Have I misunderstood degradation play?

I’m not normal. I tell you that right off the bat because it’s utterly true and I need to erase what you think is the typical response. I need explanations, not stereotypes.

Have I misunderstood degradation play?

Call me a worthless cunt. If I smile, it’s because I believe you don’t believe the words you say deep down. It’s become play for me. Call me all sorts of filthy things, a pig, a whore, a slut, a bitch in heat; get creative and call me something flirty and fun-flea shit, cunt cake, the list goes on. How many other vile words can you say that will make me hot?

As long as I am safe in believing that those words, those vile words are not how you deeply view me, I can happily play. I can see those vile words as terms of endearment. Those words will make me burn.

As long as those words are not used to beat me down, as long as those words don’t belong to the list of vile things I believe about myself, as long as those words are profoundly absurd, I can dive into the deep pool of depravity with you and smile as if you let loose enduring vowes of faithful love.

But I wonder, have I misunderstood degradation play?

I ‘need’ to feel.

When I was younger there were quite a few things I did that helped me calm down and helped me in those frustrating cycles of persistent arousal. I am once again in the middle of one of those cycles. Yet I don’t engage anymore in self-bondage as I scared myself quite badly. It isn’t safe behaviour and I like breathing for as long as I can. But I have picked back up something that helps during those moments.

In my younger days, I made my own ‘thingie’ out of rope and knots and used to beat it against my back. Sometimes rhythmically, sometimes painfully but a sense of calm always overtook me. Now, I’m using a cheap belt and it’s not going to last long. It’s already fraying and cracking. I don’t get the swing I used it get. The sensation isn’t the same either.

I’d love to lie to myself and say I don’t know why I’m doing it but that’s not true. I know I’m chasing ‘release’ and relief that I know it can give me if I swing it hard enough or long enough. I know I need a better belt. I suspect that it will do in a pinch but I think I might be seeking something else. Not sure what though.

I was one of those who got belted by their parents. Never on the back but buttocks and legs and those left raised welts that took a week to disappear. I was also one of those defiant enough that I learned how to ‘turn it off’ and ended up with no welts much to parental frustrations. I’ve never understood how this behaviour could produce a calm that now I’m seeking once again. I don’t get it.

For now, the ‘reward’ seams worth chasing. It’s causing me to reflect and redefine myself. I don’t see myself as a person who seeks out pain, at least not in a physical sort. Or maybe I’m returning to this because seeking out emotional pain has been too costly? I don’t know. I just want to feel something. Is that so bad?

Well, I never!

I have never faked an orgasm in my life. 

I get on Fetlife and read quite a bit and it turns out there are more than a few women who have routinely faked an orgasm. It never occurred to me to even fake one. Oh, I can tease like I’m having one but it’s not the same at all. It’s identical to porn star orgasms which makes me think those are all fakes. Because I sure as hell don’t sound like that!

I have never dressed up in a latex suit. 

I have to say the shiny is very attractive but I’d look like some sort of blobby sausage if I got up in a suit like that. I’ll stick to admiring the photos from afar.

I have never felt the bite of a whip on my skin.

Oh, I sound like a wimp! But I’m not counting all the snap fights I get into with my hubs at all. That sharp snap! Oww!! If he can land a good one, it makes a nice welt and makes me howl but, of course, I wiggle and run and snap back a few good ones of my own.

I have never sung karaoke.

Nope. Nope. And a whole bag full of nopes. Hard limit. I call RED. This is not happening. This is dig heels in territory. I’ve had more than a few friends try this on me with a few drinks in me and yeah, still not happening. Nothing sobers me up faster than saying “Let’s do karaoke!”

I have never gone to a local munch, now that I’ve moved to a different state. 

It’s taken me some time to settle into this place and I’m still feeling my way around here. It’s a bit of a different culture out here and it takes some getting used too. But I’m at a loss to dipping my toes into the local kink community. I’m not sure what I am anymore nor what I want out of kink anymore. A side-effect of too many questions and not enough time and I still have to set priorities. Who knows? Might go one day and say hello.

So, these are my five “Well, I never!” statements. All true and All odd and all just fun to have thought up. So what are your five statements?

I’m very, so very hungry…can you feed me? Pretty please?

