Archive for Pain

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.

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.

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.

bannershoes-e1362893440910

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.

Do I scare you? Good.

Posted in Kink, Ruminations with tags , on May 10, 2013 by michella74

I can be physically intimidating. I admit it. I’m 5’9″. I have an abundance of curves in the right places. I have a relatively deep voice for a woman. I wear Rockabilly makeup and I’m often in 3″-5″ heels when I’m out on the town. My left arm has a 3/4 sleeve and my upper right arm is covered by a tattoo of a woman in bondage. I have facial piercings and half of my bangs have been bleached from a chestnut brown to blonde. Many people find me intimidating, but I really don’t think it has much to do with my appearance.

I consider myself somewhat of an introvert. Although I’m perfectly happy to sit at a bar all night with a group of friends, I’m usually the quiet one. I enjoy observing people. I listen to what they’re saying, watch how their bodies move, and how they interact with everyone else. Many times, people don’t realize that I’ve been observing them for hours. There’s something satisfying about being able to tell when someone is stretching the truth or if I’ll be able to silence them with a look or sometimes, just being able to tell who needs to be pulled aside and asked if they’re doing ok. I don’t claim to be all-knowing when it comes to judging character, but given the time to observe someone, I can get a good feel for them. I guess that can make me somewhat intimidating to some people, but I try to use my powers for good.

So why am I writing about this?
Well you see, Panzer and I were talking the other night about kink (shocking, eh) and we got on the subject of my Topping style. Yes, the word intimidating came up again. I believe it was right after I said something about not needing other people’s pain, but craving the sight of tears falling from beautiful eyes. Panzer just sort of looked at me, then he laughed and told me that I’m frightening. The best (worst) part about that statement is that I wasn’t really even thinking about what I was saying – it just popped out. I guess sometimes even I forget how scary the thoughts in my head can be. I decided to write about it and try to figure out why that particular word is used about me so often.

When The Cop and I were dating there was a night that I was in a bit of a frenzy. At that point in time, I didn’t have any partners that I Topped and I was feeling particularly sadistic that evening. We were standing in a parking lot next to my car and he was on duty. I remember commenting to him that I wanted nothing more than to feel flesh between my teeth and blood running down my chin. FSM bless him, he put his forearm in my mouth and told me to “go ahead”. I don’t really remember the bite, but I know he had to forcibly remove his arm from my teeth. What I do remember is the look of fear and awe in the eyes of the uniformed officer standing in front of me, and to this day, it makes me wet.

Gothboy told me more than once that I frightened him. He was relatively new to kink when we started dating. Well, that’s not completely true. He’d never had an experienced partner and was surprised by some of the things that I enjoy. The first night I told him to wrap his hand around my throat while he fucked me, he looked scared, but he did it. When I asked him to throw me around and be as rough as he could, again, there was fear there, but after a few moments, he was enjoying himself as much as I was. But after we ended our relationship and actually started talking, he told me that I was, yep, intimidating.

After The Rigger and I started dating and I was able to start regularly exploring the Top side of myself, I began to gain a greater understanding of what it is about me that scares people. My theory is this: I know and accept who I am. I’m a strong woman and I’m not afraid to be honest with people. I know what I enjoy and what I don’t. Commanding someone to hurt me, or commanding them to take the pain I give them doesn’t frighten me. And in both situations, the amount of pain is significantly higher than most people enjoy. If I think that someone is being treated unfairly, or treating someone else unfairly, I’ll say so. I think all that, more than how I look, is why so many people are intimidated. And to be honest, I’m completely fine with that.

Love and loss

Posted in Friendship with tags , , , on April 26, 2013 by michella74

The Rigger is a difficult man to figure out. That might be part of the reason that I love him.

As I’ve written prior to this, we were friends looooong before we were lovers and that has a huge bearing on our relationship. Yesterday he found out that a close friend of his chose to end her own life at some point on Monday. I was acquainted with this woman, and I’m saddened that she felt this was the only avenue left open to her, but my sense of loss is dwarfed by what he is feeling…and it’s causing me pain.

He’s struggling for several reasons. One of them I can understand, but not both, not completely. He has apparently not had much experience with death and grieving. In my 38 years, I’ve been to over a dozen funerals for both family and friends. I’ve had to deal with it quite a bit and know how to get through the pain of losing someone. Hell, one of those could have been stopped had I just pushed a little more and forced him to ride home with me. (That’s perhaps a story for another time.) The point is that I have learned how to get through this and he has not. It’s painful to witness.

The other reason is something that I can empathize with, but don’t fully understand. She was one of his models and he saw her as a little girl that needed to be protected and cared for. In other words, he saw himself as her father-figure. (He does that with almost every woman he knows.) Because of that, he’s seeing this as a failure on his part – he couldn’t save her from her demons even though he tried for years. He’s angry with the men that hurt her and let her down throughout her life, and he’s seeing himself as one of them. I can’t figure out how to get him to realize that her death is not his fault. I tried for hours tonight, and I don’t think it worked. I don’t know if his lack of exposure to death is what is causing the problem, or if it’s that he sees himself as a superhero when it comes to saving little girls.

At one point tonight, in between the two times he shed tears briefly, I asked him if he saw me as one of those girls he feels obligated to protect. Thankfully, he said no, and told me that it’s part of the reason he is with me. Again, we have a relationship that is not typical for him. It’s strange for him to be with a woman that doesn’t need him, just as it’s strange for me to be involved with a man that doesn’t need me. I can’t say that I enjoy it all the time, but there is something both refreshing and terrifying about knowing that I could tell him to leave me alone for a week and he would, without questioning why. And that is exactly why it’s so hard for me to really “get” him sometimes.

I have a small amount of very close friends that I would do anything for – no questions asked. There are less than ten. The Rigger is one of those, but he never asks for anything; not even emotional support, and that perplexes me to no end. The reason I have so few close friends is because I’m not comfortable needing people. I enjoy being self-reliant (sometimes to a fault), but on the rare occasions that I do need some additional support, I know I can turn to my close friends because I’m there for them in turn. This man would never dream of asking a friend for that, but will offer it to friends and strangers alike. It’s completely selfless and I can’t help but think it must be exhausting for him.

I’m hoping that one day, I’ll understand his lack of reliance on other people. In the meantime, I’ll just continue loving him and reminding him that, should he need me, I’m there.