Archive for kink

If the shoe fits…

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , on January 27, 2014 by michella74

I’ve written a bit about my masochism, but I realized that I haven’t shared much about my other fetishes. It’s time to remedy that so I’ve chosen to write about my most obvious (for anyone that knows me) fetish first.

SHOES!

$995.00 Christian Louboutin heels that I adore.

$995.00 Christian Louboutin heels that I adore.

I don’t just mean high heels either. I love flats, boots, sandals – basically anything but tennis shoes. My fetish isn’t limited to women’s shoes either. I’m just as likely to follow a pair of men’s dress shoes down the street, as I am a pair of 5″ stilletos. And yes, I’d be following the shoes, not necessarily the person wearing them. In fact, I’ve done it. I feel I need to state that my love is for the shoe, not the foot that is wearing it. People always assume that I have a foot fetish, but it just isn’t so. I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t drooling over this pair or that. I’ve never been able to walk past a shoe display without looking at each pair. The form, the artistry, the materials; it all excites me. When I see a beautiful pair of shoes I simply MUST look at them. The shoes that a person is wearing is the first thing I notice about them. If the shoes are good, I’ll continue to look. One night I stopped a woman at a bar and asked her if I could take a photo of her heels.

I also love shoes because of what they do to me. When I wear any of my 5″ heels, I stand at 6’2″. A woman that height with the kind of curves I have, gets some attention. In fact, the only time that I don’t mind being a bit of an exhibitionist is when I’m wearing a new pair of heels. I love how they make me walk, how they make me stand, how my legs look in them, how most people have to look up to me, and most importantly, how they make me feel. Wearing heels, especially if the heel is 4-inches or higher, makes me feel powerful. As a Switch, the pair of shoes I’m wearing can put me in either a Top or bottom headspace. When I wear my knee-high 4″ heeled black leather boots, I’m immediately in a mood to kick a little ass. If I’m wearing my 6″ hot pink vinyl heels, I’m going to feel more vulnerable and will easily bottom to someone because I know I can’t get away from them. If I’m wearing my oxblood Dr. Marten’s, I’m feeling tough and a little butch. But once I change into my 3″ black patent Mary Jane’s I’m a delicate flower. I think if people realized what a pair of shoes can do for your frame of mind, they’d be more appreciated.

Some shoe fetishists NEED them in order to climax. I do not. However, a good pair certainly makes things more exciting. I was in a class once presented by Midori (if you’ve never heard of her, look her up). Someone asked her to define a fetish and as she has a shoe fetish as well, she explained it something like this:
“I can think of the hottest, wildest, nastiest, best sex I’ve ever had. It’s fantastic, but if I add a pair of police boots to that? Now we’re talkin’! It was already good, but picturing those police boots as well just put it over the edge.”
That’s what my fetish is like. By throwing a beautiful pair of Steve Maddens or Christian Louboutins into the mix, the “HOT” factor skyrockets. I’ve been fucked doggy-style while my hair was being pulled in such a way that I had no choice but to stare at a slideshow of photos of women wearing heels. The fucking and the hair pulling were already amazing, but watching all those gorgeous shoes as well made the experience phenomenal.

I’ve always wondered if the majority of shoe enthusiasts are masochists. The others that I know in my community are most certainly pain sluts. I mean, think about it. When I wear a pair of 5″ heels, I’m changing my center of gravity, my toes are most likely squeezed into as much of a point as I can get them, my calf muscles are being forced to work overtime, the balls of my feet are now carrying most of my weight. It’s not easy to wear such high heels for more than an hour, but I do it at least once a week and I love it. I’ve worn shoes a half-size too small for hours simply because they were too pretty to not buy. I don’t know of any other shoe fetishist that hasn’t done the same thing. I guess we’re all a little mad. *grin*

