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...

Languid spankings and revising history

Last night’s playtime was intense – I am wonderfully sore, and every time I walk and the muscles in my butt stretch or contract as I do I smile, because I remember it.

I was lying on my stomach, him between my legs and my legs splayed around him so they were sort of hooked around him. I had my pillow to release my cries into if I needed it, or to lay my head on if I needed it, but for the most part – despite the intensity of the play – I felt mostly languid in a way I’ve never felt before. Each spanking, or smack with the bowl of the wooden spoon, or thwap with the handle of the spoon, hurt for one brief fiery second, drawing a moan out from the depths of my throat. And then I just felt warm. Not sleepy, just…relaxed. He accused me of being tense, but I wasn’t, and by the end even him rest his hands on my butt – either to feel me or to part my ass to look deeper – made me wince and grit my teeth, but the actual spanks and slaps? It actually felt almost relaxing, and thinking about it today it’s sort of unnerving. I’ve long known and buried that somewhere along the way I had grown to like erotic pain, but my memories of last night are almost hazy, fuzzy, and what comes through most strongly are impressions of warmth, of waiting to feel the next one. I hesitate to describe the feeling as “great” because I do know it hurt. I remember he did sometimes hit fairly hard, hard enough to make me actually cry out – usually when he chose to spank the juncture where my butt and thighs meet – but I don’t remember more than brief instants of pain. It’s unnerving because that feeling is so…strange to me. I feel quite confused actually.

The bruises today are unnerving too. We had waited for my butt to heal, for the most part, although we did some light spanking play, so I suppose I had gotten used to a mostly “normal” looking butt. (If you say the word butt enough, it seems to lose meaning…hmmm.) There are vivid splotches of wine-coloured bruising and deep purple bruises, and some pale yellow ones. When paired with the mottled bruising on my breasts, I could easily pass for the victim of something nefarious, and it both amuses me and unnerves me and turns me on that instead these are the marks of love.  I am nearly tempted to post pictures so I can remember his handprints on my skin, remember once the bruises have faded just how thoroughly he beat my ass and breasts.

Speaking of my breasts, I have no idea how I feel about how much he likes to punish them. Clothespins, spankings, pinching, smacks with the spoon – he seems to take great joy in playing with them, and aiming the spoon so he can focus the blow on my nipple. The pain when that happens is so intense, almost electric – and he loves it. He loves to grope my breasts so hard I groan and cry, and my reaction is so mixed, so conflicted I almost want to laugh. I hate it. The spankings on the rest of my body don’t incite the same feelings. Is it worry because I’m lactating? Or do my breasts, jutting out so exposed from the rest of my body, simply seem more vulnerable to me? I know he’s not hitting as hard as he’s hitting my ass but it’s frightening nonetheless. And yet…it turns me on, because I can visibly see how making my breasts shudder with each spanking, bounce each time a clip is removed and I jump, turns him on. The punishment by itself and out of context is unpleasant, but doing something uncomfortable for his pleasure is incredibly erotic. I don’t understand why the desire to make him feel good, particuarly at the expense of my own physical comfort (hah – comfort is a paltry world to describe what I mean here, but as I am not a thesaurus it will have to do), is so strong…but there it is. Beat my breasts, spank my feet, draw bruises on my ass…just get off on it, and it seems I will too.

What a strange creature am I.

On a different note, we found out very hard and very fast last night that I definitely have a limit when it comes to tabasco. I made the mistake of telling him to “stop!” as he was doing his damnedest to smack my nipple with the edge of the spoon. Very quickly, I found myself head down and ass up on the tiny bed in his office. He told me I didn’t get to say “stop” and started dropping something onto my exposed anus. It stung and I immediately freaked, demanding to know what he had just put on me – he remained silent, working it into my asshole. He then started rubbing what I assumed was the same stuff onto my clit and then inside my cunt; by then my nose had caught up to my brain and I was starting to flip. He still didn’t tell me what it was, but it was starting to burn.

I got totally lost inside my own head. He started to smack with a belt and that actually felt good as my cunt and ass burned, but he was telling me to do something to and I haven’t the faintest idea what. He then tried to have me suck him and I was just…lost. I had tried to explain before that that kind of intense sensation is all consuming and absorbs my entire focus, but I guess I didn’t explain it well enough (note to self: cut the shyness crap in the future…no matter how embarrassing it might be, I have to communicate better). It was incapacitating – and I think it was worse because I hadn’t expected it. We had talked about using it on my ass too, and eventually both at once, but I guess I wasn’t ready for that jump and you can’t stop once it’s on.

He started to touch me and finger me and that was when I lost it, starting bucking and telling to stop touching me if he ever wanted to do this again and stuff. I failed though. He didn’t stop – understandably, since we had talked about control fantasies – and I fucking forgot my safeword. He kept trying to finger fuck me as the inside of me burned and it just felt awful as I sobbed and told him not to touch me.

I have no idea how or why, but I was so overwhelmed I didn’t just forget my safe word. Honestly and truly forgot safewords existed. He did figure out pretty fast that I actually genuinely needed him to stop, and he was honestly wonderful as soon as he figured out what was going on. He told me he would have stopped the instant I used my safeword, and I felt so stupid…I have no idea how my brain just…shut out that piece of information. Like, gone, completely. I didn’t forget my word – I forgot that I even had that kind of option.

Uh…oops. Yeah.

And while I had a break down and a sobbing mess, we talked afterwards and the luxurious spanking I described above happened after this, so the evening wasn’t lost and didn’t end on a poor note.

I thought a lot about what happened. I think the sauce in my pussy is probably just not going to be repeated unless I really direly need to be punished, because that was rough. It made it agonizing when he went to finger fuck me, and that I think was what ended up putting me over the edge.

