Consent and kink

I have read and seen a lot in the last year. I’ve talked before about how I didn’t even realize I was sexually submissive until a year ago, and didn’t know that my fantasies could be more than fantasies, that some people lived their lives this way. This has taken a lot of adjusting, in thinking and behavior, and I still regularly feel the challenge of integrating this aspect of myself into my life. It has also been incredibly freeing. I’m stunned by the energy and creativity that has been released by opening my whole mind to who I really am. I am so, so happy.

I am, as I would guess many previously vanilla people are, more accepting of other people’s kinks than I was of my own. I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. Is anyone getting hurt? If all involved are happy, then all is good. (OK, maybe somebody got hurt, but some people LIKE to get hurt. ; ))

I used to snicker a bit when I read about, for example, spanking or role play. Now I think it’s hot.

I used to feel quizzical about e.g. submissive men. Now I feel… a kinship I guess. And I think it must be harder in our society to be them than to be me (and it’s harder on all of us kinksters than it is to be gay, in general), so I have some sympathy too.

There are some things that personally squick me – the example that always comes to mind is scat play, and diaper play/infantilism/incest play is only a little easier for me to read about.

Last weekend I saw my first plushies/furries. I was happy that Richard was there to explain about them. He is so open and non-judgmental. It’s easy to laugh about their kink, but why is theirs any odder than wanting to spank or be spanked?

To repeat: I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. YKINMKBYKIOK: Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay, as some people put it.

So. I was reading a blog today (I’m not going to link to it, because I think she’s suffering from the negative attention already and I hate to see that). In it, a sub described her Master requiring her to put syrup on her pussy, to get the family dog to lick her. She explained that he had made her do this once before, and it had upset her so much that she cried for hours and couldn’t eat for days. That seems all kinds of wrong to me – why would a Master want to hurt his property that badly? why would you want a Master that hurt you that badly? – BUT that part of it (His and her choices) falls under the YKINMKBYKIOK rule to me.

The part that was really disturbing for me was the lack of consent from the dog. Here’s why: one of the cornerstones of responsible BDSM is consent. Otherwise you’re moving into abuse and criminal behavior, yes?

This is why the idea of “consensual non-consent” has been so carefully spelled out by the BDSM community. Basically, you can consent to give away your right to consent, either short-term for a play session or long-term as in the case of a slave. Slaves of course always have the right to take away their consent and be released from their slavery.

In my case, I have agreed that Richard has complete control over me; a “no” from me would be a “no” to the relationship. But if Richard told me to jump off a building, or to hurt my children, or to have sex with an animal, I would say “no”, recognizing the enormity of the “no” that I said.

Our morality and our laws recognize that some individuals and some creatures are not capable of consent. Animals fall into this category, children too, and brain damaged and severely mentally disabled people do too.

You may have heard of people who sexually molest infants. (Richard made me take out the details here.) Even if the child never remembers the event, most of us are horrified that someone would do this. Why? I would argue that it is because infants do not have the ability to choose to consent or not, and we therefore believe that they are off-limits for sexual play.

In a similar vein, there are occasional newspaper reports of caretakers of brain damaged or mentally disabled patients who have been caught having sexual relations with their charges. Even if the patients will never remember the event, most of us would say this is reprehensible behavior. I think it’s because we see a responsibility to those who are not able to choose to consent.

Animals are a greyer area for most people, although not for all. After all, we kill some of them for food. With dogs specifically, many people cut off their tails or parts of their ears. Other people kick or hit their dogs. Others leave them chained outside for days, even though dogs are extremely social creatures and crave interaction. Is having a dog lick your pussy really such a terrrible thing?

Oral sex is sex, in spite of what Bill Clinton might say. Having a dog lick your pussy is having sex with a dog. I actually called a (kinky) friend who is an animal control officer and asked her if this is illegal.

“Yeah it’s illegal. It’s called b*stiality.”

“So you would go get the dog?”

“Oh no. The police deal with this one. They go get the owners.”

The legality or illegality of the act is not my main concern, although I’m concerned that the blogger could run into trouble if anyone recognizes her online. My friend told me that they’ve prosecuted several cases like this over the last few years.

