Today is Friday, so it’s Boobday, but it’s also “Biting” for the Kink of the Week, so you’re going to get some boobs, but you’re also going to get some bites, because boobs happen to be a favorite place for my friend Toy to bite me:
But she also likes under the arms and on the sides, and I love how much of a perfect bite mark these are:
In spite of what it sounds like as I admire the marks, I am not a huge fan of biting as BDSM play. Now sex play, with the kind of not-actually-painful nips – love bites, especially along my neck, throat, shoulders and inner thighs – those I enjoy. But the kind of bites that engender the marks above, not so much. I tolerate them, I consent to them, I submit to them, because that is how BDSM works for me, but they are not a pain that I ever really enjoy – at least not to that degree. They don’t ever melt into the kind of masochistic pleasure that other kinds of pain does.
Having said that, they aren’t a limit for me. Given a choice between being bitten and just about any other torment, I would probably choose the not-biting one, but the fact that I wouldn’t choose it, that it is very obviously something the D-type is doing because they choose it (knowing I hate it) is deeply satisfying. In those moments, they aren’t being a service top. It’s all about them, and that makes my little subbie heart sing. I’ve known that about my feelings about biting for awhile.
But there is something else I discovered recently. I would not call myself a marks-slut. I mean, I love my marks, but I don’t get off on them. I enjoy the reminder of the play that we had, and I like showing them off, but there is nothing inherently sexual in them for me. (Now the pain from having my bruises pressed, days later, that gives an instant jolt-to-the-cunt.) But I got a lot of pleasure from looking at these. And bite marks – especially heavy ones like those above – they spread and last. Those marks lasted at least three weeks, and the bruises that developed were much larger than the actual bites had been. And I liked that. I liked looking at my body and seeing them there for days after. And the thing I discovered? Later, when I was naked with K, I imagined him biting me that way. I wanted his teeth marks on my body. I wanted him to mark me as his.
I remember being in high school and the boy I was in love with – my first love, the one whose virginity I took and who took mine – giving me a hickey, one of those sucked-on bruises to the neck. I remember not being wildly turned on by it, as my friends seemed to be – but I loved knowing that when others saw it, they knew I was his. That it was his mouth on my skin that had caused it. Of course, things being what they were, they also thought I was “easy,” that I was a slut or promiscuous or whatever people thought about girls and women that (gasp!) had unmarried sex, and worse yet, that enjoyed it. (I grew up in a very small, conservative town.) But still, I wore that hickey like a badge of honor, and refused to show the shame and embarrassment I was “supposed” to feel (even as I did feel it, even as I internalized it.)
I wonder if that was my first taste of transgression, and if perhaps that helped to shape my sexuality ever after? And I also wonder if that feeds into my desire to wear a bite mark as a symbol of ownership? It is such an intimate, visceral experience, being bitten. And those marks – they are obviously not caused by anything else but someone’s mouth on a person’s skin, almost-but-not-quite penetrative.
Hmm…maybe there is something sexual in there for me. I may just be talking myself into a thing for biting as a kink. 😉
