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.

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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.

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.

 

My first taste of kink

In an earlier post I mentioned C, my first girlfriend, who introduced me to a lot of things, included kink. Not that I thought about it as kink, back then. It’s only recently that I have begun to think about what we did as kinky. At the time it never occurred to me that it was anything else than absolutely natural and normal. (And it was, of course, for us.) I never even considered that not everyone did the things we did. Why wouldn’t every couple restrain each other, use blindfolds and tease each other mercilessly. It felt so good and it was so much fun! Of course this had to be something everyone did!

Back then, when I talked to my friends about what we did, none of them mentioned that it might be a bit unusual or anything like that. They just continued talking about sex, like we always do. When I think about it, it might not have come as a big surprise to them that I want to explore kink and BDSM, considering what I told them about C and myself. No one made me question what we did with each other and I never really stopped and considered it myself. Why would I? I liked it and C was full of new and fun stuff we could try.

Not that I wanted to try everything the first time she mentioned it. On more than one occasion I balked and said no way. But C was sly and after she had planted the idea in my head, she let me think about it, turn it around and look at it from different angels. Then she would mention it again. I would say no again, but a bit more doubtful this time around. This would go on for a while before I gave in and agreed to try, at least once, just because I’m so very curious.

When I think back I see that she made a pattern out of it. Some things I agreed to try the first time she mentioned it. Other things she had to work at. Not because I didn’t trust her to do them to me, but because I was sure it couldn’t be anything I could possibly like, or even should like. In some cases I balked because it seemed wrong to do them. During our relationship, C taught me that when it comes to sex, nothing is wrong between consenting adults.

C really taught me a lot in our years together, about living life, having fun, being spontaneous and letting go now and again. Lessons I have used in my life to make it better. From time to time I marvel at how much she showed me, things I didn’t realize the importance of when she gave me the lessons. Right now, at this time in my life, what she taught me about sex, kink and acceptance matters the most.

After I began to read about BDSM I thought back to my time with C and about our bedroom activities, and I realized that there were some resemblances between what I already had experienced and what I was now reading about. That was probably the first time I really understood that the things we had done together wasn’t actually done by every couple, at one time or another. But not before later, when I talked with V, a new kinky friend, did I truly comprehend that not everyone binds their loved one to the bed before having their way with them.

V and I were talking about how we were introduced to kink and BDSM, and I said something like:

“My first girlfriend and I used ribbons to bind each other to the bed, blindfolds, ice; stuff like that. Small things, probably things everyone do.”

The answer V gave me was something like:

“Uhm, I don’t think everyone does stuff like that. It’s not that usual.”

Inside my head something clicked and I thought:

Doesn’t everyone do that? Really? Why not? Hmm …

Neither C nor I was solely on top or solely on the bottom in bed. I think I liked looking up at her as much as I liked looking down at her, both figuratively and literally. Maybe I liked looking up just a bit more than looking down. It might have something to do with the fact that I’m a control freak and being able to let go, to let someone else be in control, is quite … liberating, and not something I’m used to, at all.

When I began reading about BDSM I first believed that I had to be a submissive or a bottom or something in that category, because of this. I still believe that I might enjoy being a bottom for the right person, but it isn’t a thought I entertain too much. Because without the right person, a person I can trust with my body, my mind and my life, the thought is just too scary. Being the one in control, the one who has the responsibility for the life of another person is daunting too, very much so, but it’s a tiny bit less scary than being the one giving up control to another. Besides, I really want to explore my sadistic side. Oh, I think that’s frightening too, make no mistake. To give someone pain, without harming them in any way, isn’t something I consider carelessly. I know I have a lot to learn, I know it’s a big responsibility. I also know that I really, really want to and that I will work to make it happen. While I learn, work and wait, I will entertain myself with watching others play and trying (and most likely failing) not to grin too much.

Where do I fit?

When I was younger I had to accept a difficult truth (difficult at that point) about myself; I was different from my friends. I was interested in girls, not boys, and until the first time I fell in love, I refused to accept that as a fact. After I first fell in love, I didn’t have any problem with it anymore, but I still wasn’t sure whether I only would fall in love with girls or if I could fall in love with boys too. Years later, it’s still open to discussion. I simply don’t know. How can I know? I have only ever liked girls, but I haven’t lived very long. Maybe one day a boy will catch my fancy and I will think: Okey, not a lesbian then, but bisexual. I don’t like not knowing; I can live with it, though. But I wonder: how do other people know? How do they know where they fit and don’t fit? Do they know at all?

