Cunt
Not exactly up to par with the Vagina Monologues piece, but the word is just so perfect that I can't not write an ode to it. Labels, in a sense, mean nothing, but they can also mean everything. Or anything.
This also appears to be part of a slightly grandiose and ridiculous trend with me; of putting the female on a pedestal. It's not something I really believe in... except, of course, when he is under me, calling himself my fucktoy, saying that I can do as I want with him.
I call it my cunt. C-U-N-T, cunt. Vagina sounds like a hollow vessel, a medical term for a cavity that disappears speculums and latex-gloved hands. Pussy brings to mind glitter and colors and lace. Girly. Say it: pussy. Feel your tongue curl. It's a delicate word; delicate and tasty like silk strands of pink cotton candy; like cunnilingus.
I call it my cunt when I'm fucking you with it, as opposed to getting fucked in it. I say cunt in every sense of the word: the c and t sounds spat from the mouths of hooligans in pubs, brawling, flinging the word at each other as a sharp-spined insult; whispered by lesbians under the sheets, mouths parting gently on the vowel; shrieked from the rooftops by women, shirtless, big-mouthed, and defiant.
It will draw you in, please you and make you disintegrate. It will clutch you, put you at my mercy. It will end you, and begin you.
I call it my cunt.
On the Popular Representation of Dommes
Transcript to come.
Accompanying Pictures:
Please, Sir & Please, Ma'am
Yes, Sir & Yes, Ma'am
Francesca Le dominating Christian in Tristan Taormino's Rough Sex
Image found via MaleSubmissionArt.com
Temple
I'm bracing my hand on your chest, using you for leverage in all reasonable respects. Now and again my fingers ghost towards your neck; my nails dig into the muscle that slopes down from your neck to your shoulder. I'm pulling you into me; quick and shallow and then lingeringly, so slow that you can feel all of me. As I stare openly at you, it occurs to me that your cock only makes sense when it's inside me. When you enter me I feel as if my cunt is a temple; a sacred place of transformative power; a place that can change your genitalia from something absurd and nonsensical into something... focused. Directed. Pleasurable. Dangling between your legs, your cock is soft and out of place and silly and only causes you irritation. Does it not? But trapped between my legs, it becomes instrumental to your gasps, to the convulsions that sweep through your body.
---
You tell me that once you pass a certain threshold of your arousal, you cease to think; you fuck me with abandon, thinking nothing of me and only of your own pleasure.
That's the way it should be.
I want you to pin me down, grab my hips, spread my legs and sink yourself into me. I want you to hold my shoulders and pull me hard and jarringly back against you. I want to say, "this is your ass, your cunt, so take it, take them."
Fuck me until you've had your fill.
Devour
Your body is so small and soft and smooth and milky. Like a sweet, cool dessert melting in the summer heat. I want to swallow you whole; lap and bite you all over; lick the remains off my lips, from the corner of my mouth, and slide every bit of you down my gullet.
Jitters
L is coming to visit tomorrow, and I'm a little scared.
I'm also immensely excited and happy, but that doesn't mean I can't be scared as well, right?
L & I have explored so many things together - in every respect, but I'm focusing on sexuality, here - and the more we explore, the more I feel as if a certain momentum is building. Also, it seems the further we go, the more likely a D/s aspect is going to come into play. L is in no way or form a submissive, and neither am I with him, not all the time. And in terms of our personalities and our relationship, there isn't a clear person who is "in charge." I quite like it that way. Nevertheless, sooner or later, in the bedroom, I'm going to end up bossing him around.
Upon pondering his visit, I find possibilities & imaginings flitting through my mind, hence a sneaking insistence that I can't not try them now that I know that I can. I mean, presumably. It's much easier to simply fantasize about things without attempting to enact them. Without becoming a reality, they're infinitely filmreel pristine perfect. Also, being the one who wants to do nasty things to the other, well, not to state the obvious, but you kind of have to be the one to come up with the plan. I have a good idea of what he likes; of what he wants me to do with him. But even so, I'm preoccupied with silly little grievances like: I don't have a cane, where can I get a cheap cane? And will that particular one work? I want to bend him over the end of the bed and tie his ankles to the bed's feet, but my bed is lame and doesn't have feet, it only has wheels located closer to the center, how will I get around that? And, most importantly: what if he ends up not liking what I'm doing? What if I fuck up?
