There are millions of approaches to D/s because there are millions of D/s couples. I spend a lot of my Fetlife time waxing lyrical about the type of power exchange that gets my blood simmering because it’s the type of power exchange that gets my blood simmering. Read that sentence until it makes sense to you. I’ll wait. <taps foot>
I sing arias about a dominant who stretches out the torture by making me wait…
and wait. I throw even more praise at the sadist who wears mischief in the glint in his eye. I adore a dominant who compels rather than insists. Give me that man, and I’ll show you all the reasons I have to stop wearing underwear, but I don’t require you to feel the same way.
I began my kink journey showing only the polished, well behaved “me”: the one with the perfect mascara whose hems are always sewn up who writes thinky essays. She’s the well-mannered one, and she’s more normal than I will ever be because she hides all her oddities away.
I got almost as bored of her as I did with some of the people she attracted.
I was never raised to be polite. I was taught to sit on the floor and eat with my hands, so one day I threw “normal” away. I hung up my ladylike smile and shoved my academia down the throat of the next pseudo-intellectual who stopped by my profile. I stopped trying and started being.
I posted fewer highbrow essays and started writing about man flu and blowjobs. I told you my mascara wasn’t really all that perfect and that there were crumbs in my cleavage.
Miraculously, I started attracting the kind of people I actually liked. The snobs and sophists around me evaporated with my awe-inspiring vocabulary. </irony.>
He told me to respect him. He forgot to deserve it. He told me to learn his protocols. He forgot to learn my character. He told me his expectations—all the ways I was to morph into a thing that fit his desires, his personality, his needs, and so I melted myself down. I reshaped myself. I became, not his sub, not his lover, but his object.
I tried to evacuate every small need I had. What space was there for that when demand after demand was rolling out in front of me like an infinite scroll of entitlement? The Morphed Object must have no needs. It must contort itself until it barely exists. Then it will evaporate.
But evaporating was against his protocols, his desires, his expectations.
Funny how that works.
When the double bind of abuse pulls you in two opposite directions, the desire to submit becomes the need to become human again.
I couldn’t be nothingness and obedience at the same time. Failure was inevitable, and so I failed.
Today is the 22nd birthday of my country’s democracy, and I’m ashamed to be a white South African. In the golden years of our transition, we won the Nobel Peace Prize. We set up a Truth Commission that inspired the world. We demonstrated such profound forgiveness that historians studied us, but it was all a ruse. Even the word itself is a ruse:
Apartheid: the segregation on the grounds of race. What a joke. What it was, was systematic human rights abuse and torture sprinkled with a dose of morning genocide.
In ’94, we were terrified those we had abused would not forgive, purely because the consequences of their lack of forgiveness would have been unpalatable, and so mass murderers streamed towards the Truth and Reconciliation Commission with their eyes lowered. They gathered because they knew the only alternative was imprisonment, death, and civil war.
This is the account of kinky sex and blowjob porn when they were created, after god made Adam and his temporary erection.
Now no decent porn had yet appeared on the earth, and no gangbangs had yet sprung up, for the lord god had forgotten to create smut directors, aviator glasses, and gold chains. Then god formed them from velvet cigarette pants and leopard print overcoats. Obviously, he breathed into them The SpanishRed Sex Drive so that he’d get a ton of awesome smut to watch on J3wel’s new OLED screen, which he’d stolen and taken to heaven.
The lord took all the new cameramen, fluffers, and moviemakers he had created to the Garden of Eden in a pimped out ride. Adam was finally getting a break from sex, and while he was sleeping, god took one of the man’s bones (Ha! Geddit? Bones!) and then made a whole bunch of hawt women and men to star in his smut. And Adam said, “This is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, so I have a boner.”
Crystarlia has nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you, Crystarlia.
For the nomination, you must
- Share seven facts about yourself.
- Nominate 10 – 15 other blogs and let them know of your nomination.
- Display the award logo on your blog.
In the beginning, god created the penis. Now, the penis was permanently hard and ready, and SpanishRed was pleased. And god said, “Let there be blowjobs”, and there were blowjobs all day, all night, during coffee breaks, and in between coffee breaks. There were so many blowjobs that even god got bored with watching them on his giant LCD screen in heaven.
Then god said, “Let there be kinky sex to give my smut some variety,” so SpanishRed got to fuck Adam every second of every day, and Adam was very, very tired. There was so much kinky sex that SpanishRed forgot there was such a thing as Nutella, and on the third day, Adam was even more tired than he was yesterday.
On the fourth day, god said, “Let there be a boundary between SpanishRed’s horny hours and non-horny hours,” but it was not so because nothing got in the way of her and Adam’s permanently erect penis. And there was evening, and Adam hid behind The Tree of Knowledge, and SpanishRed found him. And god saw that it wasn’t good at all, and there was morning—the fifth day.