Craving violence

Life has been so stressful since he lost his job. I won’t go into the details here because they’re not relevant to my headspace or to kinky sex or to submission, but I’ll leave it at – it was totally bogus and infuriating. And while he’s picked up a couple of temping assignments, it’s been rough. He was the full time worker. I do work from home, but my primary job is watching our daughter. So tensions have been high between applying for unemployment, putting our student loans into deferment while we scramble to replace his full time position and do the other un-fun necessities related to losing your primary source of income.

It’s been nervewracking. Wondering if we’ll miss a mortgage payment, wondering if we’ll be able to buy enough food, pay all the bills. Most of the worry is superfluous; we’re savers. We have enough in the bank to live through January even if he gets denied unemployment (which is unlikely in the first place). If we empty my 401k and cash out our savings bond it can go on longer. While job hunting is rough, in his field he should be able to find work fairly fast…and the funny part is it’s likely he’ll end up making more than he was at his previous firm. But it’s still nervewracking and tensions have been high.

Understandably, sex has mostly fallen to the wayside. There’s been the occasional lurid encounter – during one memorable babygirl nap we spent the time with my mouth covered by a pillow to muffle my screams and his fist jammed inside me over and over. He made a heroic effort at a second hand, too, but concluded I was just too small for that. (Fisting hurts. Attempting to add more fingers = sore cunt.) Despite the failure to double fist, the attempt turned him on enough that for the first time in a long time we had anal sex with no lube when it wasn’t a punishment or connected with misbehavior on my end. He was just turned on so much he had to have me right then – which meant both my ass and pussy spent the rest of the day throbbing. It’s rare for him to get turned on enough to lose sight of details (like, yanno, LUBE) so it’s a definitely been a memory haunting my fantasies.

But with tensions and stress levels so high often times we spend the day worrying and doing everything we can to manage our new reality (by applying for jobs or taking on new work-at-home projects) that we fall into bed exhausted.

I know it’s been hard on him but without being inside his head, I can’t really analyze it. My own headspace is another story.

It’s interesting because..you’d think the stresses of life would have shoved off my libido. And the first night and first day afterwards, it did. But afterwards, I find myself desperate for a new level of intensity, depravity, and servitude. I can’t word that any better – I’m desperate for it. I haven’t – and won’t – push for it, although I did confess tonight that in the past two weeks I haven’t really felt like I belonged to him. It would be hard to – he’s been so busy and so stressed.

I know it’s not a lack of desire on his part, because while making love a week ago the night of my birthday he sort … I don’t even know how to explain it, but took advantage of me being desperate to get fucked to formally extend our agreement for the rest of the year. He started fucking me, and got me to the edge of orgasm – that place where you teeter on the edge of a cliff and would do anything, anything if your lover would just push you over.

That story would be much hotter – I surrendered my autonomy for the rest of the year for an orgasm! – except that I didn’t remember it until he told me about it the next day. I was so deeply in the moment I think I would have agreed to let him cut off my arm if he’d just have fucked me harder.

So it’s not like there’s not a desire to own me. He may have been slow coming into this agreement, but it’s been him who pushed each time to extend our agreement – not me. I am almost completely confident that he wouldn’t let me out of this if I thought I wanted to – he understands, or at least from my perspective seems to understand, how deeply entwined with my sexuality the need to submit and be owned is. (That sentence took me ten minutes to write. When did it become a need? Or perhaps more accurately, when did I realize it was a need and not just a new bit of spice for a ten-year-old sex life?) And it seems to push more buttons for him than he had thought it would – he taunted me the other day that tears from him saucing me from a punishment the other day (which reminds me, I need to write that story soon lest it too be lost in the morass of memory) had made him hard.

I know the desire is there. But he’s just too tense.

And I desperately want to ease that tension for him. I’ve done everything I can, helped him screen job ads and done the paperwork I can and done my best to cook and clean and budget to a higher degree and everything to make him comfortable. But I can’t help but feel as if I’ve been shoved to the wayside right now. We had months where every day, I knew that all of me was his. That for that day, my body was his and my mind was his and he would exert that control however he wanted to, and that fulfilled both of us.

But right now, I don’t. Part of me feels like this is selfish on my part, that spanking me and beating me and fucking me are low on the priority list. And like I said, I will not push him for any of it – but I can’t help but that feel that way. I need him to beat me, spank my ass and whip my tits until I cry. I need him to force me to endure things that get him off, things I don’t like or want. With things so uncertain I need to feel that control over me, the certainty that I’m his…and I don’t.

