Sunday, December 18, 2016

A primal place of pain

Swede grew, changed and developed a lot in our extended weekend together. But he's new to BDSM, so that is to be expected. I always adapt and learn new things with every new partner, but I didn't expect just to what extent Swede would influence me.

Perhaps I should have seen it coming... I haven't been a bottom / sub for years, and I find it challenging to take on that role now. Challenging in a good way. I'm really enjoying myself, but it's difficult to yield control to someone else. To yield my body and mind to someone else. Difficult, scary, but interesting.

A lot of our play was still done with lots of starts and stops. I'd introduce a topic, something I wanted him to try or experience. We'd talk about it. He'd try it out. We'd talk some more. He'd try some more. And so on and so forth. At first he was a very "good student" in the sens that he only did the things I told him to do. No initiative, no experimentation, but after I'd pointed this out to him he got better. He started putting together all the puzzle pieces I'd given him, and make something that felt more like proper sessions.

Swede still needs to work on planning scenes and transitioning from one part of a scene to the next, but that comes with experience. Also, for whatever reason, he didn't experiment as much with dominance (for example postures, commands, humiliation, control etc). Perhaps because sadism, once you get over the moralistic "one shouldn't hurt people", is easier than dominance...? Easier because the feedback from the bottom is instantaneous and very clear. This hurt that much, this hurt THAT much. And if your goal first of all is to hurt, not dominate, the fact that something hurts is a good thing. With dominance, the feedback is more subtle and can be more difficult to read.

I've never been a masochist. A submissive, yes sure. I can accept pain as a means to an end, as a way to make me submit and know who's in charge. But pain for the sake of pain? No. Why would I? It hurts! Who wants to hurt?!?

My extended weekend with Swede showed me that I have a masochistic side after all. I never would have discovered that side of me, if Swede hadn't been such an enthusiastic sadist. I have him to thank for this:

We had one session that went beyond intense. We'd been playing on and off for most of an afternoon. I was warm and somewhat sore, my body flooded with the various hormones that get released during intense BDSM play. And perhaps most importantly, I trusted Swede not to do me harm. I knew he got off on hurting me, but I trusted that he wouldn't harm me.

My wrists were tied to the corners of the bed with leather cuffs. He was sitting on top of me, pinning my hips to the mattress. He gets turned on when I struggle and fight him, and I get turned on by losing to him... And by his reaction. Therefore, I held nothing back. I fought and I screamed, and I tried to get him off me. Of course, I had no chance in hell.

He started pinching and pulling on my nipples. Now, my nipples are very, very sensitive. I can't take much stimulus there at all before it really starts to hurt. However, he kept going. Kept on pushing me to endure more. And I did, because I knew he enjoyed seeing me hurt.

I was the strangest thing. I went from swearing at him and begging him to stop, to screaming, to just making incoherent, primal sounds. He managed to push me to a place I've never been before. A place where nothing else existed. There was only the pain, and his hands that gave me pain. I vaguely felt my body pinned under his weight, but I doubt I could have told you my name if he'd asked. Or which country I was in. And I didn't want him to ask, didn't want him to interrupt the flow, but at the same time, I was very close to how much I could handle. I just didn't want to leave that place. It was terrible, so incredibly painful, but also wondrous. Zen-like. Primal in a way I've never experienced before.

He stopped, with perfect timing. I'm still amazed at his instincts. I came back to myself immediately, and lay shivering in his arms for a while. Hours later, when the aftercare was done and we were sitting on the couch doing other things, I was still feeling high. I was trying to write a message to Saint, and I had to struggle to string words together. I was high as a kite, from the incredibly painful session we'd had a few hours earlier. My body was buzzing, everything felt clearer and more colourful. I loved everything and everyone. A euphoria of sorts.

The rest of the weekend, I craved that primal place of pain. Not just for the feeling once it was done. No, I craved the pain itself. I would initiate play, with the sole purpose of making him hurt me. Can you imagine how insane that felt, for someone who's never had masochistic inclinations before?!?

What did I love about it? I loved the intense connection between the top and the bottom. The undivided attention from him. The feeling of struggling, losing and eventually yielding to him. I loved how the pain was unavoidable. Completely out of my control. It hurt, and he loved to hurt me.

We had several similar sessions, but didn't obtained that same level of intensity again. Annoying at the time, sure, but it doesn't worry me. I know that it's obtainable. I know that place, that state of mind, can be reached again. And I long for it.

Weird, hu?

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