My main concern, the thing that upset me, is that the dog, just like an infant or a brain-damaged person, is not capable of saying yes or no. We are the caretakers of our pets, as we are of our children. It seems like a dereliction of our responsibility to involve our charges in any kind of sexual play, because they rely on us to make choices for them and to protect them.

I feel a lot better after writing about this. I actually cried when I talked to Richard about it. It seems like, when I respond very emotionally to something (versus just an “ewwww I would NEVER do that!”) it is worth exploring and discussing. In this case, it has really helped bring home to me how strongly I feel about NOT involving individuals (people or animals) in your kink that have not consented or can not consent. I’m really interested to hear what other people think about this.

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Open your legs

This morning I had to wake up early to get some reading done before a meeting. Reading I should have done the night before, but I was having too much fun snuggling and flirting with Richard.

We have been having so much fun together with the kids gone. A couple of days ago when we were fucking, Richard called me a cunt and I snarled at him – when am I gonna learn just to ignore him? Afterwards when we were cuddling, he started teasing me about being his cunt and I denied it (of course). Somehow this devolved into him holding me down and saying “Cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt”. And I, being the mature person in the relationship, after a few minutes of saying “No I’m not! Shut up!” switched to “I know you are, but what am I? I know you are, but what am I?”

I am embarassed to admit that this went on for several minutes. We’d slow down and start giggling and a few seconds later he’d start up again “Cuntcuntcuntcunt” and I Could.Not.Let.It.Go. “I know you are, but what am I?” Over and over and over.

The next day, during post-orgasmic snuggling, he began walking his fingers along my ass, then up to my breasts, singing “The inchy pinchy lobster/climbed up Amy’s butt/up to her nipples/to see if she’s a slut”. I HATE being pinched, so at this point I began struggling madly to get away and it turned into a major wrestling match.

I managed a sweet little maneuver to get off the bed and went scampering downstairs, naked as a jaybird. I ran through the kitchen and realized that I either had to run into the back yard (hi neighbors!) or into the garage. I dashed into the garage and then hung onto the doorknob for dear life, hoping I could at least slow him down, my heart pounding.

I heard Richard, who had taken the time to put on a pair of shorts, walk quietly into the kitchen. Then I heard the door to the back yard open. I waited a few seconds, then quietly opened the door to the garage, planning to lock Richard outside. I was chortling, I tell you. As I opened the garage door, though, I saw that the door to the back yard was ALREADY locked. Confused, I looked toward the kitchen and saw Richard heading toward me, grinning, with a riding crop in his hand. (Not the one from the feed store).

“I knew you wouldn’t go outside naked, silly girl.”

So I got hauled back to the bedroom and suffered the indignity of a whipping (cropping?), made better by more cuddling and kissing and teasing afterwards.

 

Last night, Richard went online to see if his kids were on. I went into the other room and logged on the desktop computer. I quietly took off my shirt and turned on the webcam. Then I buzzed Richard. Hehehe. He was so surprised. It brought back a lot of nice memories of our early relationship (we met online, and started IMing and webcamming after a month or so, but I was VERY shy back then – the “no shirt” aspect was a new one lol).

After a few minutes IMing back and forth, he typed “now I’m going to surprise YOU” and suddenly he was behind me, cupping my breasts with his hands, nuzzling and kissing my neck. Mmmmmm. We agreed that real time is sooooo much nicer. But I am so thankful for the internet, because we never would have met without it.

So. This morning. The alarm rang and I reached to turn it off.

Richard said “Roll over next to me”.

I did, and he said “Open your legs.”

Which I did. He slipped his hand over my pussy and closed my legs again, then draped his other arm over me.

“Um Richard, I have to get up now. I have that reading to do.”

“Shhhh.”

So I laid silently for a minute, feeling the warmth from his hand, trying not to get too aroused, trying not to wiggle.

“OK. You can get up now.”

I did my reading, while he slowly woke up next to me. I finished more quickly than expected (maybe not my most *careful* reading ever) and rolled against him.

