will forever be grateful that he was willing to keep me safe. I do regret that I stayed in that cocoon for so long.

My first pet was the first instance of having to be transparent. It was hard for me. Here I was again, open for rejection. There could be things he hated about me. There were things I still hated about myself, such as my Sadism. I had a hard time communicating with him and I didn’t know enough about my wants or needs to be able to clearly convey them to him. I am still grateful that our relationship went on for as long as it did and I hope that he’s happy in the relationship that he’s in now.

jhusdhui taught me the most about being myself. He ensured that I would always have what I wanted. Always had what I needed, but mostly what I wanted. He was the first person that I had ever met that would allow me to use him. At the time, I still struggled some of the time with using someone that I loved. I was dealing with the inner workings of having a poly family. I had a pet that I was training on the side, someone that was supposed to be an up and coming Dom, someone that needed a few pointers, who needed to learn how to communicate. I had all the support in the world, so that when one or all of my family was down and out, I could help them up again. I learned to love selfishly. I learned how to express my love in different ways.

This year, the Universe had a new lesson in store for me. I had to learn how to love selflessly. I had to learn how to open myself up completely to another person. I had to be transparent. I had to figure out how I could be cruel and loving at the same time. I would have to lead him through a dark, winding path without both of us getting lost. I had to know every step I was going to make and I had to know where we were going to come out in the end. I had to push him even when he thought he had nothing left to give. I had to make sure that despite being linked to his energy I didn’t go down with him. I had to be strong enough for the both of us.

Worse than that though, I went into this knowing that I was going to get hurt. This wasn’t apparent at first. At first, all I could think was what a fantastic person this guy turned out to be, exceeding all of my expectations. I’d never felt the things I felt with him before. I’d never been held accountable for my feelings before because no one else could ever feel them the way he could. There was no masking what emotion was running through me at the time. He could feel my nervousness or my excitement, my happiness or my sadness. He knew that I was getting off on his pain and he held me accountable to it more than one time. He knew I was nervous about something and held me accountable. Somewhere in his suffering, in our holding hands, in our power exchange, in our fucking, I fell in love. I fell in love knowing he was going to break my heart. By that time it was made evident to me.

In all the words that he was speaking, the ones that I kept hearing were ‘I’m not submissive’ and while all I wanted to tell him was ‘It doesn’t matter’, to reassure him that I’m not expecting him to just roll over and take it, that I liked the fight as much as he did, I found the harder I tried to hold onto him, the further he went. So, as the old adage goes, if you love someone, let them go. Before he left though, I needed him to meet my Miss Chris. I needed to show her this person, this amazing person that I had found, who had made such a difference in my life. I knew that after introducing them he would soon be gone. I was apprehensive about introducing them, letting her meet someone so wonderful and then seeing me fail as he left. I was nervous about her understanding our energy. I was nervous about his reaction to meeting her. But most of all, I was nervous about how everything was going to go down once he did leave.

I wasn’t paranoid. It wasn’t long after that we stopped seeing each other so he could explore another side of him. He’d always enjoyed topping. He wanted to see what a D/s relationship was like from the Dom side. I knew he was going to have to. If he didn’t do it now, he would either do it much later down the road when we already had too much invested or he was forever going to question if he was doing the right thing and what it would have been like from the other side of the slash, so to speak. I had to let him go. I had to let him do his thing. It didn’t matter how much it hurt me, it was something he needed.

At first it hurt. I watched him change all of his statuses. I watched him change all of his relationships. I knew exactly who he was going to, exactly who was going to share this next leg of his journey with him, and I could at least find some comfort in that it was someone he already knew, someone that already knew him, so that he’d at least have a fighting chance. I’d written for him shortly before that, explaining that no matter where his journey took him, I wanted to be a part of it. I didn’t just want to be cast aside. I didn’t necessarily want to be just an onlooker. Even if we couldn’t be together, I still cared about him and wanted the best for him.

