Everything feels so normal. I don’t feel the need to justify my actions anymore. I know what I like when I feel it. I was sewing and happened to stuck myself with a needle. It hurt, and at the same time, felt oddly exhilarating. So, I told Wonderboy that I might like it. If he sometime would try it on me. Needles. And he said, (oh, I just love the man) that needles really hurt. No kidding?
Now, if this would have been even a few months ago I would’ve freaked and made up a huge storm so as not to have to face what I might want. But I didn’t. I told Wonderboy and left the decision to him. If he wants to push my boundaries, he can do so. I’m happy with what we have going now. I am so happy, in fact, that I don’t need any pills to make me forget my emotional weaknesses. I want to feel them.
I’ve also settled that I don’t need to fit in. I still go back to Aarkey’s link – the Amber Rayne Psycho Handjob – that’s classified as fendom, but happens to push all my buttons for various (unearthed) reasons. I really don’t mind. I like what I like. Period. In the video, what’s most important to me, is to see the man undeniably enjoying his torture. I don’t even see it as torture, because the enjoyment is so evident. And when I say, I don’t understand it as torture, I mean that all I see is pure pleasure. Which makes me hot. Hot, hot, hot. I love it that he’s tied and hard and comes so many times and so copiusly. It’s a kink of mine to see uncontrollable coming. I love it that I can see what he likes, when he gets even harder when the woman spits on his cock, or when he’s talked down to, or when he’s overstimulated.
I wish I could mute the woman and just listen to his moans and whimpers. Gohd. That’s what works for me. Seeing everything. The pleasuring. The obvious pleasure. The uncontrollable state and stimulation and, in the end, coming. I just love it, when a guy can’t stop himself. And that’s what I ask Wonderboy to tell me. If he’s going to come, if he has to slow down, if he won’t slow down, if he just can’t stop now.
Um. Excuse me. Where was I? Oh yeah, Femdom.
So, if it’s femdom, so be it. We can do loads of things together, and we don’t need to give them the right names. We don’t need to fit anywhere. I might really be a switch, a word I hate (isn’t it enought to have to label oneself a bisexual?) but I don’t feel the need to label myself. I get what I need from Wonderboy. Well, more than I can sometimes handle, really.
Everything that happens in our bed nowadays is so gentle, loving and caring, that I really just honestly forget about labels. Yes, he pulls my hair, strangles and suffocates me, slaps me and talks dirty, holds me down and binds me, hurts me and fucks me to hurt me, but it’s all just a part of our love making. When it’s all over, we are both happily cuddled in each others arms and I never look back. It is hot and that’s the way it needs to be for us to be happy. No one else needs to know. No one else needs to care.
Now we know how.
Edit. And the orgasms I’ve been having these last few days have been insanely intensive. Now I remember why it was so hard for me to not touch myself, before. I need a couple of orgasms every day, just to feel unagitated. I am so happy that my orgasm machine is in business again! Yay!