Being a switch (and yes I've finally decided to claim switch) can be really irritating. I know that he wants me to hurt him, that he wants me to control him... That he's taken audio files of himself jacking off because he wants me to listen to him & know what thinking about me does to him. I know all this. But I still haven't quite managed to tap into that raw energy that I know is there; to tap into the desire to see him marked up and prone and open and willing to do whatever (within reason) I tell him to. My conflicting desire to have him do those things to me sometimes interferes. See: my last post. He's not the kind of person to lay there and take whatever I dish out; he reacts, he grabs me, makes me hurt. And instead of fighting, like half of me wants to, I typically give in to what the other half wants, which is... to give in.
The thought "maybe I'm not really dominant" enters my mind, even though I know that that's just silly. There is no right way to do something... as much as I know that, I'm intuitively inclined to think that there is, and that I'm not fitting it.
Even though I'm worrying about this, I know at the end of everything, I'll simply listen to me and to him and to what we want; and that even if my plans don't work out, we'll have copious amounts of rough sex anyway and it will all be fine and dandy.
Edit: As always, after writing about something that preoccupied me, I find that I'm not thinking about it as much and not even sure why I was so worried about it in the first place. Ah, the therapeutic powers of writing.
Edit again: After the initial psychological nail-biting... exercising my creativity on this is quite... satisfying and amusing. I was envisioning possible things I could do with my room, and with items I could easily get from pharmacies and hardware stores and laying out situations in my head. Weighing what action would cause what effect. It was like composing an outfit or a writing piece, only better.
Subspace
I have him naked, with his ass up and his face in the pillows, red stripes down his pale back where I'd scratched him, and his wrists and ankles cuffed, each wrist connected to the corresponding ankle. I'm rummaging around in my backpack for lube and a plug. When I find what I was looking for, and turn back around to face the bed, I see that he had twisted himself around so that he could look at me. The sight of him exposed, with his face terribly lustful and hungry, was, cliche as it sounds, breathtaking.
I return to my spot behind him, lubing up my fingers and pressing one into his ass, then two, using my other hand to squeeze and pinch his hip. He is making the most wonderful, breathy noises, jerking forwards slightly every time my fingers move inside him, searching, feeling the plush press of warm flesh. His entire body quakes. I am kneeling between his spread legs. One of his hands inches towards my left knee, he finds and squeezes the flesh just above the joint, squeezes every time I push in, hard enough to make me gasp. Every pump of my fingers equals one jolt of pain for me. He has told me that being penetrated is intense, so intense that he has to hold my body in his hands, take handfuls of me and crush me as hard as he can.
Eventually I lube up the plug and slide it in. I ask him to turn over, and he maneuvers himself so that he's on his back. His skin is pale and his lips, nipples and cock are a soft pink. I suck on his cock for a moment before rolling on a condom and unfastening the cuffs so that his hands are free. He doesn't miss a beat. His hands find my hips as I slide him into me, both of us gasping.
I want to fuck him quickly and erratically, like two teenagers in the back of a car whose orgasms are clumsily reached, and over way too suddenly. I want to move on his cock until I come, but he's making me go slow, tantalizingly, letting himself be very nearly engulfed before distancing himself again. He is subtle in all the ways that I am crude.
Sometimes, while I'm above him and making him feel, he does things that completely derail me and make me want to go limp. Things like: put his hand on my neck, bite me, push his fingernails into my skin. He does this now: he digs his fingers into my waist, and pulls me down hard on his cock before lifting me up again. I feel my face contorting into this strange combination of wincing, being about to cry, and desperation. It hurts. It hurts and I feel controlled and the two sensations transform into pleasure almost instantaneously. A switch goes off in my head. Just a while ago he was restrained and I was in control, but it takes only one gesture to make me need him to control me, instead.
We switch positions so that I'm on my back. He tells me to spread my legs, and I hold them open for him. He enters me again, fucking me slowly and exquisitely. I want to watch his face, but at the moment I need to keep my eyes closed. The feeling of being possessed and fucked is too much. I need to focus fully on the tactile and let it sink in.
"I want you to imagine," he says, "that there's a person standing to your right, watching us. Every so often I want you to imagine yourself catching his eye."