We began teasing each other with our hands and then our mouths. I was the first to crack.

“Richard, please fuck me.”

“We can’t. You’ve got to get to the office.”

“Pleeeease. Just put it in. Just for a sec. C’mon.”

“I’m not just putting it in. Nope.”

“OK. Two strokes then. OK? C’mon. Please Daddy.” (batting my eyelashes imploringly)

“Just two strokes huh? OK, climb on top, little girl.”

Sweet jesus. He played with my breasts as he fucked me from below.

“I think that’s two. We better stop.” (smartass me)

“Shut up and fuck. You know how to fuck don’t you? Just fuck.”

So I did what I was told.

After a few minutes, he popped me off of him and flipped me onto my belly. I thought he was going to fuck me from behind, but first he smacked me HARD several times on each ass cheek. THEN he hauled my ass in the air and fucked me. Every few thrusts he would smack me again. My ass was stinging and it felt soooo good.

Then he flipped me onto my back and really started fucking me in earnest. We were both wildly turned on at this point, and I know I couldn’t have put together a complete sentence if I’d wanted to. I was moaning and bucking and biting and hitting and finally Richard had enough of it and grabbed a pillow and put it over my face (note for the safety police: leaving my mouth free : )).

Wow. That really quieted me down. He was fucking me even harder and I could feel every millimeter of him, every move he made and I just stayed as still as I could and felt it all.

After a while he pulled the pillow off my face and stared down at me as he kept fucking me.

“You need to get used to being used like this, little girl.”

“I am going to use you more and more. Like this, and in lots of other ways too.”

I could feel myself orgasming as he spoke and he thrust into me hard twice more and stopped. He held me close and told me he loved me and then we hopped out of bed and I barely made it to my meeting in time. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire time. It was the longest meeting of my life.

Review of our first night in a BDSM club

Amy has given a good description of our first night at a club. One thing that she didn’t seem to realize was just exactly why some many Doms were talking to us. She assumed that we were all talking “Domly” stuff that she found uninteresting. I pointed out to her that they were talking to me because they wanted to fuck her.

The thought horrified her, and she claims not to believe it, but I’ve been around enough to know better. If you want to play with someone’s slave, you have to go through her owner, not through her. So, Amy makes me more popular than I usually am. I also pointed out to her that I have been offered the use of someone’s slave before at a dungeon, and she is dealing with the thought/fear that I could do the same.

Anyway, the next night found us at a different club, a very elegant club with theme rooms, a dance floor, a bar, etc., and with house submissives that tend to your needs, to a certain degree, anyway (Some needs, you just gotta bring your own slave).
Amy adjusting

We saw a school room, a dungeon, a sissy maids room – all sorts of great facilities. But the best part was watching the play.

Early on, we watched a lesbian couple doing some flogging, and just generally enjoyed the ambiance.

Then, a couple of plushies and a few cross dressers showed up, as well as some intriguing Dominatrices and others. Some nice corsets, a tall brunette schoolgirl, and a stunning pigtailed anime styled blond asian woman. A nice mix of people; my kind of people, so I felt really at home.

Amy and I wandered off through the many secluded rooms and hallways, with me stopping from time to time to ease a breast out of her corset, and play with her nipples as she took a sharp intake of breath. Once I lifted her skirt and played with her ass, which made her visibly nervous, and in another room she laid back on an examining table while I held a hand over her eyes and played with a few vulnerable parts of her body, as passers-by peeked in for a casual glance at what was going on.

I think the sexiest part of the night, other than Amy and I playing with each other, was watching some extended play a man did with a woman tied almost nude to a chair largely woven from metal braid. He did far more than just flog her, whipping her pierced breasts repeatedly, invading her mouth with his fingers at will, and putting a satisfying beating on her in general, from her thighs to her belly. Quite sexy, and with the assistance of his submissive dressed as a plushie – some kind of bear I think – a very visually appealing overall, with a nice level of flair.

In the same room, at the same time, a complete novice was being shown how to use a flogger by a friendly and experienced Dominatrix. She showed a lot of patience and gave some really good tips to a man who seemed to have never held a flogger before.

