Archive for masochism

Finding myself again

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , on March 8, 2017 by michella74

For the past few months, I’ve felt that a huge part of my life has been missing and I’ve been attempting to discover both what’s missing, and how to get it back. So I began to write this post. As with all my writing, I do it to work through thoughts in my head, but if it helps anyone else, I’m pleased.

 

The “what” is easy – it’s kink. Every relationship I’ve ever had has been located somewhere on the kinky scale. Granted some have been higher on that scale than others, but without some level of physical pain or fear I quickly tire of the relationship. My relationships with both Panzer and The Biker have always been kinky, but for a few years now, the level of kink has dropped to no more than a few face slaps or a hand around my throat during sex. Compared to several years ago, when I was getting beaten or tied up at least twice a week, the kink has disappeared.

 

Why has it disappeared? Well, my world went sideways after a terrible breakup a few years ago and I retreated from kink as much as I could. Scenes became a reminder of how I was manipulated and used, how physically and mentally unhealthy I had become, how I had almost lost myself as well as my other relationships. I had to stop playing. I think that a part of me felt that I didn’t deserve the happiness that a good beating gave me. After all, I had let myself be manipulated; I had allowed it to happen; I was supposed to be stronger than that. But recently (a week ago, in fact), The Biker helped me realize that I was the victim. In order to move forward, I needed to stop blaming myself. Sadly, I also realized that by locking up the kinky part of my personality, by denying kink scenes to them, I had deprived both Panzer and The Biker of something they both loved and needed as well. Years later, I was still allowing that person to manipulate my actions and it needed to stop.

 

So what was it that I love about scenes. Why do I NEED them?

 

Obviously, part of it is that I’m just wired that way; I’m a masochist. I have been since before I’d ever heard that word. I once cut my finger open with a razor knife just to experience the sensation. I enjoyed playing rough games with the boys next door because I knew I’d get hurt. My sexual fantasies have always involved scenes of kidnapping, injury, bondage…all the “standards”.  A good way to torture me is to make love to me gently and touch my body softly. (I have to tell you though – the person I’m with should be prepared to get punched and cursed at if they try that.) Obviously, receiving pain plays heavily on whether or not I enjoy myself. But the need for the pain isn’t the only thing I miss.

 

When my partners and I are playing regularly, I feel extremely connected to them. A huge amount of trust is required. I have to trust myself to know when I’ve had enough, I have to trust my partner to know how to hit me safely, and my partner has to trust themselves enough to hurt me without harming me. All of that trust cannot be present without a great amount of love and intimacy. Over the past few years, without that, I’ve felt further from them emotionally.

 

For me, a scene is a journey. It starts with planning; each player searching for the path to be taken, discovering what demons to poke and what dark shadows in the psyche to explore. There is often laughter and smiles and always underlying love, but what we do is inherently dark in that we are looking to cause or receive physical or mental pain. A kink educator I know likes to say that when we do what we do, we are exploring the “dark pudding”. It’s been one of my favorite phrases since I heard it. When one of my partners beats me hard enough to bruise me or even draw blood, we are most assuredly exploring our dark pudding and emotional connections cannot help but be built.

 

Also, and this is pure vanity, I miss my badass days. When I was playing often, my pain tolerance was extremely high. I was constantly bruised, I could get caned for an hour and still want more. I rarely said no to any toy that Panzer or The Biker wanted to use. I felt like a badass. Now? Not so much. I can barely handle one good slap on the ass without wincing. I hit myself lightly with a small cane a few days ago and the sensation was both wonderful and frightening. Wonderful because I immediately recalled scenes in which I was caned until the skin was broken and welted for days, and frightening because I knew that I had barely swung the rod. It upsets me to admit that I can’t take the amount of pain that I used to. I want immediate gratification. I want to beg Panzer and The Biker to restrain me and have their way with me, but I can’t yet. And honestly, the idea of having to build up my pain tolerance again is daunting, to say the least.

 

But, I will persevere. I’ve already asked both of them to help me (not that it took much convincing). They’re both sadistic enough to enjoy the process of rebuilding my alligator skin. Panzer has already come up with a game in which I get to choose two out of three things: Toy, Location, Intensity. He gets to choose the 3rd. I think he’s delighting in knowing that I’m somewhat terrified every time I have to choose. The Biker hasn’t invented a game; he’s taking a more direct approach by man-handling me more and using his knowledge of human anatomy. He giggles when he manipulates my pressure points and nearly drops me to my knees. I usually end up giggling as well, after I curse him. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like we’ve discovered the correct path. Yes, it’s dark and it will require tears at some point, but the end of the journey will be worth it.

More teeth, less lips.

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , on January 19, 2014 by michella74

How to describe the sensation of teeth sinking into flesh?

For me, something completely animalistic surfaces out of the dark waters of my mind; no matter if it’s my teeth doing the biting or my flesh being bitten. I crave it. I want to be bitten. I want to bite. Deep down, in those dark places, I want to taste blood on my tongue and feel rivulets running down my skin.

I’ve had flesh between my teeth and had difficulty forcing my jaws to open again. The Biker once had the flesh between my throat and shoulder in his teeth and had to force himself to stop. My reaction was “MORE! FUCK YES! MORE!” Perhaps it has something to do with my blood fetish, or perhaps my vampire fetish, or maybe it has more to do with my masochism. I couldn’t tell you for sure. What I can say is that a bite from a partner immediately turns me on.

There is something about the pain that comes with a bite. The teeth are sharp and the sensation immediate, much like a cane. Then, even after the teeth have disappeared, there is still a dull ache, as if the teeth are still there applying pressure to my skin. I imagine people with phantom limbs experience something similar. I always find myself running my fingers over the spot, hoping to find it tender and deeply bruised. I want the marks. They remind me of the pain and pleasure. They remind me that my life was in someone else’s hands…or should I say mouth.

Biting someone else is different for me. The sadistic bitch that I try to keep reined in most of the time is let loose. I want to hear a scream, or a gasp of pain (and pleasure). I want my partner to fear me. If they beg for me to stop, it’s exciting. If they plead for more, it’s even better. However, care must be taken because I have, on more than one occassion, almost lost control and broken skin. After many years I was able to figure out that the chances of that happening increase, the longer I go without biting anyone.

I’ve often wondered how many people enjoy biting. I’m convinced that our fascination with vampires, werewolves, etc. has roots in our ancient past. We both crave and fear being the prey or the predator. It awakens those long-forgotten memories of stalking our dinner and being stalked as something else’s.

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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.