As he thrusts into me, I do: "I'm thinking of them touching themselves..."
"Yes; getting so turned on by watching us..."
The person watching is dark and has serious eyes. I sigh and let my head roll back, and I let myself fall into that comfortable space deep in my mind that rocks and lulls me into a calm containment. The space that he has taken me to. I want to ask him to slap me, but I'm losing my ability to speak. All I can do is feel him fuck me, feel him close his fingers around my throat. All I can do is savor.
"I want you to look at me when I come," he says.
I open my eyes. He's fucking me harder, now, more earnestly. As the urgency of his actions builds, then releases, I feel him tense as it rolls over him, his eyes wide almost in shock. His cock twitches in my cunt.
For the next ten minutes after he pulls out of me, I lay there. I want to open my eyes. I can feel him hovering over me, watching my face and the pulse in my jugular that's fluttering like a bird. I want to see him, speak to him, but all I can do is lay limply, sprawled out and utterly useless. I understand why they call it flying. I am soaring. I am no longer a person, but a rag doll, a thing that does not speak or move or take, but is used purely for the sake of my loved one's pleasure.
Please, Sir (Virtual Book Tour)
If you ask me, submission is an art form. It requires dedication, focus, commitment and desire, and there’s no single way of doing it. It’s about unlocking something within yourself so you can reach beyond your normal limits, exposing your body and soul in order to go somewhere you cannot get to alone.
The lesson there, and in all of these stories, is that there is risk involved in submission. I don’t mean the physical risks, but the emotional ones, the ones that require a leap of faith, a knowledge that what you are doing may unnerve you, confuse you and scare you, even while it makes you wet and eager and ready for more.
[Excerpt from Introduction: Risk and Reward]
Rachel Kramer Bussel so wonderfully expresses one of the aspects of BDSM that draws me to it the most - and keeps me coming back.
Lately, I have been antsy. My workload has increased and I've spent hours and hours tutoring students. Last night, I came home and wanted nothing more than to abandon my mind and dedicate myself to something mechanical and pleasing to someone else. I ended up cooking, but the dish didn't come out right, and it didn't quite assuage the restlessness that I was feeling.
My lovers are vanilla at the moment, and I've no foreseeable possibility of a kinky encounter. Submissive energy has entered my fantasies, and my mind is plagued with cravings that I picture while I'm getting off:
---
The first fantasy is all about pain. He places me over his lap, lifts up my skirt, and yanks my panties down to my knees. He starts out with his hand - his hands are always large, with wide palms. I am not allowed to kick or move my legs. He wants them straight, flat against the couch, and slightly spread so that he can access me whenever the fancy strikes him. I curl my fingers into the upholstery; trying not to cry out, but feeling the noise welling in my throat regardless. After I've been thoroughly warmed up, he switches to the hairbrush. The hard wood results in a new, sharper pain, while waking up the duller pain left behind from the spanks with his hand.
A few minutes in, the tears come. My thoughts are filled with nothing but: pain, don't move, and why? Eventually he makes me stand up. My face is contorted and streaked with tears, which embarrasses me more than my recent position over his lap.
He gestures for me to bend over the back of his desk chair. Same rules: spread my legs, and keep them still. He finishes with several strokes from his belt. I hear the leather whistle through the air, and crack across my already sore flesh. This time, I scream.
He doesn't stop until my ass is blistered red and I can no longer control my sobs. He brushes his hand lightly over one cheek, which makes me flinch. I already know I'm dripping. He grabs my hips, thrusts into me without any preamble, and his hipbones press into my roasting flesh. As soon as he enters me, my orgasm rolls over me in a wave, but he keeps going.
I think to myself: I'm glad I didn't move my legs the entire time, like he wanted.
---
The next fantasy is about servitude. I picture myself living with someone who works hard every day and comes home tired. Before he comes home, I cook one of his favorite dishes. From scratch; an authentic recipe I learned and then added my own flair to. I serve the dinner and clean up; after dinner, we go to the bedroom and strip down. He lays down on the bed and I oil my hands, rubbing the tension out of his sore back and shoulders. I am naked because he likes the feeling of my breasts and cunt brushing against his body. Once he is relaxed, he rolls over and pulls me on top of him, entering me in one swift stroke.