And I feel like he’s holding back. That he’s so tense right now he’s afraid to give into the sadism, afraid to use me to let off steam and express what the turmoil he’s dealing with in his own mind. I can’t help but feel that I could be useful and help him in a way that right now he won’t let me…

In my head, he pulls me into his office roughly, and covers my mouth. He tells me that tonight, he just needs me to endure. That it has been a hard week and he needs something – or someone – to take that out on. That tonight he just needs me to take the pain as he uses my body to relieve his tension. That it will hurt, but I need to endure it for him..that even if it doesn’t get me off, it will get him off, and I just need to take it, no safeword unless something unintended has happened because if I only want to stop because I think I can’t endure, he needs me to endure more…

The fantasy plays out in so many ways. Sometimes he binds my arms and canes me past endurance, physically letting off steam on my willing body. Sometimes he slaps my breasts and ass and cunt, switching to his belt when his hand needs a break until my body is covered in weals and welts and bruises. Sometimes he clamps my breasts and nipples and clips, sometimes my breasts and nipples and then sauces my clit while he bites me, leaving teeth-mark imprint bruises all over my flesh.

In these fantasies, I never end up getting off. Because these aren’t out my own orgasm – they’re about the need to make him feel better, the need to be the vehicle for relieving his stress. They end up in him getting off – sometimes he fucks my mouth after saucing my cunt and ass, so I gasp and gag and choke as my bottom burns and he takes his pleasure from my mouth. And sometimes it’s an even darker fantasy that I can’t yet put into words.

These fantasies are interesting to me because I’ve never been a selfless submissive. My priority has always been my husband even before we called a spade a spade and named our D/s relationship for it really is – a power exchange, a power imbalance. But I’ve always told him that no matter what we’re doing it’s very sexual for me, and I want to get off from it. (He doesn’t always let me, but that doesn’t make it less sexual.)

But these fantasies – while I get off masturbating to me because they are so deeply, darkly erotic – aren’t about getting me off. They’re more of an expression of a craving to serve him, to serve needs he’s busy ignoring right now. They’re an intensity that I normally don’t think I could tolerate without a lot of buildup – but the point to them is to disregard my need for buildup because the only thing that matters is my presence, my willingness to endure for him. They do not sound fun to me. At all. And in normal circumstances, they’re an intensity that I simply wouldn’t feel a desire to experience except in fantasy, a level of darkness best left for the moments in your own head.

But right now, the craving to have him beat me harder than we have ever played with is very, very real – the craving to serve him in the way he seems to need most right now.

I doubt he ever will. But the craving is undeniably there.

The line between submission and masochism...

We’ve played a lot with sadism and masochism, but less with dominance and submission.

And don’t get me wrong. Erotic pain is definitely a turn on. I hate calling myself something like a painslut or a masochist, because those terms seem so much bigger than me, but it is what is.

I like being hit during sex. I like having my ass smacked and spanked until it's bruised. I like being hit with a belt and having clothespins clipped to my breasts. I like being fucked on all fours with the pins on because it makes my breasts sway and agitates the pinched flesh. I hate/like Tabasco on my clit because it burns and hurts.* I like ginger because stings and burns (and then leaves you fiercely hot).* I like having my anus flicked, whipped, and smacked. I like having my breasts spanked and smacked and pinched, the nipples pinched.

And I like the bruising afterwards. I like looking at them and feeling sore, remembering what I did to earn those bruises.

And what that makes me, I don’t know. Perverted, without a doubt. But even as much as it hurts and is “pain,” it’s the intensity of the sensation that gets me. Before we started acting these desires out, I knew I wanted them and just lacked the courage to see if my husband was willing or interested…my fantasies played around the most intense experience I could come up with, and my fantasy life knew what I wanted long before I could admit it.

So being hurt during sex? (Hurt, not harmed.) Yes. Okay, that’s me.

And not that regular sex doesn’t still have a place in our sex life…it does. A nice place. A comfortable place. A familiar place with the man I have been with for 12 years and married to for nearly 6, in pretty much the same way for most of the more-than-10 years we’ve been having sex. I sincerely doubt it will ever lose that place. I like sex – good sex, bad sex, sweaty sex, marathon sex, quickie sex – and I do not /dislike/ the sex that has made up most of my actual sexual experience.

But.

My lover spanking me? Smacking different parts of me until I’m quivering, skin pinkened and coloured by bruises? Squeezing my sore ass that he beat the night before, just to make me squirm and remember exactly what we did the previous night?

Hot, and right. It’s what I want, what I have wanted for a long time, and for me, it is so, so much better than regular sex. I feel engaged by it.

And while there are definitely things we haven’t done yet – I suspect that I will like them when we do. Canes are on the way. Floggers on the way. I’d like to try face slapping…if I can work up to telling him about that.

