Fighting my Master is something I once could never imagine, but as time and a great deal of turmoil have gone by, "resistance-play" has become something highly cathartic for me. Not often, but sometimes, I'll feel the urge to fight as he fucks me and I'll tell him. So far he has always responded almost the same way - with a smile and encouragement to just try it. And so I do. I push him away, twist my body, and try to close my legs, kicking frantically.... and then less convincingly.... and then stop. I can't keep it up for more than a few seconds at a time - it is far more "me" to submit. So why, then, do I want to fight him? Simple, really. To lose.
So last night, when he pressed the blade of a knife against my throat as he fucked me, and asked, "now do you want to push me away, bitch?" - it was a shock to the system. Lying there, his cock in my hole, his weight on my hips, hand gripping my hair.... and the steel pressed against my neck.... I had already lost. For him to ask that question served to invite that "fighting" part of me to come out, and find itself already in jeopardy. There was nowhere to go, no way to move, without impaling myself in a bloody mess on his sheets. And that fighting-part... feline nadi, if you like... she wanted to fight. And found herself already done, before even moving a muscle. And so I choked, caught in a mental trap. Fight-stop. The tension had nowhere to go, so it remained, as Master kept talking, pressing slightly harder with the blade, then slightly harder still.... until he asked me another question and I could not even respond.... and just laid there making choking-gasping sounds, crying and trembling, completely overwhelmed.
My only relief, of course, was submission to it all. When I finally let go and just drifted into dark serenity, the tension ceased - and my body responded by relaxing under him, my slut hole melting into a wet abyss, my breathing almost not there at all.... and my mind, gone to a peaceful distance - a place where I cared not to live or die.... just surrender to his will. Words just can't capture the bliss.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Is it ok to mention anal over breakfast?
The one thing that never fails to shock me about sex, is how easily other people are shocked.
Thanks to a long story that I won't bother to explain here, I am in a position in my academic career right now, where I'm needing to do a lot of research on sexuality-related topics. On the one hand, there's not a lot to learn that I'm not already personally familiar with. But on the other hand, I am learning a hell of a lot about where other people sit - which is mostly on the other side of the planet from me.
An article I read today, was by a sex researcher doing an ethnographic study into sex politics, by "investigating" a swingers party and recording her personal reactions. She seemed pretty honest and frank about it. But what amazed me as I was reading it, was how new everything was to her - not the swinging scene, but the basic elements involved. Things like being naked in front of strangers. Having a conversation about genital piercing. Telling someone your fantasies. Being attracted to a member of the same sex. Things I think of as pretty everyday experiences. Are they really such a big deal to so many people? Apparently.
So I was trying to think back today, to when I was a lot less experienced. Way back to my teens. I know there was a time when I didn't find it so easy to say I'm a bi-sub-slut. The question I asked myself is, what did I used to think and feel back then, and was it anything like what this woman described?
The answer, of course, is hard to really know, since my memories must be influenced by what I've experienced since then. But I remember a sense of frustration, at not being able to show what I wanted and what I was. I knew darn well, for example, that I wanted to be gang banged by my male friends at age 16. What annoyed me was that I couldn't say so - because other people (them included) would find it too shocking. And I remember talking about fantasies with my boyfriend at age 17, and having to moderate them to avoid freaking him out. Telling him I thought about other girls was perfectly OK, but mentioning bondage and torture turned out to be a bad move, as the look of alarm on his face told me. Oops.
By the time I met Master, being silent about my desires "just in case" of what other people thought had been strongly instilled in me. It took time for him to drag them out in the open, and there were many scoldings for trying to shy away. Now it all seems so plain, so ordinary, that I often fail to keep track of where other people's "normal" marker lies. I keep silent on sexual topics once again, no longer out of fear of judgement, but because I know that I have a great bias in my judgement. I constantly expect people to be comfortable with far more than what they are.
Thanks to a long story that I won't bother to explain here, I am in a position in my academic career right now, where I'm needing to do a lot of research on sexuality-related topics. On the one hand, there's not a lot to learn that I'm not already personally familiar with. But on the other hand, I am learning a hell of a lot about where other people sit - which is mostly on the other side of the planet from me.