Think back to all the plates of spaghetti you’ve eaten in your life. Remember the ones that were really filling and then the plates that were just ho-hum. Sex is just like eating spaghetti. It’s filling and tastes delicious and you want more of it.

Some chefs can only dish out the same for every person. Endless rounds of just pasta and sauce and leave you craving garlic and meatballs. Some chefs get fancy and sprinkle on the parmesan cheese and give a side of garlic bread. A few chefs will ask you how you like your spaghetti and sever up exactly what you asked for. And fewer still, will ask you to take a chance as they blindfold your eyes and feed you.

So, how do you like your spaghetti?


I woke up this morning an’ popped out of bed feeling okay about myself and things. Expressing myself helps.

Despite what we are, I found something funny. I learned what kind of pains are good and what kind of pains are bad. And for an emotional masochist to say this, I think is very good progress. I think I’d rather be wearing stripes on my skin than what I feel inside.

Not all pains are created equal.

I’m a baby masochist

I woke up this morning with this thought on my mind, ‘I’m a baby masochist’. Last evening’s fun was still playing in my mind and it still amazed me. I had gotten just about everything I wanted and here I was purring like a kitten, curled up under the blankets bemused.

Writing erotica turns me on. I am so blaming that even if I know full well there is more to it. I was squirming throughout the day Sunday, feeling it build up and oh I was in need. A capital letter N – E – E – D level of NEED. Typically I just wait till I’m alone and attack myself for a few hours but not this time. Mid afternoon found me in the shower, scrubbing up and enjoying the water wash over my skin. I knew that would perk my husband’s interest.

He’s got a thing about me fresh out of water, shower, pool, whatever. Having my hair all wet and water clinging on my skin, I think it sends him back when we were first dating and getting to know each other in high school, got to love swim class. I’m feeling the sass rise up in me thinking as soap suds wash down me. How do I get his attention?

Lucky break! He comes into the bathroom to piss and I open the shower door and just watch him, putting myself on full display under the warm water. And I smile, really smile at him, just chatting a bit before he walks off. Hmm, that should perk things up. Hell, I even winked when he asked what I was up too.

The truth was strangled deep in my throat. How could I tell him I wanted to get laid but laid real fucking good! I’ve got major trust issues with my husband and we both got some fears about each other that makes sex a typical boring routine. Switching out mid stroke isn’t fun nor is getting tossed off the bed. Yeah, I don’t know we’ve survived being married all these years. I do know he loves me, all of me.

So I saunter out into the living room, a towel barely around me. I left the front open as another enticement. Goodness, I never realized how much I had to think about all this! He’s playing away on his game but turns to nuzzle against me and then pulls my pubic hair hard. I didn’t even wince. Oh, yes..gonna get a hair cut. He teases me for a bit and I find out I have to wait. Dinner was on the way. Oh, hell no, I wasn’t settling for a quickie. I’ll wait. Shit, I was crossing my fingers hoping like hell my sex drive wouldn’t vanish on me after eating or I’d change rolling into one of the others. Nope nope nope, not this time. I felt like Kaylee! (a Firefly reference if no one caught that!)

Pizza a and wings is a rather naughty dinner. I’m sucking off bones and licking my fingers. This was perfect! I didn’t over eat and surprisingly he didn’t let me. He boxed up half of it and put it away. Seems he’s got plans on his brain too!

Dinner is over when I in a fit of pique go lay down on the bed. I don’t know how to get this ball rolling, don’t know how to express my needs. So I whimper into my pillow feeling every bit of skin screaming for sensation as I cuddle against my soft fuzzy blanket. If something doesn’t happen soon I’m gonna fall asleep right here waiting for tomorrow.

My ass in up in the air and I wiggle it hearing him come in the room. Smack! His comes down on my ass as he’s asking if I’m asleep. I don’t even respond. I’m ignoring him, knowing full well I’m bratting hard. Smack, smack! Oh, yeah. I’m so not asleep, not a chance. I hid my grin as I roll over an’ face him. I get told to go get towels so he can shave me. Yes! Better than nothing cause the afterwards is often a fucking! The brat in me has taken full hold and as I leave the bedroom I place my hands behind me and give him the double finger. I scoot through the living room in a hurry.

