Yup, I got me some birthday spankings last week. And a lovely, romantic, birthday dinner, and a bit of rope on me, and a day spent in cuffs and collar, chained to my desk, playing secretary to the “Boss.” This is me readying myself for my primary job responsibility:
Boss: Do you have your work materials ready? Secretary: Yes, Sir. Mouth, open wide...
I’ll post a picture of me “at work” for Wanton Wednesday. (grin)
So anyway. I was talking with a friend the other day, and she told me that, because she has not had any BDSM play in over a month, she is craving pain. I thought about that: do I crave pain? I have always considered that I crave what comes after pain, and sometimes during: the connection. But Thursday afternoon, when I realized I was probably not going to get a spanking for my birthday unless I asked for it, I realized that maybe I was craving the sensation. It wasn’t the headspace I wanted so much, but the feel of his hand on my flesh, the sting and thump and heat and endorphin rush. In that case, where it is not so much about them wanting to do things to me, it is all about the physical sensation.
I won’t lie. I don’t like having to ask for it. Especially on my birthday! I mean, shit, I am a KINKY girl–how could I not get a spanking on my birthday?!? But I knew I wouldn’t unless I asked for it. W wasn’t physically able, and Ad…well, Ad would have had to make special arrangements, because we couldn’t do it at our house since the pseudo-father-in-law is in residence again. Yeah…it bugs me that he wouldn’t have made those plans ahead of time (call W, arrange to go over and give me birthday spankings there after our dinner. That’s what I would have done.) But…sigh…planning is not either one of my men’s fortes, so…it was up to me.
I guess this is when my “bottom” conflicts with my “submissive,” because yanno what? I do have needs and wants and desires that I want to get met, and sometimes…you gotta get them met on your own steam.
So I did. I texted Ad and asked him if he would bring me back to W’s after dinner and give me a proper birthday spanking. And when he said yes, I turned to W and asked him if he would put some rope on me in my pretty dress for my spanking. And he said yes.
And so they did.
Pretty party dress!
And I got a lovely spanking.
Ad's red handprint.
And even a bit of (unexpected) caning!
It was all good. All yummy. And physically very satisfying.
And that is good…but has me thinking about the emotional part of it. Oh, not the emotional part between me and my guys. That was perfect…and is perfect and lovely. But my own emotional headspace. Why is just “a spanking” so…dissatisfying emotionally? What is it about the act of asking for a thing, of it being at my initiative, that reduces the emotional impact for me? Because that is certainly part of my emotional (and sexual) triggers. I wasn’t lusting during the spanking, that’s for sure. I was enjoying the physical sensation–a lot! And having loads of fun. But that…tightening of sexual desire that is an instant reaction to the feeling of being forced…subjugated…controlled…and yes, violated…certainly wasn’t present, and usually isn’t in these instances.
And yet, still there is some need that is fulfilled during it. I still want it, even knowing that that other element won’t be there.
So, maybe, it is a craving of physical sensation…of pain. I don’t know.
Over the weekend I experienced something similar. And during play at Twisted Tryst, actually. I had been in “pony” mode both nights, and after the bridle came off, both times, I asked, without hesitation, for a heavy beating. I need to be brought out of pony headspace, which is so very different from physical play, subjugation or from submission, into a place in which I was firmly in the physical again–into being human again, a girl that can be beat and used and fucked. I craved the physicality of it. I think also I want to somehow know that W sees me again as his girl, as the one he can beat up, as human, because ponyspace is…something very far away from that for me.
I wonder what it will be like the first time he fucks me as a pony? Or has me fucked by someone as a pony? Somehow, I think that might yet another layer…
Layers upon layers. Like a birthday cake. :-)