It’s dark and stormy outside right now. God, I love thunderstorms. They make me feel wild and sexy and unrestrained. It makes me want dark and dangerous things. All that power. It makes me shiver.
I miss many things about my time spent playing with BDSM, but one of the losses I’ve felt most keenly, particularly of late, is the feeling of being mastered. Mastered by someone who knows more than I, more in control than I, someone to whom I can give up control and allow them to lead me places that I can only imagine.
I miss the sting of the flogger; while I am far from a pain slut, there was something soothing, challenging, and incredibly fuckably sexy about presenting my ass for a good flogging. Particularly when tied standing up, facing a wall. Soothing, because it was good and solid contact, making me deliciously aware of my body. Challenging, to take the pain and turn it into pleasure, to fight the instincts of my body to curl up on itself and instead work through the pain – like how a good workout feels. And incredibly fuckably sexy, because in spite of what efforts I put forth, I’m deliciously aware that I am naked and they are not, they are watching my body’s reactions to every stroke, and whether I want them to or not, they’re likely aware of just how wet my pussy is getting.
Of course, it’s sexier and hotter still when they pause to slide their fingers into my pussy, just to make sure. Making small comments about how wet I am. The shame and the pain and the contact brings high colour to my cheeks and makes me whimper. Body on fire.
I miss the feel of good, solid restraints around my wrists. The challenge of holding my body properly when restrained. The excitement of wanting to move, to gesture, to touch them, and not being able to until they allow it.
I miss being on my knees, finally allowed to lick them and slide them in my mouth, particularly when my hands are bound behind me.
The challenge of doing so with my balance just slightly off-kilter. And the incredible sexy pleasure when I sense that I am pleasing them. A hand on the back of my head, helping to guide, and also stroking to tell me that I am being a very good bad little girl.
But most of all I miss trusting someone enough to do all of those things. Trusting them to be wiser, more controlled, trusting their imagination and understanding of my body to guide us through a scene of their devising. Trusting that they will challenge me when I need it, soothe me when I need it, and be present for me if my submission is particularly difficult or emotionally trying. Trusting them to know my limits, and help me play the edges of those limits, expanding my abilities and bringing me greater faith in myself and that of my master.
Rainy day thoughts.