Sometimes I wonder if part of the reason The Biker has bought me 10 pairs of shoes in the last year is that he knows how uncomfortable heels can be. He’s fully aware of my special relationship with pain, as well as my love for extremely high heels. Yes, he makes me happy by gifting me new shoes, but he also gets the satisfaction of seeing me grimace occasionally when my feet start to hurt. He knows that I have a rule about not taking off my heels until the end of the night, so he gets to watch me torture myself and then reap the rewards at the end of the evening. (Have I mentioned how evil he can be?) He and Panzer also love that my tits are at eye level for them once I’m wearing most of my heels. It gives them easy access. Most women in my acquaintance that also love heels have at least one sadistic benefactor. It’s sometimes necessary. Pretty heels are expensive! The pair of Christian Louboutins that I’m currently in lust with come with a price tag of $995.00. Yes – roughly $500 a shoe and if I had the money, I’d not hesitate. At one point, I even considered becoming a video Domme and filming custom clips in exchange for shoes.

These were all gifts. The Biker has given me nine pairs in the past year.

These were all gifts. The Biker has given me nine pairs in the past year.

As a self-proclaimed shoe whore, there are several things that make me sad. When I see a woman that cannot walk in the heels that she’s wearing, I just want to pull her aside and give her lessons. When women take off a beautiful pair of heels halfway through the night and either switch to flats or walk around in bare feet, I shake my head in disbelief. When people say things like, “They’re only shoes” or “How many pairs of black heels do you really need” or “They just aren’t practical”, I don’t even bother trying to explain. They’ll never understand. They might eventually reach a point where they tolerate my fetish, but they’ll never truly get it.

My entire shoe family as of January 2014.

My entire shoe family as of January 2014.

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Am I broken?

Posted in Kink, Ruminations with tags , , , on January 20, 2014 by michella74

So this is odd.

I haven’t had a good, hard scene since July. I’ve had fingers wrapped tightly around my throat while I was being fucked. Panzer has tied me up once or twice before he had his way with me. The Biker has forced orgasm after orgasm out of me until I begged him to stop. None of this is what anyone in The Community would call a scene though – we just call it normal sex. *grin* I hadn’t really thought about it until recently, but now that it’s popped into my head, I find that I’m dwelling on it.

A year ago, I was getting a scene at least once a week. Either rope, humiliation, breath play, fear play, electrical play or canes, but now…nothing. The last scene I recall is the night Panzer and The Biker co-Topped me, made me weep, and actually use my safeword. That scene haunts me. I’ve used my safeword once, perhaps twice in all the years I’ve been playing. I’m not the heaviest masochist that I know, but I’m stubborn and I can take quite a bit of pain. That night was…different. I had asked them to make me cry, to hit me so much and so hard that I wept. They did.

But recently I can’t help but wonder if that scene broke me.

Up until this past summer, I used heavy scenes as a type of stress relief. If I was upset about something and needed to work through it, being abused was the means to an end. It was cathartic. After the scene was over, I could rebuild myself mentally as well as physically. The Biker has mentioned several times in the past couple months that he’s been craving a hard scene with me. Each time he mentions it, I’ve told him that I’m not in need of the catharsis that it provides. What I’ve realized lately however, is that I’m not being completely honest.

There is a part of me that wants it, but there is also a part of me that is, well…frightened. What if I can’t take that much pain anymore? What if I panic and safeword just a few minutes into the scene? And then, the worst fear of all…what if I don’t enjoy it anymore? Maybe I should just force myself to scene with either Panzer or The Biker (or perhaps both). I’m just not sure. What I do know is that I feel like part of me is missing. I haven’t even really felt like Topping anyone lately. Again, a year ago, I was Topping in a scene every couple weeks. It was something that I needed in order to feel sane.

