I’m not a bratty submissive. I do what I’m told.
This isn’t to say I’m a doormat, or that I’ll do anything a dominant guy tells me to do. I’m fiercely independent, almost (almost!) to a fault, and I won’t do stupid shit just for the sake of ‘obeying’ some guy I’m temporarily attached to.
Within reason, however, if I’m in sub mode, I’ll do anything asked of me. I’ll try to, anyway, and I won’t purposefully disobey.
As of late, I’ve been with men…and women…who care about my pleasure as much, if not more, than their own, so doing my dominant’s bidding has been mostly filled with fun. And orgasms.
Who doesn’t love orgasms??
Hmm. I do love them. I love pleasure. I love coming over and over again, to the point of exhaustion. Legs trembling, mind spinning. Orgasms are fucking rad.
But I also love…
Orgasm denial. Torture, unbearable, exquisite, begging and pleading for release…
I love beatings. Slow, steady, fast, harsh, whatever comes my way. I love that strange mental hurdle of my masochism, the one I strive toward, where all pleas for mercy subside and my brain relaxes and I just take it. That’s a fun moment. The pain becomes cloudy, a blur, it’s pleasure but it’s not, it’s just beauty.
There was a time, many years ago (I’m 30, so I now say things like, ‘many years ago’), where I’d do wrong just to have more.
“Don’t move, or we’ll start over,” he’d say, getting ready to paddle my ass ten times.
I’d shoot up, out of place, pretending the pain was just so bad that I couldn’t help myself, I had to move out of position!
And we’d start over. In other scenarios, I’d find a way to disobey, to earn more pain, because pain brought pleasure…and I loved the idea of being punished for my offenses.
Now, I’ve morphed into this honest person who can’t lie, even if the lies are small and even if I can tell that the dominant wants me to falter.
I don’t really know what this means; I actually don’t think it means much at all. Except that when I want a hard beating, or torture, I have to ask for it, not earn it.