When things got "worse"…

So then there was the second half of the night.  I didn’t expect there to be a second half, to be honest.  I went over to W’s after being at the Other Guy’s, after having gotten my butt spanked pretty well, feeling a little buzzy, a little self-satisfied, maybe even smug.  mjw04231blogI’d done it—asked for exactly what I wanted, orchestrated it, gotten exactly the amount I wanted, left without having given up any of my control or myself.   That’s what I’d wanted, right?

Hmm. Maybe not.

Maybe that was part of what I wanted, to see if I could do it, see if I could control a boy, even while he thought he was controlling me. Smugness…yes, that’s what I felt.

That, and sassiness.

I have different reactions to different kinds of scenes.  For instance, W and I did a beautiful scene that was fairly intense, but instead of being wiped out after, I was flying, aggressive and sassy and wanting to attack him (in fact did pretty much that, pushing him back on the floor and kissing on him, rubbing myself against him, teasing and playing with him in a way that is not my usual way of reacting, so much so that he remarked on it.) Other times I curl into a ball in his lap, or put myself at his feet, wanting nothing so much as to feel his hand on my head, his fingers in my hair, to know that I am cared for, that I am back home and safe.

This time, I was definitely feeling up and sassy when I arrived at W’s.  My plan was to work on a computer project with him, sort of vanilla after my lil spanking scene.  W took one look at my red butt (and maybe my attitude) and had other ideas. So much for me being in control anymore.mjw04239ce

Damn how that man can strip me bare emotionally, laying me open and vulnerable.  It’s been a week or more now, and much has happened since then and now, but I can feel myself getting wet just remembering the way he took a few pictures and then, without so much as a by-your-leave, guided me into his front room, bent me over his couch, tied me down and gave me a proper spanking.  The kind I couldn’t escape from, the kind that left me with no control, that reminded me who was really in control, every minute, the kind that didn’t stop until he was ready to stop, even when I went through the “oh this is nice and oh yumm! orgasm! ” phase into panic mode, where I was fighting mindlessly, heedlessly, just trying to escape the blows. God I love that place.  I love it that he takes me there, that he pushes me there, that he doesn’t give in, that he doesn’t let me have control.   And sure, I love it when he stops, when I am panting and gasping and sniffling and he is holding me and I know everything is all right again, but that first part…that is an incredible edge to be on.

As I have intimated here before, I have some abuse in my past, an early, ill-advised marriage to a man that lost control when he drank and “knocked me around.”  Nothing brutal, but aggressive and frightening coming from a 6’3” 190 lb man when I am 5’3” and weighed about 90 lbs.  It was my utter helplessness—and his loss of control—that terrified me so much during those episodes.   I could not get away, I could not stop him or change the way it would end, once it started. I was helpless and defenseless against his larger size and aggression, and I learned quickly that fighting back only resulted in things getting worse.

When I started all this stuff, I recognized what I was doing, the edge I was playing on.  I recognized and am not afraid to admit (no matter how non-fucking-PC it is) that there were aspects of his aggression that attracted me, that excited me.  I didn’t know any better.   I didn’t know about consensuality, I didn’t know about BDSM, I only knew that his aggression fed something in me that I liked to feel.  Thank goodness I recognized that it was unhealthy before I was seriously hurt, and left him behind to enter into a very vanilla, very conventional marriage.   I tried to mold myself into the “perfect wife” that I assumed was what was necessary in order to have a “safe” (read non-violent) marriage.  And it worked, for the most part.  What didn’t work was that I was restless, I was discontent, I was unsatisfied. I didn’t know how to assuage those feelings, I didn’t know where they stemmed from, until I discovered BDSM, and found that edge again in a safe environment.

In the beginning, it was absolutely imperative that I have some level of control…I wanted to be tied, I wanted to be hurt, but I wanted to know I could get loose, get away, say stop, if I got scared.  I liked circling the perimeter of that particular edge, but wasn’t ready to fling myself off it yet.   Contributing to that was that I didn’t completely trust my partner not to lose control—not because he ever had, I know one of the subconscious reasons I “chose” him was because he was always in such control of himself (opposite of the first one)—but because, with my history, trusting in someone else’s self-control did not come easily.  I never lost that fear, really, until I started playing with W.