In fact, that just might be the reason why I’ve felt so “off” for months. Wow…I hadn’t thought about that until just now. I’ve been having a rough time lately, feeling lost, like I’m alone. Could the lack of kink play in my life be part of the cause? This is going to require more thought. Stay tuned…

Let me go

Posted in Kink with tags , , , on May 30, 2013 by michella74

There’s a private local play party coming up and I’m really excited about it. Panzer and I have been to this house several times previously, but we were always catering and after a day of prepping and cooking hors d’oeuvres, we never had the energy to actually play. This time will be different. This time we’ll be going as guests, and it’s possible that The Biker will be able to join us. The house itself is beautiful, and since it’s a private party, there aren’t as many rules as are usually present in public venues. That’s lovely, but not what is titillating me. So why am I excited?

Well, I haven’t had a good, hard scene in over a month. I’m not talking about just a bit of rope and some spanking. I’m talking about a challenge. I’m talking about something cathartic. I’ve been consumed with the memories of my last hard scene and I want more. This party gives me a chance to get it. Therefore, I’m giggling and doing a little happy dance.

You see, I want to feel the kiss of canes. I want fingernails leaving scarlet moons  in my skin. I want fingers and teeth digging into my flesh. I want to fight. I want to scream. I want to be slapped. I want hands around my throat until the edges of my vision go black. I want my cries of pain to be muffled by a cock being shoved into my mouth. I want to hear them call me a filthy whore because I asked for this – because I enjoy it. I want to make it to the end of the scene and have to be lowered onto the floor; nothing more than a bundle of raw nerve-endings and tears. I want to hate Panzer (and The Biker if he can join us) for a little while afterwards. I want to whisper at them to not touch me, to just let me curl up into a little ball. In short, I want to be deliciously broken by the end of it so I can rebuild myself.

I don’t crave scenes like this very often for two reasons. First, because of the amount of work it takes to get me to that point. Some people submit to the pain easily. For me though, it’s never that simple. My mind won’t let me give up control without a fight. I thrash, I curse, I threaten my Top with bodily harm. It’s not pretty, and yet, there’s something wild and wonderful about it. Secondly, and I hate admitting this, scenes like this actually frighten me…more than a little.

Prior to realizing the level of my masochism, I was always fascinated by watching the heavy players. Seeing a Top punching, kicking, choking their bottom; seeing the bottom begging for mercy while tears rolled down their face; witnessing the connection between the beater and the beaten; it enthralled me. I always thought it was similar to wanting to stare at the car accident as I drove by, but within the past eight months or so I’ve realized that I was fascinated because I wanted to be IN those scenes. That scares me. Realizing that I crave beatings and tears and pain that much sometimes makes me wonder why? Why do I need the pain so much?

Needing the pain is something that I’ve come to accept, but the pain itself still gives me pause. I know that Panzer and The Biker will read this post. I know what the result will be. They’ll do their best to give me what I’m asking for. And that scares the hell out of me. I don’t get frightened when I know that a “normal” scene is going to happen; one in which I’ll still be aware of myself and will remain unbroken. But this is different. The amount of pain and degradation that it will take to get me to the level I’m now desiring is substantial. The idea of it makes me tremble and yet, it still gets me wet. 

I had a discussion last night with a friend about scenes like this. As a Top, there is always the fear that you won’t be able to control the sadistic beast inside; that once unleashed, it won’t allow itself to be caged again; that the bottom will hate you long after the scene is over. These are valid fears, and in my opinion, good Tops always have them to some degree. But as a bottom, there is always the fear that you won’t be able to take it; that you’ll have to safeword early; or worse, that you won’t be able to let go of yourself and surrender to the pain. I’ve experienced all those fears as both a Top and a bottom and I’m experiencing the fears of a bottom now as well as something else.

I’m really fearing the pain itself. I know how odd that must sound since I’ve gone on and on about being a heavy masochist, but it’s true. Yes, I process pain differently than most people, but it still registers as pain. It still makes me whimper and cry. I still try to escape from it. I still scream when the cane leaves a welt, when fingertips grind into a nerve, when a blade draws blood. How could I not? The difference is that I know what my body will do with that pain within a few moments…it will turn it into pleasure and allow me to let go. That, my friends, is why I crave it even as I fear it. That is why I ask for it. That is what makes me who I am.