As soon as we stopped seeing each other, messages started coming in from CM again. I started getting new messages on Fet. It was as though the Universe had put every other person in the world on hold so that I could devote my attention to him and now that he was gone, it was okay to seek solace elsewhere. It was the craziest thing. On top of that though, there was this unshakeable feeling that he’d be back. When, I couldn’t say. I couldn’t even begin to pinpoint. And when he did make his return, it was sooner than I thought it’d be. I was unprepared. Excited, happy, relieved, but not prepared for it in the least.

When I opened the door and saw him again for the first time in months, I felt everything in my world slide right back into place. My energy began to flow correctly. I smiled for the first time in weeks. I was like a kid, bouncing around, wanting to show him everything, talk about everything. I wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to put him under and welcome him back. But our conversation had to grow serious. If he was coming back, he was coming back for something in particular. We needed to pick up where we left off and go further than that. Chastity, Ownership, Surrender. We were about to embark on the same journey we’d been on before.This time, I was hoping we’d be more successful.

I wanted to start right away. I wanted to delve in right away. Things weren’t right though. Nothing felt quite like it was ready for us to begin. The piercing went in, the hood went on, we touched and kissed and he met Junk and the three of us hung out and we played and we talked but nothing was clicking quite right. There was a block. I couldn’t get through. It wasn’t like before where he dove right in, where he was ready. There was hesitation, trepidation. He had a better idea of what it was going to be like this time around. I figured that had something to do with it. There was more than that, but I couldn’t quite say what it was.

Finally, the subject of our talks changed. One of the things that first drew me to him was his smile. Oh, and his laugh. There was this one look that made him look like an Evil Magician. So much that at least one other person has called him that without me saying it first. He laughs. He smiles. His face tells stories of happiness in his past. But someone who was always happy, only happy, wouldn’t hold my attention for long. There was something lurking beneath. It took a while to get to. I finally got to wind around some of his history, some of his past. I got to know some of the feelings that he had that weren’t happiness or love. I got to see a darker side to him. Then, his heart was broken.

Loving someone while they hurt is sometimes the hardest part about love. There’s a protective side that elicited. I wanted to hide him away, put him in his kennel, put a hood on him, keep him safe. He wasn’t having it though. He needed to go out and see for himself, I suppose, for some reason or another. I only got to hear the tale of his pain and how he dealt with it — I didn’t get to be there to help him through it at all. I got to feel the pangs of it throughout the night, deep inside of me, but I couldn’t call him because I doubted he would talk. Later that weekend he did. Later that weekend I got to hear quite a bit.

After that, our conversations started down the familiar path. Chastity. Ownership. What if. Worries. Concern. Guilt. But more than that, in the darkest hours, when both of us should have been asleep, we spoke of how what I wanted would have to be taken. What he wanted would have to be taken from him. He couldn’t just give it over freely. That was what I was waiting for. This was where we needed to get to. Now I feel as though we’re both standing on the same stair, looking down the winding path. It’s dark. Neither of us is positive about where it goes. He’s far more afraid than I am. He has more to lose. Me, I’m ready. I’m steeling myself for whatever we encounter. I have to bare myself once more, keep myself transparent, love him even when he hates, hold him when he pushes away, protect him and guide him even when he struggles and tries to find his own way. This time we’ll come out of the darkness together. This time, we’ll make it all the way down.

Sadist

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Sadist. When I was younger and didn’t realize what it was I was doing, I had no guilt. Lately, I’ve been discussing my first sexual experiences with new people. According to the lot I speak to, it turns out I’m rather inexperienced for my age and the kind of life I lead. Jaws drop often when they hear the number of people I’ve been intimate with and they think I’m lying when they find out how many people I’ve had intercourse with. Worse than that though, and it may just be the crowd I’m currently entertaining, when they ask me about my very first sexual encounters (and I define these not as the exploring another person’s body to find out what makes them aroused but acts that are specifically meant to lead to intercourse) I can vividly recall pushing my boyfriend to the ground, straddling him, and slipping him inside of me while I poured candle wax (of the wrong variety) down his chest. The pain that he was in is what got me off. Try admitting that during a run-of-the-mill drinking game, eh?