And that is the strange part in all this.  Because it is in those moments when we are playing, when I fight, when I am beyond thought, when I am in pain and fear of more pain, and he pushes just that much farther…when his aggression comes to the forefront, when I feel his heat, his desire to subjugate, to conquer, and he is holding me down and no longer playing in this “safe” place…it is in those moments that I fly free, that I leap from the edge and soar, flying in the face of my fear.

When things got “worse”…

So then there was the second half of the night.  I didn’t expect there to be a second half, to be honest.  I went over to W’s after being at the Other Guy’s, after having gotten my butt spanked pretty well, feeling a little buzzy, a little self-satisfied, maybe even smug.  mjw04231blogI’d done it—asked for exactly what I wanted, orchestrated it, gotten exactly the amount I wanted, left without having given up any of my control or myself.   That’s what I’d wanted, right?

Hmm. Maybe not.

Maybe that was part of what I wanted, to see if I could do it, see if I could control a boy, even while he thought he was controlling me. Smugness…yes, that’s what I felt.

That, and sassiness.

I have different reactions to different kinds of scenes.  For instance, W and I did a beautiful scene that was fairly intense, but instead of being wiped out after, I was flying, aggressive and sassy and wanting to attack him (in fact did pretty much that, pushing him back on the floor and kissing on him, rubbing myself against him, teasing and playing with him in a way that is not my usual way of reacting, so much so that he remarked on it.) Other times I curl into a ball in his lap, or put myself at his feet, wanting nothing so much as to feel his hand on my head, his fingers in my hair, to know that I am cared for, that I am back home and safe.

This time, I was definitely feeling up and sassy when I arrived at W’s.  My plan was to work on a computer project with him, sort of vanilla after my lil spanking scene.  W took one look at my red butt (and maybe my attitude) and had other ideas. So much for me being in control anymore.mjw04239ce

Damn how that man can strip me bare emotionally, laying me open and vulnerable.  It’s been a week or more now, and much has happened since then and now, but I can feel myself getting wet just remembering the way he took a few pictures and then, without so much as a by-your-leave, guided me into his front room, bent me over his couch, tied me down and gave me a proper spanking.  The kind I couldn’t escape from, the kind that left me with no control, that reminded me who was really in control, every minute, the kind that didn’t stop until he was ready to stop, even when I went through the “oh this is nice and oh yumm! orgasm! ” phase into panic mode, where I was fighting mindlessly, heedlessly, just trying to escape the blows. God I love that place.  I love it that he takes me there, that he pushes me there, that he doesn’t give in, that he doesn’t let me have control.   And sure, I love it when he stops, when I am panting and gasping and sniffling and he is holding me and I know everything is all right again, but that first part…that is an incredible edge to be on.

As I have intimated here before, I have some abuse in my past, an early, ill-advised marriage to a man that lost control when he drank and “knocked me around.”  Nothing brutal, but aggressive and frightening coming from a 6’3” 190 lb man when I am 5’3” and weighed about 90 lbs.  It was my utter helplessness—and his loss of control—that terrified me so much during those episodes.   I could not get away, I could not stop him or change the way it would end, once it started. I was helpless and defenseless against his larger size and aggression, and I learned quickly that fighting back only resulted in things getting worse.

When I started all this stuff, I recognized what I was doing, the edge I was playing on.  I recognized and am not afraid to admit (no matter how non-fucking-PC it is) that there were aspects of his aggression that attracted me, that excited me.  I didn’t know any better.   I didn’t know about consensuality, I didn’t know about BDSM, I only knew that his aggression fed something in me that I liked to feel.  Thank goodness I recognized that it was unhealthy before I was seriously hurt, and left him behind to enter into a very vanilla, very conventional marriage.   I tried to mold myself into the “perfect wife” that I assumed was what was necessary in order to have a “safe” (read non-violent) marriage.  And it worked, for the most part.  What didn’t work was that I was restless, I was discontent, I was unsatisfied. I didn’t know how to assuage those feelings, I didn’t know where they stemmed from, until I discovered BDSM, and found that edge again in a safe environment.