But that being said…as much as I have never, since the first time I can remember fantasizing about while masturbating, have never once fantasized about regular sex, there is a theme bigger than pain in my fantasies…

…and it is control.

Or at least, I always thought of it as control. Before I knew there was a world where dominance and submission were acted out consensually in the bedroom, I fantasized about being controlled.

Often times the control was by force, by being overpowered, ravished. Being made a slave, or a prisoner.

But mostly, that was because it was about being put into a situation where I could not escape, being subject to the whims and pleasures of another – having my existence become solely about their pleasure.

And obviously, “solely” isn’t quite a standard I could live up to, though it makes great fantasy element.

But.

I finally talked to my husband about this aspect of my sexuality. Or at least, introduced the concept. We didn’t go into a lot of detail or talk toooo much, because, well…surprisingly, this was harder to talk about than asking him to hit me. And that wasn’t easy to bring up.

But somehow, telling him I’d like him to take control of me, to be in charge, to make me do things…things I sort of want and sort of don’t want…things that are…some of them humiliating….

Difficult, difficult, difficult.

He wasn’t totally surprised. I mean…I’ve gotten him to start talking dirty to me. To “punish” me. He’s known for a while it turns me on to be “forced” into sex. Wanting to be controlled and humiliated isn’t…shocking, considering.

But even more difficult, going through the motions isn’t good enough for my picky kink. Nope. If we play with this, he has to want it.

Because if he doesn’t want it, I don’t. And I mean…some of the things I want I don’t want. Which is confusing enough. But if he doesn’t want to do something but he would do it for me…there are people that works for and that’s great.

I’m not one of them.   

He had known for a long time I responded well to having my hair pulled during sex. And then for some reason when we were talking one day I found out he only did that for me, not because it did anything for him…and that just, blew it for me. It stopped being hot and just started being annoying.

Because while I don’t want to totally sublimate myself in his desires – that’s great fantasy fodder, but does not a long term healthy relationship make, because I have my own needs that need to be taken care of – pretending I am when it’s really just going with the flow for him isn’t what pushes my buttons.

I appreciate that he’s willing. I do. It’s sweet.

I don’t want sweet.

I want to be wanted so badly that at least in some way his needs matter more, his desires matter more. I want what /he/ wants and in a very real manner it doesn’t matter if I want it or not…if he wants it enough to “force” me into it chances are…I’ll find it erotic.

I want to be ravished because he can’t resist fucking me. I want him to want something from me so badly that he’ll take it if I won’t give it…for him, there is nothing I won’t give, but it has to be something he wants. Because if he only does it because he thinks I want it, then I don’t want it.

I don’t know if that makes sense, but there it is.

We’re easing into it to see if it really is something he wants. We’re starting with something I knew he wanted and I always said no…and to be honest, I hate it. Haha.

Right now, I can’t orgasm without his permission. One week trial basis.

That sounds easier said than done.

But I am the woman who on a day off when he worked and babygirl’s grandma took her for a day, I masturbated because I had the time and inclination…16 times. (I counted. In my defense, that was my first alone time in two years other than falling asleep…but still. 16!)

I really, really hate this.

But he really, really likes it, because I hate it. And that means I kind of like it too.

It’s complicated. :P



*The difference between Tabasco and Ginger is pretty extreme. Neither are pleasant, both turn me on. Tabasco is pain - Ginger stings. Different sensations. I prefer Ginger, it leaves a pleasant feeling afterwards which Tabasco doesn't, but Tabasco fits better depending on the mood and is easier to keep around...

Midmorning stream of consciousness...

We didn’t play at all last night – I was physically exhausted and went to sleep very early. The night before we really didn’t play much – a little tipsy spanking (me being tipsy, him doing the spanking!) for the same reason. That’s left me a little…sultry, I suppose. My dreams last night – as they often are when my sex drive finds no relief in my waking hours – were vivid, bright, and lurid. They were the kind of dreams that have wake up gasping and arching my back, sometimes on the edge of orgasm and sometimes actually in the middle of coming.

(I wonder – am I the only one who has dreams like that? I’ve known for a long time my sex drive is stronger than most people’s; not in an unhealthy way (or at least I don’t think it’s unhealthy) but it’s always on my mind, and has been since I was very young. Sex dreams are normal for me, especially if for some reason my husband and I haven’t been having enough sex (I tend to wear him out, I think!). )

Unfortunately, I can’t remember my dreams from last night – just flashes of impressions. The taste of salty skin, the heat of another body pressed against the backs of my thighs, something about the desert and my hands being bound with silk…I remember bright purple pillows…being entered from behind and not having had a say in who in my partner was…being punished with something for enjoying it…

I remember it was intense, and unfortunately not much more. Usually I can recount my dreams as if they were novellas I read the day prior, but last night’s dreams are elusive. I’m not even sure that was a single dream.  I think his research into spices for “punishment” and teasing threats are insinuating themselves into my dreams. I believe it will be an interesting night, and I feel nervous and yet somehow very peaceful…this new way of interacting and having sex has been calming as much as it’s exciting and nervewracking. I suppose it has me feeling introspective.