 

At the time, I was fairly certain everyone had sex the way I did. My boyfriend seemed to think it was the most amazing thing in the world (once the burn marks on his chest disappeared that is). He would often gloat in his own private sort of way when someone asked about our sex life. I was open and he was closed. I was loud and domineering and he was quiet and submissive. How this relationship did not work out in the end I will never know. That was just the tip of the iceberg though. After the candle wax to the chest came the mental bondage. Keep your hands here or I’ll stop moving. After that came the pinching and the scratching. Anything to make him uncomfortable. The only game that I play now that never made it into that repertoire was tease and denial. Years later I found out he would have never indulged me anyhow, not unless there was a guaranteed orgasm at the end and if I have to guarantee it, what kind of fun is that? When I first read about chastity, I demanded he play with me. He looked at me as though I’d lost my damn mind. That look never left. I steered clear of it for the longest time, just exploring it with a device for the first time just recently. It was as amazing as I thought it would be.

 

As time went on, I invested in floggers, paddles, canes, and crops. My boyfriend-turned-husband looked at me like I was crazy and informed me that while I may like those kinds of things, he most certainly did not. That was where my first pet came in. He wasn’t much for pain or for service, but he was submissive, pretty, and cross dressed like a pro. That was all I needed for the first time around. The weekend that we spent together revolved around bondage and some spanking, which I was really into back then. I’m sure the people I play with now wish I would regress to being satisfied by just that. My second pet, jhusdhui, was much better about letting me hit him, but he certainly wasn’t any better at taking it. There was squirming and crying and fits and everything. But if I pulled out a toy, he never complained. He assumed the position and even thanked me when I was done. It really was all about pleasing me and that is a quality I so desperately seek in my next pet as well.

 

Those that I talk to now, they’re not interested in the pain. Only one has figured out that it really is the suffering that I’m after, has realized that it builds intimacy for me. I do so love smart, observant boys. Not all of my current partners are kinky. (Gasp! I know, right?! I wonder the same thing.) When we got around to negotiating the terms of our relationship, he questioned if I was even capable of having sex without hurting him. I had to think long and hard about it. I had to think about all the times I’ve had sex in the past, what made the good times good and the bad times bad. Which experiences did I like the most? Which aroused me the most? Why did they arouse me the way they did? It wasn’t about the pain, I concluded. It was about the control. While I might not have to inflict pain upon someone to reach orgasm, I do have to be in control of the encounter. My partner does not have to be my submissive, but he has to be submissive to my wants and needs. In turn, I will take care of him as I see fit, and how I see fit and how he sees fit gets to be negotiated before hand.

 

But that’s just sex. That’s what I’ve concluded. I can have vanilla sex. It won’t mean as much to me as when I get to tie someone up or tease them. It won’t get me off quite like I get off when I can hit them first. I’ll still enjoy myself (I think) but it won’t have the intimacy that I crave from having sex with a pet. That’s not a huge concern for me where I am though. So having separated all of that in my mind, I stepped back to try to figure out what this emptiness inside of me seems to be. It’s not persistent. It’s not eating at me. All I know is that a few weeks ago I was on top of the world and now I’m feeling as though I’m wandering aimlessly again. The loss of control might be some of it. I don’t actually have anyone in a position to be submissive to me for any real duration of time. There are none that I’m so interested in that are begging me to take hold of their leash that I can feel as though I could have the control if I wanted to. That tends to create a void every now and again. This is different.