---
The fantasy after that is about uncontrol. I'm spread-eagled and restrained on the bed, with my legs bent at the knee. He's fucking me with a toy that's designed to hit my G-spot, and it feels wonderful. He fucks me so hard and irresistibly that my orgasm hits me before I'm even aware that it's happening; and he continues until I have another, and another, and my body is spent. I can barely move, or think...
---
The final fantasy is about possession. We're in bed, naked, in the dark, and he fists his hand in my hair, pulling my head down to worship his cock. I use my lips, throat and tongue to the best of my ability, shutting down my mind and letting his cock hit the back of my throat. I gag, once; a stream of spit surges out of my mouth and down his shaft. He pulls my head away and tells me he wants to finish in my ass. I position myself; face in the pillows, on my knees, ass and cunt in the air, presented to him. He fingers my ass until I'm moaning, and then pushes his slick cock into me easily. I moan, and whimper, his cock hitting something inside of me that makes me see stars. When he's done, I lay face down for a while, reveling in the feeling of being nothing but his object of pleasure; the receptacle for his come.
---
Please, Sir speaks to all of these fantasies of mine, and has definitely helped fan the fire of my submissive cravings.
Submission is so many things to me: trust, expression, abandon, servitude, skill. Above all, though, it's knowing that I'm pleasing my lover by giving myself over to him. One of my favorite stories from the anthology displays this perfectly:
Sometimes, a few hours after she has fallen asleep, Veronica feels her husband climb atop her, his cock hard and insistently throbbing against her thighs. She knows what to do. She spreads her legs, wide. As Vince buries his cock inside his wife, stretching her open, she moans drowsily. She doesn't have to move or groan or call out his name. She only has to allow herself to be used. It turns her on that in the dark of their bedroom, their bodies heavy with sleep, she is just a tight warm space from which her husband will extract her satisfaction.
...
Vince said, "I'm not looking for a maid. I'm not looking for a mother. I'm looking for a body. I also know how to appreciate that which I am allowed to take."
On their wedding night, Vince told Veronica that he didn't believe in punishment. He believed in discipline. Then he taught her the difference. For a long while, Vince stood behind his new wife, inhaling her scent, letting his hands memorize the contours of her body. She shivered. Vince smacked her ass, smiling as her skin rippled beneath his hand. A blush of red quickly appeared. He smacked Veronica's ass again, harder this time, his hand stinging as it rebounded. "Discipline," he said, "is a reminder."
...
Veronica looked up at Vince and saw unexpected kindness in his eyes. "Have I pleased you?" she asked. Vince reared back, holding the tip of his cock at the sensitive, quivering lips of her cunt. He squeezed Veronica's throat harder, and she wrapped one hand around his wrist. Vince thrust forward. Veronica cried out again, feeling a blade of pleasure so deeply, she thought her bod might split at the heart. Finally, he said, "Yes."
[Excerpt from Veronica's Body by Isabelle Grey]
You can order a copy of the book from Amazon.com.
Presence & Acceptance
... are the two things that I want the most right now, from a lover. Or from anyone I'm close to, actually.
This post is made up of edited excerpts of an email exchange I've been having with the Emperor. I'm just sharing it here because I'd like to see if anyone has an opinion on it, or had experiences similar to this they wanted to share. I think I want what everyone in this world is looking for, in some shape or form.
---
I am a very lonely person. Today, I was thinking about how it's been ages since I was next to someone and felt like they were fully there with me. Completely present in every fiber of their being. Lately, I've been very aware of being in the same room - same bed with someone, even - and feeling such distance. And thinking that it's not so much that we're there with each other, than it is that we both happen to be in the same place at the same time. Right now, I don't feel like anybody is so much a part of my life, or me a part of theirs, than we are simply bystanders of each other's lives.
I also want very much to let people close to me. Really let them in. It's hard first of all to find someone to trust with that much of myself, and then there's the issue of feeling like I'm forcing lots of baggage on someone. It's a weighty act for the other person to be able to see me else completely. I would imagine it to be an unwanted burden many times.
I was talking to Sir a while ago, and he said something like, "it's no good to have a partner you can't unleash yourself on." And for me that applies to close friends or close... anyone, as well. I want someone to just be able to take and accept me in all my ridiculousness, but I end up feeling guilty for not filtering myself in case they won't be able to handle it.