In the beginning, it was absolutely imperative that I have some level of control…I wanted to be tied, I wanted to be hurt, but I wanted to know I could get loose, get away, say stop, if I got scared.  I liked circling the perimeter of that particular edge, but wasn’t ready to fling myself off it yet.   Contributing to that was that I didn’t completely trust my partner not to lose control—not because he ever had, I know one of the subconscious reasons I “chose” him was because he was always in such control of himself (opposite of the first one)—but because, with my history, trusting in someone else’s self-control did not come easily.  I never lost that fear, really, until I started playing with W.

And that is the strange part in all this.  Because it is in those moments when we are playing, when I fight, when I am beyond thought, when I am in pain and fear of more pain, and he pushes just that much farther…when his aggression comes to the forefront, when I feel his heat, his desire to subjugate, to conquer, and he is holding me down and no longer playing in this “safe” place…it is in those moments that I fly free, that I leap from the edge and soar, flying in the face of my fear.

Sugasm #159

February 16th, 2009 by Vixen | Updated: February 16th, 2009

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them.  Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks

The Annual Anti-Valentine’s Day Posting: 2009 Edition “Ahh, Valentine’s Day. Sigh.”

Exposed “We talk a lot about putting me on display, and it was even more intense in reality as it has been in fantasy.”

Yes “At the edge of the precipice, my nerves rippling with electricity, i tumbled down into you”

Sugasm Editor

Sex Work And Compassion: A Call From Baghdad

Editor’s Choice

Stairwell

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

A different approach to polyamory

Do vegetarians make good lovers?

Fantasies

Onesies and Twosies

Things I’ve Discovered I Like

Understanding Masturbation Addiction [podcasturbation]

Sex News, Review, and Interviews

20 Questions with Shawn (aka Syd Blakovich) The Choices We Make…

Stars In My Eyes

Tribute to Milton

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Dakoda Brookes

Hearts -HNT

In the garden of lust

Kiki

BDSM & Fetish

25 Things, the Kinky Way

The Domme Experiment – The Result

Firsts, part 2

Permission

Single Minded Passion

“There is no ’should’” and the sex-positive “agenda”

Erotic Writing and Experiences

A Bossy Blowjob

Concrete

A Gift for Daddy

Guess Who I Came Across At The Weekend?

My Idea…

Naughty Rose goes bananas!

Petulant and Demanding

The Scream

While She was Waiting

Capital Letter TLC

He told me I’m not allowed to talk about how nice he was last night and today, because he is, you know, the Mean Guy, and it might wreck his Mean Guy rep, but obviously I am ignoring that. ~grin~

There’s a price to pay for the things we do.  A price I often pay, hours or days later, in what’s commonly referred to as “subdrop.”  Sometimes it is light, a mild feeling of disconnect or fuzziness, maybe a bit of sadness or sense of loss.

Sometimes, it is much worse.

The fact that W and I play at such an intense level also contributes to the frequency, length and severity of my subdrop.   The fact that many of the things we do are so emotionally charged also affects it.  I don’t have the research to back up my theory, but I conjecture that my own struggles with SAD (Season Affective Disorder) also play a part in the severity of my subdrop.  As such, I take these sometimes vague, amorphous feelings and anxieties seriously and attend to my emotional & psychological needs without my usual bravado or attempts to be tough.  I have no problem telling my SO or the Mean Guy, “I’m feeling fragile, I’m feeling broken, be kind to me, fix me” when I know that it is subdrop (or simply “The Drop” as I see it in my head), something I would never do if it was just me being mopey or letting the anxiety-hamster out for a spin on his wheel.  To be perfectly blunt…when it’s bad, it scares me.  During those times, I am careful about being alone, I don’t drink alcohol, I limit my  proximity to things that might trigger the darkness.

In the past, it has always been A that has picked up the pieces when I am feeling shattered.  W does wonderful aftercare directly after a scene, but since we don’t live together he is usually not around to bear the brunt of The Drop with me.  And there’s also this: when I have been in the midst of it before I have avoided him, plain and simple. I have canceled plans with him and gone home alone, or to A, or taken myself somewhere where there are people and I can’t be weak, rather than turn to him.  Not because I don’t think he would be loving and take care of me, but because…even if I am able to say, “I’m feeling vulnerable, I’m feeling small, I need you,” I hate to let someone–I haven’t wanted to let him–see that side of me.  Call it vanity, or pride…

Or maybe, call it what it is: fear that he will not want me anymore if I am not the Jade he knows. If I am this small defeated person that I become when in the midst of it.