 

Finally I realized that the problem is that I was introduced to another side of myself that I haven’t been in touch with in nearly a decade. I’m a Sadist, through and through. I get off on watching someone suffer. I like inflicting pain upon those who do not like pain (but consent to it within the predetermined parameters of our relationship) and watching them take it for me, struggle through it, squirm, and fight it. Their acceptance of it is not always relevant. I want them to walk away from the experience feeling good though — if not because they reconciled the pain into pleasure in their mind, because they brought me pleasure through the pain they took. The suffering that I had taken for me most recently was different though. I didn’t get to see him in person. I didn’t get to have all of my words and actions reaffirmed through the look of loss and pain in his colorless eyes. I could only go off of what he told me, what he wrote about, the conversations we had. Every day I seemed to delve deeper and deeper into his mind. I was always at the forefront of his mind. I scared him. I made him panic. I took him to a very dark place and then watched him wallow in his misery. I loved it. His pain was my pleasure and he knew it. There was only that to find solace in, that if he was suffering, I was pleased. It backfired on us though. When I tried to bring him back out of it, show him all the things he could have, tried to resurface him and reconcile fantasy with reality, he couldn’t break free, not on his own. This was the trouble with not being able to look him in the eye, to touch him, to reassure him that I would take care of him. This was where the pleasure of emotional sadism became even more than I could handle. The same way that I don’t get off on seeing a car accident victim writhing on the ground pleading for his life, I don’t get off on someone talking as though I’d ruined their entire life. Eventually it had to end.

 

I got to experience something new though, which is saying a lot for me. I’ve known for almost all of my life that the types of relationships that I enjoy most are mainly mental. I know that I enjoy D/s relationships because they push thought and behavior in directions traditional vanilla relationships don’t go. I’ve known since I was 15 that I had the capacity to get inside certain people’s heads and toy with their emotions. I know to be careful, I know to seek consent in my way, I know how to create scenes in which we can go deep and explore and study those dark, intimate feelings and when to pull back. Rarely does it misfire the way that it did this time, but when it does it does. That’s the trouble with mental domination. In a physical scene, I could have just cut him down, wrapped him up in a blanket, and held him close until he recovered. Here, I have to go through all the steps of building trust all over again. I have to suffer everything I say being questioned, dissected, analyzed. I have to make sure every action and every word match up precisely. I have to ensure that nothing I say can be misconstrued. I have to define everything we talk about so we communicate effectively. It’s worse than being at square one, where there’s good faith trust for someone new you’ve met; I’m at step -1, where I have to tend to hurt feelings, confusion, and clearing my name before I can even go back to step one. Is it really worth it? Can a relationship survive this sort of thing?

 

I know the mistakes that I (and we) made. I know how to handle them in the future. Would I do it again? Absolutely. Would I do it differently? Probably. Is it something I would be interested in pursuing again? I’m positive. I don’t know that I’ll be able to do it again with the same person; I sure am hoping so, because I haven’t had as much fun playing with someone as I did him in quite some time, but only time (and trust) will tell. What I’ve learned though is that I enjoy the physical and emotional side of Sadism. I am a Sadist, through and through. It’s an exhilarating, lonely existence some days.

I Can’t Promise You The World

This past week at work was a mess. One of my bosses decided to schedule me for a shift that I couldn’t possibly work without some outside help. Since the car accident, kitty’s been left without a car, so he uses mine to get to work. He works late; I work early. This works out! Thursday and Friday of last week, I had to work late. This didn’t work out! I had to arrange to get someone to drive 80 miles in one day to pick me up, take me to work, drop me off home, and then go back to where they lived, right next to work. I was not pleased. I don’t know why this person even agreed to help me out! But she did, and it was sweet of her. I bought her dinner and gave her gas money. She had to repeat the morning trip on Friday but Friday night I had covered.

Joey probably had no idea what he was getting himself into when I messaged him and asked if he’d be willing to pick me up from work, instead of meeting me at my house like usual. I explained that I worked a little ways out, but if he would do this for me, it would increase his rank in the Teh Bestest Pet Ever competition he didn’t previously know he was competing in. At first I think he was tentative. I guessed this because he asked me just how far out I worked. “Just follow the freeway you usually take to get to my house to the end.” To the end of what, I could hear him asking? “To the end of the freeway.” Joey is very, very expressive. Not always through words though. Usually just his deep, brown eyes. Via text, it comes out like this: O.O

“Best pet ever?” was what he asked in return and I knew he was hooked. It might have also had something to do with the fact that I mentioned pets that could offer service as well as their backside always got me revved up, and I wasn’t entirely lying about that either. Oh, and if he picked me up, we’d have to go get this flogger I was looking at. C’mon now, it was pay day.

