Wonderful Vulnerability

Before yesterday, I didn’t understand why having someone that was vulnerable towards me could be a good thing. Why should someone be vulnerable? What did I get out of it and what could she possibly get out of it? We could do everything we wanted without her being vulnerable – and wasn’t it better that way?

We really can do whatever we want, and whatever I want, without her being especially vulnerable, but yesterday’s session was … a bit magical.

The beginning wasn’t promising at all. I had a headache that was on its way from bad to worse and that kind of pain makes me unhappy and slow. On the other hand, I knew that it would be a while before I would have her with me again and I wanted some private time with her. Private time is not the same as playtime; we could just have cuddled and talked. It was my decision to do otherwise. I had one thing I wanted to use on her and another thing I wanted to try for the first time. Because of this, it was playtime.

In lack of a better description – the energy exchange began almost immediately. It was like turning on a switch. I was her dominant and she was mine to do as I pleased. I don’t think it has been like that for me, ever before. We could both feel it – a closeness, an intimacy, which has been with us in the past, but maybe not like this. No, not quite like this.

Between my orders and my giving her pain, there was hugging, petting, stroking and kissing. We were in our own little bubble, our own space, where only we existed. It was like floating. Floating on her expressions, her whimpers and moans, her softness and her kisses. We have had similar experiences, or I have at least felt almost like this before, but not quite this strongly. As I said, it was a bit magical. (I wonder if it was domspace I was in?)

At one point she said in a low voice that she liked being vulnerable to me. That she felt so safe with me that her vulnerability was something she wanted to give me. If I ever have gotten a bigger compliment from anyone, I can’t remember it. My breath caught in my throat, I could feel tears threatening and I leaned forward and hugged her. Hugged her hard while we both struggled to get our emotions under control.

I believe her vulnerability was a big part of making that session so special, so intimate. It wasn’t anything I thought about then and there, at least not before her quiet words. I simply noticed, on some level, her openness, her susceptibility, and I took what she offered me, and used it. Both of us where very satisfied with the outcome.

When I think back on yesterday’s session and on the playtime’s before I can see that I more than once have put her in slightly vulnerable situations and liked it. I just haven’t really thought through what I have liked about it and why.

Now I know; I like it when she is vulnerable towards me and I like it a lot. Vulnerability in my partner is wonderful.

Later that evening when we both had gotten home, I called her and we talked a bit more. One of the things that she mentioned was that during that session I was more in control than before, I was more confident in myself and what I wanted and what I wanted her to do, and not do.

Therefore, the question is this; did her vulnerability make me take more charge of the session, or did the fact that I was more confident with myself and with being in charge make her more vulnerable?

I really don’t know. I only know that it takes two to tango and that I truly like this dance of power exchange.

Fuck Toy

I don’t remember when I first began to think about the idea of a fuck toy. I don’t remember why or how the idea arrived in my head and my fantasies, nor do I particularly understand why it remained, why it became one of those fantasies that I wanted to explore. I just know that it did.

I do know that the notion had spun inside my head for a while before I acted on it.

I remember the first time I treated my girlfriend as my fuck toy and little else. Without explaining anything or telling her what to expect, I told her to undress while I stayed clothed. Already there it felt like something exciting and fun. To fuck her and almost pretend that I was detached from what I did to her and what she felt was sexy. To feel, hear and smell her reactions while she did exactly what I told her and simply accepted what I wanted to give … it was beyond sexy.

Afterwards I felt a bit like a cat that had found a perfect spot in the sun and was warm, relaxed and very satisfied with life and everything in it.

I knew I wanted to do it again, soon.

Later my girlfriend told me that I had taken her by surprise that day. (Which I liked a lot, of course.) She hadn’t believed that I was interested in doing something like that, maybe not even capable of liking it. She said that she hadn’t believed it of me when we began to get to know each other, at least. Then again, neither had I.

Now the term fuck toy is almost an endearment in my vocabulary and I like to remind her that she is mine.

