Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

Although it seems unlikely, at this point, that I will ever have children, if I do manage to procreate, someone must buy me this.

_{I’ve been writing a lot, recently, I just haven’t been hitting “publish.” My life, as of late, has been kind of a mess, and that has been affecting my ability to narrate in a way that I am comfortable sharing publicly. My thoughts about kink and sex have been all bound up in stress and drama, and so my drafts folder is full of unshared thoughts. I haven’t given up on this blog, though. I just don’t always know what it is I want to say. Still, I do want to celebrate that one unquestionably good thing in my life has been my relationship with my MDP…}

Sometimes the depth of my submission to him scares me. Far more often, it helps me reestablish my center.

When we are apart, he has recently taken to setting me a task that is oddly affecting in its simplicity. I am to remove my clothing, kneel - legs apart, and spend 15 minutes doing nothing but thinking of him and imagining him using me in various ways.

The first time he assigned this behavior to me, I couldn’t quite imagine myself doing it, but part of figuring out how to actively give myself in submission has been learning to say yes whenever doing so will not hurt me. It has been about realizing that I do, truly, get something out of doing things I do not particularly want or enjoy, simply because he wants me to. It has been about noticing that every time I realize I am doing something solely for his pleasure, I find it exciting. It has been about discovering that doing things that are hard, scary, or even unpleasant, because he wants me to, is a turn on.

The other day, he was hurting me, and I was having trouble converting the pain to pleasure. I wasn’t in any way enjoying the pain, the intensity, in the way that I normally do, but I was getting some satisfaction in saying yes to it anyway and being able to give that to him. I kept saying to myself that submission, for me, is about doing the things that are hard, that those things are tangible proof of the exchange of power that I so desperately enjoy. Stuck in my head, I kept reminding myself that I don’t only want to submit to him when he makes me feel amazing, which is most of the time, but that I truly do want to find pleasure in pleasing him… even when it’s hard. And then I did or said something, not a refusal or a negation but a statement of my dislike of what he was doing, and he scoffed, “Please, you’re soaking wet.”

If you had asked me, 30 seconds before, I would have told you I wasn’t turned on at all, but at his words I suddenly I realized my body knew something my mind did not and began enjoying it. The switch clicked on in my mind, and the submission became not an active choice but a natural state of being. All of a sudden I went from wanting to want him to hurt me and take me and control me to needing those things with a desperation and intensity that made me beg. Submission to him does so often come so naturally to me that in a way it’s nice to have the reminder that I want him so much that I can still act the part when it doesn’t… and by acting have it transformed into truth.

Which brings us back to my homework. The first time I took off my clothes to kneel naked on the floor and think of him, I did so with doubts in my mind. I was never tempted to lie about it, or cheat the time, but I couldn’t imagine just doing that for 15 minutes. I thought I’d get bored. I thought I’d stare endlessly at the clock. I thought the whole exercise would feel ridiculous.

I was wrong. I figured that out around minute four. It turns out that, even when I am alone, having a quiet, focused time of submission is both centering and incredibly hot.

It’s now something I look forward to. I strip off my clothing and can feel his eyes on me, even from another state. I kneel and am consumed by thoughts of the ways in which he could use my body as his own. I spread my legs wider and imagine doing so at his command - if he were the only one to see; if we were in a room full of other people. I feel his hand at the back of my neck - pulling my mouth onto his cock or pushing my face to the floor so that my spine bends and my body is further bared for display. I think about him using my mouth, my cunt, my ass for his pleasure or simply beating me until I bleed.

I don’t wait; I dream. I’m not passive; I’m calm. I kneel and focus on him, and, as the stresses and dramas of the day drain away, I find myself refilled with desire.

We’ve been together long enough that by now I really should have learned that, in certain ways, my MDP knows me better than I know myself. Specifically, he seems to have drawn a map of my emotional landscape that is somewhat clearer than my own - in particular when looking at the areas related to submission and arousal. He’s not only very good at leading me into temptation, he’s even better at drawing me out of damnation. That makes it easy to say “yes” to him, even when it’s hard.

_{He’s also an amazing source of emotional support when life is stressful, and for that I can not thank him enough.}

We were sitting in the kitchen, watching live-action tentacle rape videos on the laptop, and discussing the flaws in production.

“The whole point of tentacle rape,” I kept insisting, ” is multiple penetration.”

I was feeling both extraordinarily horny and extremely frustrated, because the videos kept not being exactly what I’d want. A tentacle would tease the captive girl’s mouth, but not go in. One would fuck her cunt while another waved near her ass, but it was always just a tease.