Friday night, he came to hang out with me at work for a while. He drove me to the store to buy the new flogger that we’d played with together the time before last when we went to buy new lube for him. This is a beautiful flogger that I almost missed in the dark of the dungeon. I’d found a whip, one without a handle, that was designed to look like barbed wire. This pushed all the right buttons for me because when I was a little younger, I used to have fantasies of tying up boys in rough rope and barbed wire, but I just couldn’t find a good way to get barbed wire into the place without breaking SSC. Now that they’d made a leather alternate, I was hooked. I lashed him with this and the way he jumped and swore had me sold. Oh, but there was no handle. However was I going to work this? Just then, peering down into the darkness, on the next shelf, which was home to floggers, I found it: a suede flogger with falls of leather barbed wire in them. I snatched that baby up and Joey barely had time to turn around to offer his back to me before it fell upon him. The same reaction! Glorious!

Well now that it was pay day, I had to have it. And have it I would!

After that, we made our way back to my house. I knew I wanted to use that on him. I also knew that I couldn’t use just that on him or we wouldn’t each have a wonderful time. Tonight we’d do a proper warm-up.

Usually when he comes over, I give him time to get in the door. I don’t kiss him right off, because it’s too much like a relationship he’s said (although I’m beginning to think he can see how this all fits together) so instead I just let him join me in the living room and we talk for a bit. The dog (the real dog) is always super excited to see him and I think it’s best that he gets some attention first, if we want him to leave us alone at all while we’re playing.

Then comes the magic moment, when the dog winds down a bit, and Joey looks at me, waiting to see what I want to do. “Strip!”. It’s said with some enthusiasm, usually. Sometimes deadpan, but with a smile. It’s so entertaining to me because he is still so shy. He watches me when he can, but otherwise looks around to everything else in the living room while he casually pulls off his shirt and lowers his pants. It’s always the hesitation at the waistband of his underwear that makes me smile. I reassure him that I’ve seen him naked before and he laughs nervously. It doesn’t make it any easier this time around.

Tonight was different though. For one, he was standing on the other side of the room. I’d ignored him up until then, trying to get some music started so the neighbors didn’t hear the sounds of floggers. When he looked at me, I went straight for him. A kiss. There was no collar around his neck yet — it wasn’t part of the scene — but it appeared to be okay. I kissed him and helped him undress. It was as smooth as I can be, which really means it wasn’t smooth at all. I’m used to him taking his socks and shoes off when he gets in the door, tucking them under the coffee table where his furry bff can’t thieve his socks away for a vacation while we’re playing. I got all of his clothes off his body, had my fingers curling around his hard cock, and then realized my mistake. Oh well. He wasn’t shy undressing that time, and that was all that mattered.

In a matter of seconds he’d finished the job that I’d started and climbed onto the couch, kneeling away from me. I started with the old flogger, Old Trusty. I can swing and fling and flap and hit and thwap with that all night long. I can really get into it too. Usually I’m pretty good with it but he’d tell you there’s been one or two strikes to the side, completely unintentional. I wasn’t quite lined up right when I let go — premature flogging, due to excitement. Each time that I bring it out, I try to hit him harder and harder. He admitted once that part of him really wants me to hit him as hard as I can and the sane part of him is glad that I don’t. We’ll get there. I know this because I can see how far we’ve gone in such a short amount of time.

Caning is another favorite and while I usually tend to keep like toys together, which would have meant the new flogger would have come second, I didn’t think he was ready to go from thuddy to super stingy. I have a very thick cane that’s very thuddy and bamboo canes that are very stingy. I’m positive that they both got used. I’m positive that he did not get such a warm up for the bamboo canes. I can attest to this because there was more time spent sitting upright, breathing, then hunched over with his ass pushed out ready to accept another strike. So little effort; so much pain. I love these canes.

