I knew I’d have to write about it eventually. W and I often discuss the topic (sometimes heatedly) and it informs much of of our play, either directly (his forearm pressed against my throat, his hand pinning my arm or covering my mouth; holding my thighs open, holding me down while Ad takes me), or indirectly (what else can we be playing at when I am tied in his bed, face down, a handful of my hair in his fist as he fucks my ass, dry?) And, of course, there was this post. And then, last week or so, there was a post on Fetlife about whether or not a person in an M/s relationship could even be raped.
So it’s a topic that’s been on my mind.
The question in the Fetlife post was this: if you are in a relationship in which you have already consented to be controlled/used/dominated in whatever way the person in charge sees fit, if you have consented to a “slave with no rights but what the Master gives you” type relationship, is it even possible to be raped? If you have given up the right to say no, is it rape when he ignores that “no”?
Personally, I don’t think so.
Or rather, maybe it is in the purest sense of he word: sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person. But it is, truly, “consensual” rape. Consensual non-consent. I never really got that term before I read that post. I never actually got the whole rape fantasy thing, to be honest. I mean, yeah, I think it’s hot when W holds me down, when he pins me, when he hurts me and twists me into a pretzel and ties me up and takes me. But it turns me on, and no matter how I start out, by mid-fuck, even if I am still fighting him, resisting him, by that point it is because it is pleasurable to fight him and I am enjoying resisting as much as fucking. That and the fact that it turns him on so much. Because I know that is one of his triggers. He really does have a rape fantasy, whereas mine is…I don’t know what it is. I just like the feeling of being helpless, of being made to do what he wants, of being wrenched/contorted/twisted into this fucktoy animal ball of need.
I can’t think of a time that I have ever not wanted him to fuck me.
But what if I did?
W’s “ownership” of me wasn’t something we negotiated in advance, or really negotiated or talked about at all. It wasn’t something he initiated or asked for. It was just something that evolved between us, as his control over my sex life increased, and as my need for acknowledging that control increased. It just…was, as trivial as one day I rolled over and realized that he really, truly owned that part of me. And that I was his.
It recognize now, in thinking about it, that happened largely because, as he required me to act in more extreme ways sexually (extreme for me, maybe not for others) I needed a way to make that acceptable to myself, to rationalize my behavior, and the best way to do that was to put responsibility on someone else.
Say what?!? Did I really just say that? That I wanted to delegate responsibility for my own behavior? Well, yes, yes I did. Imagine that.
I am not that slutty girl that W has made me be.
I don’t pick up strange men at work conferences, I don’t flash my tits and ass for strangers, I don’t invite men I don’t know to my hotel room and let them shove their fingers up my ass (oops, don’t have a link for that one, maybe I need to write about it, eh?) But I am W’s slut, I do what he tells me, and if that means I use my body in ways I would not normally do, because he tells me to, because it turns him on, then that is what I will do. And part of becoming okay with that aspect of myself (because it is part of me–no matter how much I say “I’m not that girl,” I really am, aren’t I?) was relinquishing my sexual self to him. Giving that up to him. Allowing him to own that part of me.
Part of owning my sex is that he can do with it what he wants. He can use me, fuck me, display me, hurt me, loan me out…I consented to that when I acknowledged his ownership of that part of me. Whether I want him to or not, whether I like it or not, whether it’s something that squicks me or hurts me or turns me on or not. It’s that simple.
Until recently, I had a “limit” of sorts: no period sex. I have…issues…with bodily functions. Early on I told W “I don’t have sex on my period.” It has only happened a handful of times in my entire life, and I’d prefer not to do it again. I told him about my issues, and he listened, and then he said, “One day, I’m going to fuck you bloody.” But I still kind of thought that he wouldn’t ever actually do it. And yet, although I didn’t want to do it for real, I admit that the idea that he would cross that taboo with me, force me to cross it, turned me on, as much as it appalled me.
In the end, he didn’t have to force me after all. It just…happened. I’d forgotten that I was on my period (I believe that there were copious amounts of alcohol involved.) After it was over I was horribly embarrassed, but it was what it was, and I got over it. (Apparently he hadn’t forgotten it, but he fucked me anyway, and I still don’t know if it was his intention, or if it was just serendipity. And, yeah, in thinking about if after, it does still make me kinda hot thinking that it may have been deliberate, this crossing of that boundary. Anyway.)
Still... What if he had forced me? What if he had tied me down and fucked me while I was on my period, something I had clearly stated was something I did not want to do? What if I very clearly, in the moment, said “no” and he had done it anyway? Would that have been rape?
Perhaps, in the strictest definition of the word, it would be. But the reality of our lives, of our dynamic, is that I have already given him consent to do so. To use my sex in whatever way he sees fit, whenever he wants to. Period. (No pun intended.) By giving him that ownership, I have given him the right to use me, even when I say “no.”
Nope, it probably wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, if I decided to accuse him of rape after the fact. But I know the rightness of it in my heart and my head. I know the truth of it. I gave him that right because I don’t want the right to say no. If I can say no to that, then I can say no to anything else he makes me do, and I need to be forced to do those things in order to be okay with doing them.
I know, it’s fucked up and convoluted and doesn’t make sense, this needing to feel forced into doing things. ~shrug~ Whatever. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but me.
This is what I signed up for. This is what I want. I don’t want to be able to say no. Or rather, I want to be able to say it, over and over, and have him ignore it–because it’s his right to.
And that, to me, is the very definition of hot.