We left the club some time after midnight, and in the parking lot, I helped Amy ease out of her corset for the ride back home. She’s beginning to get used to dressing and undressing in intriguing places, which bodes well for the future!

Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

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Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.

How to be daddy’s little girl

This is a hard post to write. It’s taken me several months to become comfortable with being sexually submissive. I’ve written about how I’ve wrestled with the term “slave”, as well as the reality of being one.

This is harder. I’m afraid I’m going to squick some of you out. I could squick myself out if I’m not careful.

Richard has forced me, over the last few months, to face who I am, to look into the dark parts of myself and, rather than run and hide, to look harder. This doesn’t come naturally to me, and it has been scary. But, as I said to the silent male, it is incredible how easy everything is once you open up to who you really are, instead of trying to hide it or ignore it. So here goes the next step in that evolution.

Richard and I have talked about how the Master/slave dynamic doesn’t feel 100% right to us, nor does “owner/owned”. One of my problems is that I feel much more nurtured by Richard than those terms seem to imply. I feel like I have a more exclusive and intimate relationship with him than a slave would have with her Master. After all, a Master could have several slaves, yes?

Richard has called me “girl” since he’s known me. Recently he’s been calling me “little girl” and even “baby girl”. I LOVE it when he calls me that. It feels so completely right. It says to me: he’s in control and he will take care of me. All I need to do is be a good girl and do what I’m told. Heaven.

I told him that I wished there was a good word for who he is for me.

He said “What about Daddy?”

I said I felt funny using that word. Wouldn’t that mean I had serious unresolved issues with my own father? Wouldn’t that mean I was a screwed up freak? He didn’t think so.

I tiptoed around the word. I tested it out a couple of times during sex, mumbling it into Richard’s shoulder as he fucked me. It felt weird. Not good.

I realized that calling Richard “Daddy” made me feel more vulnerable and more submissive than I was yet comfortable with. I couldn’t believe that he could still love me and be attracted to me if I were that submissive. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that, the more submissive I am, the happier Richard is. I guess I’ve been around men who’ve wanted to be dommed for most of my life.

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To put this in perspective: just a year ago, I learned that many men like women to shave their pussies (yes, I’ve been living in a closet). I thought that men who like this must be closet pedophiles, since young girls have bare pussies. Uh, no. Richard, at least, loves anything that lets him see more of me (remind me to tell you about my new micro bikini. Gulp.)

So what to do about this issue of what to call Richard? I’ve been calling him “Sir” when he gives me an order, Richard in front of others, and basically avoiding the issue.

Richard doesn’t like to avoid issues. Richard doesn’t like for me to avoid issues.

A few days ago, I woke up to him playing with my breasts. When he saw that I was awake he began talking to me.

“Daddy’s girl has beautiful breasts.”

I moaned and tried to pull away. He clamped down on my nipples and pulled me back against him.

“Be a good girl. Daddy wants to play with your breasts.”

He wrapped one arm tight around my waist so I couldn’t move and roughly tugged and pulled and pinched my nipples. I struggled weakly, but I was still groggy and he had a strong grip on me.

“Does that feel good? Tell Daddy how it feels.”

Oh god. It felt incredible. It felt so good, and I was still so groggy, that I wasn’t capable of answering. He kept playing with me and talking to me and when he flipped me onto my back and entered me a few minutes later, I was so wet it startled him.

“Oooooh, Daddy’s girl wants to fuck, doesn’t she? Are you a slut, little girl?”

Gah.

Afterwards, we talked about it. He had decided to push me on this, because he could sense that I had a lot of feelings around it. It turned us both on. A lot.

Today when he was fucking me, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him “Sir” anymore, only “Daddy”.

I’ve been calling him “Daddy” all day. It feels really hot. And really right.

Owning your girl with more cum

What I did was…get up and get dressed and go downstairs and have coffee and get on with my day.

I have some ambivalent feelings about what Richard posted last, and I thought the best way to become more clear would be to write about it. We’ll see if Richard agrees; if this post disappears it’s because he doesn’t lol.