After that came the paddle. My paddle is beautiful. Thick, wooden, covered in sandpaper. It was frightening enough that pup, the construction worker, felt the need to point out the quality of the sandpaper and assure me that that was the real deal, this wasn’t fine grain to help save skin. Thanks pup! To anyone less experienced with sandpaper, it just hurts. I made sure that it hurt Friday night too.

Once I was done with the paddle, there was a crop. The crop is lovely because it makes the best smacking sounds ever when it connects with an ass. Especially a lovely ass that’s made to accommodate the size of the heart at the end. He’d jump when I hit him hard. He’d jump when he thought I was going to hit him hard. Friday night was all about pushing him and making him hurt. He’d mentioned that he thought I might make him bleed that night. I told him I hoped I would.

One major difference in the way we played Friday night was that I paid some special attention to his nipples, primarily by thwacking them with the bamboo cane and ensuring that they were rubbed by sandpaper. I remember him specifically pointing out later on that his nipples hurt while the rest of his body was mostly just a dull ache.

Finally we got to it: the new flogger. I tried to go light, I really did. It’s much heavier than Old Trusty though. I wasn’t quite used to the feel of it. I tried to swing it around behind him before I made contact but I was aroused. The first fall hurt him more than I was expecting but he put on his brave face for me. We have this agreement going that the less he says ‘fuck’ in normal circumstances, the happier I am. When I’m beating him, he can say ‘fuck’ all he wants and I don’t care. I think it’s hot, actually. Well, when this flogger came out to play, that was all I heard. Thwack, fuck, thwack, fuck. Amazing.

Afraid that he might not be able to handle it, I crawled up on the couch behind him, I pressed the handle of the flogger against his collared neck and pulled him back against my body. I told him ‘This is your one chance to get out of this if you want. You can ask me to stop right now, and I’ll put the flogger away.’ He swallowed, breathed for a second, and asked, ‘What do you want?’. I was thrilled. I was so turned on. ‘I want you to take more for me.’ So he nodded, I let him go, and I hit him more. To ensure that we didn’t go too far though, I made him answer in numbers. One a scale from one to five, one being my light strikes with Old Trusty and 5 being oh god, stop please, he was to let me know where he was at all times. I got a three, a four, and a lot of fucks. Never a five. We didn’t go for much longer though — I was too turned on.

I put the toys to rest. I had him climb down off the couch and kneel in front of me. I pet him for a moment, but then I remembered that my favorite toy was out to play. Reaching down, I began to stroke his cock. He knelt nicely, letting me play. He let me know when he was getting close. He’s never allowed to orgasm without permission. One of my favorite things about him is how sensitive the head of his cock is. Just touching it is an amazing experience for me. So I dragged my fingers over it, masturbating just that part of him, and watched with delight when he actually pulled his entire self away from me to get a moment’s reprise. When he was getting too close, we stopped.

Here’s where things go a little soft, a little vanilla. Picture some kissing, some rubbing, and a boy wearing a collar for me working to get me off in a new and exciting way for him that would probably elicit some yawns from the rest of us. Not that it mattered to me — I orgasmed.

After that, I pushed him back, had him sit at the corner of the couch, and told him to jerk off. In a matter of minutes he was riding the edge, fighting between doing what I told him to now (masturbate) and doing what I told him to always (don’t come until I tell him to). This is always an exciting game for me. He asked. He begged. I gave in way too easily, but he’d done me proud with all the pain he took. He came and I told him I loved the smell of it — like fresh rain.

After that, I took the boy out to eat so he wouldn’t starve to death. Waffles at midnight are a godsend. He made a bet, as we were both yawning, the he couldn’t stay up until 4am. What? Why would either of us agree to that? Because he shook my hand for so long that we were holding hands over the table in the middle of IHOP while not in a “relationship”, that’s why. I knew as soon as he got home and had constant stimulation he’d be able to make it. The wager? $10.