More and more, I'm realizing the intimacy that comes from the power, violence and extreme acts that constitute BDSM. I've had little tastes of it, and want so much to experience it with someone on a deep level, but have no idea how to find it.
I want to meet someone and look at them and think: I know you. And to look at them and realize they're thinking the same thing. That we understand each other without having to say anything; that we are the same.
26 whacks
Today's task:
Carry a small notebook with you. Keep notes of the following:
- times you crave contact
- times you see someone and want them
- times you think of pain
- drinks you take
For each instance of the above, you will paddle yourself once as follows:
- sit in a straight-backed chair with legs bare
- keep your legs apart
- slap your inner thigh with your wooden hair brush. This should be hard enough to just sting, but not bruise
- strike the same spot every time.
- make sure each slap follows in quick succession
- if there were less than 20 items, give yourself 20 more slaps.
Drinks I've had today: 3
People I've seen and wanted to fuck: 1
Times I craved sexual contact: 10
Times I craved pain: 12
Total number of whacks: 26
Guess how many of the instances I wanted sex coincided with the instances I wanted pain?
This is another instance of me getting a task from Sir and thinking: "omg, how evil!" as well as "omg, how ingenious." After reading over his instructions for the day, I felt like I was playing "the game"... you know, "you only lose at the game by thinking about the game", etc. After knowing what was in store for me, I kept thinking about it. And I'd also remind myself that I had to do it, which made me think about how much I wanted it.
Quite clever.
The whacks stung more than I expected, but clearly weren't that painful since they only left a hint of red, which has now faded.
Choke
Sir has been on a bit of a choking kick lately.
He's never really mentioned choking before, but since I started subbing to him he's brought it up quite a bit.
Today, Sir granted me two jack-off sessions. The first was while I was videochatting with him. After telling me to strip off each piece of my clothing until I was naked, he gave me a choice: to come on camera, or off camera. After some initial nervousness, I felt comfortable enough with myself to choose to come on camera. I lay back, adjusted the computer so he could see, closed my eyes, and went at it. I knew Sir was naked, jerking off at the same time, and I wish I wasn't so self-conscious so I could look into the camera, and watch him.
Maybe next time.
Afterwards, Sir told me how much he enjoyed seeing me. He's trying to make it so that I'm comfortable enough to perform for him. I'm surprised at how quickly I felt at ease with being naked, and then getting myself off, in front of him.
My second session came with a condition:
Since you did so well with your performance art - you are due for a reward. We will focus on your traditional pleasure points. Toys are permitted. but you are required to do this in a way that pleases me. you will be fully naked, lying on your back. There is one key - you need to loop a belt around your neck, and pull it just slightly tight as you do this. Cut off no oxygen, just make it slightly harder to breathe. I wnat you to be able to come through this sensation... and hopefully love it.
Initially, I was at pains to figure out a way to keep the belt around my neck hands-free and without hurting myself. Finally, I looped the belt around my neck, used a rubber band to mark the point where I'd want to add a new hole, and made a new hole in the belt with a craft knife thing I'd drunken-kleptomaniacally taken from Zeta Mu one night (I should probably return it). The belt itself, interestingly enough, is from my first boyfriend. He left it behind, and I kept it, but it actually doesn't fit me. I used it to belt Christopher once, and hopefully will use it again.
Anyway, the belt made it more laborious for me to breathe, but didn't actually deprive me of air or make me feel lightheaded or anything, which I assume was the point. Feeling the leather and metal tight around my neck, and having to alter my breathing, added to my arousal almost immediately.
I used my trusty Lelo Ina and came ridiculously quickly.
I'm looking forward to the day that Sir will be the one wielding the belt.
---
Note: I only had the belt around my neck for a 10-15 minutes, but I wonder if doing this multiple times would damage my neck. I feel like it's the same as wearing a collar tight around your neck, but maybe I'm wrong. If anyone has any advice about this, please let me know. Also, ideally I would have wanted to do this with somebody else, maybe one of my roommates, knowing what I was doing so they could come check on me, just in case.
This blog contains adult content.
Wilhelmina Wang. Queer, female college student with her mind lodged firmly in the gutter, seeking genderbenders, lessons in BDSM, a meaningful fuck, and a point in life.
Here's where her mind is spilled like the proverbial guts.
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