So. On the surface, his post is very hot to me. And being used is hot to me. I love it when Richard takes what he wants, ignoring my protests and pleading.

In fact, I think part of the reason our sexual relationship is so satisfying to me is that I KNOW Richard won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. Which allows me to relax and enjoy myself; with past partners I was always so concerned that they weren’t doing what they wanted or that they weren’t happy that I couldn’t relax and have fun.

Also, Richard likes to do things that make me feel good. This morning he was playing with me, licking and sucking and teasing for probably an hour. When I came, I thought my head would explode (thankfully, not a migraine this time, just pure bliss).

And he doesn’t just do things for me sexually. Right now he is downstairs making dinner. He sent me up to take a nap because he could tell I was feeling a little tired. He’ll come get me when it’s ready, probably with a glass of wine for me in his hand.

So why am I feeling ambivalent about the last post? Well, I’ve spent most of my adult life in relationships in which I was taken for granted and more or less ignored. This comes a bit close to that for comfort. I don’t ever want to feel taken for granted again. Nevernevernevernevernever.

Richard doesn’t make me feel ignored or taken for granted, so I know this is just me being over-sensitive. But how do I deal with that?

As we’ve discussed in previous posts, it’s also been a crazy busy couple of weeks and we’ve had a lot less sex than we’re used to, because of Richard’s surgery. So I think I’m already feeling a tiny bit distant from Richard, a bit less connected, a bit less owned. Maybe I wouldn’t even have blinked at his post a few weeks ago. I don’t know.

In a way, it reminds me of how I felt when he posted about possibly exploring orgasm denial further. Ugh. I felt like “Wow. Orgasm denial. Gee, I’ve experienced that with partners for many a year.”

You know that saying “Welcome to the new boss. Just like the old boss.” ? That’s what I was thinking.

We talked about it and I think he understood how I was feeling. Hopefully he’ll understand how I feel about this. Maybe I just need a little petting and assuring. Sigh.

How to fuck a face

Isn’t that a nasty sounding term – “face fucking”? Or maybe it’s just me.

Richard told me, before we met, that he didn’t really enjoy oral sex (done unto him) very much, although he liked giving oral. He found it too passive, and got bored easily. I imagined him staring at the ceiling, thinking about what color to paint the ceiling, as I knelt between his legs licking and sucking his cock. His attitude was a bit disappointing to me, because I really love to give oral and consider myself rather good at it, too.

But neither of us had experienced face fucking. Me, because I’ve never been in a D/s relationship before this and Richard, because he’d never been interested.

One day I decided, after we’d been kissing and making out for a while (I think he’d already fucked me at least once), that I would see if I could convince him that oral wasn’t such a bad thing.

I began kissing his neck, then down his chest and belly, then nibbled on his hips and along the inside of his thighs. I nudged at his balls and slowly, gently licked and sucked one into my mouth, and then the other.

I looked up at Richard. He didn’t seem to be thinking about painting the ceiling.

His cock was already hard and straining as I licked up its underside. I ran my tongue along the head and into the crease, then I slid my lips over the head. I began slowly sliding my mouth down the shaft, with my tongue working the underside.

I looked up again, with his cock in my mouth. I seemed to have his attention.

I would slide down an inch, licking to keep him wet, then increase pressure as I pulled my mouth up to the tip, then slide down a couple of inches, increase pressure and pull up again, then do it again a little further. My hand was on his belly; I could feel him breathing shallowly.

I was feeling a bit smug. Mr. “I’m In Control Around Here” was putty in my hands.

Suddenly, he reached around to the base of my neck, twisted my hair around his hand a couple of times and used it to shove my face onto his cock.

I gagged; Richard is not a small man.

He held me down like that, with his cock deep in my throat. I was choking and struggling, but that didn’t seem to faze him.

He tightened his grip, and pulled me off his cock, but only to the tip. He held me there for a moment, then plunged me back onto it. I gagged, and drool began to pool at the base of his cock.

He pulled me up again, then began to face fuck me in earnest, rhythmically pushing me down and yanking me back up, with a firm grip on my hair and the base of my neck. My eyes were watering, but after a minute or so I was accustomed to being deep-throated and no longer gagged at each plunge onto his cock.