An article I read today, was by a sex researcher doing an ethnographic study into sex politics, by "investigating" a swingers party and recording her personal reactions. She seemed pretty honest and frank about it. But what amazed me as I was reading it, was how new everything was to her - not the swinging scene, but the basic elements involved. Things like being naked in front of strangers. Having a conversation about genital piercing. Telling someone your fantasies. Being attracted to a member of the same sex. Things I think of as pretty everyday experiences. Are they really such a big deal to so many people? Apparently.
So I was trying to think back today, to when I was a lot less experienced. Way back to my teens. I know there was a time when I didn't find it so easy to say I'm a bi-sub-slut. The question I asked myself is, what did I used to think and feel back then, and was it anything like what this woman described?
The answer, of course, is hard to really know, since my memories must be influenced by what I've experienced since then. But I remember a sense of frustration, at not being able to show what I wanted and what I was. I knew darn well, for example, that I wanted to be gang banged by my male friends at age 16. What annoyed me was that I couldn't say so - because other people (them included) would find it too shocking. And I remember talking about fantasies with my boyfriend at age 17, and having to moderate them to avoid freaking him out. Telling him I thought about other girls was perfectly OK, but mentioning bondage and torture turned out to be a bad move, as the look of alarm on his face told me. Oops.
By the time I met Master, being silent about my desires "just in case" of what other people thought had been strongly instilled in me. It took time for him to drag them out in the open, and there were many scoldings for trying to shy away. Now it all seems so plain, so ordinary, that I often fail to keep track of where other people's "normal" marker lies. I keep silent on sexual topics once again, no longer out of fear of judgement, but because I know that I have a great bias in my judgement. I constantly expect people to be comfortable with far more than what they are.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Moo?
Master, as well as his more unusual interests, has an enthusiasm for TV box sets. Not trashy sitcoms etc, but mainly sci-fi series and classics. When I'm at his home and not busy serving him or engaging in deviant forms of entertainment, we often spend time watching a series on DVD together with some food or a bottle of wine.
But anyway, nobody came here to read about TV, right? The reason I mention it is that his latest series hire has got me thinking some interesting things. The context is survival - most of the population of the earth has been wiped out and resources are scarce. What would I do in this situation? Well, my first impulse was, of course, that I'd whore myself out for sure. One thing men will always want, is women to fuck. And I am already "used" as currency from time to time - so naturally, I'd turn to what I know to help myself survive. Not to mention have some fun (grin).
But when I think about it even longer, sex is really just the beginning. Ultimately, if the whole human species is at stake, what is really needed is women to breed. Bring things down to the most basic level of survival, and the whole women's movement comes to naught. In the end, they don't have much choice in the matter: it is a biological necessity to get knocked up, or we all die. That's the simple truth of it. As a woman, my body is a commodity - not just to help a man get off, but because I can have his child. Strip humanity of all its laws and customs, drag each man down to a matter of "live or die", and women become one essential thing: breeding stock.
All this brings me to a new perspective on an old fantasy. Master has spoken many times about using me to breed, and it is something that never fails to terrify and excite me on a very deep level. To be used as a body to create a child, by Master or someone else, without a choice, is ownership at its most primitive level. By control of my most basic biological functions, Master's use of me would be complete unequivocally. Physically and psychologically, there would be no return, and no denying my true place as his property and his slave.
But putting it into a survival context, that makes it real in a new way. Because not only could I become breeding stock if my Master wished it, but in some deep, biological way, I already am. It is only by chance allocation of my social environment and place in history, that we can all pretend otherwise. I have had bestowed on me, by my social world, a right to choose what my body is used for - but that social world is no ultimate authority. The reality is, at any time it could die. The ultimate authority is nature, and it dictates that I am here for one primary use. In my relationship with Master, that reality is recognised and embraced. I am stock.
But anyway, nobody came here to read about TV, right? The reason I mention it is that his latest series hire has got me thinking some interesting things. The context is survival - most of the population of the earth has been wiped out and resources are scarce. What would I do in this situation? Well, my first impulse was, of course, that I'd whore myself out for sure. One thing men will always want, is women to fuck. And I am already "used" as currency from time to time - so naturally, I'd turn to what I know to help myself survive. Not to mention have some fun (grin).