Sadistic Guilt Trip

Most days I’m okay with my sadistic desires. I’m more than okay – I enjoy the happiness and pleasure I feel when I’m being sadistic. Sometimes I laugh gleefully when I smack or whip my masochistic girlfriend and sometimes I can feel my breath catch while I watch her take the pain I give her. Her reaction to the pain plays havoc with my own feelings and reactions and it is all part of the fun.

But not all days are most days. From time to time I experience doubt and guilt because of my sadistic tendencies; or needs – which is what they feel like at times. I know that I’m not fully reconciled with my sadistic side. I have come a long way, but aren’t completely there. Or I’m not there all the time; now and again I take a step or two backwards and I let the doubt in.

Not on purpose, mind you.

Last time it happened was after I had played with my girlfriend. I had felt particularly hungry for her pain this time and I had gotten my fill. We were both happy and satisfied. We didn’t do anything new or big or dangerous of any kind, that wasn’t the problematic part. What was different this time was the fact that I had been made very, very aware how much pure pleasure I get out of giving her pain. I have long been aware of the fact that I like it, but not to this degree. At some point during this playtime it scared me a bit, but at that stage I savored it too much to stop.

Afterwards it was time to pay up. It started small, almost like an irritation in the back of my thoughts. The more I thought about it, the more it prickled, and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about it. In the end it was like someone shouting at me:

“What the hell is wrong with you?! You can’t like that! You can’t get pleasure from that; you are a sick, sick bastard!”

The main reason this angry, hateful voice didn’t – and probably never will – do any lasting damage to my peace of mind and self-esteem was the very vivid and very pleasant memories of the play time I just had had with my girlfriend. She enjoyed receiving pain as much as I enjoyed giving it, which makes her as sick – or as healthy – as me, and that I can live with. Curling up with her and talking to her soothed my doubts and the angry and shocked voice in my head slowly retreated. When I told her I had gotten scared by my own feelings of satisfaction and delight, she hurried to reassure me that I was safe with her. I hadn’t done anything to her that she hadn’t liked and she wouldn’t let me do it either. There was nothing wrong and nothing to be afraid of. I was safe with her.

And the door closed behind the doubt and guilt.

I’m not sick or otherwise wrong for being sadistic. My girlfriend is not sick or otherwise wrong for being masochistic.

My sadism fits her masochism like a hand in a glove and there is nothing wrong with either of us, or with anyone else that partake in consensual BDSM. I’m fully aware of this, but sometimes my thoughts and feelings take a turn to the worse and I have to be reminded – and remind myself – of this, once again.

Most days I enjoy being a sadist and getting my satisfaction from my girlfriend’s moans of pain and pleasure. Most days I can pinch, bite, slap and claw at her and then cuddle up with her without a second thought – just a mind and body full of bliss. Most days being a sadist only makes things more interesting.

And some days I need to remind myself what a respectful, caring and kind human being I am. Sadist or no, it doesn’t change that fact.

Asking Forgiveness vs Asking Permission

Some say that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Maybe that’s true in some cases, but not in all.

A while ago my girlfriend and I made a deal. She would do at task before a certain time. We discussed the task and the point in time until we agreed, so the task wasn’t too big or too small and there was enough time for her to do it.

A couple of days before the time was up I got a call from a stressed out girlfriend. She is generally a very busy woman and she had too much on her plate to be able to do the task I had set. So she asked for a postponement for the task. Because I know how busy she is, I also knew that there was a chance she wouldn’t be able to do the task in time. I hadn’t considered exactly how we should deal with this. It was the first task – of that kind – I had ever given her, and maybe I hadn’t thought it well enough through. (I know, bad dominant, but hopefully I learned from it.)

Either she already knew that it’s a good idea to ask for permission to postpone a task or she just went with the flow. The result was that phone call where she told me she was too busy and that she needed a postponement. We talked a bit and came up with a new time for the task to be done and then talked a bit more before hanging up.

