BDSM, Fantasies, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, What Women Really Want

Helpless

Helpless. That’s what I want to be. Helpless.

Make sure I know what to do. Plan ahead, make arrangements, prepare everything and show me that you cared, that you thought about it. I want to see the rope on the bed. I need to find the brush and rags, the water bowl with the soap on a little plate on the side on the bathroom tile floor.

Guide me.

Let me know how you feel. Let me feel what you feel. Give me your words.

I am here to serve you. Don’t let me let you down. I need guidance. I need instructions and strict guidelines. What time, where, what, how, with what and why?

I need to know this is what you want. This is important to you. This is exactly what you want.

I need to not worry. I need to know.

You give me good instructions on how to lick your cock. Where, how, when to stop and move on to other things. Treat this as as important. It is to me. Don’t let me let you down. Let me know how to serve you. It is of paramount interest to me.

Do not make this into sex. Do not make this into a light thing, a thing to joke about. I do not joke about your sexual preferences, the way you like me to lick your ass or toy with it. Why are you not seeing my needs as needs? Why is it still this hard?

Why do you not tie me up every day?

Where is the rope now?

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BDSM, Gender stereotypes, Love, Sex stories, Stereotypes, Top-Bottom Girl, Wonderboy

The secret wish of a dom – ass play

Just popped in to tell you that I just had my finger up Wonderboy’s ass and it was amazing. For both of us. So, don’t you go thinking and talking nonsense that those poor infertiles never have any kinky fun.

This one’s been a long time coming, too. It’s been a fantasy for both of us, but somehow it has felt too intimidating for him. It didn’t now. It might have helped that when I first licked him, my mascara ran all over my face, and Wonderboy’s a sucker for that. The fragile little hooker look. So there I was all covered with spit and precum, complimenting his hairy ass – ah, I do love the matt of dark hair down there – and fondling it as he stopped me, because it hurt a little too much. I was looking for the lube, when he said: Should I fuck you?

Maybe, I smile and something runs down my chin.

I might come, you know. That feels so good.

I was kinda waiting for you to come, I answer and smile again. And lick his cock, while he’s tugging it.

Or would you like to continue?

I can’t help but lower my head against his thigh and lick it, the hairs and all.

It’ll be ovulation time soon, he says, and then we can’t.

I nod. We have an agreement. I reach for the lube and start, gently. He opens up to me like he did minutes ago, when I was licking him and it seemed like his ass was devouring my tongue, my whole head and I had to back off to breath. I like the way his ass tastes. Sort of metallic. I love the way it feels. His insides. His secret places.

He comes his cock in my mouth, my index finger in his ass and other fingers caressing his balls. I’m doggying around. I got so turned on I rose from the mattress to push my ass and pussy against the sky, to open my thighs and push myself open. He comes and comes, the white goo drips from my mouth to my caressing hand and on the mattress. There seems to be so much of it. He is cramped up from the bed, his mouth an O, his sexy lips open and his eyes closed, just for the second he doesn’t look at me.

People do all sorts of things in d/s relationships. Pegging, for one. It feels like this is not a big deal. People do much bigger stuff. But this was a huge deal. Getting him to accept me to do this. Getting him to deal with the panic he had, when it started to hurt. Taking a small break, adding lube. Talking. Smiling and laughing. Trying again.

Remember that you’re in command. I do whatever you want. I’m your whore. I’ll do anything, I say when I lower myself between his thighs with my lubed fingers finding their tricky way in. When he came he had tugged his hand in my hair to push my face down on his cock. He was ordering me to do this. It was the single most exciting thing I’ve done all year. I was so turned on I nearly came, when his ass started pulsing, grabbing on my finger, pulling it deeper and deeper.

Sometimes the things we want scare us. It just doesn’t seem to fit the job description of doms that they get scared too. It doesn’t seem to fit that doms might want their ass pounded too. They might want things that just aren’t domly enough to ask for. Sometimes my sweet Wonderboy needs reassurance, gentle hands, for me to wait, to be okay with whatever his decision will be. But it’s hard to ask for, when your the one who’s supposed to be in charge.

That’s too bad. Because this? This was one hell of a play session. I’m so owned. I am so happy I could make him enjoy it. I’m so happy I didn’t hurt him. I’m so happy.