That changed last night.  We have a party we are planning for, and I have been over at his house each night working on it.  I was committed to going over last night, but not so much that when I started spiraling sometime in the late morning I couldn’t have called and said, “I need to go home,” or some other excuse.  I wrote and deleted about 5 emails.  I picked up the phone.  I vacillated back and forth.  Mostly the thought of being home completely alone (SO had class, his father was out for the evening) kept me from canceling.  The Drop was sharp, and dangerous.  Being alone was not an option.  So I planned to brazen it out.  I could do that, right?  (Ha.)  Then A called–he had skipped class due to car trouble.  And suddenly I had my usual option.  Cancel with W, go home to A, let him pick up the pieces of me and help me put myself back together.

I didn’t do it.  I emailed W, and told him I was feeling…not well.  In need of care.  “tlc” I said in my email, b/c I was writing it from my cellphone and I couldn’t see the damn number pad thru the fog in my head to make capital letters.   He sent me back a note to expect TLC – capital letters.  And capital letters TLC is exactly what I got.  He took wonderful, gentle care of me.  Yes, he’s the Mean Guy.  But he’s the Mean Guy with a kind heart.

But don’t tell him I told you.

Things can always get worse…

mjw04234fl1

…or better, depending upon your perspective.  Mine, in this instance, is most definitely the latter.

There was a lot of banter/IMing, texting, Daddy/lil girl talk going on beforehand.  I can roleplay via non-FtF with the best of them.  But, once I got there, except for the plaid skirt, knee socks, Mary Janes, white blouse and navy tie, I was still myself, in my own bratty/bottoming head.  I was there for a spanking, dammit, I don’t need all the “Daddy’s bad girl” talk.  Though part of me does wish I could stay “in role.”  It seems like it would be fun…just not real do-able for the reality-based chick that I am.  Suspension of disbelief I can do (usually) during a movie, maybe a play, usually a book.  But in real life?  Not so much.  Probably why I am not an outrageously rich and famous actress, instead of the working drudge that I am.

In any case, once I had arrived I was led into the bedroom post-haste, turned over his knee without delay, and was given a solid hand-spanking, followed by a hairbrush paddling, and, at the end, by a couple whacks of his belt.  There is something about the sound of a belt snicking out of its belt loops that clenches my stomach like nothing else.  I was punished with a belt during a brief attempt at domestic discipline with my ex, and just that sound is enough to throw me back to those memories–not “fun” play at all.  But I was glad that it didn’t throw me into that bad headspace, merely touched on it enough to give the experience bite.  I have toyed with the idea of asking for a beating with a belt, one that will drive me through that space that the ex left in my head, and onto the other side, but am not sure about that.  Sometimes my “face your fears” attitude makes me bite off more than I can comfortably chew and swallow.

In any case, it was a satisfactory spanking.  It was also a spanking in which I was in control the whole time.  We pretended that he was, but I know, even if he doesn’t, that he wasn’t.

I mentioned in another post the conundrum of having to ask for whatever-it-is that I am wanting–pain, pleasure even, a spanking, a certain type of play.  A large part of the reason my interactions are so intense/successful with W is that I don’t have to ask for anything.  As I’ve said before: I show up; he does things to me.  It’s pretty basic, and that very simplicity is what makes it work.  I don’t have to want/need/ask for anything…I turn off that part of me (until he has me mindlessly begging, but that’s a different thing too) when I give up control of myself to him.  That’s the trigger…not what actually happens (although those things are filled with triggers as well), but that they happen with or without my will, and oftentimes against my will.  It is the lack of control that I need, and asking for a thing detracts from that.  Not enough to make this particular experience bad, though.  In fact, it was quite enjoyable, for what it was.

