Rape Fantasies

How do you explain a rape fantasy to someone who has been raped for real? How do you explain it to someone who hasn't?

For a long time I have dreamed of being abducted and kept in a dungeon. I would be bound and gagged, crying and bleeding when my captor came to me and had his way with me. I would have no choice but to oblige. Or maybe I am fooling around with someone when things get too heavy. I try to stop, but he or she will not have it. A hand is placed over my mouth to keep me from screaming. It restricts my breathing while I fight off my rapist, but I'm not strong enough. He or she drives into me again and again. It hurts terribly, but they keep going. Once they are spent and finished using me, I am left alone. I want to be beaten, used, punished, and humiliated potentially by multiple people at a time.

How do you explain that desire to someone who has been there? It feels like a betrayal. It feels like I'm looking at their scars, hoping they will heal or even helping them heal, but picking at the scab when they are asleep. Their scab is a reflection of me.

I've never had to deal with something like this before. I knew it was an odd fantasy, which is why I never told anyone, but I didn't think the people I told would ever have first hand experience. How can I Be jealous of something that has permanently altered another person in a very negative way?

I feel disgusting, vile, inhuman even and I can't help but to love it.

Limits

 The human body is an amazing thing. I loved studying molecular biology because it is fascinating how the inside of the body works together with a thousand other parts to create one working creature. Its beautiful.

 A lot of people I think don't push their limits. I don't know whether it is from fear or anger or despondence. For me this issue comes up a lot both physically and psychologically. I have dealt with a lot of psychological "trauma" in my life and even my fair share of physical trauma, much of the latter was self inflicted. Fortunately as an adult, there are better ways to find that release. :)

Post beating.

 Last night I met with a friend and kindred spirit to test my limits. I was greeted with a table full of goodies she had acquired for me for her. There was a blindfold, a ball gag (my heart skipped when I saw it), two belts, some hooks and some soothing cream. Ominous to some, but for others it fills the heart with blood. We talked for a bit before I pulled out my collar like an obedient little slave girl. I was rewarded for my memory.

 After some debate we went up the stairs to what would become out play room that night. She gave the order to strip. I reluctantly obeyed. I felt exposed, humiliated, and vulnerable. Not many people get to see that part of me, but I didn't have a choice. Part of it was exhilaration. I was tied to cat scratching posts. It may sound strange, I know it did to me at first, but the materials of the posts created a rough bit of friction on my wrists. My legs were spread and the ankles were bound in a similar way. As I stood, hands and feet spread wide in offering, I found myself become a little aroused and thought about the oddity of sexual arousal in the feeling of rope. I've been told that submission is a way to relive childhood experiences so that this time you can get it right. I don't know if I believe that. It does make you wonder though.

 The tools of my exam were as follows: a suede purple and black flogger, a black belt covered in a thin layer of Vaseline, and a switch made from thin bamboo and hemp twine.

 The blindfold was placed on first, followed by the gag. There was little chatter before the test began. Here are my assessments of the instruments:

1. It started with the flogger. Sometimes blunt and sometimes, stingy, the flogger seemed versatile. The blunt force of all the tails striking my thighs and buttocks came with a pleasant sting. Slowly the intensity was increased. There was nothing done with the flogger I couldn't handle. Phase one was a pass. The flogger was the least painful of the three.

2. The belt was next. It was quicker to leave welts and stung in a way the flogger never could. The wide surface area and thin material made the feeling sharp rather than blunt as one would expect. I also found afterwards that there were small bruises left from the end of the belt. This ranked second among the three.

Some of the marks were left by the switch.

3. The third and most painful of the three was easily the switch. I hate this thing. It leaves welts with very little force and stings just as bad. If you apply a lot of force, this happens.

There is a big bruise there today along with the gash.

 I don't know if it was from the heat, the pain, or a combination of the two, I very nearly vomited after this blow. The mark is on the back side of my thigh and my knees nearly buckles with the force of it. The pain was terrible, but I wanted more. My body wanted more. It told me that I would be ok to continue.

 The ball gag was removed from my mouth because of the dry heaving and I was moved to a position lying on my back. After some light frontal work I moved to my stomach, where the intensity slowly rose to where it was before.

Final shot post play. Needless to say I still have trouble sitting.