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BDSM, Hyper-Sexual, Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, Submissive tendencies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Happiness and feeling equal and not ashamed of what you want can do this to people

Being really sick has been eye opening as hell. In a good way. First Wonderboy had a really bad influenza for a whole week and stayed at home because of that. Then I got the same damn thing and I’m still in recovery.

With Wonderboy home we got time to mend our relationship. We’d spent the weeks leading to the sickness discussing our infertility and other personal issues in depth. It had been really important to me, but Wonderboy thought it was just wallowing.

You could probably see that I was pretty frustrated with our relationship and it culminated in me complaining about how Wonderboy takes part in housework? I believe that this is because of my therapy. I’ve begun to see, how I step over myself almost instinctively, which is stupid, because then the people I do stuff for don’t even realize I’m doing stuff for them.

I have a small but significant example from yesterday. Wonderboy had ordered us pizzas. This happens like once every three months. We were lying on the bed with his laptop ready to bust some myths (you know what show I’m talking about) and pizza boxes on our laps. Suddenly Wonderboy realized he wanted to add this chili ketchup on his (also seen in the Big Bang theory episodes!). Since he was holding the laptop he just assumed that when he’d say he wanted it, I’d jump up and get it. These kind of situations just open my eyes so much, because now I have no trouble drawing the line. I didn’t want the kethcup. There was really no reason that I should get it. Except the fact that I’ve been completely and utterly too nice my entire life and done things like that, because I’ve put other people’s situations, emotions and whatnot before my own. I didn’t have that trouble now!

Great idea, I said.

He gestured to the laptop in his lap.

Why don’t you get it? he said.

No! I laughed out. It was so clear. There was no doubt in my mind or my voice. It’s such a small but important thing. Why would I compromise my comfortability to get him something while he did nothing? It boggles the mind that I used to do this. What is also important, this being a d/s blog and partnership in some respects, is that I would totally do this, if it was a d/s thang. But it’s not as evidenced by his behaviour. I feel this attitude of his – and mine of course, I am also to blame for carrying the weight – impaires our d/s dynamic. What effectively changes, when he orders me, if I’d do it anyway?

I’ve actually been using this in a way to lure him to order me around. When he would ask me to give him the milk from the fridge, I’d just say no. He would ask nicely again and I would still say no. Then I’d add smiling, There’s one way you haven’t tried yet. He’d get it and command me to get the milk, smiling, and we’d both be a little happier for it. The small things. They just make the umph.

This can’t happen in the setting we’re set out for ourselves. For his dominance to be meaningful in our relationship – because I’m not trying to say that people can’t do these things differently – we need to be equal and feel equally responsible and cared for.

It all comes back to our sex life that has been through a shredder recently. This inequality and my eyes opening about it has had some serious consequences on our sex life. How could it not, when everything we love has so much to do with power play? I even uttered the words I thought I’d never hear from my cock loving lips: I don’t want to give you blowjobs for a while. Wonderboy tried to make fun of what I said by saying: Okay. So you will never, ever again give me a blowjob. Get used to it, he added mimicing my stern voice.

No, I just don’t want to give them right now.

And then we discussed what had happened, when I’d asked him to lick me and he didn’t. I said I felt that there was no way for me to communicate my needs, because while we were having sex, he just wouldn’t oblige because of the d/s. And when I brought the things I wanted and needed up later on, he would chastise me for not asking for them while we were sexy. Now I had the opportunity to show him, how I actually did ask for things I needed, but he wouldn’t oblige. And how that had actively harmed our sex life in the past, because I’d just given up on trying to get what I needed, if he wasn’t magically doing it right all along.

Then I politely asked him to think of ways I could communicate that I really mean what I say and really need those things, because there wasn’t one in my opinnion. This lead to him realizing the same thing and seeing my situation for the first time as it is. It’s not just my fault, it’s a problem with communication. So, effectively, also his problem. He suggested that I’d try the way of appealing to him.

Maybe if you’d say “if I’m good enough, will you do this thing for me? I am a really good girl, aren’t I?”

So, by incorporating it to our play, I could tell him that I really wanted something. This seemed like a good idea. Instinctively I used it yesterday, a couple weeks after the conversation.

