Perfect perversion

It's probably stating the obvious by now to say I like my sex to hurt.  There was a time when that wasn't so clear to me, though.  I vividly remember one of the defining moments in my sexual history, when I was fucked by a truly Dominant man - in a BDSM sense - for the very first time.  Bent over with a hand grasping my hair, I was given my very first hard spank, and my response told him all he needed to know.  "So," he said, "you like a little pain with your pleasure..."  and just like that, I realised I was getting exactly what I needed.

But by far the best way to get pain with my pleasure, is when it simply hurts to be fucked as is, with no other action necessary at all.

I wonder sometimes, why it is that I should feel this way - that the most intense of pleasures are most enjoyable to me, when I suffer for them.  Does it mean that, deep down, I don't want to accept simply feeling good?  Do I feel some unconscious guilt that is absolved by pain?  Certainly something seems to feel.... purifying about the pain.  As though my 'innocence' is held close enough that I can't be held responsible for how incredibly good it feels.  I am allowed to experience ecstasy if it accompanies sacrifice.

But most of the time, I choose not to ask myself these things.  Because they imply something else - that I should want to like sex without suffering... sex that is focussed on making my body feel good all over.... so-called 'normal' sex.... sex that bores me.  The more the experience is designed for my simple pleasure, the more dulled my mind and my senses become.  In effect, I reject the pleasure completely.

So why the hell would I want more of that?

As time goes by, and I understand more and more of my sexual makeup, the less I want it to change.  The truth is, I don't care if my fetish for submission is based in deep psychological disturbance.  It feels fucking awesome to be this twisted.  Let's mess me up even more.

Sadism and Sadism

I find it hard to control my bias sometimes.  Like most submissives (I suspect), I feel an inner pressure to paint only a pretty picture of what it is to be my Master's slave.  I try not to resort to romanticism, but I still wonder if sometimes I'm not guilty of the same glossy tint that I criticise other subs for.  I want to get the balance right: while I would never publicly criticise my Master, I also want to be clear on something.  It's not all peaches.

Oh, woe is me, sometimes my Master is cruel!!  Lol.  But it's true, sometimes he is, in ways that I really curse.  There's his tendency to not answer questions I ask, for example.  In vanilla relationships, I've thrown tantrums over that.  Here, I'm forced to grit my teeth and repeat a mantra of patience, patience, patience.....  And the errands he sends me on, sometimes needing to travel to several different locations to collect this, deliver that... A little voice in my head starts a complaining tirade at these times.  It ends when it reaches somewhere like, "Why can't you do this yourself?  What do you think I am, your - oh, hang on...."


And then there's the worst torture of all.  I can hardly stand to mention it.  I always know it's coming, when he gives me a sudden, examining look.  I want to run, but it's always too late, he is already moving in and I know what he is about to do... he tilts my head upwards, and I am forced to stand there while he squeezes a pimple on my face.  It's purely diabolical!

He laughs at the irony of that, and I do see his point.  It does feel ridiculous to say that I don't mind it at all when he makes me bruise or bleed, but attacking a spot drives me mad.  There is masochism, and there is masochism.

That same little voice in my head asks why on earth he does these little things that torment me so genuinely.  But when I'm rational, the reason is obvious.  My Master is a sadist.  That doesn't just mean that he likes to whip me til I'm wearing a blissful smile, or rape my ass til I thank him.  If I enjoy his cruelty every time, where is his fun?  No, it also means something I don't like to remember - that he gets real pleasure from doing anything at all that makes me pout, or sulk, or grimace in disgust, and forcing me to tolerate it.  There is sadism, which I could find anywhere, and then there is real sadism, which is far more rare.

So I try and remember the days before I met him, when playing with so-called "sadists" who would hit me and then stop to check if I was alright.  It was boring.  To truly embrace masochism one needs the sadist to be believable.  My Master is certainly believably, notably cruel.  I hate it, and I'm glad.