“Baby, it’s cold outside…”
“Baby, it’s cold outside…”
This unkinky feeling…I’ve had it before, as you know if you’ve read here any length of time. I would say that many of my kinky friends have gone through this too. Some are out of kink permanently, and some are just in stasis.
Whether it’s life events keeping us in vanilla mode, or a partner’s issues, or our own, it seems inevitable that one cannot sustain the full-bore D/s life as depicted in porn. No one is kinky all the time…perhaps in thought, but in deed? Not so much. Perhaps if one were independently wealthy (hmmm, and where have we heard of that before? Here? In other writing? Yeah, it seems that only the idle rich could have time for such self-indulgence!) one could maintain that lifestyle, but the rest of us? We have to put food on the table, and pay bills, and insurance, and mortgages or rent. We’re all in some mode of “life” and sometimes that simply precludes kink.
Which is not to say that some of our mundane life could be kinky. Himself suggested a few weeks ago when I was being particularly sassy and un-sub-like, that perhaps i’d like to wear a butt plug up my ass for one of my jobs. Or nipple clamps. And then he laughed, that evil chuckle, and I got wet…and that was the beginning, and end, of that thought.
Kink is great in ideas. Doms are always on the prowl (one imagines!) for perverting even those simple day to day things into something pervy. And it’s great if it manifests. And also inconvenient and sexy and annoying and wonderful…all of that. But it takes effort. He’s older, I’m older, we’re both extremely busy, and there simply isn’t time.
Or we don’t/can’t/won’t make time. That’s both of us. This doesn’t fall solely on his shoulders, I bear a responsibility to our kink as well. What we need is face time, and sometimes I forget that during this absolutely wonderful, crazy, busy, exciting time of the year, is that time is more precious than platinum. We don’t have a lot of it freely hanging around. Sometimes I find myself filled with wonder that my kids have time to just sit and be, because I’m busy all the damn time! And I look at all I do, and things I can delegate, I do. But is everything I do totally necessary? Does it pass the 1 year test (will it be important a year from now?)? And yes, for much of it. I loathe piles of laundry hanging around. So that needs doing. Can I live without doing something? For a while. But I’m way more OCD about stuff like that (in my own home, I’m not judging anyone else here!).
What I’m bumbling along saying is that I have a hard time letting go of the “to do’s” and prioritizing what is a “must do” from that pile of stuff on my list. And if D/s time is at the bottom of that list? It keeps taking a back seat to all the others.
Part of that comes on to him here. Whenever I manage to carve out free time? He doesn’t have it. Can’t/won’t shift things. And then I fill up that space, and the next time there’s free space, I don’t even ask.
So while I’m silent screaming over here about kinklessness, I’m also caught in my own triangle of causing it!
And I don’t have a solution except…wait for January. And I’m still on doctor restrictions through the end of December so that plays a role. *huge sigh* See what keeps chasing around in my head? It’s hard to stay sane when I can’t create workable solutions to problems that i’m at least 50% responsible for!
And you may have noticed that I don’t wait very well, either.
Impatient slut? Yeah. If the stiletto fits …
It’s been hard, these last few months not seeing Him at all. I am unkinked, adrift, lost. Nature abhors a vacuum, so when there is an empty slot of time in my life, it is filled nearly immediately. My work has grown exponentially to the time we don’t spend together. It leaves me truly vanilla.
I’m not depressed, exactly.
I think I’m too busy to feel.
To feel anythings.
The good stuff. The bad stuff. The feelings of loss and aloneness that not having him more intimately entwined in my life. He’s not gone. We’re still a couple.
And yet, not.
I wrote to him last night. Because I let a little of the hurt (the need for hurt?) seep into my awareness.
The less we communicate, the less we see each other, the less connection i feel…and i fill up those empty places with work. I need you. It’s as simple as that. Or i will just fade away.
I’m beyond vanilla..im almost invisible and there’s no one to hear my screaming.
He wrote back within two minutes.