He had lifted me on top of him and demanded that I grind myself against him in just the right way. He enjoys playing with my tits and especially licking and sucking on my nipples while we fuck with me on the top. I can’t actually feel much in the way of his tongue’s magic touch in the heat of the moment, and yesterday was the first time ever, I could utter the words: Bite them. Please? Pretty please. I could see him hesitate for a nanosecond before I added the very girly and innocent please. That was just what had happened before. How his brain works. He almost didn’t, because he’s in charge. But then when he did, he bit me like he wanted to. Viciously. I came instantly. It was ridicilous really, but also pretty nice to prove the point of d/s being a two way street. He could see straight away how hearing me affected me.

Sometimes even a submissive knows exactly what they want and it can be imperative to fulfill those needs. I am not a machine and even though I enjoy the submissive role thoroughly, there’s also the very real, corporeal (heh) responses and needs that just can’t be walked over.

So, anyway. Baby steps maybe, but things are improving how ever slightly or slowly. Wonderboy’s been washing the laundry like there’s no tomorrow and doing chores he never used to. (And I never realized!) He’s also begun to talk about his anxieties in a lot more open way, and so have I!

Wonderboy just called to let me know that he’s heading back home from work. He’s still sick. Funnily enough this is almost good news. We get a little vacation with us both home sick. There’s been a lot more sex now that he’s home all the time. A lot more honest talk about wanting it too. And I? Well, my engine’s been running like crazy and I’ve been having orgasms alone and with him many a time every day. I just don’t feel guilty about it anymore. As I don’t feel guilty about not fantasizing about him, if he’s going down on me or while masturbating.I don’t feel guilty for wanting him to do things for me that might be uncomfortable for him or that he might actually not enjoy doing. I’m not worried about that anymore.

This, my new un-worrisome attitude, realized in me having three or was it four orgasms last night while we fucked. One was for him biting my nipples while I was riding him. One was from him dominating me with his eyes and overpowering me with his hand in my hair, hard, unforgivable. I just felt hot waves and shivers run through my scalp, back and ass, when I fell and fell in to the submission, in his rough hands. He spanked my ass and unlike recently I was able to fully take the hits, enjoy the pain that went through me like a wave of electricity. I made a small whining noise that wouldn’t stop. I was his little pet, waiting for it, not wanting it, craving for it. One, I think, was from him fucking me really fucking hard and explaining how he really didn’t give a fuck if I enjoyed or not. His eyes. His eyes locked on mine. His lips. Parted so enticingly. My submission was so overwhelming that after the sex was over and we were done, laughing and hugging and tangling on the bed, he took me by my hair, pushed me against his chest and shook me from my hair. I came once more.

Happiness and feeling equal and not ashamed of what you want and enjoy can do that to people.

Also. I have found Rocco Siffredi. ❤ This guy moans and boy do I love the way he dominates those chics. I just wish the chics could be a little less noisy.

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BDSM, Submissive tendencies, Unanticipated Satisfaction, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want

Hard Communication

I can not stand to be directed at anything. I just can’t stand it. I’ll get angry in a nanosecond and it’s hard to snap me out of it. It was a huge battle to get where we are today, when I took everything that Wonderboy said as criticism. If he didn’t stay hard or if he asked me to do something else or stopped me from what I was doing. BANG! It was all over.

Nowadays I can handle gentle instructions because I know that I’m good to him and I want to be good to him – not just think I am. But it was a long and winding road and demanded us both to really be so spesific and honest about what we mean when we say things, what we want and need and what we don’t like. And it’s always best to start and finish with I love you and you are a great lover and that feels really good. Then you can add the inevitable but and ask for something else. It would be even hotter if you (insert desired action here).

I know it’s hard, but everybody is capable of it. You just have to learn a way to talk. There were ways for him to say things so I wouldn’t find them only criticising. But it demanded a lot of effort from both.

When we have sex, I don’t even think about it as directions anymore. It’s sexy to hear him say now suck my balls. How the hell could I know it otherwise, anyway? It’s the only way to better sex to give your partner indications what you want right now.

When I suck his cock, I usually do things he has asked from me in the past. I suck first, then deepthroat the cock a couple of times, then I might plop it out of my mouth and smear my lips on the mushroom top, licking it like a snake. I might gently move my hands to cup his balls and play with them, pull on them a bit and release them. Then I’d only suck on his scrumptious mushroom top, tease it with my tongue. Then probably change positions and suck his balls, first one by one and then both together.