I happen to like spankings, and often wonder if I had been tossed into a different crowd at the beginnings of my explorations into BDSM if I wouldn’t have ended up a spanking “specialist”.  I’m glad I didn’t, because I like so very many things–how sad it would have been to have missed out on all the other awful torments that can be visited upon a girl’s body & mind!  But the physicality of a spanking, the very essence of a spanking being that intimate connection of the Top and bottom’s bodies, the soft, vulnerable belly against his thighs, his hard, hard hand against tender white skin, the feel of a leg holding mine down or a hand on the back of my head, or holding a wrist…it is all intimate in the extreme and combines to cause something extraordinary to happen: I can orgasm from a spanking. With very little stimulation of the “regular” sort (clitoral), I can come with a spanking.  It’s amazing to me that this can happen.

It didn’t this time, but I got very very close.  If he’d known that I was capable of such, perhaps he would have continued when I started seriously squirming and mewling, instead of backing down.  I didn’t really care, to be honest–I wasn’t there for an orgasm (and this is probably why I didn’t tell him, I didn’t want that to be his focus, either.)  But how very delightful to discover that about myself (I have had many many sexual spankings with A during which I orgasmed, but those always included overt sexual/clitoral stim as well.) To just blossom into an orgasm from the actually feeling of being spanked–wow!  Now that was a fun discovery.

So that was all fun, and good, and I would probably go back for more.  There is a part of me that likes to go into a scene knowing I can get what I want out of it, very specifically, and then walk away.  Kind of like a booty-call of another sort.  Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.  And in this case, it doesn’t even have the onus of sex, of being sexed or having sex, attached to it.  So that’s all good.

But of course, that wasn’t what I really wanted, was it?  That wasn’t what I was truly after, when this whole quest came about.  What I really wanted was both–the loss of control AND the feel-good of the actual spanking.  And guess what?  I got it!  But that piece will have to wait till later to be told.

So much to say, so much to say…

If any of you channeled DMB at the moment of reading that subject line, we might just be bestest friends.  I have been grooving on old (lost to me) copies of Dave Matthews CD’s.  EARgasm.  Seriously.

I have so many things to post on right now.  Don’t be surprised to read lots more from me pretty soon.  Or not, I may write and stick some of these posts on “private”, I don’t know…but I just have to get some things out and it seems like I don’t have any time to do any of the topics justice…because, oh shit, I have to actually WORK for a living.  Huh.

Here’s a quick list, to be revisited as I am able:

  • Spanking 1 and spanking 2, or Who’s in Control Here? and the intricies of power dynamic (or alternatively, what makes Jade wet and why)
  • Shoe sluttism and how that relates to power, or Why I Am Wearing Power Slut Heels Today, after being so powerless last night
  • Dirty sex.  We’ll just leave that one right there.

More later, as time allows!

Just remember…

Why do I get so wet just thinking about a spanking?  What is it in a person’s psyche that equates spanking with sex?  Or, at least MY psyche.

Tonight’s my spanking date.  I am excited, nervous, and yes…wet.  Sopping, actually.

I am nervous, though.  My head is not in the same space as it was before, when I craved a spanking like a smoker craves his next cigarette.  So…I am a little nervous.  Or maybe a lot.

Just remember, he said, you asked for this.

Pink Dress

pink2

It started because I was looking for a skirt. I found several others hanging in my closet and decided to try them on.  I’ve lost weight recently and need to figure out what fits and what doesn’t, and besides–anything to distract me from laundry, right?

I take my skirts in to the bedroom, where A is cleaning.  Shut the door.  Start putting on one skirt after the other, modeling in front of the mirror, sticking my tongue out at him when I catch him watching. Hmm…more distraction?

I get into my “play clothes” trunk.  I have to decide what to wear for our un-Valentine’s Day party, and have a couple things I was thinking about…I get out a pink dress, sheer bustier and a little sheer black nightie with pink ribbon.

“What do you think?” (sheer black nightie)

A smile, a stroke of my ass.  “Nice.”  I lean against him, rub my ass against his groin, hoping to feel…oh yes, there it is.  Someone’s waking up.  Turn around, wrap my arms around his neck, one leg around his.  Lick, bite, taste of salty skin.  His hands on my ass, pulling me against him. “Mmm, real nice,” he says again.  I laugh and pull away.  Teasing.  He shakes his head and goes back to organizing his books.

