serijules
just seri
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2002
- Posts
- 1,941
Awhile ago, Ma'am shared her reactions to a scene she witnessed that involved some rather edgy elements of roughness. Since I was very little, most of my fantasies have had a general theme of roughness and control that even my BDSM scenes have never touched on. The intensity and persistence of them has always scared me, but I'd never met anyone that I even felt comfortable sharing these fantasies with, much less imagining partaking in them. Through all the various play partners, scenes, stories....that roughness, that edginess was always at the back of my mind, fueling me to take more but always, ALWAYS leaving me unsatisfied on some level.
Then I met Ma'am, and over the last four years she has taken me to places I never even dreamed of. Cutting, piercing, needles, biting, blood, borrowing. These things have bought me closer to those original fantasies and have given me a deep sense of belonging, of having found the person I am meant to be with: someone who understands me and drives me to great levels of service and suffering. Someone who didn't have to even be told of such desires to know they were there, to see the potential.
Even so, there is a part of me that hasn't yet been touched by her, a part of me that I hate to even acknowledge at times as it seems so absurd, so dangerous.
When she shared her reaction to this rough scene I was secretly thrilled. Turned on beyound belief and simply thrilled. This isn't something that can be done half-assed, isn't something you can ask a partner to do if they don't feel it, want it, the same as you do. They need to be able to see the fear in your eyes, watch you shy and flinch away and cry out and beg for it to stop, see bruises in places that normally wouldn't be considered wise, and be ok with it.
Ma'am can do this. She aptly named this our "darqueness". It *IS* a darkness, it's a craving that goes beyound what most would find acceptable and understandable, it's dangerous and edgy and has the potential for damage. It will breed fear and install a very strong control factor into our relationship, stronger than even exists now. It's her ability to take something I love and crave and make me fear it, make me dread it and hate it and despise it. And above that, for this to all simply be ok, because we both know what we are getting into and will both be there, together, in the end. I think this is part of why I long so strongly to have her push me this deeply, because I *know* at the very bottom of that very deep well, she will still be there loving me, caring for me, wanting me. No matter how much I hate what she does, no matter how much she makes me hate HER for what she's doing to me, the love we share won't be touched. For someone with abandonment issues, this is deep. I want to TOUCH that, to explore it, to see with my own two eyes what I know is there. Love.
How interesting and amazing is it for two people to go to intense levels of action that could easily be mistaken for abuse, and make it be about love? Not the claimed love that true abuse victims try to hold on to, but to take our own flavour of fear and terror and pain and torture and have it all come back full circle to pure, unquestionable love. That's fascinating to me, that's something I could never share with anyone else on this earth but the person who owns me. Hell, I can't even really explain it to the rest of you, although for some reason I'm trying to.
I long to suffer in ways that I don't enjoy. I long to be used in ways that are not erotic. I want to suffer for her, to feed that part of her that wants to just hurt me without much regard. To rape my soul and bleed my fear until it runs in rivers down my bruised face in the form of tears. No turn-ons, no safewords, little consideration....just suffering in whatever manner she wishes, my face bearing the bruises the constant slapping will likely bring, until I'm flinching away and sobbing and wanting it to STOP. I long to have my love of being slapped taken in her hand and forced to meld into something to be despised, not desired. I wish to give up even my enjoyment of the things we do, and show her that I will still be there, still take it, still suffer for her even when I truly, completely hate it. To show her in the same way she shows me that her love is solid and unshakable, so is my submission. Yes, she knows it, and yes, I know how solid her love is, but sometimes you just want to take those pretty things out of their glass cases and display boxes and touch them, hold them, feel them rather than just be satisfied in the knowledge they are there. Maybe that's part of the little girl in me. I like to touch.
Isn't that fucked up? In such a lovely way though
I got a taste of this yesterday. Ma'am was feeling....frisky, and after a bit of conversation about this newfound edginess we share, she ordered me first to wear the ben-wa balls for a few hours (these are rather large and not comfortable), then to put a generous dose of Screaming Toast (think extra extra strenth bengay) from my asshole to my cunt. After awhile she decided I needed to find another way to suffer for her, and I asked permission to wear my buttplug, with Toast for lube, on the way home along with the balls. She agreed.
I hate Toast in general, it's very painful and uncomfortable no matter how small of a dab is used. Being "generous" with it is beyound any erotic level, and using it along with a plug is pure torture. I don't mean "this is turning me on" torture, but the crying, rocking, hating every minute of it...torture. Toast on a plug (doesn't that sound like a bad country fair food?) is that level of torture for me. For nearly an hour I say sat in the back seat, crying into my pillow, trying not to move, hating the suffering, hating everything and yet it never crossed my mind to NOT be doing this. It's just my purpose, my place, my job and even when I hate it, it's right. It's hard for me to connect to her during these times though, I grow very quiet and endure it without much comment, mostly because I don't trust what I will say if I *do* comment.
Yet still, as miserable as it was, it's just a taste. When it's over and the pain has passed, I'm left wondering what's next, wondering if I can swim in the deep end. We both know this can go so much further and there is a part of me that feels special and unique in my slavery and the levels we can go with it. Not better, not more, just...different and special to the both of us, something that is only shared between the two of us. There is something very secure and powerful in that for me and it helps me grow to some pretty interesting places. Scary and fucked up as they may be, at least I have someone to be scared and fucked up with, ya know?