He has said on numerous occasions Oh God, how did you get so good in this? It feels so good that I’m about to come, already. (The magic words for me, they are.) But it’s only because he’s guided me into what he really likes and how he likes it. It’s different for him, with me, because I rarely give instructions or if I have to do so, it’s already partly ruined. And it’s not only about wanting it to be naturally just right, but about my submissiveness. I want him to do what he likes, so I can sense it with all my senses, so I can see and hear and taste and feel him enjoying the things he does to me. That’s the key for me. So, if I’m only guiding his hand or asking him for something, the right ambience has already escaped.

The sucking is usually enough for him to get so excited he just wants to fuck me. It’s also usually enough for me. But sometimes, when it isn’t for any reason, I end up blaming him of being selfish and self-centered and not thinking about my happiness at all. Objectively, it does seem like I only pleasure him and he doesn’t do anything for me. But we have to take it into account that nothing he can do for me, even if he’s amazing with licking me and toying with me, can feel as good and exhilarating as pleasuring him.

I guess that’s just how my submission works. I love to pleasure him and that usually gets me turned on too. It gets me so turned on in fact that once I was about to come only from looking at him masturbate. He held my head against his thigh and touched himself, and it was so sexy and so beautiful. The same has happened numerous times, when I’ve had his cock in my throat and he’s pinched my nose or strangled my for a bit. And I think that once I did come, from just that, and he was astonished and asked me Did you come just now? because I’d let his cock bob out of my mouth and was vigorously spasming on the bed.

After sucking on his balls for a while, while he usually strokes his cock a bit, but usually can’t but give it a couple of strokes because otherwise he’d come, I usually raise y head and grin at him. It’s a question: is this enough? and we might exhange some words, toss around ideas for what’s to come next. Or if I don’t stop, (I just love to bring him to the brink of coming, like I didn’t know he was about to) at this point he usually gently moves me aside so he wouldn’t come and grins.

I’m going to fuck you.

And then it’s a flip and a push and his on top of me, his cock pressing against my pubic bone or flailing around, poking my thighs and catching my pussy from time to time as it pokes around.

That’s the best and easiest part. It’s been increasingly difficult for me to enjoy intercourse, the one thing I’ve craved with him more than anything. I don’t know why it’s so difficult now. Somehow my ablity to get excited from his excitement stops there. It didn’t used to, so I’m expecting it will come back. Now it’s only the words he gives me when he fucks me. The degrading words. The play.

I know what you want, dressed up like that. I know what girls like you want. Don’t play any games, I know you’re enjoying this. Stop whining! And then he would put his hand over my mouth, my whole face.

I’m gonna fuck you from behind and there’s nothing you can do about that.

The difficulty in this kind of play is of course my ability to control the action. That could be the leading cause (or not) for me not being completely able to enjoy everything. When the game is that my noes don’t count, it’s hard to bring my desires in to the play. I just usually go suddenly all normal and ask him, if he could fuck me the other way, or other times, I let out a hoarse whisper please touch my clitoris, and sometimes he abides by my wishes but sometimes he tosses me around, starts fucking me from the back and says that I don’t deserve it. And that’s even better.

But the thing is. Nothing always works. And that’s why we have to be able to communicate, always. Every time is different. It’s maybe sometimes not so hot to start negotiating in the middle of the act, but it will be even more not hot, if either of us is not enjoying. And the best sexual encounters we’ve ever had have had negotiating in the middle. Because those are the times, that we both have got something spesifically for that moment, something new and exciting and more than before.

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BDSM, Coming out, Craving for more, embracing pain, Hurting, Submissive tendencies

Turning Self-Destructive Ways Into Positive Ones

He tells me I taste different. Metallic. Then he spits my cum back on to my cunt. I see he likes it. I ask him if he likes it. He answers yes.

But I don’t. It’s another thing to have him spit on my face while playing. It’s another thing entirely if we’re not playing. If it’s for real.

Someone might say it is always for real. That’s why I want to talk about my friend’s boyfriend. To illustrate the difference.

Some time ago I was out with my friend K and her boyfriend. We talked about life, sex, love and the pain of growing older, being an adult, having to face the fact that everything is under constant movement, ever-changing. Even ourselves.