Longing to be beaten?

When I woke up yesterday, I was so sore I couldn’t put my jeans on. Even pulling on a loose skirt brought echoes of pain on and I know I made some kind of face as I did. I was so, so sore – and every time I moved, I felt it, and felt a little thrill that went right down to my sex. I can’t really explain or describe it, but each time I moved and it hurt I remembered the sex and I … liked that.

When he got home from work, he liked that too. He told me he liked being able to gently pat my ass and have me flinch. But I knew last night he was probably going to fall asleep while putting the baby to bed – he was tired and I’d been keeping him up late.

And yet, all evening long he’d been groping my butt as he passed by me during our evening chores (cooking, laundry, etc) and damn, but my butt still hurt. Every time he groped it hurt, and he liked it – he liked seeing me wince. I could feel how hard he was as he pressed his body against me and even though it hurt – he wasn’t a gentle groper in normal circumstance and he admitted he was being much rougher than usual – I was turned on. I wanted him so badly and though it’s hard to actually say, I wanted him to hit me, to hurt me.

As I cooked, he spanked me a couple times and I’ll admit I got a little pissy. The baby was awake and was playing in the playroom next to the kitchen – and she doesn’t need to see any of this. Adult matters can stay adult, thank you very much. Fortunately, he got that message pretty quickly and I think he felt a little guilty about getting carried away & crossing that line because he spent a while playing with her and colouring and junk. He switched to whispering threats in my ear of how we couldn’t play tonight, but he was tempted to do “maintenance beating”  - he said he liked me this sore. It reminded me of something in the Beauty trilogy that I can’t quite remember, I may have to go back and re-read them, but the essence from the book was that being that sore made a slave more malleable, easier to control.  I don’t know if I was “easier to control” but certainly being that sore made it easier for him to get a reaction from me!

Among his threats was of beating me with the wooden spoon we have in the kitchen. That scared me. I’d seen pictures of what those spoons could do and how easy it was to raise welts and bruises with them – I’d tested it on my inner thigh that morning with almost no force and raised a nice red spot immediately. It wasn’t hard to imagine what even a little bit of force could do, and with a lot….

Oh yes, I was scared. I kind of dismissed him, trying not to let him see how much it unnerved me – but he knew. He had to have, because he kept bringing it up and kept talking about spanking me just to keep me sore, with no sex. (I didn’t really know what I thought of that – it’s so sexual to me that spanking without sex seems so unfair! The idea of the spanking, of beating me just to keep my ass sore is a turn on but….no sex? I kind of felt like what’s the point? But maybe that’s the point…I think I’m confusing myself.)

But when he put her to bed last night and unsurprisingly fell asleep (he gets up so earlier for work), I have to admit I was disappointed.

I kept going through the spanking blog I had found (it’s been around a while – I still have tons of it I haven’t read). I turned some of his words over in my mind, alternately scaring myself and turning myself on. We had been looking into buying some sex toys and of course something that drew his attention was the anal hook.

And let me just say, when I started looking at spanking porn and that thing showed up I had to stop and stare. The last time I seriously looked at bdsm porn was a long time ago, clearly before those were in vogue.

And holy crap. Wow. Whoa. What? Wow.

It shouldn’t surprise me that it caught his attention – it may have even been my fault, we were toy shopping and I probably could have scrolled past it, but I had to comment that it was wicked looking, so of course he had to look.

It wasn’t a case of complaining to get something, like trying to incite a spanking. At least, I don’t think it was. If it was it wasn’t conscious.

But he told me he eventually wanted to get one, and that was on my mind. Different toys, different gags and whips we’d looked at, were on my mind. “Maintenance beating” was on my mind.

And god damn it, I have no idea why, but I wanted that stupid spoon. I wished he hadn’t fallen asleep, at least long enough to come out and beat my ass with that spoon.

I could almost imagine it, slamming onto my ass cheeks. I could almost feel it.

And yet I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I thought I could get him to fuck me too, or at least get me off? I don’t know, but damn it. I wanted the spoon. I wanted him to spank me and I wanted to hurt. I wanted to wake up sore and have that reminder even when he was at work.