Now I have a similar problem; similar but different. These last months I have wondered, read and thought a lot about BDSM. I have read a lot of informative websites and a lot of blogs. Or, not a lot of blogs, just a lot on the blogs that I have liked and that seemed reasonable, in my humble experience. That they were very well written and a lot of fun to read was a great advantage of course. I haven’t read any books, or not any books that was worth reading, at least. Maybe I will get there, in time.

I don’t remember exactly what started this. No, that’s not completely true; I wanted to write an erotic novel with BDSM, that’s how it started. But the novel was more an excuse that anything else. “No, I haven’t any personal interest in BDSM, it’s just research.” It was easier to tell myself that was all, and for a while I needed the excuse. Maybe I would have liked to keep the excuse longer, but while I’m still a good pretender, I also know myself a bit better now than I did as a teenager. At some point it stopped being research and started being personal, it is the simple truth.

When I had concluded that I did read all those sites and blogs for no other reason than personal curiosity and the fact that I wanted, needed, to know more, the next little problem popped up. Where did I belong? Suppose BDSM really was for me, where did I see myself? As a submissive or a dominant? As a masochist or a sadist? I have thought about it quite a lot.

At first I believed I fell in the submissive category. My first girlfriend, let us call her C, was a bit kinky and I enjoyed being lightly tied up and played with very much. I need to have control; every minute of every day, so giving her that control gave me a break. A break to just be me then and there, and nothing more. But when I read more about submissiveness I realized I didn’t have that kind of willingness in me. At least, I’m pretty sure I don’t. So, maybe a bottom but not a submissive.

I know I like a bit of pain, from biting and scratching, but does that make me masochistic? I have no idea. Do I like more pain than I have already experienced at some point? I don’t know that either. Since I need control, maybe I’m dominant? Some of the things I have read points in that direction. When I started out there was only one thing I was sure of: I wasn’t a sadist. Some weeks later, I have reason to believe I was wrong.

I shouldn’t be so sure of something I know nothing about.

A few of the blog posts involving sadism seemed positively brutal to me, and I fast found other posts to read while I tried to put those posts out of my mind. Problem was, the posts would not be forgotten. Not because the details made me a bit horrified. No, because the feeling in the scene that was described, if not the scene itself, stuck a cord within me. I was curious, and became more curious the more I read. Soon I had to admit to myself that it was something there that I liked, something that I liked a bit too much, truth to be told.

Now I feel a bit like a teenager again. The teenager that said:

“Other people may be lesbians, if they want to, but I’m not. Thank you very much!”

I feel like saying:

“Other people may be sadists, if they want to, but I’m not. Thank you very much!”

Both then and now I know the truth, even if I’m not quite ready to admit to it. As a teenager I knew that I might, just might, be a lesbian, or at the very least be able to fall in love with girls.

Now I know that I might, just might, be a sadist, or at the very least a bit sadistic. But I don’t know, I just don’t know.

I don’t like not knowing; I can live with it, though. But I wonder: how do other people know? How do they know where they fit and don’t fit? Do they know at all?

To be or not to be … a lesbian

My friends had been falling in and out of love for years before I had my first crush. It was not that I had not tried to fall in love, because I had. I found a boy I thought was nice and kind of pretended that I had fallen in love with him. It sounds silly, does it not? But being the only one who had not fallen in love is a strange position, you feel … left out. Not that my friends would ever do that on purpose, and they did not know anyway. I did not either. I was a very good pretender. It was not until I actually fell in love, that I realized I had been pretending.

Years before I fell in love I had discovered something unusual. Those that I thought cute or beautiful or particularly interesting, those that my eyes would follow down the hallway of their own accord, was girls. My diary became full of rantings and ravings about it. I did not want to be like that, I did not want to be one of those people. Not that I really knew a lot about lesbians at that point. I only knew that was not for me, thank you very much!

A couple of years later I fell in love for the first time. It was a girl at school. About a month went by before I realized what this weird feeling had to be. The butterflies in my stomach. The need to see her. The fact that I could not get her out of my head. Yup, I had fallen in love. Because of this and that, nothing ever happened. Except that I told my friends that I just might be a lesbian. I was so unsure. Maybe it was only this one time, maybe it was only her. I did not know, how could I possibly know, when I only had fallen in love once in my life? I no longer had a problem about falling in love with girls. Why would it be a problem when it felt like that, made me feel like that? Of course, it hurt too, a lot, but still … Girls are great, are that not?

My friends reactions made it easier too. Total acceptance, none of them even batted an eye. One of them had suspected it, because of something I had said once. One of the others gave the best reaction ever, she gave me this big grin and said: “Cool.”

The second time I fell in love, it was easier to recognize and the biggest worry (which is always the biggest worry for anyone in love) was whether she liked me or not. She did. She liked me a lot.

/Raven