Pink dress now.  “What about this?”  He looks up from the stack of books.  I twirl around.  I always feel like a barbie doll in this one.  I can see his interest is piqued by my fashion show.  He slides an arm around my waist.  The dress is made of nylon and spandex, it’s slippery and slick and his hands glide over my belly and hips.  He pulls me up on tiptoes.  “I think W and I need to find shoes to put you on pointe,” he says, pulling me up.  “I want to fuck you on your toes.”  I wiggle around, laughing, teasing.  This is way more fun than laundry.

The last has hook-and-eye closures.  It’s a corset-like top that comes under my breasts, holding them up as though offering them to the observer.  He obliges me and hooks it closed.  He pulls on each of my nipples.  “This could work well,” he says.

We are in front of the mirror, now.  It sits on the floor so it cuts off his head, but I see a woman in sheer black, a man’s arm around her waist, his other hand on her breasts, pulling her nipples, then sliding down between her legs.  She opens them willingly, even wantonly, the slut.  He grabs her lips, pulls on them, squeezes them together until the woman is moaning, the scent of her excitement filling the room.

He steps back a moment and I return to “ok that was fun, now to finish up what I was doing…” until I feel his hand on the back of my neck.  He steers me to the bed and pushes me down without a word.  I am laying on the pink dress, the cool, stretchy material beneath my face.  I hear the sound of the door lock.

He holds me down with one hand and reaches for a condom with the other.  Usually condoms are not a sexy thing to me, they are just part of sex, part of life.  Today, with my face on the bed, my ass in the air, his hand on my back…the sound of that package ripping open makes me wet.

And sometime later I am arching back against him, straining toward the peak as he pushes into me, his cock bruising my cervix.  I feel the slide of the pink dress against my clit and my hand, I feel how thick and hard he is inside me, I feel his excitement, hear his short, panting breaths.  And as I start to come he puts his hand over my mouth so the kids, in the next room watching TV, don’t hear me cry out.

Asking for It

Besides my two regular guys, I have a friend that I see occasionally for…variety.  Variety on Monday is going to be a spanking date, a Daddy/little girl scenario, and all because I asked for it.  This is the first time I have asked for a specific type of scene…err, well I take that back.  Not the first, exactly.

I ask A to do things to me.  I ask for spanking & sex, and I asked him for the enema thing a couple weeks ago.  But he didn’t get what I wanted with the enema, that just wasn’t his thing.  A different thing all together.  And spanking and sex is…spanking and sex.  Yummy as well, but a different thing too.  It’s the Dominance that I miss, the coercion, the feeling of being controlled/being helpless/being forced/of submitting.  I love the physical sensations, don’t get me wrong, but…well, I crave the other stuff.

This particular fellow and I have had an usual road…there has been lots of D/s play via IM & text, several good vanilla dates, both with his gf and alone, and one…okay…play date.  He’s got a good hard hand, and likes to play fight, likes a challenge, which is fun, but, well, to be brutally honest, even though (per W’s instruction) I made sure he knew I had a mouth and ass available for his sexual use…it didn’t happen.  Beatings and no sex??  Sure, I like that too, but all signs pointed towards both prior to it actually NOT happening.   So yeah, I was disappointed.

But since that time, he has amped up his rhetoric in IM, and been very insistent about having another date.  I like him, I like our dynamic in IM, I liked him during play…I just want him to use me sexually as well.  W says that’s what I am for, and I want to make W proud of me, dammit.  I like to do what I am told.

Then last night, after all my spanking jonesing, (of which he (G) was appraised), he left me with, “I’m off, send me salacious texts if you have a mind.  Or better yet come over and let me spank your ass.  I’ll beat your bad-girlness out of you.”

Huh.

So…I text him.  I text him in a role I have never played before.  I’ve been a bad girl, Daddy…

And we were off.  And now…I have a play date Monday after work, before I head over to W’s to get stuff ready for the un-VDay Party.  I just have to find a way/place to change from work clothes to my schoolgirl garb before I go over.   And find out how W feels about me coming over with a (hopefully) very sore ass.