This topic stirred up quite a bit of conversation between W and I, an outcome that I love, and one of the reasons I started the Kink of the Week blog. I love talking about kink, not just in my usual narratives and stories of my and my partner’s lives, but as a discussion, and the Kink of the week has stirred up a lot of that. In fact I had some things I wanted to talk about in the last two KOTWs, but was too busy to get even one piece of writing done.
How is it that there are only 24 hours in a day, and of those I have to sleep at least 5 or 6, and preferably (for a sane Jade) at least 7? I really need to look into some way to clone myself so I can get the sleep I need and still get all the play, work and writing done that I want to. Anyway…enough of that, and on to the topic at hand:
It stirs up such diverse reactions – if you have been reading the other posts on the topic, you know what I mean. Fear, loathing, anger, heat. Throbbing pussies, hard cocks, pounding hearts and angry tears. Some definite “NO WAYs!” Very seldom does the topic leave people unfazed: opinions are usually pretty strong about it.
So where do I stand in all of that?
Well, if you read my post on the Blindfold KOTW, you may have linked through to another, earlier post I wrote about blindfolds that also involved, among other things, being slapped.
From that post:
I was led, or more accurately, propelled, up to the front of the room. I knew it was the front because I could hear the sounds of play going on around me more clearly now. The slap of a flogger on flesh, a moan, a whimper. He turned me around and pushed me back against a piece of equipment. It’s funny the places your mind goes when you can’t see. I struggled desperately to figure out which piece of equipment it was that I was on…concluded finally that it was the hangman’s gallows. He tied my hands straight up over my head then, leaving my ankles free. And then, in total silence…he allowed people to come up and touch me. Pinches, slaps, caresses, the flutter of fingers over my throbbing, wet pussy. I moaned and writhed, trying to stay silent.
And then…a slap in the face.
I was snapped out of my safe space and suddenly, everything was menacing, frightening. I went from happy drifty again to terrified. I had no idea who had slapped me. Or if it would happen again. And for the next however-much-time-it-lasted I never knew when it would happen again. Hands, warm, cold, small, large…spanking, slapping thighs gently or hard, but never true impact play…softly caressing. Until the face slap. I would know just before it happened because suddenly my chin would be grabbed and held and before I could draw a breath, the slap would land…a sharp stinging slap or a small one. And different hands, always different hands. Sometimes my chin would be grabbed and I would whimper, jerk in the person’s hand, anticipating the blow–only to have it never land. I would be released.
That was probably the most intense instance of face slapping I have had in a scene, because it was so edgy and frightening. I couldn’t see or know when it was coming. There was just a sudden hand holding my face, and then the slap. Hard, soft, stinging, or almost a caress. I never knew what to expect or when to expect it.
W slaps me occasionally. Usually during rough sex. I realized when he and I were talking about it that he has never actually slapped me during BDSM play. It’s always in the context of rape play, or resistance play, when he is subduing me physically as I resist him. The slap is a punctuation mark, and very much meant to subjugate and subdue: to snap me into momentary submission. It gives me exactly what Kazi Girl mentioned in her post on slapping, an instant “STOP” of my brain and everything else, and then a very deep feeling of submissiveness, of vulnerability. Does it make me hot or wet? I’m not sure. For that moment, for the instant of the slap, I feel nothing but shock, and maybe a little bit of indignation (nothing like the anger or rage some others have described.) Just a “Hey! That’s my face!” kind of affront.
But fantasizing about it certainly makes me hot.
Even after experiencing it and not really getting the exact effect that I do in my fantasies, I still fantasize about it. And when I fantasize about it, it is brutal, those slaps. Maybe that is why the reality seems so…lacking. It just doesn’t live up to the fantasy. But would I want the reality? I think not. W actually said something very similar. “It turns me on in my head, the fantasy is hot, especially in the context of rape play. But I always pull up at the last moment, because I really don’t want to harm you, or give you a split lip, bruises on your face or a bloody nose. That’s not hot to me at all. So it never quite has the impact in real life that it does in the fantasy (in which there is no blood, no broken, bruised skin.)”
As always, he put very succinctly into words how I feel about it.
And yet…I still do love it as that “punctuation mark” in the middle of sex occasionally. And I do think it would make a delicious addition to a scene sometime, in the right kind of scene. And, yes, there is a very tiny part of me that longs to experience something…kind of like…those fantasies.
A dark, scary part.