After a few minutes, he pulled me up, half an inch from the tip of his cock, and held me there. I could see his cock, but I could no longer touch it or taste it. It had become unbelievably hard and large. My jaw was aching, my eyes were tearing, but oh, I wanted him to face fuck me more. I moaned and tried to reach for his cock with my mouth. He pulled me away, still tantalizingly close, and laughed.

“Not bad. Now I’m going to train you to do it how I want it done.”

To be continued…

How I became a dominant man

I’ve talked about how a few short months ago I was pure vanilla. I didn’t know I was sexually submissive, and I didn’t know that people lived the fantasies that I only…well, fantasized about.

I started exploring D/s erotica online last May, and through that managed to stumble onto an online kink community. For the first few weeks I lurked on the boards, reading posts and learning. I still remember the first post I made; I was so nervous that my hands shook as I typed.

One of the first threads I read was a woman responding to a flamer – you know, the kind who writes eg “How could you let a guy hit you? You must be really fucked up if that turns you on!” She was so open, so thoughtful in her response. She talked about how long it took her to acknowledge her sexuality, not just to others but to herself. About how freeing it was to finally do so. She wrote about the complexities and contradictions in a D/s relationship, and the depth of feeling and connection possible within one. I almost cried reading it. It felt so good to know that other people had the same feelings and urges that I did. Maybe I was a freak, but at least I wasn’t the *only* freak out there.

As I became more comfortable posting, I would regularly end up in the same threads with this woman. We developed an ongoing joke – she would tease and torment me, I would cyber-spank her, she would plot to turn me bisexual. Silly.

Now I talk to her every day, and we email several times a day. We live across the country from each other, and we’ve known each other for less than a year, but she is my dearest friend. Megan almost singlehandedly navigated me through my first experiences a) as a member of an online community, b) dealing with the attentions of predatory domly types, and c) coming to terms with my sexual submissiveness.

Here’s the thing. She is the most emotionally intelligent women I know. She has the sharpest, quickest wit. She is tooth achingly sweet to everyone, and ferociously protective of those she loves. She is scary gorgeous – tall, blond, blue eyed, cheekbones that could cut you. She could walk into a room, and walk out five minutes later with anyone in the room, man or woman.

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She’s a slave.

I remember one of the first times we were talking on the phone. We were in the midst of a serious conversation when she suddenly interrupted me “Oh! I have to go! Master says it’s time for bed.”

My jaw dropped. This was not fantasy. This was not theoretical. Megan was living it. She was (is) a slave. She has a tattoo on her thigh that says “slave” in kanji.

I chewed on that for a few days. At this point, I still saw myself as a vanilla person who had kinky fantasies. But my beloved friend, my most trusted confidante, was a…slave. What did that mean?

I decided that it meant a couple of things. First, I finally got it that you can be kinky AND be normal. If that makes sense. Megan is reaaaally kinky. She’s also reaaaaally smart and reaaaaally competent and reaaaaally emotionally healthy. That suggested to me that *I* could be kinky, and also smart and competent and emotionally healthy.

Second, it meant that I was in a relationship (albeit a friendly relationship, not a romantic one) with a kinky person, and I was getting a lot out of it. More than in my non-kinky relationships (friendly or romantic). This gave me hope that I could have other relationships with other kinky people that were satisfying and fulfilling.

Megan gave me the courage, both by her example and by her daily support and encouragement, to take a chance with Richard. To be open enough to get to know him, then to meet him, then to move in with him. She didn’t give me blind support and encouragement – she asked me hard questions and challenged me to think through each of my decisions. But that, of course, made her support infinitely more valuable to me.

I could not be here now, so much happier and in love than I ever imagined I could be, without her love and guidance.

My precious friend, my dearest sister slave.

Should you call your girlfriend cunt?

Amy told me, the other night while we were cuddling in bed, that she doesn’t like it when I call her cunt when I am fucking her.

WTF?

She was hoping I’d call her something more romantic, like “Sweetie,” or “Angel,” or some such name.

