By Mercy
My brain has been a twisted place for a very long time. As a child I had fantasies of being spanked by storybook giants. I loved games where friends were bad guys who kidnapped me, tied me with skipping ropes and menaced me with plastic daggers. My Barbies were sex trade workers and my ken dolls had sexual relations with each other. As I got older my fantasies got darker.
When I was 14, I discovered John Norman books at the public library. I read every one that they had. Gor convinced me that I wanted to be a slave. The thought of being used – being owned – resonated with me. For years the guys I dated were surprisingly unenthusiastic about the idea, and were untrainable as potential masters. I had a few close friends that knew how I felt, but the concept perplexed them.
My first sex partner was physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually abusive. For the year we were together I couldn’t figure out why being abused in real life didn’t turn me on. The rape scenarios I had in my head were hot; the real thing was painful and downright boring after the first few times. I started keeping the remote close at hand so that I could at least watch something interesting on TV until he was done with me. The way he hurt me didn’t do a thing for me. At first I wondered if my fantasies were only good in my head but fizzled in real life. Eventually I figured out that abuse and BDSM were entirely different. This was back before the internet, so I had no way of knowing that until I worked it out in my head.
After that I found ways to make my vanilla relationships work. Sex was painful for me, so I would imagine my partner was hurting me on purpose. I would read things that turned me on all the time and then leave myself that way. Burning and cutting myself became commonplace, and various friends were concerned about me until they discovered I just did it because it felt good. I was a walking bundle of repressed sexuality – something that intrigued men and got me attention I didn’t necessarily want.
Except for this one guy.
I met him through a group I belonged to. The first time I saw him, he turned to look at me and my mouth went dry. Such a beautiful, self-confident man. All that, and he was funny, too. But we were both dating other people. Despite that inconvenient fact, for seven years this man acted like he owned me. He would brush his fingers across my ass as he walked past. He would find ways to fondle me in a roomful of people without anyone noticing. One night at a party we ended up alone and he slammed me up against the door and kissed me hard, shoving his thigh between my legs, and torturing my nipples through my shirt while he ground up against me. Now this was a guy who knew how to treat a girl. A girl like me, anyway. I was submissive to him, I couldn’t help it. I fantasized about him all the time, while I muddled through a messy relationship with a man who never had sex with me, no matter what I did.
Eventually we both ended up single, and I knew I had to have him – even if it was just once. I e-mailed him to tell him I was sorry to hear that he and his girlfriend had broken up. I didn’t fool either of us. Apparently, he wasn’t sorry I was single, either.
He lived out of town. We talked incessantly by e-mail and phone, and I eventually took a chance and told him about my interest in BDSM. He had never gotten into it because his ex was very vanilla, but he was interested. The man had an evil brain. Even though I was shy about discussing it, he eventually made me confess all sorts of my twisted fantasies. He had a collar custom made for me and started using it. He had been well-trained in the “no means no” mantra of polite sex, so even though he knew what I wanted we had to work on that. I started taunting him to make me do things, and he dropped the civilized facade pretty quickly.
In the middle of a hilarious conversation that neither of us can recall, we picked a safeword.
One day when I was being sassy, he laughed and picked up his belt and threatened to hit me with it if I didn’t behave. I dared him to do it. The man can’t resist my dares, I was pleased to discover. He hit me with the belt a few times and we had hot nasty sex. There’s nothing like positive reinforcement to teach a guy what you like.
We married.
The collar, the belt, his use of force and my unspoken submission were our sex life for several years. But after years of delicious sex and violence I wanted... more. There were things I hadn’t told him and I was worried that the next level of intensity would be the one that scared him off or disgusted him. Eventually I decided to bring it up. Over the years he had proven himself to be an open minded guy, so why was I being so chicken? After that conversation he put the o-ring up in the doorframe in our room. He and I both bought things for him to hit me with. At first he was leery of beating me as hard as I wanted, but I goaded him into it, and he realized he loved it as much as I did. When I ask him now what his favourite part of BDSM is, he says it’s two things: knowing I’m his and making me scream... in one way or another.
Considering the level we do things at now, sometimes I worry about where we’re going. I wear a public collar 24/7. His dominance has leeched out of the bedroom and into our vanilla life. I fantasize about him leaving permanent marks or branding me. I have my submissive barcode tattooed on my shoulder and the collared submissive symbol on my shoulder blade. Luckily, even when I start getting greedy for more he keeps things safe, sane and consensual.
As I kneel at his feet with his hand in my hair, I feel the ache of fresh bruises and know that he loves me.
*****
Cari Silverwood:
Remember everyone is different. No one is you. What turns someone else on may mean zero to you. BDSM is a very broad envelope term which covers many different kinks. Which is why you should never assume your partner will like the same things as you.
Rushing into things with your partner can be a disastrous thing to do. But if you're patient, you may give them enough time to understand you.
For those who are puzzled by BDSM – yes, Mercy and her husband love each other deeply and yes, the pain to her is pleasureable and the screaming is just as likely to be from orgasms as from being flogged, hit with a belt, or whatever. I cannot stress enough that her partner is a caring man and that this is, as Mercy says, safe, sane and consensual.
A link to more information
: http://www.xeromag.com/fvbdsm.html