The worst was the video that was advertised as tentacle rape, but just had puppet tentacles being used for bondage while human men “raped” the actresses pretending to be school girls. The latex molding on the tentacles was absolutely gorgeous, but instead of using them to brutally fuck the women they simply used them as props.

It was a terrible disappointment.

Oh, realistically speaking, I know it made sense. The problem with live-action tentacle rape, as opposed to the text-based stories I prefer, is that there are actual people involved having their actual bodies fucked. That means you have to restrict yourself to what they want, and what most people want is rarely as violent, painful, and degrading as the things that I fantasize about. The tentacle porn was hot enough to make me extremely horny but not quite what I needed it to be for me to find it satisfying. It made me think I was generally better off restricting myself to written erotica… well, written erotica and real life.

My partner in porn-appreciation didn’t argue with my critiques of the genre. He just kept pulling up more videos and ignoring my increasingly less subtle hints that we should stop watching porn and go have some violent sex of our own. One of his ,,endearing,, qualities is the way he likes to get me worked up and watch me squirm until I lose all dignity and start begging him for sex.

I finally gave up and asked him what he thought about consensual non-consent, because what I really wanted right then was not so much to go back to the bedroom and have hot, kinky sex but to be manhandled down the hall and viciously “raped.”

Margaret Atwood wrote a brilliant essay about rape fantasies in which she describes all the ways in which women’s rape fantasies have nothing to do with actual rape - and the truth in that is unarguable. I didn’t actually want to be raped. I wanted to be violated, hurt, degraded, and viciously used by someone who I trusted and adored while I screamed and cried and begged him to stop… but didn’t truly want him to.

This led to a discussion of the myriad problems involved in the two of us negotiating a “rape scene,” ranging from the highly emotionally charged issues of it not being hot without consent - and how do you maintain both the feeling of the scene and the comfort that there is consent? - to the practical problem where the only time I don’t want to have sex with him when he wants me is when I am physically ill.

Then we dropped the conversation, went and had earth-shatteringly-hot, violent, brutal sex where I came repeatedly from the combination of pleasure and pain, and while I was lying next to him feeling blissful, wrecked, and exhausted, I had a belated moment of revelation.

Most of what I dream about in my rape fantasies, I already get as an amazing component of my submission to him. Pain, degradation, humiliation, sex that is focused on his desires instead of mine, the only thing that’s missing is the one thing we both feel slightly creeped out by - and that I, honestly, don’t need - the falsehood and misdirection designed to imply that I don’t want to be exactly where I am, when I really, really do. The only thing I can’t do is try to save face by pretending that the pain and humiliation aren’t the very things that get me off.

And, in its own way, it’s insanely hot to own how much I like it when he calls me his whore, when he fucks me until my insides are raw and swollen and then keeps going so that every thrust is an inescapable mixture of pleasure and pain, when he makes me cry in pain and humiliation and then uses my misery to make me come. It’s wonderful for me to be able to get off on the fact that he gets off on hurting me, and for him to know how very much I like it.

I guess the truth is that when your relationship is structured around how much you want to give your partner everything, even when you don’t like it, rape scenes are a little redundant. Particularly when one of the hottest things about the pain and the violence is the fact that you are constantly choosing to give him consent. A “rape” scene might be a fun and exciting fantasy to play out, but I can’t imagine it being as overwhelmingly satisfying as actively embracing the choice to be someone’s toy.
–

Mind you, if I could figure out a way to do it in a way that _I_ would consider to be safe, I would love to bottom to a take down, gang-rape scene where I’d fight until exhaustion as a group of (wo)men held me down and repeatedly used me however they wanted to until they were done with me and I was nothing but a quivering mass of pain, tears, and humiliation, but realistically speaking that’s never going to happen. I might be able to negotiate a sexual torture/humiliation/pseudo-rape scene involving more than one top that would come close, but the extent of safe-sex negotiations and precautions I require makes the fantasy scene I recently saw someone else live out impossible - at least for me. It was incredibly hot, and I was envious that the bottom was willing to take the risks she did to live out something I’d dreamed of, but the trade off is not my cup of tea. Fortunately, I get enough mind-blowing kinky sex from my solitary partner that I can’t really bring myself to be disappointed. If I want to get fantasy-gang-raped, I can always do it in my blog. Not only is text sex safe sex, when I write it I always get exactly what I want. Tentacle rape without multiple penetration? Don’t be ridiculous.

