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“I squealed as he struck me for the second time, and then I heard myself shrieking as I had never done before, with my nails compulsively clawing and releasing the edge of the mattress, while he kept beating me unmercifully with the slow, steady, relentless rhythm which was the same as when he was taking possession of me; and my shrieks grew worse, he shifted his arm which lay across my shoulders and buried his hand in the nape of my neck and held my held down and held my face crushed against the bed, half choking my cries.”
My need is not for pain. My need is not for humiliation. My need is to have my emotions and mental state controlled to a point that I don’t struggle, or revel in the struggle. What I find most often is this costume of a lifestyle, or a latent infantilism in the games and desires professed by these men claiming to be Doms.
Yet I continue to bide my time here, surrounded by those who slip on a skin of submissiveness or domination with no thought of anything but sexual deviancy. And while I’m continually disappointed in the intelligence and sensibilities here, I have found a strange sense of family…a friendliness rarely encountered elsewhere. This, in and of itself, is enough to stay, enough to consider real-life acquaintanceships, enough to play for the sake of playing.
“My grandmother had a saying, ‘There are people who have to be forced to their happiness’; and every time he dominated me against my will and forced me to accept the pain he inflicted on me, and not to fight it, he made me feel angry and ashamed.
Yet, above and beyond these emotions, he filled me with a deep extraordinary happiness and satisfaction which I had never known before. It was like the commonplace experience of taking off in a plane in bad weather, flying first into a sheet of thick clouds and then rising still higher into the clear sky and brilliant sunshine. When he possessed me so fiercely that he drove me to the brink of darkness, he gave me the ecstasy of knowing that I had reached the one thing, the only thing, I had ever wanted.
When he was about to take me, I was yearning for him to shatter me and to break me down, and perhaps this was the reason why I made difficulties. Perhaps I put up this defence in order to provoke him to shatter and to break. But at the same time, my resistance had another, a different meaning. I was also longing to shatter him and to break him down. Each time we lay together, I was hoping to achieve it and to drag him into my darkness, and each time, when I regained my senses and opened my eyes and found him clad in his dressing gown and moving about the room quite unconcernedly, I felt a fury of disappointment which, in turn, added depth to my delicious feeling of defeat.”
Not long ago, I met a man on the website, and agreed to meet him for drinks. His experience and wisdom went straight to my head, and I felt compelled to obey him. When we met, he spoke of his youth, and a fight, and showed me his ear – a piece of which was missing. I was disturbed and enthralled. It confused me, placed me out of step. When he dropped me off, he asked for my panties. I capitulated immediately, absolutely no hesitation, and it simply reinforced this craving I have for a man who is strong enough to control me.
This is the first in a series of three, part of an essay I wrote at the request of someone here.
“He did not throw me and he did not push me. He took me around the waist and by the shoulders and bent me backwards. I was terrified I would fall, but when I touched a surface of cold stone beneath me the surprise of encountering the stone relieved me of my fear. He laid me down; a hard edge cut into the backs of my knees while my feet were on the ground, and as soon as I was fully extended, he was inside me. The whole was achieved in a matter of about four seconds. It was speedy and casual and effortless and at the same time seemingly impossible, like any virtuoso performance. And of course, nobody could have called it a rape; there was no struggle and no violence and no menace and no overcoming of a resistance. I was neither willing nor unwilling. I was nothing at all. I had not been given the choice to be either. I had not even been aware that there was a stone bench behind me when we had halted in our walk and he had broken off speaking in mid-sentence.
Prostrated as I was on the chill, hard surface, I felt utterly helpless. I had never before felt so helpless in my life. And he went on, as casually as he had started, neither embracing me nor holding me down. I closed my eyes. For all I knew he had his hands in his pockets. Then I hoped he would continue and was afraid he might stop, and almost immediately after this my hopes and fears were resolved and I felt like weeping with relief, but no tears came and I was shaken by dry sobs. I was still struggling for breath when he ceased.
He took me by the wrists and raised me into a sitting position. I kept my eyes closed. He slapped me lightly on the cheek and said, ‘You are my little girl,’ and then: ‘Come on, get up now.’“
When I first encountered a man with dominant tendencies, it was a soft man. A man with effeminate characteristics. A man who I thought an easy conquest. This man was not at all this way. He taught me more about myself, about the desires I harbored, than any other man before or since. I don’t even know if he considered himself a Dom, or if he just inherently enjoyed the physical acts that come with domination.
After this man, I looked for others with similar traits. Unfortunately, dominant thoughts seem to come packaged in misogynistic packages, which never seem to be true or lasting. But here and there the rare man seems to find me, and I discover again my true nature.
Some 16th century philosopher (Grotius) once questioned that if an individual can alienate his liberty and make him(her)self the slave of a master, why could not a whole people do the same and make itself subject to a king?
I read this question and of course immediately applied it to this lifestyle. And while showering (all best thoughts are had in water, have you noticed?), I had this grand vision of a new society founded on BDSM, with an elected King.
While it's amusing to play around with this concept in my head, it makes me wonder, with the climate of today's politics, if we aren't ripe for some regression. Would I pledge my loyalty to a fiefdom? I think certainly, if the laws of feudalism were adjusted to make the lordship based on worth rather than birth. Privilege begets greed.
Pardon my academia, I'm over-caffeinated.
"Many men are deeply moved by the mere semblance of suffering in a woman; they take the look of pain for a sign of constancy or of love." -Honore de Balzac
I recently had the opportunity to attend an event during which scenes were enacted. A confusing group of four, then a young woman with a man clearly not her own...all of it seemed a bit...dull.
Then a man and a woman entered the stage. He started slowly, working up in both instrument and intensity. At the end, the crack of the whip stung my ears. As I watched her face, watched her manic and uncontrollable laughter...her strange hand movements as if to grab this moment out of the air, a friend leaned over to whisper that it was almost disturbing to watch. I nodded, half aware of what my friend was saying, I was so intent on watching the woman cross from reality to this place she'd gone.
Her head was slightly tilted to one side, and her eyes were cut in the same direction, looking at a point in space just over our heads. Her gaze did not waver, no matter how sharp the blow or how strong her reaction. I could see the welts forming.
My friend's words finally sank in, and it occurred to me that yes, it was disturbing, but only because I so wanted to be on the receiving end of that whip.