Needless to say, I lost the bet. Tonight I pay up. I have my own creative way of feeling better for losing though, which ties into service, which ties into “I Can’t Promise You the  World”. Tune in later!

Flashbacks

Every now and again I peruse the old forums on the site where I originally met j. I read one this evening where a Domme was feeling as though she couldn’t beat her pet the same way she did back before she was so emotionally attached to her boy. I had the same troubles with Lin, when he and I were some kind of item. The more I liked him the less I wanted to hit him, the more I wanted to coddle him and protect him and make sure he wasn’t hurt. I didn’t understand spankings as a playful sort of thing, only as punishment really.

With j I was the complete opposite. When I first met him, I didn’t want to hurt him at all. I wanted to pet him and I wanted to tell him what to do and I wanted him to open doors for me. I suppose maybe it was because in the first hour or two of our ‘date’ I wasn’t sexually attracted to him. I thought his personality was adorable and I thought he was sweet and I liked the way he interacted with me, but I wasn’t about to hop into bed with him. By the time we were well into the movie and I was playing my game of whether he’d pay more attention to me or the movie, I started to feel something. I liked the fact that he’d let me touch him wherever I wanted. If I touched the inside of his thigh, he’d just move his legs further apart so that I could touch more of whatever it was I wanted. I liked that he never, not once, ever tried to make a move of his own.

By the time the movie was over and I wasn’t ready to go home, I wanted to go for coffee, knowing he’d know a place. We went somewhere new to me and we talked. He talked and I listened mostly. I called my husband to let him know that I’d be out later and not to worry because everything was going great. We were the annoying couple there because everything he said made me laugh. By that time I was attracted to him in a new and different way. Finally, by the end of the night, after sitting in a vacant parking lot and talking and talking and talking, we said good-bye and I didn’t kiss him. I kissed his cheek as he hugged me and told me it all felt like a dream to him.

The following weekend I went to his house and I made him strip in front of me. I spanked him. I think I scared him a little but he rolled with the punches. By then, as I was curled up behind him listening to the soundtrack of what I considered the most perfect night ever, by then I most certainly and without a doubt was sexually attracted to him. I liked his beard. I liked pulling his long hair. He had cute smexy chicken legs. I didn’t like his body hair but it was only around for another week. Mostly though, mostly I liked how willing he was. It’s hard not to be attracted to someone so willing to be everything I wanted him to be.

As I felt I was growing closer to him and as my feelings for him deepened, so did my desire to hurt him. I think I was probably more vicious in the beginning because I was trying to scare him off. I wanted to spank him. I wanted to hit him. I slapped him across the face before either of us had ever discussed it and did actually feel guilty about that later. I’ve used clothespins on him, a crop, a paddle with sandpaper, I’ve used my nails, my teeth, and some very fun toys.

The first time I spanked him, I had him on the bed. He was so nervous though that I opted against it. Another time I had him over my lap and I was hardly spanking him at all before he was wriggling all over the place and not handling it well at all. I didn’t think he’d ever be a good outlet for whatever sadism I have stored up in me. Now I have him asking if he can be spanked. Now I actually feel as though I’m not fulfilling his need for pain. I used to pinch the insides of his arms so bad they’d be bruised for days and I loved it, until someone pointed them out to him. Now that he’s wearing short sleeves again, I don’t feel so inclined to do it. The insides of his thighs might fall victim to it soon enough though.

We talk about bondage a lot too. That was one of his interests independent of me. I think I could get into it if there was anything in it for me. If I could tie him up and then use his face maybe. I have a great fantasy that involves wrapping all but his boyish bits in saran wrap and then using him as my fuck toy. Of course I like the idea of having some over his mouth but the poor dear has to breathe. I love when he struggles for breath, like when I cover his mouth and block his nose with my hand. I love how I can feel him gasping for air in the palm of my hand, like I hold his life right there too.

Sometimes I think I don’t make a very good Sadist, but the truth of the matter is, when I stop worrying about hurting him and not knowing what to do for him after, I do have rather violent fantasies. The last time I was bringing myself to orgasm, I was thinking of beating his ass black and blue. I can still orgasm without fail anytime I think about cutting him and watching the lines of blood ooze down his back. I think I love that most because I know he’d hate it. I don’t know how he’d handle it. I’d love to tie him up and bruise him up.