But when I think about it even longer, sex is really just the beginning. Ultimately, if the whole human species is at stake, what is really needed is women to breed. Bring things down to the most basic level of survival, and the whole women's movement comes to naught. In the end, they don't have much choice in the matter: it is a biological necessity to get knocked up, or we all die. That's the simple truth of it. As a woman, my body is a commodity - not just to help a man get off, but because I can have his child. Strip humanity of all its laws and customs, drag each man down to a matter of "live or die", and women become one essential thing: breeding stock.
All this brings me to a new perspective on an old fantasy. Master has spoken many times about using me to breed, and it is something that never fails to terrify and excite me on a very deep level. To be used as a body to create a child, by Master or someone else, without a choice, is ownership at its most primitive level. By control of my most basic biological functions, Master's use of me would be complete unequivocally. Physically and psychologically, there would be no return, and no denying my true place as his property and his slave.
But putting it into a survival context, that makes it real in a new way. Because not only could I become breeding stock if my Master wished it, but in some deep, biological way, I already am. It is only by chance allocation of my social environment and place in history, that we can all pretend otherwise. I have had bestowed on me, by my social world, a right to choose what my body is used for - but that social world is no ultimate authority. The reality is, at any time it could die. The ultimate authority is nature, and it dictates that I am here for one primary use. In my relationship with Master, that reality is recognised and embraced. I am stock.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Home is where the hold is
I haven't been well lately, which is one reason why I haven't blogged in so long. A chest infection is making it hard to breathe. So, when Master fucks me, he has been making sure to push his weight firmly onto my chest. Good sadomasochism can turn any situation into an opportunity - and far be it from my Master to not take full advantage.
Another thing fairly unique to Master in bed is his tendency to keep talking - describing ideas for scenes, or just saying single words, designed to keep me where he wants me, and guide my mind to the state he desires. In this way, what we are actually doing becomes almost irrelevant, as even a straightforward, missionary-style quickie becomes a mental rollercoaster of corruption, humiliation, torture, and pleasure.
So the other night, he wasn't just fucking me, but engulfing me; suffocating me with pressure on my chest, filling my mind with thought and sound. My mind was swimming with him as he fucked so long that my breathlessness faltered my ability to orgasm, or do anything else for that matter. I was not me, I was just a vessel, full of him. So the impact hit particularly hard when he turned his verbal torrent to say, "It does not matter what you want: you could be mine for the rest of your life if I decide, even if you don't want it. You have no choice."
The rest of my life. If I want it, or not. Those were the words that captured me most fully, their truth resonating through my body and taking me to that place of surrender. There are still times when I question my desire to keep my promise to him, to be his indefinitely - times when I fall into despair and wonder how to get out of this. But his power of me is complete - there is no way out of this of my own choosing. And that knowledge never fails to bring me back to submission, and in turn, contentment.
Ah, the bliss of knowing I may not choose. Freedom of responsibility. Relinquishment of power. The safety of knowing no matter what happens, no matter how I think or feel, there is somewhere I still belong.
Another thing fairly unique to Master in bed is his tendency to keep talking - describing ideas for scenes, or just saying single words, designed to keep me where he wants me, and guide my mind to the state he desires. In this way, what we are actually doing becomes almost irrelevant, as even a straightforward, missionary-style quickie becomes a mental rollercoaster of corruption, humiliation, torture, and pleasure.
So the other night, he wasn't just fucking me, but engulfing me; suffocating me with pressure on my chest, filling my mind with thought and sound. My mind was swimming with him as he fucked so long that my breathlessness faltered my ability to orgasm, or do anything else for that matter. I was not me, I was just a vessel, full of him. So the impact hit particularly hard when he turned his verbal torrent to say, "It does not matter what you want: you could be mine for the rest of your life if I decide, even if you don't want it. You have no choice."
The rest of my life. If I want it, or not. Those were the words that captured me most fully, their truth resonating through my body and taking me to that place of surrender. There are still times when I question my desire to keep my promise to him, to be his indefinitely - times when I fall into despair and wonder how to get out of this. But his power of me is complete - there is no way out of this of my own choosing. And that knowledge never fails to bring me back to submission, and in turn, contentment.
Ah, the bliss of knowing I may not choose. Freedom of responsibility. Relinquishment of power. The safety of knowing no matter what happens, no matter how I think or feel, there is somewhere I still belong.
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