 The ball gag helped a lot to mute my screaming. Afterwards I was in a daze. The same feeling was present that cutting used to give, but this seemed healthier, more fulfilling. My body was tingling everywhere. I kissed her feet and thanked her as per our usual post-play protocol. My head had a post-orgasm spin to it as I dressed and floated down the stairs.

 I learned a lot about myself and my own limitations last night. I also learned that I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I am looking forward to testing my limits even more in different ways. I don't know exactly what it is that keeps me coming back or why I feel so peaceful afterwards. I think the pain offers a sense of absolution and certainty.

This is how I looked afterwards.

Whatever it is, I need it.

The Sounds of Pain

I stood uncertain, feeling the eyes against my back as he asked me to undress. I was scared and insecure, but my hands kept moving, sliding my shirt off of my body, unclasping my bra, dropping my pants. My heart pounded with humiliating delight as I stood in the center of the room for everyone to see and for everyone to judge. It was a lot smaller than I expected, but even so the fear was just as big.

The hemp slid against my chest with ease. My senses were alive and I felt the anticipation crawling through my body, screaming for more. The only sounds I could hear over the sound of the music was the beat of screaming. It wasn't a joyous scream nor was it a terrified one, but one that rests somewhere in between. She was afraid, but she wanted more. I envied her. I felt her screams inside of me, calling to me in all the right places.

The rope tightened around my chest and consumed my legs. Soon I was in the air, hanging from the ceiling by a few strands of rope. I spun, around and around and back and forth under I wasn't sure which way I was facing. I felt the rope slide against my skin, caressing me in a touch too intimate for words. I felt hands and heard the screams escalate into terror and uncertainty. I caught glimpses of the electric wand the man in black used to tantalize her to ecstasy. The screams turned to insults and indignant cries as a blindfold was wrapped tightly around my eyes. Everything went black. The insecurity melted away and for the first time in a long time I felt exhilarated, calm, and content with myself. There is something profoundly powerful in surrendering your will to another.

Around and around in circles I went. Hands touched me everywhere, exploring, confusing, disorienting. I didn't know where I was or where the owner of the hands stood at any given moment. At first I followed the screaming for a sense of stability and direction. Eventually the screams grew constant and any sense of direction I once had faded into blackness.

I don't know how long I was suspended, but it was erotic, sensual, vaguely sickening, disorienting, and wonderful. I think however incidental the person may be, there is something shared between a dom and his or her sub. There is some primal force that calls to one another, sensing the presence of the other before a scene has started.

I couldn't help but smile at the woman screaming "Why are you smiling you asshole?!"

With the blindfold removed he untied me little by little. My body felt unstable and shaky on the ground, but soon readjusted. I love the way the rope burns a little as its being loosened from the ties that bind. There I stood, nearly naked with eyes watching and people playing all around me as the strangest part of the night came upon me. His piercing eyes caught mine and he said very seriously, "thank you."

Thank me? What did I do? I want to know what he gets out of it and why I should be thanked.

It was an amazing suspension and a fantastic first visit. I can only hope that there are many more to come in the near future, and hopefully a lot more pain. ;)

Living in Sin

 I've been thinking a lot lately about the ability of someone to live a kinky lifestyle full time and what exactly that would entail. Does living the lifestyle mean that you have a flogger on your keychain or a t-shirt? " I was suspended by my hair and all I got was this prickly shirt."

How much is too much to share?  Having been a lesbian most of my life, I've grown accustomed to be unapologetic for my sexual partners. I have no qualms with hand holding or reasonable displays of affection. It isn't the first thing I tell people but I don't avoid the subject either. The way that I see it is that I have as much of a right to be here as everyone else, so if they are uncomfortable with me consoling my girlfriend around their children, they can go somewhere else. Lately being gay is less of the fad it once was and is more commonplace, which is a great thing. I suppose kink is becoming the same way with books like Fifty Shades of Grey polluting the shelves. Does that mean the same rules apply? Can I be that personal with my introductions?

"Hi I'm Emily, I enjoy long walks on the beach, being beaten with a barbed flogger, and rope burns. Nice to meet you."

Do I treat it the same way as the lesbian thing, that is to say not mention it but don't lie about it? I don't think I should have to divide my life into a vanilla life and a "wasabe lavender with chunks of glass" as my  partner affectionately calls me. It shouldn't be all people see when they look at me though either. I have been treating it like its no big deal, but sometimes it embarrasses me to discuss and I'm not sure why.

Is it ok to talk about in conversation?