In short, the more I love him, the closer I feel to him, the more I want to hurt him, the worse I want to hurt him, and I’m the only one holding me back. Hopefully I can get to work on that sometime soon.

Sadism

The term ‘Sadist’ has never gone over well in my head. For years I’ve enjoyed the idea of pain and torture, but it’s always in a setting where everyone’s consented to it. There were many years in my life where I denied being a Sadist, until I read a specific thread about it on a specific forum where people were discussing it in a way that I could wrap my head around it. I took this new information to my friend Crow and admitted to her that I thought I might be a Sadist, that I might enjoy other people’s (sexual) suffering. She laughed and thought I was kidding. I told her that I was serious and that it was a bit troublesome. I then realized that she was laughing at me because everyone else in my life knew I was a Sadist. I was the only one that hadn’t been clued into it prior to that conversation.

Though I’m finally getting acclimated to the idea that I am in fact a Sadist, I still rarely call myself that, because I don’t like the imagery that comes to mind when such a thing is talked about. I don’t want to be approached by people asking me to hit them. That’s not what it is to me. In fact, more often than not, when I’m in the mood to seduce, I try really hard not to include any form of pain in my planning and execution. In some parts of my mind, the two things (romance and pain) don’t mesh. In others, they’re absolutely necessary, I can’t have one without the other.

As I’ve written before, I have a healthy dose of gender fuckery in my life. In the head, I’m a lot like a boy, at least what I view a macho boy to be like. Naturally I sought out a boy that was a little bit more like a girl, to complement the different needs that I had. On recent dates, my j has whispered to me things like how he always feels like the girl when we’re out together, the sort of thing that I really enjoy hearing because it means whatever I’m doing, I’m doing right, because that’s exactly how I want him to feel. Last night, because he’d had a rough week, I wanted to take him out and have dinner and a movie and then take him home and help him forget whatever might be on his mind. Whenever I’m trying to distance him from something, I always think pet play first, because he’s not required to think whatsoever during it. Life had other plans for us though.

Instead, when we got home from the movie, he needed to work for a bit. I waited up for him, because it sounded like everything was getting worked out in a timely fashion. I wanted to take him to bed and seduce him, use him, and then fall asleep with him in my arms, the way we do most every night we spend together. Everything was going fantastically well except that I couldn’t seem to find whatever it was I was lacking to push me over the edge into orgasm. (Also, nature decided to take away my testosterone driven fantasies by making me bleed on the very day that I was finally going to get to act out all my macho sexist fantsies, which didn’t help in the least.) Finally, in the soft and quiet voice that he usually has when he’s rolled onto his stomach with his head pressed down into the pillows so that I can rub against his ass, he asked me if I’d hurt him.

I tried to explain (though didn’t do so well, because I was busy trying to get to an orgasm) that I was trying to seduce him, couldn’t he understand? Pain sure didn’t fit into that. Except, as he pointed out, it sure does. It might not have always fit into our lives together (and I’m thinking quite fondly of the first time I tried to spank him and also the first time I was successful in spanking him) but now it plays a big role in what we’re doing. I love leaving marks on him. I love the sounds he makes when he’s being hurt. I love the faces he makes. I love his suffering. He’s asked me what I like so much about all of it and I’ve told him this much. I wish he could see it through my eyes, how beautiful he is when he’s bound and forced to endure whatever I want to do to him.

So after I added some clothespins and then just scratched him for a bit, I certainly was able to achieve orgasm. It wasn’t anything wonderful or stupendous, because what I really wanted to be doing was nailing his tight ass with my thick silicone cock, but it got the job done and the feeling of intimacy was as strong as ever. Hopefully we’ll be getting around to a little more pain in the future, with some better marks, and some actual pictures documenting these kinds of things. Who doesn’t like pictures, after all?