A Collection of Holes
Sometimes, a scene can get hotter in the remembering of it.
I know, that sounds counter-intuitive, or maybe like it wasn’t hot in the doing of it, but that’s not exactly true. It’s…more complex than that. And less, in a weird way.
I’m not really sure I can even verbalize what I mean. I am pondering, and noodling, and turning it over in my head.
I’ll start backwards, and see if I can get there, make sense, that way.
This morning I woke up feeling pretty low, maybe even negative, about the scene last night. I recognize, now that I am out of that headspace, that this is actually a typical emotional reaction for me to the type of scene we did: very sexual, very objectifying, very degrading. Feeling an emotional backlash after that should be expected, but for some reason I am always taken by surprise when I wake up this way, and this morning was no exception.
So what was I negative about?
The set-up for the scene was incredibly hot. W has a friend that he has allowed to play with me before. The guy comes in to town, gets a hotel room, and W takes me to him and allows him to do degrading things to me while he watches, and occasionally joins in.This time the scene was going to be decidedly less corporal than last time; more sexual. W wants to get me gang-banged at some point, and this was his “calibration” to see how I’d do being fucked (and fucked, and fucked) for hours at a time. What made it hot was that from the moment I went thru the door of the hotel until we left 5 hours later (me in W’s undershirt, high heels and nothing else) I was not allowed to speak. I was an object, a collection of holes, a body to be used.
And use me they did. Hard, every hole, with hands and objects and cocks, until I was “used up,” as W put it, and barely able to function, much less speak. W’s objective of turning me into a “thing,” into “fuckmeat,” was well accomplished. But I didn’t really get how well it was accomplished until today, when we debriefed about the scene. In fact, all I had was this vague sense of unease, of feeling as though I had somehow failed, that centered around the fact that my memories of the night were so unclear and out of focus I couldn’t really remember what had happened, except for the fact that I do know neither man had an orgasm.
Okay, so yeah, let me just get it out there: sex just doesn’t feel complete when the guy doesn’t come. I have learned to accept that W doesn’t always come every time he fucks me, but that’s because I know that he enjoys it just as much as if he had. Hell, maybe more, because I think sometimes he doesn’t allow himself to orgasm as an extension of his power over me, and that that psychological edge is more fulfilling to him than the physical release might be. And, in the end, though it may be after two days of fucking me and hurting me and making me suck his cock,
I win he eventually does lose control allow himself to come. But generally, with the general populace, having an orgasm is a pretty good indication that “I did my job well.” I know, I know that isn’t really the case, and that, especially in BDSM, coming isn’t always or the only goal. But, damn, it just feels good (mentally and physically) when they do.
So that was a start to why I was feeling off, and what I communicated to W. And we talked about it…
And as we talked, I started to realize that even that part of it was objectifying. They just used my holes. In and out. I came that night, twice that I remember, but even that wasn’t the objective, as it is so many times when W puts me thru hours of marathon sex. They didn’t care if I came. They didn’t care if they came. It wasn’t about sexual satisfaction or gratification. It was about using me, using my body, a set of orifices. My body came because it is trained to do so, because it simply can’t help but come when it is stimulated certain ways. But it had nothing to do with me, with Jade. It was my body reacting to physical stimuli. And it was only in remembering that, in thinking about it, that how really fucking hot it was set in to my brain.
There was something else that happened during the scene that I didn’t recognize until we started talking about it. I went to a space that I never have before. When I said I was fuzzy and couldn’t remember clearly what happened? What I realized was that that was because I truly had gone into that headspace where W had put me. He accomplished it far better than I think even he knew until we talked about it. I had shut off. My brain had turned off so completely that I was, simply, an empty body, meat, a collection of holes to be used by them. Stunned into insensibility and numbness.
It makes my cunt ache, just thinking about it.