A broken toy

It’s amazing how adaptable one can be to scarceness. How in the face of a shortage, norms redefine themselves. How your brain finds ways to explain and accept the new circumstances. How after the initial period of terror and panic, new means for coping with deficiencies are adopted and your life continues as if it has always been this way.

I haven’t had an orgasm in more than 1.5 months. What used to be a reason for dread and anxiety, now is just a fact of life. Half a year ago, when my orgasms were taken away from me for the first time, I’ve spent weeks mulling over it, hoping for it to change, fantasizing about being able to come freely. Now, when they are unreachable for me again, I don’t even think about it. I just live my life as if I haven’t known what an orgasm was. 

I am not sure if this is what He wants me to feel in this situation. I am not sure if He wants me to get used to the power that He has over me. I am not sure if He wants my mind to learn to cope with the suffering that denial used to cause in me. But I am also not sure if He doesn’t. I think that what matters to Him is the fact that He can do this to me and I will accept it without a word. I don’t think that He does these things to me because He wants me to feel a certain way. I think that He does them because He can. 

And this is one of the reasons why I crave to be in His power. Because there is no subserviency in the way He treats me. There is no sign of consideration of how His decisions affect me, no hidden will on His side to please me. My needs are out of the equation in our play. Anything that He does is because He wants to do it. Anything that He wants me to do is a fulfilment of His needs. All that is fulfilling the only need that I truly seem to have. The need to be disregarded and used. 

I sometimes wonder what do I get out of our dynamic and are we not taking this too far? Is it still play or has it become abuse? Am I allowing him to treat me this way because I am afraid to say that this is too much? That I want my freedom back? Or is this exactly what I desire? 

The truth is, that it is exactly what I desire. My fantasies are dark, twisted and elaborate and they have much more to do with what I don’t get than with what I get. I dream about someone having total control over me but for me to have no control over them. I want them to enjoy me whenever they please but at the same time, I want to take up as little space in their lives as possible. I want them to have power over me, but not because I want to feel like I belong to them in a sense of having a feeling of belonging and being taken care of, but because I want to feel powerless and small and unimportant. I want to feel as if my life is in the hands of someone who is completely out of my reach.

I guess that the dynamic from my fantasies is the closest to the one between a God and their believer. God is powerful and almighty and the fate of the believer is completely in His hands. There is no point in questioning God’s will because there is no way that He would change His mind hearing the arguments of the believer. They are from two different worlds and different rules apply to them. The power of God over the believer is absolute and the love and trust of the believer to God are unconditional and unquestioning. God didn’t earn it and He doesn’t reward it. There are no requirements that He needs to fulfil in order for the love to continue. It simply is.  

Of course, this is how it looks in my fantasy world and in reality, I do not play with Gods but with real people. However, the sentiment stays. And having someone disregard my human desires so deeply, having someone execute his power over me with such nonchalance brings me closer to living that fantasy. I find it exciting to be pushed so far and to see where it leads. To get so close to living the dark stories that I dream up in my head. To see how they taste in real life. With the dirt and sweat and all. I want to live it all with the pain and suffering and loneliness and not just the hot kinky sex. Because my fantasies are not just bed scenes. They are parallel universes in which I live my parallel lives. 

This is how I look at it when I lie alone in my bed thinking that I would probably be masturbating right now if only it made sense and would lead me to some release instead of just causing me more frustration. 

My feelings about these things change, however, when other people discover my temporary defect. When I have to reveal to my sexual partners that they won’t be able to make me come tonight. That this privilege has been unavailable to me for a while now and I can’t tell when it is going to change. When I see the shade of disbelief in their eyes. When they ask me with a tone of pity if I enjoy it. When I feel them distancing themselves from me after hearing me say ‘yes’.

I can feel their inability to comprehend how can this be something that I desire. I can feel that they feel sorry for me. I can also feel how they lose their interest in me. How I become less human when they find out that I can't be pleasured the way that I normally can. That they won't have a satisfaction of giving me satisfaction. How that makes me not sexy anymore to them. How they don't want to use me even though they know that being used is exactly what I want. The veil of normalcy falls off me. Now they can see my real face. And they don't understand what they see.