We were talking about being self-destructive. He had done many things that I recognized from my past. Drinking too much, doing drugs, having wildly unprotected sexual relationships with people who weren’t trustworthy. Getting himself in situations which could turn out to be really dangerous. Risky behaviour. Hurting himself. (He wasn’t spesific, but I was listening very carefully.)

I still have the same streak in me. If things go bad and I get anxious, it’s a legitime way out. I don’t let myself think about it. I even talk about it like I were an actor in a film I saw. Yeah, and then I just left the bar with the guy I never met before, sat in his car and drove around the beaches sniffing stuff up my nose and had to fight him so he wouldn’t follow me up in my apartment. What stuff, who guy, where, why, how could you?

That’s the thing. If you want to get hurt, but can’t handle it, your subconscious takes control once in a while. Usually when drunk or tired or both. It’s such a strong desire. It takes control, even if we won’t recognize it.

I remember, when a teenager and drunk with my very best friend L, offering my arm to her to carve with a fork. I remember actually anticipating the pain like she would ever hurt me the way I wanted her to. Now I can say it. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I was offering my arm, after all. I was anticipating the pain. So, I did want it. But I always blamed it on mental disorder, the anxious self-destuctiveness of youth. To hurt someone is bad. To want to be hurt is equally, if not more so, bad, because who in their right mind would want something like that? Who in their right mind would let anyone do that to them?

It took me all this time to realize that what I want is perfectly acceptable. It’s part of who I am, what I feel, how I’m situated in life. It is not actual hurt when it’s done right. It leaves no emotional scars. That’s the big difference. Taking it under my control. The craving for pain. Not letting it run me.

I sometimes still fail. I’m hung-up on my old behaviours like everyone else. It’s hard to disingage myself from the thought and action patterns that I’ve used all my life to represent who I am – to myself.

I am the wild one. I am insatiable, undeniable, untied, unbound, wild, ravenous, self-destructive, don’t give a damn, not safe to play with, bad. The last one, I think, is the key. I am bad. Is that the story I tell myself? But to whom I am bad? I am eager to please, often too emphathetic, stepping rather over my own desires than those of others. I am the picture that the magnificently self-reflectory feminist professor Hugo Schwyzer paints here, in his old blog Young women, sensitivity, sociopaths, and remote controls: a pop psychology reflection. I wish I was able to mute my feelings, sometimes. And that’s exactly what I’ve done when I’ve let loose. And it’s all only been bad for me.

So, I am actually not the bad one but the lost one?

I do actually understand what is behind my craving for pain, for domination. Would you like to know what I think? Well, of course, you wouldn’t be reading this if you weren’t a bit interested about my pervy little secrets. Here goes.

I wish to be kept safe. I demand to be forcefully bound, so I know I am safe. To me, being bound like this, in BDSM context, is the ultimate sign of affection. I am always trying to wiggle myself out of engagements, intimacy, promises that bound me. I am always trying my boundaries, knocking off heart shaped boxes as I go. I can only believe I am truly loved and treasured if I am given strict boundaries. If I am challenged.

For me submission is not being weak. It’s about being so strong, that for someone to be worth me succumbing to, for someone to be able to hold me down, s/he has to be unbelievably strong and thus trustworthy. If s/he is willing to take the pain, to face the consequenses, to carry the whole load for the two of us, I am willing to submit. If s/he makes me. That is what I need. Give me a safe place. Give me a place where I can let go.

So, we had gone through the self-destructive ways of our youth, and I had already come to think of the BF as maybe toying with the same shame and mistrust in his own feelings that I had. And then the BF said the eye-opening line.

Plucking eyebrows is nice. Everybody says it hurts, but I kinda like the pain.

It is always the small thing that give you away. Could he be any more clear? Still, I believe he can only truly let it out of his mouth, because he doesn’t yet accept it. Sounds like he is blurting out everything he wants, and when I react on what he says in a recognicing manner, he pulls away and shows some slight dismay of how I take his words. It might be obvious to you, that I didn’t freak, or state how weird and unlikely and pervy it is to say you like pain. I said Well, maybe you’re kind of into BDSM, then. There was a silence, after. Oddly enough, I felt no embarrasment. I guess I am closing in on being okay with what I need. Ain’t that a feat!