I hear it.
It relieved me. That he got it. That he didn’t laugh it off, or joke it away, that he could *feel* my deep sense of loss. This…this nasty, dirty, terrible thing we do–it’s part of me. It’s a name I can put to those craven desires that I didn’t understand for so terribly long. I know I’m kind of late to the party here, just discovering kink in the last year of my 40’s, but these last 9 years have shown me parts of myself, and taught me to love them as part of my whole being. I am what I am. I can’t be anything else. There’s a name and a need and it can be stuffed away…but it leaves me feeling less than whole, and a whole lot less.
He got it.
And that means more to me than all the “there, there’s” in the world.
So when a slut is deprived of stimulation from her Master, and when that slut is needy, she needs to find other ways to amuse herself. What better way, I ask, than *looking* at porn?
I started on Tumblr a bit ago (I don’t keep track of this stuff!), and reblog on occasion. But I have a few raunchy people that I follow, including several c-n-c rape blogs (are they called blogs? or just tumblrs? I dunno!) some slavery type ones, and some that are just creepy.
Last night, though I was exhausted beyond measure, and had no energy to even think about an orgasm, I nonetheless scrolled through Tumblr before turning off my light. Several posts were hot, per usual, but then there was The. One.
The one that grossed me out beyond measure.
I’m okay with D/s that does knifeplay, including cutting. I’m okay with D/s that whips to blood, and I’m okay (though squicked out immensely) with tit nailing. (Yes, it’s a thing, who knew?) I simply scroll through those quickly and shudder.
But the one with the knife, needle and “nipple-less slut” written across her tits?
That crosses a line into maiming and abuse for this sub-girl. That’s where my inner feminist, who is fine with being pissed on, and face-fucked until puking and other degrading things, rears up and says “whoa there a minute, you.”
Like really…who the fuck thinks its okay to cut the nipples off a woman for fun?
Sure, D/s can be serious. Can be deeply kinky. And yes, yeah, blah blah blah, nilla, who do you think you are criticizing a Dominant for doing whatever he wants with his slut.
Who am I?
I’m a woman. One who loves who she is, and trust her Dom to take care of her, to abuse her carefully, if you will. Sure, he’s going to hurt me. Sure, he’s going to mark me, and give me more orgasms than I think I can handle, and it will hurt and be good and I’ll ache for days afterwards.
But he would never in a million years permanently disfigure me by cutting off my nipples.
I mean, what’s the fucking point of that?!
How can it even be remotely amusing to do this to a person (no matter that she’s a slut or slave or pig or whatever name is being used)? Aren’t hurting a sluts nipples something that Dom’s/Tops like to do?
Okay, so that’s the first one, and it truly disturb(s) me. But wait, there’s more.
There’s the one that I saw last week, a whole photo array of a clit being injected. Saline? Who knows. It gets larger in every single photo until it’s huge. The next picture is of a razor blade. And the last one is of the severed clit, with the caption “you won’t be needing that any more.”
I’ll let you think about that for a moment.
I’m into kink because it makes me feel good. Because of the high, because of the endorphins, because I have this wacky wiring that makes me like to be beaten and fucked and …
that’s as far as it goes.
Yeah, I know there’s risk when you become a submissive to someone. That they can harm you. That they could kill you. I get it. I do. I was once desperate and foolish and met a man I’d only been talking to for a few months on the internet without ever really seeing his picture, or knowing him for real. No coffee dates in public, just a meeting in a room in a hotel and 9 hours of being fucked and kissed and hurt and …he became my Master.
I. Do. Not. Get. This.
Is this kink extreme? Is it abuse? Is it misogyny in the extreme?I think about those young girls in Africa who are taken out to the bush and have their clitoris removed by an elder woman because they are not allowed to enjoy sex, to have an orgasm, to feel any pleasure. I remember the need to vomit that I felt when I first heard of this genital brutality.
I can’t condone it. I can’t un-see it. I can’t understand it.