My first thought after hanging up was:

“Huh, that was weird.”

I had never had anyone asking me permission to postpone anything before. I have never been in that kind of situation, so yes, it was a bit weird. After thinking about it a bit I realized that I was relived she had called and asked permission, because in doing so she had helped both of us avoid some less than fun stuff.

Like the fact that she had had to admit to an undone task.

Like the fact that I had had to acknowledge that the task or the timeline (or both) had been wrong and she hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell me until it was too late.

Like the fact that I would had had to find a fitting consequence.

We don’t have a punishing dynamic in our relationship, not in the most usual way the term is used, anyway. For example, she never gets spanked if she breaks a deal. There are consequences if deals are broken, but they are there to help make it harder to break that deal again; at least, that is my intention.

Personally I have a much divided view on consequences. On one hand I dislike it when deals are broken and I have to find a fitting consequence. One the other hand, I like to watch my girlfriend accept the consequence without reluctance. She does what she is told and that is the end of it.

The first time I gave her an assignment that was the consequence of a broken deal, I could hardly believe that she did it. Not that it was a difficult assignment, but she is a grown and independent woman, and she did what I told her. (Yes, I’m new.) I had trouble believing my own reactions to it too. There were a lot of silent wows and she’s really doing it! and she is so cute when she looks concentrated. It was a rush and I had a hard time keeping my eyes of her. (Yes, very new indeed.)

That pleasure of an assignment well done doesn’t mean that I really like having to give her penalties. I don’t. I’m much happier when I don’t have to, because she doesn’t break deals of any kind.

So, I was pleased when she asked for a postponement. I would rather give permission for a postponement than forgiveness for a broken deal or task undone, any day. It’s so much easier to give. Not that I think it should be too easy to get postponements, either. There is a balance to everything.

My First Year of Kink

About a year ago I began the journey that led me into the world of kink. I began to write the short story that would become a very long story and the reason I felt that I had to read about BDSM to get things at right as possible. (For science, you know.)

It’s been a good year. I have learned a lot about kink and myself. I have gotten new friends and good acquaintances and I meet the woman who is now my girlfriend, lover, friend, kitty, fuck toy and masochist. More than once I have had to adjust the way I see myself and the kinky parts of the world.

While it has happened that I have doubted the newly discovered sides of myself, I haven’t regretted this journey. Not even for a minute, not once. I’m grateful that I found BDSM and all the friends I have gotten to know in the scene.

I don’t know what this year will bring, but I’m looking forward to finding out.

I hope it’s kinky.

Cuddly Pain and Trust

A couple of days ago, at a kinky gathering, I was cuddling with my girlfriend. It had been a week since the last time I saw her and I had a hard time keeping my hands of her. Hugging, stroking, kissing, running my hands through her hair, squeezing her hand, kissing her neck and cheek, pinching, biting and pulling her hair … Wait a minute, that’s not cuddling!

At one point I recognized what I was doing; I was giving her pain and cuddling at the same time. It was almost like I had been doing it on autopilot, not really aware, but having a good time nonetheless. I enjoy her sounds of contentment as much as I enjoy her sounds of pain. A hug there – a pinch here. A kiss on the cheek – a bite on the neck. The usual. The thing is; it kind of has become the usual. Not to say that we never cuddle without any pain, we do (I think), but cuddling and pain goes hand in hand, so to speak. Personally, I think they do great together.

When I realized what I was doing, I also realized that we hadn’t discussed whether my girlfriend was okay with it or not. At no point had she protested or asked me to stop, but still, I had to ask, to be sure. My girlfriend assured me that she was okay with the cuddly pain and of course she would tell me if she wasn’t. Her one reservation was that there would be no cuddly pain in vanilla situations and I readily agreed.

I have quite often come across writings that state that the bottom must trust the top before any play take place. The bottom must trust the top to respect his or hers boundaries, he or she must trust the top to release them at the end (if there is bondage), not to harm them and to help them if anything should go wrong. I wholeheartedly agree at all points and then some.