I still wish I could help him realize that maybe wanting to be hurt doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you mentally handicapped. It doesn’t even make you a person who always gets hurts. If you accept your need and harness it. Here’s the bottom line, the one I wanted to talk about. The line between actual hurting and the hurting we crave.

It is a bad thing if you let people hurt you emotionally. Physical assault always leaves marks on the mind as well. It’s crucial that the partner you are engaging with is trustworthy and respects your boundaries, what ever they may be. What I’ve done is just another way to behave like the insufferable newbie sub guys who just want someone to enact their darkest fantasies for them, and do them, as so eloquently described in Lady Lubyanka’s place. I’ve put people in a place where they unbeknownst to them are playing a role in fulfilling me needs. Also, they have been people not very much concerned with other people’s safety, emotional or physical well-being, so they deserved to be used, but it is still wrong.

Aftercare sounds like such a clinical word because (I hope) every loving couple cuddles and talks about what just happened in their own right. But I’ve taken to it since we’ve been playing more. He might sometimes need to make sure that I was honestly enjoying, and not just suffering. I might sometimes need to know why he did something or tell him what I thought or how vulnerable I feel. We both need to feel and hear the love is still there, that the hurt was only a game we played. That I was actually not for real. It isn’t enough for either of us to stop at the orgasm. Sex doesn’t really stop there. It stops there no more than it starts when penis hits the vag. There is so much more to sex. And there is definately so much more to being hurt in the right way, by the right hands and with the right affection.

I didn’t like the spitting, which I started this blog post with, because I’d already come and we weren’t playing anymore. It just felt too much like a rejection or a comment on my new taste. Yuck. So, I explained to Wonderboy that if it turns him on, he can continue doing it, but only when we’re playing. He hast to make it a part of our play, it can not be an isolated action. It just leaves too much to analyze. And, as we all know, I will get carried away with that if I get the slightest chance. I voiced my feelings, why and how, and left it for him to concern. After all, I believe he is strong and vigilant enough, both emotionally and physically, to negotiate the lines later on, when I’m not so verbal in the heat of the moment.

I’ve noticed that if I spit on his cock while pleasuring him, it always twitches and gets harder with delight. As also, if I’m choking or gag on him. So, I know it’s a thing he likes. It counters usually to me also starting to like it. But only if he’s acting in a sexual way. If he’s disingaged, too tired or whatnot, it doesn’t work because then he would just be doing it for me. And I never want him doing anything like that for me! I want him to do what he likes with me. That’s the whole point. It’s a tough pickle, ain’t it?

My sister had a delightful insight yesterday. You can keep up you pervy ways with kids just as well. Just put the handcuffs in a drawer.

We might just do that. For now the proverbial handcuffs are dangling from my neck, for all to see.

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BDSM, Coming out, Feminist musings, Gender stereotypes, Stereotypes, Submissive tendencies, Unanticipated Satisfaction

(Stereotypes) Die Hard

I’ve been thinking why so many BDSM-bloggers seem to have emotional instability or a mental disorder of some kind. It seems to play all too well to the conventional truth that BDSM is just for the bunch of sicko’s who have been abused, bullied or otherwise marred. I remember all too well the time I kinda thought the same.

Hanging people from their piercings? From the ceiling?

Flogging someone until they start to bleed?

Fat middle aged women draped in latex?

Thin porn models wrapped in latex?

You can see why I was a little wary. It seemed like an odd cult. It seemed to be more about the way people look than what they enjoy. It’s just what Bitchy tried so hard to fight against. There is still no variety to enforce freedom in BDSM. There are no dominated boys, and there are no women to dominate them – who are not made out of porcelain. It’s a world of weird guys who can get away with just about anything because they secretly make the rules.

Okay, now then. I’ve come to realize that there are a lot of wanking, self absorbed, porn oriented guys out there who don’t care about the needs of others. They want what they want. Their weird little secrets are made sacred by the hiding, unconventionality and shame, and so they can never change. They can never realize that what should be most important to them is what the other one wants. Not what they want to see. But the porn industry has left us women pretty much on our own when catering to mens tastebuds and forgetting – in the porcelain-frenzy – about a tiny little thing clalled lust. Who could teach these guys, hell, who could even show them what it’s all about?

