Savouring jealousy

It's such a complex feeling and such a delicious one to unpack. Jealousy is something that I have been intrigued by from the moment that I realized that it is possible to incorporate it into play. It plays on human most basic fears of loneliness, abandonment and not being enough. And that offers tremendous possibilities for emotional suffering.

I am not a jealous type of person in general. I am usually rather secure in most of my relationships and I am not easily fearful about losing a partner. Also because I think that it is something out of my control either way so I rather try to focus on what they are giving me instead of thinking how I might lose it. There is one type of situation that does ignite jealousy in me very strongly, though. And that is when it is mixed with envy.

Because of my high level of ambition and a constant hunger for more, I tend to want a lot of things and there have always been people around me who had more of something that I wanted than me. Sometimes it's not so much about them having more, but simply about having something that I don’t have, not at all or not at that moment. Those are the people who I am envious of. I can even be envious of my Dominant for being dominant even though I don't have a drop of dominance in me. It's not about wanting it for myself as a person who I am right now but about not being able to have it. Ever. And at the same time finding it something admirable or desirable. 

And because my envy is so often about the absolutes, things that I can't change, mixed with jealousy it can be formidable to play with. Especially, because being jealous ignites my deepest anxieties. And what can cause one more pain than having their anxieties dragged out in the open and prodded?

I learned recently to savour my jealousy. It usually appears in relation to other partners of my partners when they are female and fundamentally different from me. Not just any different, but they need to be a kind of woman that I am uselessly attracted to because of her alluring femininity. That kind of woman that is very beautiful but in a cold and distant way, aware of her beauty and knowing how to use it as a powerful tool to get what she wants. In general, she usually gets what she wants in her life without much struggle. Often because of an aura of slight helplessness that surrounds her, which makes you feel like she needs you in some way, but at the same time, constantly keeping you at a distance, making you want to provide for her, making you feel like you might have something that she needs and if you give it to her, she might, for a moment, become yours. 

This is the type of woman that I am very envious of. Of course, the above image is a huge generalization and a big part of it is my own imagination about these women and not the reality. It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is how they make me feel.

They come in many different flavours but there is one thing that unites them, my reaction to them. It's my reaction that tells me that she, as well, belongs to their breed. It's my inability to turn my eyes from her, the moment she appeared in my sight. My strong desire to talk to her and make her laugh, to entertain her. I want her to be mine, even though I know that it's impossible and, also, I wouldn't know what to do with her once she is. Because I want to have her, but at the same time all I really want is for someone else to have me. 

And if this is the way she makes me feel, I can only imagine how my partner feels about her. How is it even possible that they still want to have anything to do with me if they can have her? She is so superior to me that there is no point of even trying to compare myself to her. 

But I do. I find a perverse pleasure in observing her (or them together) and finding all the ways in which she is better. All the ways in which I don't measure up. All the desirable ways in which they treat her and they don't treat me. It's very cruel to do it to myself, but it's my personal gift, self-inflicted suffering. 

When I think about it, I feel ashamed of doing it. I feel like I shouldn't feed on my jealousy like that. I shouldn't torture myself using those two people who are not even aware of what I am doing. It's a very twisted kind of voyeurism and mental masturbation. But it's so delightfully painful that it's hard to stop. 

I would like to believe that I am able to control it. That I am not going to make any permanent damage to my relationships because of that. That if I keep it to myself, nobody will get hurt. I don't know if it's true. What I do know is that I love observing myself around those women and can't really help it. I love how small and pathetic they make me feel. How their presence makes me retreat and accept that my partner will probably not want to touch me ever again. And understand it. I love how low and hopeless it makes me. How desperate and undeserving. How acutely aware of all the things that I will never be able to provide to them and she is. How resignation and acceptance of the inevitability of being rejected creeps up on me when I see them together. 

Of course, I know, rationally speaking, that it doesn't work like that. I know that people are different and they like each other for different reasons and there is no notion of someone being objectively better than me. I also know that I have many qualities that people might find attractive. That it's not so black and white. That if they say that they like and value me then I should trust they do. And usually, I do. Just not at that moment. Because at that moment I'm busy drowning myself in self-deprecation, humiliation and loneliness. 

At that moment, I know only one thing that I have that she doesn't that might be the reason why my partners haven’t abandoned me yet. I know that she will never go as low as I do for them. She will never lose her dignity for them, as I do so easily. They will never feel as justified in their cruelty towards her as they are in their cruelty towards me. They will never turn her into something that is as far from a human as I can be sometimes. She won't entertain them with her misery and pitifulness. 

I know that that is the reason why they keep me with them. So that they can be at their worst with me and at their best with her. They need to degrade me so that they can cherish her. And knowing that only makes me wish to be someone else even more. Someone beautiful and respected. Someone feared and admired. Someone valued and taken into account and not just used. 

I will never be that person, though, because, in reality, it's not who I want to be. I could be her only if I wasn't myself. But I want misery and suffering too much. I long to feel degraded. I long to feel rejected. I long to be hurt. And if my partner is not there to provide it to me, if they are busy with someone who actually is worthy of their attention, then I'm always there for myself. I’m always there to rub some salt into my wounds and then sit back and enjoy the pain, sipping slowly from the bitter-sweet cup that they passed on to me.