When I woke up this morning, the following was playing in my head (sung to the tune of the Toys R’ Us advertisements.)

I don’t want to get out of my comfortable bed, I’d rather just keep lying here and give someone head

*sigh*

In the series Babylon 5, various emissaries of the Light and Dark (or seemingly Light and Dark… it turns out that things aren’t actually quite so clear) ask the more mortal protagonists simple questions that lead to somewhat profound answers - questions like “What do you want?”

I’ve been thinking about that question a lot lately.

There is a great deal in my life right now that I’m enormously happy with. I have a (part-time/non-primary) D/s relationship that is better than I could have imagined it would be - both sexually and emotionally fulfilling and easy to be content in as well as excited about. I have a house I love and a career that is flexible enough that I can spend my time pursuing all my varied dreams. I am, when I’m not depressed or frustrated, happy… and yet I’m still not good at being content.

I’m always looking towards the next thing. This habit gets worse when I do have stability to base myself off of. If I am set in one area of my life, I tend to take more risks to move the other areas forward. Sometimes this works out brilliantly, other times I mourn the roads I’ve stepped off of, but I tend to jump first and wonder if it’s a bad idea second. The problem is that my wandering eye, my risking mind, is powered by two things - not knowing what I want and wanting too much.

I’m a scatter-brain. I may be an extremely intelligent and highly productive scatter-brain, but my flakiness is undeniable - I’m always moving in too many directions. There are too many things I want to do - books I want to write, performances I want to give, instruments I want to learn, careers I want to excel in - and while I could probably do any one (or even two of them) if I gave it my all, I don’t. I want everything and so I have minor success at many things and no overwhelming accomplishment at anything. I’m scattered. I don’t know what I want to focus on. That’s the problem with my professional life - I want all the options and I’m afraid to close any doors in case I might miss out on something amazing. I’m trying to figure out how to deal with that - accept that I can’t have it all and figure out which subset I’m willing to live without.

In my personal life, I have the opposite problem. I don’t know what I want. The biggest looming decision, because of my age, is whether I actually want to have kids. Sometimes I do, very, very much, and other times I don’t - particularly when I think about having to take on all that responsibility alone. I love children, and I have sperm stored in a freezer at my gynecologist’s office, but I’m having trouble bringing myself to use it. I was ready last summer, when I thought I was losing my mom and imagined that my relationship with my gf was going to go well - that she would have her kid and I would have mine and although we wouldn’t raise them together we’d have each other for support - but couldn’t schedule the insemination. Now… I’m no longer as certain. Even scarier than ending up alone is ending up with more responsibility than I can handle on my own, and I can’t bring myself to visit that nitrogen-filled tube. I’m not certain enough that it’s what I want to give up all the things I have.

The other issue is my love life. I feel like I should want a primary partner, and sometimes I think I do, but I’m not entirely certain that having one would actually make me all that happy. On one hand, I want to share my life with someone, but on the other hand I’m awful at doing so. I’ve lived on my own for more than half my life, and I don’t know if I’m capable of giving that up. I’d love the mutual emotional support and knowledge that someone is there for me, but I’m not convinced that I’d be able to handle the reverse responsibility. I’m quite selfish with my time, energy, and space.

The thing is, right now I’m actually getting all my emotional and physical relationship needs met by my MDP. That’s great, but it’s not particularly fair. I’m also abstractly concerned that it may not be particularly wise.

The truth is that I’m not currently motivated to try and find myself a primary partner (not that being motivated to look has actually ever netted me real possibilities in the past) both because I’m happy and because I’m not sure it’s what I want. I don’t know if I actually have any desire to be that much of someone’s life or have someone be that much of mine. I often think I do, particularly when I’m depressed or upset, but I question whether that’s actually true. I have, repeatedly, been quite happy in solid non-primary relationships, but never managed long term success in anything that could have turned into full-time. When my poly relationships have ended, it’s never been because I wanted more. In fact, it’s usually been because more suddenly ended up on the table when I could quite happily have done with less.

It was easier to explain this to myself and to others when I was in graduate school and I could say that my Ph.D. was my primary partner. Even now, though, I am obsessed with work. It gets a lot of my time and attention, and I’m not sure that I particularly want to change that. Maybe the solution is to hope that if I do find someone who could be a primary partner that they’re just as much of a workaholic… or something-productive-aholic… as I am. I would love to come home to someone at night, but I don’t need to have a partner. Not the way I need to have work I’m passionate about. I used to think that made me a fundamentally flawed person, but maybe it’s just a different way to live my life.