Now, keep in mind I don’t call her “a cunt.” No, she is “Cunt,” an entirely different creature altogether.

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She has since claimed to be teasing me, but what am I to guess from this? I know the humiliation I make her feel sometimes through word and action is very hot, for both of us. So, does she really not like being Cunt, or is this a ploy to make me think she really doesn’t like it, and therefore I’ll use it more, heightening the humiliation factor.

Amy doesn’t play mental games.

She does tease, though.

I just think she doesn’t like being Cunt.

Amy is easily the smartest person I know. I have shifted to a new technique when debating topics with her. Namely, don’t pick any position, because Amy will outflank and outmaneuver any logical position with my old nemesis, accurate facts. I hate accurate facts. And she seems to know them all.

Amy reminds me of a Vulcan. All brains and thinky thinky until pon farr hits, and then she’s an excited mass of sexual passion. Seriously, Amy is very intelligent and articulate, but during sex, when she has been properly aroused, she speaks, but the sounds don’t form proper words. All she can say that you understand is “no,” and “please.”

To me, she has become thoroughly female. Completely, 100% cunt.

And what other word could I use? Vagina? Pussy?

No.

I remember running across the word “queynte,” in my old Chaucer reading days. A form of “cunt,” and also meaning knowledge, or cunning if you like. The word “cunt” seems to have been formed from the feminine syllable “co,” pronounced “coo.” Long recognized as a feminine syllabel, you see it today even in phrases like “hootchie-coo,” for example.

While nothing is certain, it is put forward by some that the word evolved through numerous usages, possibly through the Latin “cunae,” which you will recognize as related to “cuneform,” and is seen in the word ” cunnus,” Latin for “vagina.”

The final syllable is often linked to Scandanavian usages of the word meaning “wife,” or “woman” or related meaning such as “kone,” “kut,” “kuton,” “kunta,” and “kutte.”

The Dutch are given credit, ultimately, for the addition of the “t” to the word, and their influence seemed to have been what resulted in the final shape of the word. To run the risk of over-simplification, the “cu” seems to have evolved from the Proto-Indo-European language, the “n” from the Latin, and the “t” from the Dutch, to find a final amalgamation in the word “cunt,”

It’s first recorded in England as a street name in various redlight districts of cities such as London and Oxford, which had streets named “Gropecuntlane.”

Cunt.

A fine word, with a distinguished pedigree, but currently in disfavor, and out of polite usage.

I, however, am not so polite.

When I am fucking her…

Amy is Cunt.

How I chained my girlfriend

The chains took me by surprise.

Three chains, very simple, very light, medium length.

Got them at PetSmart.

One links her wrist cuffs to each other, the other links her ankles together, like a horse hobble, and the third loops through her collar, and has a padlock dangling at the end between her breasts.

I kept her in them for the evening, that first time, and took her to bed in them. I could easily control her body as I played with her, by holding the chains, and found her easy to arouse, and found myself actually indifferent to her pleasure or pain. A very different feeling; I’ve always thought of pleasure and pain as ways to control her, but in the chains, I found little desire to ether give her pleasure, or pain.

Hard to explain, but her pleasure and pain didn’t matter – she was just “there” to use, to fuck.

I talked to her about it a little bit, then I fucked her like she was a stranger, some beautiful woman bound and placed in my bed that I would never see again, a woman I had no relationship with, a woman who didn’t matter. Just a pretty body to use for pleasure.

Disconcerting. No reason, then to hurt her, and none to pleasure her.

I fucked her at a different angle, the ankle chains keeping her thighs closer together than usual, and she responded to the new sensation of this penetration with obvious pleasure. Of course it didn’t matter.

I had told her I would not let her cum. I fucked her, and took her chained and aroused body in my arms. She wanted to cum, but I wouldn’t let her.

We talked after, about the emotional disconnect from each other, and how it made her seem more owned and helpless, and yet more distant. Closer, and yet further away.

I think it is that the chains amplify how I am feeling, rather than simply bringing in a whole new set of feelings.

I am sure I will want to hurt her while she is chained. We will see.