It’s a tragedy to be alone. It’s even more of a tragedy if you carry around a sense of overwhelming shame and guilt about what you need, want and like. Do not let yourself be shamed! It’s a good thing to be whole, and that means that you have to let go of the presuppositions you had. The stereotypes are just what they’re said to be – stereotypes. Not whole. Not even a good point of view.

I remembered today how it felt like when I first realized that what I like and what I should like were not the same thing. It was when my mother told me that you might be a lesbian then because I’d never had a boyfriend and I was 15 or so. I of course retaliated with stupid teenager stuff, but now that I think about it, if someone was to use that same undertone of accusation with me today, with the things I hold dear, I’d probably answer just like I did when I was 15. What’s it to you?

The thing was, before the conversation I had always kind of lived a two-fold life. My lust was a secret I only shared with my friend. She was my first and I didn’t even realize it until years and years later, because it wasn’t what I’d been told it would be. It was our secret. We’d talk about the boys we liked and then go to bed together and play. It was so simple. We knew it was somehow forbidden. We knew we had to keep it a secret. So it didn’t collide with reality, ever, before my mom said what she did, and I got my proof. It wasn’t okay to do those things with girls. It was something I could be accused of. I’d better watch out. And I did.

I never thought men were pretty or sexy at all. They were too foreign, too angular and without all the nice, warm and soft things I wanted to touch. But I fell in love with men. The sex was really awful. It was. Well. It was like brushing my teeth. Necessary but far from fulfilling. But with my (girl) friend, let’s call her M, I had orgasms upon orgasms and I wasn’t even 10 yet! Then I went through puberty and forgot how to and what I liked.

Wonderboy says that I was a lesbian then. But I wasn’t. I was misinformed. See, it’s like with this odd BDSM cult. I just felt weird and alienated with the porn model like porcelain girls and the big scruffy guys. The stereotypes were everywhere I looked. I just didn’t fit anywhere. There was no place for my lust there. My secret became sacred, covered with shame and guilt.

So, who taught me?

I don’t think I’d ever gotten past my inhibitions if it wasn’t for Wonderboy. It’s not that he’s the guy who made me do these things and then I realized. Like in the porn. Like in the fanfic. Like in the poor kinky bastard’s buried hopes. No. He’s the guy who is so safe that I can do anything with him. I am not afraid that he’d judge me. I am never afraid that he’d hurt me. I know that he only wants to please me. This is the key here, ladies and gentlemen.

Now you’re scratching your heads and thinking. Wait a minute! Isn’t he the big Dom and you the little girl subbie? He’s supposed to lead! He’s supposed to teach you and show you (no mercy)! Yeah, yeah. Stereotypes die hard, even harded if they have something to do with gender or sex.

I put his hand on my face and said could you please press hard. I didn’t know why or what I was doing. We were just lying around. I made him press harder. I asked him to hold me down, strangle me, suffocate me, degrade me, hit me, please hit me! And he did what I asked of him. Because he wanted to make me come. He wanted to see me enjoy. He wanted to see what I would enjoy!

So, from the first gentle games we have come to this, everything I’ve written and yet to write about here. I have to accept myself, the whole me, just like I had to with liking girls, too. It’s my dirty little secret, except it’s not a secret, and if it is dirty, it’s dirty the way I like it.

Suddenly the odd BDSM cult doesn’t seem so odd anymore. What, there’s a guy who locks his cock in steel so as not to be able to play with it? And there’s a woman who wants to flog his boyfriend and bind him in chains? Someone wrapped in plastic wrap, bound and masturbated by someone talking shit to them? Ooo yeah. It’s all the hard work (pun intended) that people have done here, in blogs just like mine. They write honestly, passionately, intelligently and most of all about their real life.

How could I not understand? I am, after all, a being of emotion and lust, just like they are. And for the part of being mentally handicapped? If you’ve come this far with yourself, know yourself this well, have done your homework, adjusted to being in the marginal, having to explain yourself or hide some aspects of your life (self?). Well, then. Why would you not accept your emotional instability too if you have already stepped out of stereotypes, of the need to fit in, be made out of porcelain?

Like Joe Ancis said.

“The only normal people are the ones you don’t know very well.”

It’s pretty hard to know yourself this well. That’s why we write.

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Coming out, embracing pain, Fantasies, Hyper-Sexual

Happy And Well Adjusted

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!

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