Halt! Oh, shit. My feet stopped all on their own and I’m shaking. I’ve never obeyed my husband before, what the hell is this? His voice was different. This is different, very different. I’m half-way between laughing and crying at the same time as he walks up to behind and spins me around. Oh shit, I’m in trouble. Growling he asks me what did I say. I squeak out “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you’re going to be sorry.”

I find my feet and run to the bathroom and grab the towels. He’s right on my heals growling in my ear, giving instructions. It’s right on the tip of my tongue to respond with a yes Sir or even a yes Master. I swallow them both back down, double stunned as my lips say a simple yes. What the hell is wrong with me? I grab the towels, slinking back into the bedroom and lay them out per instructions.

Laying on the bed, deep breathing trying to clear my head. What just happened? Everything just changed just like that, in the blink of an eye or in this case in the quickness of two middle fingers.

I’m gonna skip what happened next. I’m keeping that to myself. My treasures. Well, okay a snippet or two.

He wanted safe words. Okay, odd. It’s something we rarely talked about and bloody hell it turns out I have three different safe words. Go figure.

My poor ass is getting spanked, really spanked. It hurts! And that still doesn’t still the chatter in my head. In that moment pride swelled up inside of me as my thoughts went to two different people and I wanted to make both of them proud. I knew I needed to stay still and not wiggle. I knew I needed to take this and push, simply push through it. I knew I could do it. Just let it wash through me and breath. Their words were right there with me as if they were in the room. Hot damn! These men of mine, they really get into my head.

My husband pushes me hard into pain. I’m lost, so lost in it. My nipples are twisted hard, pulled on and I’m a quivering moaning thing of flesh. He slows down, wanting me to respond. I hear him, I do and that’s all I am for a few minutes, feeling and hearing. It takes me a bit to respond, to curl my fingers around his arm. I’m flying high in the stratosphere and he’s calling me back down to earth.

Oh wow. Just wow. I always suspected I’d be like this. Never thought it would ever happen. My Master was very right. I’m a bit of pain slut. But I don’t think anyone but Dreamwalker suspected I was also a brat. And much to my amusement, the welts on my ass that took a great deal to create vanished in a few hours. I don’t even have a mark on my skin I could caress and remember.

Oh, and if you can’t figure it out by now, it was Awesome!

A Dream within a Dream

OMG! I lost my mind and didn’t add a little blur about this. This is a tiny jaunt into story telling with an erotic bent. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. 

It was a dream a within a dream. She slowly woke letting the dreams of the night float into her consciousness. Yet she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming of a dream or of the memory of a dream. Sometime in the middle of her sleep, in the dark she dreamed a dream within a dream. It buried down like a seed, slowly unwrapping as she awoke allowing it’s magnificence to be relived again.

It was powerful. This feeling of arousal, the building up and of the climax. That in itself was unusual. Typically these kinds of dreams wake her up just in the moment before utter destruction leaving her bereft of pleasure. She dreamed of waking up to the building pressure wash over her, of the electric shivers run up her spine and explode in her head. As she lay under the covers her nude skin caressed and touched by the smooth blanket, this arousal continued to build, prickling her body with want.

Gasping softly in wonder, she shattered in a million pieces. Pleasure rolled over her, though her, into her, pulsing, throbbing, aching and complete. But that was the dream. Her body was humming in contentment, of satiation. The ever present gnawing feeling was gone.

Could it be? Did she cum in her sleep and so completely? Wonder and amazement fills her as she goes about her day. How did this happen, she wonders. This only happens when she’s denied her pleasure of six months or more but never a finish and not quite this specular.

She lived her life of denial, of sexual denial with no one the wiser. Letting those frustrations build to the point she needs to let go of the control and play. Always alone, feeling safest alone to play with her body. The waves of pleasure she could extend and magnify would last her for months.

Yet she gave the power of her climaxes to another. He thought it would be easy to make her beg to cum. Oh, how little did they know! Months went by and never a whisper of a word, not even a whimper. Then he got devious. Edge yourself on the hour and maintain that burning fire, he instructed. Five days, five days of edging herself under the direction of a man had to be the root. Five days of doing what she never does, of exploring something that she could barely trust about herself, to be, to become. Hungry.

The sun rises higher in the sky and the satisfaction remains, annoyingly so. She sneaks off to the bathroom with a secret smile.