You like your cruel games

Sometimes I wonder if his cruelty has any borders. And what's wrong with me for being drawn exactly to that cruelty? He is capable of doing things to me that are beyond my imagination. Showing me that I will go further than I ever thought is physically or mentally possible. And then even further than that. I will stretch my limits so thinly that single strings begin to snap, just to catch a glimpse of entertainment in his eyes. Just to amuse him for a little while.

But it's not only about that. It's also about seeing how far I can go. He is enabling me to explore uncharted territories that I would never have been able to reach without him. He is bringing me to places in my head that are far beyond my reach. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time. Exciting, because I love new experiences and crossing what I thought are my limits. Terrifying, because what if I am not as strong as I thought I am? What if at some point I snap?

Prologue

Recently, he began to expand our play beyond the short intense moments when we see each other. First, by putting a chastity belt on me, he made me physically unable to orgasm for 40 days that were in between our planned encounters. And it worked. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t able to come.

In the beginning, it was quite enjoyable. It made the presence of his will in my life constant, even though he wasn't there. It turned every sexual experience with my other partners into a reason for me to feel used and miserable (with their knowledge and agreement to proceed regardless of my handicap). It expanded his control over my life far beyond where it was before, and at the same time made me accept it because I knew that it's a sacrifice that I needed to make in order to get somewhere where I've never been before. In the end, though, I was feeling quite desperate.

I am an extremely sensual person. The sensation of having a penis filling up my pussy would basically always make me come multiple times during intercourse. Sex is a very important part of my life and as it turns out, orgasms are an inherent part of sex for me. Being such an avid receiver of pleasure was a part of my identity. And now he took it away. 

It made me feel frustrated and desperate. It made me feel like I am starting to lose myself. And I didn't even know for what. Well… Actually, I knew. I was doing it for him. I was doing it because it's what he decided that I should go through. But I wasn't sure if I really could take it. Especially without his presence in my day to day life. I didn't know if I can go through it all alone, and at the same time not crack entirely under the weight of the experience. 

I did survive those 40 days, but it was much more difficult than I anticipated. I waited desperately to see him again, even though I wasn't sure what's going to happen and if he is going to release me from my ordeal.

He did, but not in the way that I expected. As always, he didn't give me what I wanted and at the same time, he did. He made me realize that what I think I want, is not what I really want, and what I really want is to be made utterly desperate and mindfucked beyond imagination, at the same time not being able to handle it and enjoying it tremendously.

The main act

The moment that I waited for so long, finally came. I saw him again. I was both excited and terrified about it. As I always am when I am about to see him. I knew that he is going to use my neediness against me. I just didn't know, how. And I wasn't sure what I am more afraid of, him allowing me to orgasm or not?

As it turned out, it didn't matter because both can be a means of torture.

One morning, he finally decided that he might let me come from having him inside me, which was a great privilege for me. He can easily switch off my ability to feel bodily sensations or my consciousness, so any time he doesn't do it really feels like a blessing. He ordered me to ride him, which is my least favourite sex position (too much feeling like I am in control), but it didn't matter at that moment. He taught me not to expect too much and cherish even slight scraps of his grace. 

“I could feel him and I might be allowed to come feeling him,”  that thought offered more possibilities for happiness than I could have ever imagined. Of course, he didn't grant me that joy easily.

He made me beg for an orgasm through a gag, torturing me by requiring me to be inventive in my pleading and at the same time increasing the intensity of my sensual experiences, so that all I could think about was how good it feels to have him inside me and how horny I am right now. Somehow I did manage to come up with more and more humiliating ways to beg for an orgasm, which I didn't even think he understood exactly because I was splattering through the gag, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that I kept humiliating myself by mumbling through the gag and drooling all over my breasts like a total idiot.

The thing with me is that I love humiliation, but I also have quite a big ego. I enjoy debasing myself, but only after I'm being cornered into it. And no matter how many times I do it, it never gets easier. Each time I have to call myself names, I am going through an inner struggle, I am battling my pride. I will do it and it will make me wet, but only if I really have no other choice. Only if the price of disobedience is too high to pay. And still, with each uttered sentence, the fight starts all over again.  

Finally, after a while of entertaining himself with my debasement, he said that I am allowed to come. At first, he set a time limit of 5 seconds after his permission, which I obviously couldn't fulfil and failing at which was only making me more and more aroused, as after each 'failure' he would put the chastity belt on and increase the intensity, and the ball of pulsating pleasure growing bigger and bigger inside of me. 

I realised that when I am going to ask him again, I really needed to feel like I am almost there. He hated me playing it safe. I had to get really close, risking going crazy with frustration if he says ‘no’. But he didn't. Finally, I managed to orgasm within the time limit.

But he didn't let me savour this long-awaited orgasm much. 

The moment he started giving me orgasms, he didn't stop. He made me come over and over again, each time increasing the intensity and each time making me dread it more and more. What was a pleasure that I longed for so much, now became my torture. 