At that moment, I become less certain about my sanity. At that moment, I begin to see myself not through the eyes of my fantasies, but through their eyes. I see a pitiful lonely girl, disgraced and mildly disgusting in how low she will go for Him. How much she is ready to give up. And for what?

Maybe this image is closer to reality than what I see through the lens of my fantasies. Maybe this is what I really am. A broken toy, an unwanted scrap of matter. Ready to give up all the worldly pleasures for just a glimpse of a promise of His heaven. 

Heaven that is so hard to tell apart from hell. 

Sometimes, I wish that you’d kiss me more

I don't dare to tell you that, because I don't want you to think that I'm greedy (which I am) or ungrateful (which I am not).

I do cherish every single moment when your soft lips touch mine like it's my last moment on Earth. In fact, at that moment, I wish that it was the last one. I wish that I could just stay like that forever, captured in an illusion of us together, loving and tender.

And because I am greedy, I want more of it. I want more taste of that romance, because it feels so, so good when you are soft to me. So good, that I freeze when it happens, afraid that even the slightest of my movements might make you change your mind. Hoping that maybe if I remain still, you won't notice how much pleasure you are giving me, and continue longer.

I think that you know exactly how much your kisses mean to me, though, and that is why you are granting me that privilege so rarely. And I'm glad that you do. I'm glad that it's you who is deciding when and how I am going to receive pleasure from you. And that you are so frugal when rationing it. I'm glad that your mind is so strong and composed when mine is squishy and soft and restless. 

Because if I could, all I would do, would be to kiss you. I would bathe in the taste of your lips day after day after day until I would grow so sick of it that I wouldn't want to taste them ever again and I would lose your kisses forever.

Sometimes, I wish that you'd kiss me more and I'm glad that my wishes are not what guides your choices. I'm glad that you are so relentless in not giving me what I want. I'm glad that my disappointment and desperation is what gives pleasure to you.

Because underneath that layer of neediness and softness, there is the me who needs to prove herself to deserve tenderness. There is the me who only appreciates what requires effort and hardship. The me who needs a constant challenge.   

And I know that it's not easy to be that challenge. 

I can't help but wonder, though, are you treating me this way because you know that scarcity is what I need, even though it's the abundance that I want? Are you catering to my deeper needs, the ones that I wouldn't express, but that actually need fulfilment? Do you want the tenderness and romance as much as I do on the surface, but you're just smarter than to give it to me?

Or… Do you simply not care about me, and are you kind to me from time to time out of pity, just enough to keep me coming back, but not enough to ever satisfy me? Is cruelty all you care about and are your kisses a necessary evil, a prize that I'm granted for 'good' behaviour, and that you generously put up with when you feel that it’s time for it? 

These are the questions that cross my mind when I am getting desperate about the fact that I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that you've truly deeply kissed me. And when I am thinking about how much I enjoy and admire this fact and how devoted to you it makes me feel.

I hope that I will never learn the answers to these questions because I need them all to be positive. And that's impossible, I know. Or is it? 

It would be impossible, once I've heard the answers, but as long as I don't, I can believe them all to be true. Sometimes, I can believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast. I'm one of those, you know? Like with the Schrödinger's cat, as long as I don't open the box, all the possibilities are equally true and valid. And I need them to be.

Because sometimes, I need to believe that you don't care about me, otherwise the foundations of our dynamic would fall apart. And other times, I need to believe that you do, because otherwise what is between us would be a simple abuse and I would be its naive victim.

The uncertainty is what holds it all together. And even though I often wish it would go away, I know that it's a cowardly wish for safety. And like with the kisses, fulfilling it would take away from me what I really want. 

Sometimes I wish that you'd kiss me more, but I hope that you never will.

Mindsets in which I love to receive pain

I think that I am a weird masochist. If I can be called one at all (to hell with the labels anyway).

I haven’t always been like that. In general, what I like a function of what my partners enjoy. Recently, however, I began to realize that I do also have my own taste for certain things.