It’s hard. I see some of my friend’s marriages and think “I want that.” I want to have a partner who I can love, respect, and count on, but I also want us both to be independent people with independent passions and lives. I just don’t if I could be good at that - if I could give up enough to make it work even if I found the person I wanted to make it work with.

One thing that I will say is that it’s wonderful to look at these amazing families and see how they make polyamory work in their lives. It’s giving me a much greater appreciation of the fact that sometimes the best person to build a life with isn’t always the person you’re romantically and passionately obsessed with. It’s nice if those areas of your life coincide, but it’s not necessary to be happy.

I’ll also say that I wish I’d had kids when I was 22, but that’s another post for another time.

I like the idea of sex as service. The problem with the reality, however, is that I almost never don’t want to have sex with my MDP. If I’m feeling hale, in body even if not in mind, and he’s around, I pretty much want his hands on me, his cock in me, and to give him anything his heart desires.

Which is not, by any means, a complaint, but it’s hard to conceive of sex as service when you want it so very, very much.

It’s easier to feel submissive when the choices are difficult. Choosing to take pain, even when I don’t like it. Choosing to debase myself in a way I wouldn’t choose for someone else. These are active choices. When what my MDP wants is exactly what I want to give him then it’s easy to wonder “is this too simple? is this real? have I actually given up control?” I want my submission to be work, because I am better at valuing the things I have to strive for but also because it shows that I am continuing to make the choice to be there. It shows me that I am safely and intelligently giving him the power to take what he chooses from me because I decide to do so every single time.

I don’t want to lose that. I am afraid of loss of agency. I don’t ever want to put myself at risk of abuse. I want dark and dangerous things from my lovers, but the way I maintain my ability to protect myself is to remember that even blanket permission is not absolute. In theory, I have given my MDP a lot of control over my body and our sexual relations, but that is not an excuse for letting things happen I would regret.

That’s why I say yes, every single time. I love that our shared delusion is that the choice in these matters is his, but the truth is I can always say no. It doesn’t happen often, but that’s in part because he doesn’t ask questions I need to say “no” to. Instead, he gives me opportunities to express my preferences and desires in a way that I can also clearly communicate if something is likely to be a problem, and we avoid the issue. The other truth is that I don’t want to say no to him, and he doesn’t want me to either. There is an art to these things, at which he excels. I don’t think I would have appreciated it so clearly earlier in my life.

Which brings us back to the problem with framing sex as service. I like pleasing him. I like focusing on his body and taking my time. It brings me an enormous amount of pleasure. In fact, I have been known to use thoughts of providing my dominant partner sexual arousal and release, without any of my own, as a masturbatory fantasy. I recognize that there is an inherent irony in bringing myself to orgasm by fantasizing about orgasm denial, and that’s another side of the difficulty about framing sex as service. The more I’m not allowed to come, the hotter I get. Of course, there’s a limit. If it goes on long enough I often either get frustrated and come by mistake or start losing my arousal. The first is hot, and honestly the second doesn’t bother me either, because either I’m happy to be pleasing him without worrying about me or I start getting turned on again about the lack of interest. (I have such compelling fantasies of him taking me when I don’t actually want him too… but then I start wanting him to. It’s a catch 22. This fantasy is unlikely ever to take place since I’ve never actually not wanted him to when he wants me - except when I’ve been ill. Plus, the thought of him pushing me when I don’t want to is so hot to me that … suddenly I want him to. Which, I suppose is why the fantasy is actually hot. End of digression.) I suppose that that last circumstance is when sexual attention most plainly feels like service, although it doesn’t actually happen all that often and is sometimes tempered by guilt over no longer feeling aroused.

Actually, now that I think about it, perhaps it’s the service aspect of our sexual relationship that is responsible for my always being in the mood. My libido was never this reliable before, but I want him even when I’m depressed and asexual as soon as he asks me to come to bed. I so love the fact that we have standing consent, and that he lets me know whenever he wants me, that it’s impossible not to reciprocate. There’s nothing I get off on more than being wanted and knowing that I can be pleasing to someone - that I can give them what they want. It makes me happy.