The thing with my hypnotically induced orgasms is that he made them extremely intense. He worked on me a couple of times, describing in detail how they would fill my entire body with waves of pleasure and how with each orgasm they would intensify. And they did. As it turns out, having intense waves of pleasure shaking your body over and over again is exhausting to the point of being unbearable. Especially when you keep on bouncing on somebody's cock.

I was sweaty and my pussy was extremely wet. My thighs were hurting from jumping on him that I wasn't allowed to stop and my mouth was hurting from the gag. I was trembling and I felt streams of sweat and drool running down my body.

"You can always beg me to stop giving you orgasms. But remember that it might be for a long time," he said and escalated the intensity even further.  

Of course! How could I not have thought about it? How come I always take whatever is being thrown at me without even considering the possibility of asking him to stop until he mentions it?

So I started to beg him to stop, interchangeably with begging for more orgasms, when I felt like coming without permission was becoming too much of a risk. He was amused by my confusion and each time I begged him to stop, he would ask if I am sure about it, since it might be for really long. 

And I wasn't sure. I didn't want to be deprived of pleasure again for such a long time. But I also felt like I can't stand any more orgasms right now.  

At some point, I broke. I became sure that at this moment I really can’t take any more. Even if it meant no orgasms for long. I was not able to pay the price. I also realized that I won’t win. He wanted to drive me to say it. He wanted to make me beg him for the exact thing that I dreaded so much. And he did. I was just a puppet, dancing on the strings held by him for the sake of his amusement. 

Epilogue

Oh, how I sometimes fear the power that he has over me… How he can direct me to play out any scenario that he has in his twisted mind. How I will follow obediently and knowingly into the trap that he set for me when he leaves me no other choice but to follow through. The only thing that could spare me being his mercy which rarely shows it’s head. 

He gave me what I dreamed of and then made me choke with it. And now, he made me dream of it again. 

After it was all finished, I took a shower to clean myself up from the mess that I’ve become and then kneeled in front of him in my usual position with hands behind my back.

“So how many times did you come?” he asked, looking at me intently.

“I don’t know Sir, ten maybe,” I answered embarrassed.

“Ten, you say. And how many times did you say ‘thank you’?”

My heart stopped at this question. I didn’t say ‘thank you’ even once. I was so tormented from the very beginning, that it didn’t even cross my mind.

“I didn’t say it at all Sir. I am sorry,” I said frozen from fear.

“Oh, you will be,” he said with his cold and cruel voice, ”So for ten orgasms without saying ‘thank you’ I would say that ten more months without an orgasm sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

My eyes grew huge from terror. “He can’t be serious right now,” a desperate hopeless thought crossed my mind.

But knowing him so far, I couldn't exclude the possibility that he was.

He is a mirror that shows me all the parts of me that I wish I didn’t see. He makes me trip over my vices over and over again. And no matter how much I don’t want to admit it with myself, I love his cruelty. It makes me wet to just think that he truly is capable of casually taking away my orgasms for such a long time. How he can execute his power over me in cold blood, makes me melt. He left me cornered by my own mind, wishing for having my freedom back and at the same time knowing that nothing tastes as good as being a slave to his whims.

Provided to YouTube by TuneCore Mean · Nicole Dollanganger Natural Born Losers ℗ 2015 Eerie Organization Released on: 2015-10-09 Auto-generated by YouTube.

My love-hate relationship with deep-throating

There are not many things that leave me feeling as used and violated as being throat-fucked. And I both love it and hate it at the same time.

I love it because it's as objectifying as sex can get. The man using your mouth for his own pleasure, thrusting his penis deep into your throat, disregarding your pain and discomfort, disregarding your inability to breathe, the choking and the spit covering your face. Oh no, at this moment he definitely doesn't care if you're pretty. At this moment you're just a hole. At this moment it's not about your skills, it's not about you giving him pleasure, it's about him giving himself pleasure, using your mouth. And the less human reflexes you have, the better.

I love it because it hurts in the most uncomfortable of ways. There is nothing pleasurable about having your throat stuffed with someone's dick, which is hitting the back of it, filling up your mouth and blocking your access to the air altogether. There is nothing enjoyable in the way it hurts when he slums his penis into your mouth, violating delicate tissue that it’s covered with. Face-fucking is definitely not what my mouth was made for. When he pushes my head onto his cock so hard that my gums start to hurt from it, the last thing I would call it is feeling good.

I love it because it makes me feel so degraded, so low. What kind of girl would let someone do this to them? And enjoy it? Thinking about it makes me feel so ashamed that I can't even look into his eyes when he fucks me. I can't bear him seeing me at this moment. I want to stay invisible, to not take part in this spectacle of my debasement.

I love it when days after my throat still hurts, and with every swallow, I'm reminded of the things that he did to me.

Finally, I love how subjugated to him it makes me feel. How it reminds me that I will let him do anything to me for as much as a scrap of his attention, and how much I belong to him. But even more importantly, it is proof of him accepting my gift. And it makes me the happiest person on Earth to see it being put to use. To see him dispose of my body as of his rightful property, which it is.

Did I also mention that I hate it? I do. I hate everything about it.