My first kinky experience was quite painful and violent and the fact that I enjoyed it left me deeply disturbed and confused (a ‘decent’ girl should not enjoy being spanked and fucked until her ass turns completely blue and she can’t sit for a week). Then, my first dominant boyfriend was all about humiliation and degradation and we didn’t explore physical pain much. I didn’t feel the need to, either. Enough was going on already. After that, I entered the kink scene and that was the first time when someone pointed out to me that I am masochistic. And it was true, I enjoyed physical pain enormously at that point in time. It was a way of easy release and achieving the intensity that I craved for without investing much emotionally.

That fountain dried up for me though when I started discovering how much pleasure emotional suffering gives me. When I realized the depth, complexity, intensity and ease with which the emotional pain can be given to me by some people, my interest in physical pain deteriorated significantly. I even felt like I am not masochistic anymore. A bruised butt or other parts of my body lost their appeal to me. A bruised soul was what I was looking for.

Recently, I began to appreciate physical pain again, only not in the way that I used to. I am not so much interested in the pure sensual experience of pain anymore, but what its combination with emotional suffering can bring. The circumstances that I enjoy when being hurt are the ones that take away any possible physical pleasure that I could be experiencing from it. They take away the context of pain being a different tool of giving pleasure to a masochist and interchange it with actually being physically and mentally hurt.

Being an object

Receiving pain when you are objectified has a special flavour to it because you can be sure that it is not about you. There are coldness and carelessness to it. You're hurting, but it's not relevant. You could as well not be. Your pain doesn't matter. You're just a toy and you're used for someone's amusement, but your pain is not part of the amusement. It is just your body that is being used for someone else's purposes as if you were a puppet. And if it hurts then too bad for you. Do puppets even feel anyways?

Somehow I love this state because it makes me let go of my own experiences. Let go of myself. Yes, I am being hurt and yes I am in pain, but there is no way to prevent it, as the person who is hurting me doesn't even seem to see what I am experiencing. So better stop fighting against it and just accept it.

I love the mental challenge that accepting it requires of me. Since I don't have the usual supporting power of doing it for my partner to help me go through it, I really have to use all my resources to carry on. Being able to cope with pain like that is a very powerful experience.

A punishment

Punishment is another situation in which pain is not pleasurable to me. The same strokes of the whip can feel very different when they're purely sadistic entertainment and when they are a source of punishment.
When I'm being punished, my head automatically tries to help the person who is punishing me by putting me in a mindset of atonement, making everything more painful and reminding me with every stroke that what I am currently experiencing is an expression of someone's disappointment. And being a disappointment is one of the worst crimes in my eyes.

Since I always want to please, being punished is a painful experience in itself for me. Adding pain to it only intensifies it. That's because at that moment all I dream of is being forgiven and embraced and told that everything is fine and they're not going to leave me behind because of what I did. Receiving pain, when you're waiting to be told that everything is going to be ok, can be quite devastating.

Being not cared about

Pain can also be an expression of someone not caring about me. And I love to feel not being cared about. There are little things hurt more than that.

Being objectified can also be a sign of not caring, but that's not what I'm talking about here. Here, I want my partners to see and recognize what I feel, but not care about it. For example, when they beat me way harder than I might find enjoyable, just because they feel like it, knowing that they are causing me a lot of pain and showing me that their entertainment is more important than my suffering. Again, it's a sign that what they're doing to me is not about me, which is exactly what I want.

Outside of kink the fact that someone gives another pain is often a sign of them not caring about the other person unless it is a necessary evil for your own good. Within the realm of kink, this reasoning is twisted as giving pain to a masochist can actually be a sign of love, of recognizing and catering to someone's needs. But since for me, the last thing that I want from my partners is for my needs to be recognized and catered for (at least in play), I often bring myself to the 'real world' mindset, where I don't want to experience pain and the fact that they are still giving it to me is a sign of not caring, of doing what they want without considering how I feel about it. At least, I want to believe that this is the case.

