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...

Oops! An adventure with tabasco..

(initially written 7/27/11)

It should have ended with the shower. If I hadn't been so tired and so ... spaced out, so lost in my own thoughts about what had just happened, it would have.

But he was outside the shower as I was standing under the hot water, washing my hair and idly flicking away flecks of wax.

I don't remember what he asked or how he said it. I don't remember the words of my reply. It had something to do with me having been terrified when he was rifling through the kitchen.

But some how, I let it slip that something specific in the kitchen had terrified me because I'd already tried it.

I didn't say it in so many words, but he knew. He read right through what I'd said.

Immediately, the questions started. For an hour, he badgered me - he didn't let me out of the bathtub, then he didn't let me out of the bathroom. He alternated between demands and pleading, jokes, laughing, begging and being serious about how I could tell him.

I was mortified. I could not tell him. Could not not not.


I felt guilty that he had found anything out at all - I hadn't meant for him to. Knowing that there's a "secret" is unfair. But I couldn't tell him. I just couldn't.

And strangely, throughout all the badgering, as he threw out outlandish guesses (coffee grinder? knives? mixer? griddle cord?) and demanding questions (on me or in me? food or appliance?) it was easy to not budge. Mostly, I didn't answer anything, afraid he'd guess, although somehow I slipped somewhere and he knew I'd tried it, knew it had been recently. He thought it had been a few nights before and that I'd plan to exclude him and for that I felt bad, as it wasn't calculating or planned, but it was easy not to answer. I was mortified, embarrassed, terrified.


Terrified of what...I'm not sure. Terrified he'd think poorly of me? Terrified he'd think I was a slut, think I was debased, twisted? Terrified he'd wonder how his wife could do that...could put tabasco on her clit just to feel it? Liked being punished that much?

...or terrified that he'd be interested, terrified that he'd /want/ to do it to me? I still hadn't processed what I'd thought about the night before. I still hadn't decided if I COULD do it again. What if he liked it? What if it turned him on? What if he wanted to see me writhe as the evil sauce seared me in my most sensitive place?


He told me I didn't need to be, but it was still easy to say no. As long as he badgered me, I refused.


And then...he gave up. Said he was going to bed. And as we lay in bed, the pressure and the guilt was overwhelming. Two, three, five, a dozen, a hundred times the words nearly fell from my lips - but I was still so frightened.

Somehow, and I can't explain how, him telling me he'd drop it was a hundred times worse. I worried I'd hurt his feelings, that he'd be upset. No, he assured me, he wasn't...but inside me, the words were burning. I was scared but more than before now I wanted to tell him, wanted him to know.

He'd dropped it, he assured me. And then, without really having decided to speak, the words came out.

"Tabasco sauce."


There was a moment of silence. When he spoke, I couldn't tell how he felt, if he was disturbed or upset or interested. "Where did you come up with that idea?" His voice was so neutral I couldn't parse his reaction.

Noncommittally, I told him I'd read about it, and shrank into my pillow.

He admitted he would never have thought of that. I told him I knew as much - had realized it from his wild guesses. He hadn't even been close.

There was a pause, and then...he told me he wanted to do it. Rightthatsecond.

I panicked, truly and completely. I begged and fought and told him no. 20 minutes, 30 minutes he cajoled and tried to force me out of bed. My heart beat wildly and I refused - I couldn't, could not not not!

And then...he gave up again. Truly gave up. Told me he was dropping it.

And suddenly, like before, I couldn't stop talking about it. I told him about the fantasies, told him about how it happened.

He told me he was letting it go, but if I kept talking about it he'd want to do it.

And then...then he said something that set off a deeper panic, froze my insides. He told me he wouldn't bring it up - I'd have to ask for it if I ever wanted it.

But I hadn't decided if I wanted it or not! I didn't know! But the idea of asking for it...of asking him to hurt me like that...

It was mortifying. Completely, utterly horrifying.

Ask for it?

Never.

Which meant it was now...or never.

I didn't stop talking.

And then, found myself on the couch, told to touch myself as he got the tabasco sauce. My heart beat so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and I begged, pleaded for another night, just not tonight, not now...

When the baby cried, he went in to comfort her, while I panicked. Twice more he had to go in and I thought I was getting out of it, but when he emerged, I fought him as he fought to spread my legs. He was going to see my reaction to this, and he told me I just had to deal with that.


My panic peeked when it looked like he would drip it straight from the bottle, and I won my only concession of the evening - he'd pour some on a small saucer and apply it with his fingers.

My heart beat so wildly I could feel it all over my body. I felt as if I should be drenched in sweat, and my body shook - when he finally forcefully spread my legs and dabbed on the sauce, I nearly sobbed. It was done - I couldn't stop it anymore, couldn't do anything about it but wait for the pain and try to deal with it.

When he asked how it felt, my voice shook in my ears as I told him it was cold and would take a minute to take effect. How long would it last? I told him honestly I had no idea - time had no meaning when the pain was that searingly intense.

And then the burning began, and I know I was moaning and whining piteously, gasping and sobbing that it hurt, it burned, it burned - roll my hips, writhing, trying desperately to escape the sensation. I heard him murmuring that watching me moan and wiggle was hot, so hot, but the words - while distantly comforting that at least as I suffered he took pleasure in it - were nearly meaningless, as I was so lost in the sensation.

He was hard, and he told me to blow him, to suck him. I tried - I wrapped my lips around his cock and tried to suck - but the pain was so intense I couldn't focus. I tried to explain that I couldn't but even now I have no idea if the words came out or not, but the idea that he watched - and that he told me this was punishment for holding out on him - had my vagina wet with the evidence of how turned on I was.

I kept wriggling, kept trying to move my hips and butt, anything to stop the pain, the burning, as I with sobbing breaths told him how much it hurt, how much it burned - and distantly, I felt him preparing my ass, fingering me, getting ready to fuck my asshole even as I writhed and suffered as the tabasco seared my hardened clit, my vulva.

When he entered me, he was so turned on he was rough, and I remember yelping, asking him to pull out - I can't honestly remember if he did or didn't, so lost in the pain and burning, disconnected with myself and yet locked in the awareness of the pain on my clit and now the new pain in my ass. He fucked me hard, roughly, grabbing my hips as I disparately voiced the intensity of what I was going through.

And while it hurt, it was so clear, and so hot, so erotic as I was torn between the pain in my ass and the pain in my clit - a dilemma - do I writhe to try to quell the burning in my vulva, the searing pain in my clit, or focus on my ass, focus on accommodating his cock as it ravaged my asshole? I couldn't do both - trying only failed in both, but I juggled, one moment trying to move with his cock, to relax my asshole that I had tightened as I battled the burning in my vulva?

When he came, I felt him shudder and release inside me, and I was free to wiggle and focus entirely on my cunt.

I don't know how long the anal lasted, but my clit was still searing and burning, and as before, without having decided to masturbate, I found myself rubbing my clit, my body on the edge of orgasm, fueled by the ass fucking and the punishment and the orgasm that usually came from being fucked. He teased me, saying maybe he shouldn't let me come - my hand fell to the side, and I vaguely remember whimpering, but he let me come, and it was body shuddering, so intense I felt my entire vagina tighten and shudder as I came over and over. I had touched myself in front of him before, even climaxed from it before, but never, ever like this before. In my head, there was this sense that he wanted to watch me suffer, and it added something indescribable to it, something so erotic that even as I whimpered had me turned on.

And it still burned, and I still moaned after, but eventually, finally, as he watched me writhe, it ebbed, slightly,  but enough that I could pull myself together. I felt swollen, raw, and super erotic..and I had made it through.

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.