I have spent most of my adult life lacking confidence in my sexuality - worrying that I don’t know what to do or that I’ll be bad in bed, thinking that people expect me to know more than I do or be better than I am. One of the most emotionally and physically satisfying things about my sexual relationship with my MDP is that he never makes me feel that way. He’s good at letting me know what he wants in a way that makes it easy for me to give it to him - and without making me feel awkward or stupid. He’s also good at making me feel… skilled and appreciated? Like someone anyone would be lucky to get to have sex with. It helps that our kinks are so incredibly compatible, but it’s also done wonders for my self confidence, and that also makes me more interested in sex… particularly with him.

Maybe the way to think about it is this: taking pleasure from touching him is service - it shows my adoration. Taking pleasure when he touches me is service - it shows my desire. And if much of the time when we’re engaged I lose my conscious choice of submission for naked animalistic desire perhaps that’s a kind of service too - it shows my trust. And, if it’s not, if it’s just unbridled passion and amazing sex that lives up to my deepest fantasies then…. I suppose I can live with that too. Really. Not all desire has to be profound.

A few days ago, a friend and I started discussing our feelings about a hypothetical party that would be defined as “D/s Space.” While the idea of a few hours set apart in time where people could feel free to express theirr submission and dominance under an umbrella of formal protocol initially sounded quite appealing, the more I thought about it the less enthusiastic I got.

For me, submission is fundamentally a personal experience. I am, by orientation, a submissive female, but I am not submissive to the world. I choose to submit, when I do, to those people who do not see my submission as diminishing me. I am not less than anyone, because I am submissive. I am not weaker, less intelligent, or someone who can be pushed around. I am a strong, submissive woman who occaisionally chooses to give her power, her body, and her control to others… but I pick who they are.

I’m not certain how I would function in a protocol dominated space. Although I love submitting to my partner, and I love the delicious formality of the occasional bits of protocol that we choose to use, I feel no interest or willingness to extend that interaction to others. I am happy to be polite to everyone, but I will not moderate that politeness based on roles that have no relation to me. I can see the appeal of a high protocol evening with my partner, but can’t imagine how it would function in a group. I can’t picture how it could manage to be inoffensive without becoming silly.

For example, a dinner party with directed service by submissives to their partners sounds lovely and elegant, but I don’t think it’s practical. A table of five being served by five seems quite unwieldy. Again, I can picture it as a service “scene” for two to three couples or a small group of people who are comfortable with each other (Our submissives will be serving the group as we direct and within these limits) but not as a party experience.

As for a more general play party with a D/s theme, I just can’t imagine how it would work. I don’t think that most parties are inimical to personal protocol, and so either the play party would be pretty standard or it would seem to need some collection of formal rules. The first is innocuous, but the second seems like it would end up stepping on a lot of peoples toes. What rules would it actually be safe to make without worrying about offending people or affecting their feelings of autonomy? D/s relationships are unique and personal. There is no universal common ground.

When it comes down to it though, I think my biggest problem with the idea of a High Protocol party is that I don’t like the thought of people making assumptions about me just because a) I am submissive and b) I currently submit to a man. The assumptions those two conditions together inspire are often not only inaccurate but offensive to me, and I can’t get past my belief that any situation designed to encourage a group protocol might encourage those assumptions being made… while putting me in a position where I would have difficulty addressing them.

***Warning: I wrote this post while wearing my ranty pants, and it is coming off somewhat more intolerant than I really intend***

Lately I seem to be surrounded by an epidemic* of heterosexual people who have decided they want to try being bisexual. In other words, although they are not particularly romantically attracted to individuals of the same sex, they think they might enjoy having sex with them. As it turns out, many of them do enjoy it enormously, but they’re still not particularly interested in same-sex romance… just same-sex nookie.

Although I’m fine with a little same-sex experimentation, and am all in favor of people trying to address any latent homophobia and expand their sexual boundaries, the truth is that this drives me a bit crazy. Why?

1. Because they think that’s what bisexuality is. People who are living bi-design tend to think that those of us who are actually bisexual are doing the same thing. They don’t understand that we want to, can, and do form romantic, emotional partnerships with people of either sex. They assume that we’re just like them and are primarily interested in romantic relationships with one gender but enjoy putting out with both.
2. Because they don’t say that’s what they’re doing. If you don’t think other bisexual people are interested in deeper emotional relationships, then there’s no reason to be explicitly clear that you’re bi-sexual but not particularly bi-romantic or bi-relationship oriented. Thus these people, quite often, do not make it clear to the people they’re interacting with - once, twice, or repeatedly - that they’re not really interested in anything other than friendship and/or sex. This can lead to fundamental miscommunications and fucked up expectations.
3. Because they’re giving bisexuals a bad name. The women who use other women as holdovers between men are one big reason why I have such a hard time finding lesbians who are actually willing to consider a relationship with someone who identifies as bisexual - i.e. me. I assume them men who do this cause similar problems for bi-boys, but there I cannot speak from experience.
4. Because it encourages people to think of sexual orientation as a choice, when for most of us it’s simply not. You just choose how to act on it.