Being a recipient of anger

Being hurt by someone who appears to be angry is yet another flavour that I love. It makes one feel so panicky and abused. There is some carelessness there, but it's mixed with fear and violence. They might be careless, but not because they don't care whether they hurt you or how you feel. Here they actually actively want to hurt you. Their carelessness comes from a deliberate loss of control (or at least it looks like it).

I love how terrified it makes me feel to think that not only am I out of control but my torturer as well. It gives me a feeling of being in the power of an uncontrolled natural force, unstoppable and deadly. It awakens lots of primal fears and makes me freeze with terror.

An additional aspect is added to it if the person who is angry and violent with me is someone who I care about. Someone who I wish would be kind and loving but instead is using me as their punching bag. It makes me feel lost, confused, and hurt, and wishing it all to stop. It gives me a feeling of betrayal because I thought that I knew them but I find out that they are not who I thought they were (especially when it's something unexpected and played really well).

Humiliation

Physical pain can also be a great tool for humiliation. In general, if you are equal to someone, they will not cross the boundary of physically hurting you (in normal circumstances I mean, not in kink). If someone feels entitled to hurt you and you let them do that, it might be a sign of lowering your status. Especially if it is done in a humiliating way.

To me for example, being spanked with a bare hand or beaten with a belt is somewhat humiliating, as it makes me feel like an insubordinate child. In such a case, the humiliation is often bigger than the pain. Especially if other people are watching it. Having my nipples twisted is also often an act of humiliation to me. It makes me feel so vulnerable and exposed. Another obvious painful form of humiliation is face slapping.

I love the combination of pain and humiliation because the pain somewhat intensifies the humiliation (and to me usually is absorbed by it). It always makes me think about the fact that I am so subdued to the person doing it that I'll allow them to do anything to me. I'll go as low as they want me to. Pain makes me realize that and at the same time makes me feel more helpless in it.

Denial of loving touch

This is a circumstance that I love to go to in my head. Even a slight sign of denial (conscious one and not because of carelessness) of touch or softness makes my mind tremble from a feeling of lack. I start to desperately want what I can't get. Longing for the thing that they're denying me more and more, showing them how much I want it. And giving them more opportunities to deny it even more painfully.

And when someone makes you hungry for their kindness and care and love and then feed you with pain… It hurts. On so many levels. When you long for their touch and the only touch you get is mixed with pain. It makes you so confused and helpless and trapped. You become their prisoner. You begin to long for the pain that they are giving you because it's the only way that you can be close to them. And despite the hurt, you want to be close to them. It is so tragically romantic that I can't get enough of it.

Bein in someone else’s control

Finally, I love when someone is using pain to show me how much I am under their control. Not as a tool of gaining control (in general when I play with people I am under their control already), but rather of executing it. Of showing me how much they can do to me and that I am not going to stop them.

I am not a fighting kind of person, you don't need to use force to overpower me. If I'm there playing with you, I'm already yours. The fact that even though that is the case, you will still hurt me just because you can, makes me truly feel the power that you have over me. It makes me realize that you know exactly how much I have given up and that you are going to use it.

It's both exciting and terrifying. On the one hand, you're fulfilling my desires. Being entirely under the control of someone else is one of the states that I long for. On the other hand though, knowing how much I'm letting my guard down and seeing someone who might actually use it to the limit is scary. Can I really take as much as I think I can?

Being hurt by someone who has complete power over me is so thrilling, again, because the pain that they are giving me is not about me. They are hurting me because that's the experience that they want to give me. And I know that because it's for them, I will suck it up and go way further than I find pleasurable. I won't say stop when it gets hard to take. I will let them bring me just on the brink of breaking. And that's the place where I love to be.

So I guess that what I actually want is to be hurt in a way that my partners want to hurt me and not on my terms. I don't want them to use the pain for my pleasure. I want them to really use it to hurt me. I can also recognize how much physical pain can enhance and alter emotional suffering. How it can add to the intensity and bring me to a state of terror or nervous breakdown that is hard to achieve otherwise.

So please, do hurt me. Use the pain against me. Just don't make me feel for a moment that what you are doing is about me.