Isn’t the underlying piece of this thing we do, for all of us to feel pleasure of some kind? It’s not a game to me. It is NOT a game. Yet from my weight of years, and from 14 years of celibacy in my marriage, I cannot see that this sort of thing is anything about pleasure. Yeah, I know people give up having orgasms to please one’s Top. I get that that’s part of some peoples kink.
But to NEVER feel pleasure ever again?
Life is short. Shorter than you can even believe, and the days roll past so quickly. I hope that you don’t spend them all in denial of life’s greatest gift. I know I won’t. I hope I’m still having orgasms 20 years from now, and beyond…but I will never, ever, forget seeing that poor severed clit, and not feel the need to weep for that poor girl.
It’s frigging cold up here in the Northeast (though I admit today was warmer at 44* than it’s been in quite some time!)…and we’re not ready!
Okay, *I’m* not ready.
Places north of us have snow. ON the GROUND. *shivers* We didn’t have much transition, nor any true Autumn up here. It stayed warm and lovely right up until Halloween when the temps plummeted–and haven’t warmed much at all until today, of course, when I wanted to whine just a bit about the chill.
But it’s warmer, so that meant break out the tropical colors, and put a little sizzle into what was a dreary, cold, f-ugly week. It must’ve worked too, because the sun came out! First time in days ‘n days. I guess it’s okay if I take some of the credit for the Sun shining, if he came out to see boobage, right? *laughs* Happy HNT, pervie peeps!
Her nipples throbbed. Tight clamps grasped them, then were strung through pulleys to weights that hung wholly supported by those tender fleshy bits. The weights wobbled as she trembled.
If she leaned back, the weights lifted, resting on a thin lip of wood that jutted out from the wall. If she leaned back, the turbo-sized dildo was pressed deeply into her anus. It stretched her painfully, the girth of it feeling as though it would rip her ass to shreds.
She had to have relief on her aching tits. They felt aflame with hurt, curls of heat screaming up from the pinched tips, encircling her breasts with fiery licks of pain. Eyes clenched tightly, she slowly eased back until the ache in her nipples eased, only to cry out at the invasion of her throbbing asshole.
Trying to breathe through the pain, she felt the coil of a different heat in her cunt. It was obscene that this turned her on. Her body quivered, and sweat slicked her skin. If she opened her eyes to thin slits, she could see Him sitting in the chair across from her, a small smile upon his face. It was so secretly gleeful, so smug that he’d put her in this predicament and knew she hated it. And knew she loved it. She kept her eyes shut tightly, unwilling to watch him watching her. Her ass screamed. She leaned forward. At the movement, the release of tension on her aching anus, and the sudden shock as the weights fell from their support caused her pussy juice to spatter onto her thighs, and even more humiliatingly, onto the floor beneath her.
She thought she had mastered the timing though, balancing the pain in ass and nipples in equal measure. The creak of the chair warned her of His rising. Eyes opened to watch him warily.
He took two straps from the side table, and scooped up the big vibe. It only took a minute for him to attach the vibe to her leg, pressing it hard against her cunt, and use the straps to hold it securely in place. Turning it on, he moved towards the chair, then stopped.
“Oh, I almost forgot these.”
Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out two more weights. He added them to the ones already killing her nipples, then slapped her ass, making her jolt, and set the weights to swinging wildly.
“AAArgh!” she yelled.
Laughing, he sat back in the chair to watch as she came hard, then smiled as she continued the cycle of pain, orgasm, pain. Soon he would fuck her. But for now he sat enjoying the elemental force of gravity’s pull.
I’ve been very lax in titty pix lately, mostly because I keep forgetting it’s Thursday…until Friday rolls around and remember that I forgot.
Clear as mud, right?!
Anyhoo, this pic is from our post-playtime this summer, as the bruising had nearly faded away. Sigh. No playtime until after the first of the new year, I’m afraid. But my gosh am I craving it, the pain, the M, the all of it. Until then, I have the memories…and the pictures.