That all being said, I think there are ways we could have done that that would have turned my sex drive to overdrive instead of turning me into a mess.

What turns me on about this is being punished. Ritualized punishment for infraction is just…my fantasies are so structured and vivid that I think the interaction I needed wasn’t there. I like that he punished me for telling him to stop. I didn’t mean to say stop and I wasn’t actually trying to tell him off, but that was definitely one of those punishable offenses. So I like that part of what happened an awful lot.

But surprising me wasn’t a great way for me to deal with that. As silly as it might have felt for him, telling me I was being punished and how would have been hot – if he had pushed me into that position and said “Ekho, you /don’t/ get to tell me to stop. You belong to me, to spank as I see fit – telling me to stop is inexcusable, and I’m going to punish you severely for that. I am saucing your asshole and clit because you told me to stop, and when it starts to burn I am going to whip your ass with my belt. When it stops, you’re going to suck me off.”

Even thinking about that historical revision has me wet, and in that context I could have even dealt with the sauce inside my cunt – it’s all about frame of mind. When he gets home I’m going to share my thoughts on that because I think it was a scenario that could have led to a fantastic orgasm for both of us.

Mmm, actually, we may have to try that again tonight with a new script. *g*

First time playing in a while...

(initially written 7/27/11)

It was...an interesting night last night. As always, this may not be chronologically correct - the experience was intense and the chronological order these occurred in may have blurred slightly.

He started by by blindfolding me and told me to touch myself as he gathered supplies from the kitchen. I was instantly terrified - my mind instantly went to the tabasco sauce. Did he know? Had he seen me researching? Was it something he had thought about? Could I handle it? To tell the truth, I really hadn't decided WHAT I thought about the tabasco. Had I been stupid? Would I repeat it? But it had me utterly terrified.

The rules were that I couldn't speak unless spoken to and requested to speak.

I broke them immediately; I was utterly terrified and told him so. I hate surprises. I had to know what he was getting together. So he told me, to calm me down. (I was supposed to be nervous, not avidly frightened.)

It was nothing I hadn't expected, and fortunately, tabasco sauce was not on the...itinerary.

Wax. Something large to put inside of me. (What, I couldn't guess.) Rope. A heavier belt to smack me with. Oil.

I was scared, but excited. It was going to be intense. I wanted to feel him hit me, to feel him penetrate me.

I didn't wait long - the slap of the belt on my thigh made me jump. It stung. Badly. The area felt immediately warm. I was made to stand, and rope was used to tie my breasts. I was startled, so startled - I had seen porn with that kind of bondage, but never thought of having my tits bound like that. It hurt! But he seemed to like it, and while I wasn't sure it was something I was interested in, it wasn't something that frightened me or upset me...I was just...apathetic. Although it did make me a little nervous - it made my breasts feel <b>so</b> vulnerable!

Breasts bound, I was told to assume an awkward position on floor. My ass was slapped with his hand, with the belt. Sometimes he changed it up and whipped my belly, my breasts, the soles of my feet. (That really hurts your feet! They immediately feel super warm and throbbing - again, it was something I'd seen in porn, but never thought about doing. It actually really turned me on and I am going to have to think about why later - I can't quite process my feelings on it yet.)

I was rubbed with oil, and though that felt nice, it had me nervous, because I knew what he wanted to do. He likes fisting. It's not really something that's ever turned me on, and it hurts - but it wasn't a limit, and I know it turns him on. He worked on me for a long time, until finally, he was able to fit his large hand inside of me.  I remember making such loud sounds - it was so incredibly intense and I remember thinking my voice didn't sound like it could come from me. Ow, ah..and other more primitive sounds. It hurt - he was so deeply inside me. Pulling out - slowly working his hand back in.

When he paused, it wasn't long before I felt the searing hot drops of wax. On my butt, on my anus. Yow! Searing pain, then sensuous warmth. It frightened me, it stung, and it turned me on. I jumped and moaned each time. Inanely, I worried about dropping hot wax onto oiled skin.

Then his hand, again, and as he did, fingers inside my ass. Telling me I was his slut, that I was too loose for him - much too lose - and that he'd be fucking my ass soon. I moaned, I cried out. He started pushing something well lubed inside my asshole; it felt cool. He apologized for the coolness but kept pushing. It felt wide, but not as wide as him. I was so turned on it really didn't hurt at all - he'd done a good job with his fingers and I was ready to be fucked.

When I felt his cock pushing insistently against me, I moaned and then held my breath, trying to let him in. No matter how ready I am there's always that momentary pain when I fight having my ass fucked - when in my head, I can't believe his cock is forcing its way inside my ass. It hurts while I resist and I wonder if that's why I resist - the allure of anal for me is how intense it is. Sex is great. Anal is...infinitely more sensate, more intense. In my head, I'm reduce to gibberish once I stop fighting the invasion and finally resign myself to his cock deep inside me, forcibly stretching my asshole. "There's a cock in my ass, cock in my ass, in my ass..." is about as coherent as it gets, and I can feel how wet I am as clench and unclench my pelvic muscles. It always surprises me when I come during anal - like somehow, in my head I'm sure that I can't come from this sex. And when I do, the sounds that rip out of my throat sound foreign. Are they my voice, or has the television turned on without my notice?

As he spurts inside of me, I'm shuddering, incoherent. He kneads my ass and I wonder if he ever realizes he does that - it's something he always does at the end of his orgasm as long as we're in that position and my butt is in reach of his hands.

As he helps me up, takes the blindfold off and unties the rope, I'm shaking, quivering. I feel sore, I ache, and tiny echos of pleasure are ricocheting inside my body. He hugs me. We decide to shower together to clean up.

And that...should have been the end of the night. But it wasn't, and I'll write that in a separate entry.