Damn it.

And I'm sorry to say, but I was comfortably able to both sit and pull on my jeans today. Oh well.

Being very brave...or very stupid...

(initially written 7/26/11 - reposting from LJ due to switching blogs)

I am sure I will write more on this later when I'm not pressed for time, but my head seems to be swirling and bursting at the moment, so I wanted to get this on...paper? .. while the experience is still vivid in my mind.

A few days ago, going around the internet, I found a spanking blog. And as of course that's an area of great interest to me at the moment, I clicked, read...and read...and read...a lot. It was a huge turn on, and gave me a lot of ideas to try with my husband. Ideas that I'm sure I'll want to write about...eventually.

But one thing really caught my attention. It linked to www.figging.com - and - wow.

Let me back up by saying an element in my sexual fantasies for a long time has been punishment. The idea started when I was 17 and read a book where the Mistress used a cream to create a burning feel on the new slave's clit, and then when the sensation faded, in her anus. Ever since then, variants of that have been ... not on my mind, but an added element to masturbation. It was always a form of ritualized punishment.

I, of course, had no idea it was something people actually did. The book was fantastical, predicated on vampires and werewolves. It never really occurred to me that was something people might actually do during sex.

Fast forward, and I've recently read the Sleeping Beauty trilogy by Anne Rice. In the third novel, one of the slaves is subjected to "itching oil" - and while itching isn't very appealing to me, it was the same idea. Punishment. The application of something that isn't violence, isn't force, that the slave can't escape, can't unring the bell - but must simply suffer through until it fades.

So when I saw the figging website, I was...intrigued. One of the posts was on tabasco applied all over the model's vulva and ass and...oh my god.

That was exactly what I'd fantasized about. Punishment, burning without damage - just pain. (And yes, I won't deny that you can actually be damaged by chemicals. That's not my point, obviously care needs to be taken with any kind of pain play.)

But shit. Tabasco?

It burns my <b>mouth</b>.

For a few days, the idea sat quietly in the back of my head.

It was like the bottle in our cabinet was ... taunting me.

Two nights ago, after my husband went to bed, I had to try it.

I didn't mean to.

I didn't plan to.

But I couldn't /not/.

I poured a few drops in a tiny cup, and carried it into the bathroom. I locked the door in case he did wake up. How could I explain this? It was mortifying. I was blushing as it was and I was by myself. If he discovered me, what could I possibly say? And even as I did this, I told myself it was stupid, I could never go through with it. As I stood there, I was sure I wouldn't do it. I wasn't planning to do it. It was absurd, ridiculous...titillating.

And so it's me, nude, in the bathroom, with this little bit of tabasco sauce. I stared at myself in the mirror, and I was distantly amused to see that I was blushed and had the tiniest most apprehense smile on my lips that I'd ever seen. And it's funny, because even up to the last second I was so sure I couldn't possibly do it.

Still telling myself I wouldn't, couldn't, could never ever do this, I dipped my fingers in the cup - and dabbed it on my clit between my spread legs. Momentarily, I felt satisfied - there, I thought. You can't undo it. There's no way to get it off now. You have to live with what you just did!

But then....disappointment. I frowned. It just felt cold. I gave it a second and then wondered if perhaps it was too old. Idiot that I was, I dabbed the rest on myself, telling myself that if it hurt like hell I deserved it. Doing it to myself? What an idiot. What was I thinking? How could I? How could I <b>not</b>?

I waited a moment, and oh. My. God.

It burned. My whole clit felt swollen. It was all I could do not to roll my hips and moan. The pain was intense. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I bounced, tears fell. I hissed. I tried not to moan loudly. It was SO hot and it hurt SO much.

And it was exactly, exactly, what I'd always fantasized about. I found myself masturbating without conscious decision to. Rubbing my clit, which was hard and swollen - and not just swollen from the tabasco. I came quickly, and I cried. I had no concept of time. Had I been there five minutes? 10? 30? An hour? I had no idea, but it was still burning. In my head, I imagined the ritualized punishment, being told this was my penance for some transgression - my mind was in chaos and though my fantasies are usually more structured, more defined, I felt close to orgasm again.

At the height of the burning, I remember thinking I had to try ginger some time.

I masturbated again. I felt so wet. I felt so turned on. I felt soooooo bad, so in pain, so ... punished.


And I had done it to myself!

When I went to bed and lay next to my husband, it was still burning slightly, like aftershocks. I was stunned.

I could never, I vowed, do that again.

Ever.

But without having consciously made any decision, I found my fingertip lightly rubbing my clit as I remembered the experience, riding the waves towards orgasm without having planned to masturbate at all.