As Mastercard says, that's priceless.
There is a lot more to be said on this subject, but that's all for this post. I don't wish to share exacting details of these fantasies, sorry to say. Someday, there will be a story to write. I have a love/hate relationship with that knowledge.
That too, is priceless.
Previous Horny Slut Diary Posts
Then I met Ma'am, and over the last four years she has taken me to places I never even dreamed of. Cutting, piercing, needles, biting, blood, borrowing. These things have bought me closer to those original fantasies and have given me a deep sense of belonging, of having found the person I am meant to be with: someone who understands me and drives me to great levels of service and suffering. Someone who didn't have to even be told of such desires to know they were there, to see the potential.
Even so, there is a part of me that hasn't yet been touched by her, a part of me that I hate to even acknowledge at times as it seems so absurd, so dangerous.
When she shared her reaction to this rough scene I was secretly thrilled. Turned on beyound belief and simply thrilled. This isn't something that can be done half-assed, isn't something you can ask a partner to do if they don't feel it, want it, the same as you do. They need to be able to see the fear in your eyes, watch you shy and flinch away and cry out and beg for it to stop, see bruises in places that normally wouldn't be considered wise, and be ok with it.
Ma'am can do this. She aptly named this our "darqueness". It *IS* a darkness, it's a craving that goes beyound what most would find acceptable and understandable, it's dangerous and edgy and has the potential for damage. It will breed fear and install a very strong control factor into our relationship, stronger than even exists now. It's her ability to take something I love and crave and make me fear it, make me dread it and hate it and despise it. And above that, for this to all simply be ok, because we both know what we are getting into and will both be there, together, in the end. I think this is part of why I long so strongly to have her push me this deeply, because I *know* at the very bottom of that very deep well, she will still be there loving me, caring for me, wanting me. No matter how much I hate what she does, no matter how much she makes me hate HER for what she's doing to me, the love we share won't be touched. For someone with abandonment issues, this is deep. I want to TOUCH that, to explore it, to see with my own two eyes what I know is there. Love.
How interesting and amazing is it for two people to go to intense levels of action that could easily be mistaken for abuse, and make it be about love? Not the claimed love that true abuse victims try to hold on to, but to take our own flavour of fear and terror and pain and torture and have it all come back full circle to pure, unquestionable love. That's fascinating to me, that's something I could never share with anyone else on this earth but the person who owns me. Hell, I can't even really explain it to the rest of you, although for some reason I'm trying to.
I long to suffer in ways that I don't enjoy. I long to be used in ways that are not erotic. I want to suffer for her, to feed that part of her that wants to just hurt me without much regard. To rape my soul and bleed my fear until it runs in rivers down my bruised face in the form of tears. No turn-ons, no safewords, little consideration....just suffering in whatever manner she wishes, my face bearing the bruises the constant slapping will likely bring, until I'm flinching away and sobbing and wanting it to STOP. I long to have my love of being slapped taken in her hand and forced to meld into something to be despised, not desired. I wish to give up even my enjoyment of the things we do, and show her that I will still be there, still take it, still suffer for her even when I truly, completely hate it. To show her in the same way she shows me that her love is solid and unshakable, so is my submission. Yes, she knows it, and yes, I know how solid her love is, but sometimes you just want to take those pretty things out of their glass cases and display boxes and touch them, hold them, feel them rather than just be satisfied in the knowledge they are there. Maybe that's part of the little girl in me. I like to touch.
Isn't that fucked up? In such a lovely way though
I got a taste of this yesterday. Ma'am was feeling....frisky, and after a bit of conversation about this newfound edginess we share, she ordered me first to wear the ben-wa balls for a few hours (these are rather large and not comfortable), then to put a generous dose of Screaming Toast (think extra extra strenth bengay) from my asshole to my cunt. After awhile she decided I needed to find another way to suffer for her, and I asked permission to wear my buttplug, with Toast for lube, on the way home along with the balls. She agreed.
I hate Toast in general, it's very painful and uncomfortable no matter how small of a dab is used. Being "generous" with it is beyound any erotic level, and using it along with a plug is pure torture. I don't mean "this is turning me on" torture, but the crying, rocking, hating every minute of it...torture. Toast on a plug (doesn't that sound like a bad country fair food?) is that level of torture for me. For nearly an hour I say sat in the back seat, crying into my pillow, trying not to move, hating the suffering, hating everything and yet it never crossed my mind to NOT be doing this. It's just my purpose, my place, my job and even when I hate it, it's right. It's hard for me to connect to her during these times though, I grow very quiet and endure it without much comment, mostly because I don't trust what I will say if I *do* comment.
Yet still, as miserable as it was, it's just a taste. When it's over and the pain has passed, I'm left wondering what's next, wondering if I can swim in the deep end. We both know this can go so much further and there is a part of me that feels special and unique in my slavery and the levels we can go with it. Not better, not more, just...different and special to the both of us, something that is only shared between the two of us. There is something very secure and powerful in that for me and it helps me grow to some pretty interesting places. Scary and fucked up as they may be, at least I have someone to be scared and fucked up with, ya know?
As Mastercard says, that's priceless.
There is a lot more to be said on this subject, but that's all for this post. I don't wish to share exacting details of these fantasies, sorry to say. Someday, there will be a story to write. I have a love/hate relationship with that knowledge.
That too, is priceless.
Previous Horny Slut Diary Posts