Something that doesn’t get as much attention is the fact that the top must trust the bottom just as much. A top must trust the bottom to tell him or her everything that might have an impact on the play and to be honest about his or her health, physical as well as mental and emotional. The top must trust the bottom to give feedback and to stop the play if anything should go wrong or feel wrong, and he or she must trust that the bottom won’t turn against the top should a mishap occur.

I have believed that being the bottom would have to be the scariest thing, what with the helplessness and all, and that trust had to be paramount for the sake of the bottom. I have felt that being in control in a scene is daunting too, but a bit less so. Now I’m not so sure. I doubt that I would be as relaxed if I didn’t trust my girlfriend and I wouldn’t be able to go from stroking to pinching and from kissing to biting without a thought if I wasn’t convinced she would tell me to stop if she disliked it.

I trust my girlfriend. I trust her to tell me if something is wrong, if something is too much, too little or simply not right. I trust her the same way I hope she trust me, to speak up for herself when needed. Even so … I’m not able to stop worrying. I worry that I might do something wrong, and not only with the cuddly pain; I worry about the all kinds of pain and pleasure in addition to the small dose of D/s we have dabbled with. I worry that I do or push too much, too little or in the wrong places or circumstances. In short, I worry – which is nothing new. What’s new is the fact that I give someone pain, I hurt her and I like it (a lot) and that’s worth worrying about. (Not that I like it, that’s not the issue here.) So now there’s a small, nagging part of me that goes: What if she doesn’t tell you if she’s had enough, what then, hmm?

Luckily the small, nagging and very annoying part doesn’t get a lot of room. Partly because I know my girlfriend quite well now, and partly because my girlfriend is very good at giving feedback; no matter what I do to her, her noises tells me how she feels about it. I might miss a hint now and again or misinterpret a sound, but if I’m in doubt I ask. (Right now I will most likely piss her of by asking is she’s okay, long before I drive her off by doing something really wrong. Not that I really believe that either of those will happen.)

While I wait for my doubts to shut up (and yes, it’s likely to be a very long wait) I will indulge in a bit more of cuddly pain with my girlfriend and take one day at a time.

And for the record, cuddly pain is so a term – as of now.

Moments

My hands are stroking down her back. I hear soft sounds in response.

There is slap when I hit her ass. My palm stings and I’m rewarded by a low moan. I continue to hit, she continues to moan.

I try a zipper for the first time. The high pitched sobbing sends small lightnings through me. I want more.

My fingers curl around her chin, keeping her head still, keeping all her attention on me and only me. I kiss, lick and bite my way up her back, over her shoulders and up her throat.

“Mine now,” I whisper in her ear. “Mine.”

Her breath comes a bit faster.

I hit her ass until it is warm and red before I position myself against her back and slip my arm around her chest. I hold her tight and dig my fingernails into that red and tender skin.

When she gasps and moans I want to lick it up, her sounds, her pain, her pleasure, her, all of her. It’s so delicious, she is so delicious. I lick and bite her throat instead and I’m trying to hold my own response back, just a bit, just enough.

The room is warm. She is naked and standing still, I’m not. It’s too warm and I pull my dress over my head before I continue to beat her ass.

I try the zipper once more. I don’t think she likes it much, but when asked she says I can use it again. My heart melts a little.

Standing behind her with my hand around her chin fast becomes a favorite. I’m so close to her and I can bite her shoulders, nip at her ears and dig my nails into her ass, another favorite of mine.

When we are finished I remove her blindfold. The first words out of her mouth are: “You have been beating me in that!” She almost looks disappointed that I have been hurting her just in my underwear and stay ups, or maybe the disappointment stems from the fact that she hasn’t been able to watch. Who knows?

We relax. I stroke her hair. We talk a bit. Both of us are finding our way back to earth and normal life before we leave the room to rejoin the rest of the play party.