I know a lot of lesbians who occasionally enjoy sex with men and don’t identify as bisexual because they’d never have a relationship with one - men aren’t what they want as partners. On the other hand, most of the (wo)men who I’d consider to be straight, but occaisionally enjoy sex with (wo)men, call themselves bi**.

What’s the divide? I suspect it’s that murmers of bisexuality could hamper your chances of getting laid among the lesbians but enhance it around the heterosexual crowd. Or possibly it’s that lesbians understand that many queer people think of avowed sexual orientation as also speaking to relationships, where heterosexuals - who have never needed to question how their relationships fit into society - think it’s primarily about who you like to fuck.

The problem is that, by and large, discussing these topics leads to varying levels of communication fail, because the labels we use are useless***. We assume that the meaning we ascribe to the words we use to describe our relationships and sexuality is the same as the meaning assigned by the person we are discussing them with… and we are very often wrong****.
–
_{*This has come up at least three times in the last month with different people, so if you think I’m talking about you… you’re wrong. Or, possibly, you’re right, but I’m not only talking about you.}

_{**I don’t actually know any gay men who occaisionally like to fuck women, but I assume they’re out there somewhere.}

_{***There isn’t one sexuality spectrum. At least three easily come to mind.}

1. Interest in sex - from asexual to hypersexual
2. Gender of who you like to have sex with - from heterosexual to homosexual (and I suspect there are branches off of this for people who are attracted to something that is not primarily gender based.)
3. Gender of who you like to have relationships with - also from heterosexual to homosexual with a possible orthogonal spectrum looking at innate relationship structure orientation from monogamous to polyamorous.

_{****To provide a BDSM-related example, the other night I was talking to someone about scene negotiations and he kept saying that the women he plays with won’t admit they want to do power exchange, but that they want all the elements and he finds that aggravating. Since we had negotiated a scene a while back and he was putting the same statement on me - when I had negotiated what I considered to be a very power-exchange-y scene with him, and never denied that aspect of it - we finally figured out is that we were talking about two different things. When we were thinking of power-exchange, I was talking about the emotional content of the scenes that I liked and wanted and he was talking about very specific language he wanted used. For him, it’s not power-exchange without that language. For me, power-exchange is about the dynamic and the things that go on during the scene. We had both thought that we were being perfect clear when, in truth, we were having completely different conversations. It was… enlightening.}

I am a big fan of cock sucking, preferably bio-cock, but I’m not picky. There’s just something about the activity that makes me profoundly happy. I enjoy being able to focus intently on my partner’s pleasure. Plus, cock sucking is a really excellent activity with which to explore power dynamics.

The thing about cock sucking is that the power dynamics are obvious - except that they aren’t. I know people for whom sucking cock is an incredibly dominant activity. They take a man into their mouth, and they take him into their control. I know people for whom it is power-neutral, just another way to show affection or lust. For me, however, it’s usually a intensely submissive experience.

I like to be on my knees, my partner’s fist in my hair controlling my head as he fucks my face, giving me no time to breathe or swallow. There is a delicious sense of degradation to pleasuring someone so intensely that drool runs down your face and you are forced to embrace the lack of dignity if you want to go on. It’s insanely hot to have your mouth - the organ that transmits your words, speaks the speech that gives you power - treated as just another hole to fill and fuck.

I like to crawl on my hands and knees to my partner’s side and take the time to cherish him. I rub my cheek against the soft skin of his cock, like a cat claiming her human, and kiss him from head to toe. I think of worshiping his cock. It feels almost like a form of prayer to to relax and focus on slowly taking him as deeply into my throat as I can manage and hold him there. It becomes, at times, less about simply giving him physical pleasure and more about showing him how much I want to give.

I like to lie on my side, after my partner has come, and keep him in my mouth, inhaling the scent of his arousal as we both slowly begin to relax. Sometimes I imagine falling asleep that way*, content in my service and submission, before I release him with a sigh.

–
*_{A terrible idea in reality, but awfully nice to think about.}

“I am kinky. You are perverted. They are deviant.”
“Mmm… you can conjugate me any time… wait… does that make this a conjugate visit?”
*thwack*