Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

It’s not so much that I’m a bad submissive, it’s that I’m a submissive who, unless she’s deeply into subspace*, still maintains her perverse sense of humor.

Which means it’s really hard not to make faces.

Now, I’m not one for playing with the Lord Master ManDom McDomly Dom types of the world. Frankly, most of the time I bottom instead of submitting, and my main criteria for anything other than a quick pick-up scene is a sense of humor. If you’re not going to laugh while you’re hitting me, or you’re going to be offended if I laugh while you’re hitting me, then you’re not going to be hitting me.

But even when I sub, which is not the complete rarity that it used to be, I sometimes have trouble turning off my smart-ass side completely. Yes, I’ll follow orders. Yes, I’ll happily provide non-sexual service (especially since I almost never negotiate to provide sexual service). But god knows that if you say something that’s going to make me want to roll my eyes and glare at you I probably will. I know it’s not exactly respectful, but mockery is a sincere form of flattery, right? Isn’t it? Maybe? Ok. Maybe not. But I’m realistic about it. If I make faces at a dominant for how he or she is hurting me, I expect that I’m going to get hurt worse.

Both times that I have subbed in recent memory it has been for silly dominant sadists who induce eye-rolling in abundance. Doesn’t mean they’re not effective (as either dominants or sadists, god knows both of them are quite skilled in both arenas), just means that I have had ample opportunity to practice what will henceforth be known as Expressive Glaring. I can’t help myself. If I have to restrain myself from making sarcastic comments (and both of them induced me to just such restraint in one fashion or another) it’s going to have to come out somewhere. And, apparently, that somewhere is my facial expression.

But, you know, if getting to glare out my feelings at someone who is doing something weirdly painful to me, or that I just can’t believe they’re doing, means that I’m going to get hurt harder, or longer… it’s totally worth the trade-off. Sometimes, in fact, it’s kind of a win-win.

Although the clothespin incident of a few years back did train me, by and large, to stop sticking out my tongue.
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*And man do people gloat when they reduce me into babbling incoherency.

Was the catchphrase for much of my weekend. It occurred to me mid-playd ate on Friday night and I still haven’t entirely figured out how to make it scan. (I’m trying, unsuccessfully, to play on “Long time listener, first time caller.” This is iteration three. Eventually I’ll work it out)

First things first. Once again this weekend I realized that much of how I like to play is due to the fact that I am an intensity junkie. I like single-tails. I like canes. I like nipple-clamps that make me scream when they come off, and big thuddy implements of destruction. I like things that by their very nature demand my undivided attention.

Which is why, in a way, it confused me that the types of contact that were causing the most intense physical reaction during my play date were those touches that barely grazed my skin. Not just the knives, although god knows I am crazy about knives , but also just a finger brushed lightly across my spine.

To an extent, it’s about the contrast, but I think it’s actually the other side of the same coin. Intense stimulation and almost imperceptible contact both require your nervous system to sit up and pay attention. My nervous system ended up rolled over on its back, all four paws in the air, squirming happily on the floor while waiting for a good action potential (or at least some potential action…). The most obvious symptom of this was my loss of coherent control over the English language. My play partner was a bit smirky about robbing me of my words. I don’t blame him, but I did bite him. Not too hard though. He deserved to be smirky. Besides, it’s hard to be motivated for revenge when you’re lying mostly naked, skin twitching and teeth buzzing, on someone else’s bed.

This was not a typical playdate for me, as it included orgasm and left no bruises, but it was definitely fun. (What an odd life I leave that bruises and no orgasms are enough of my default definition of “fun” that I have to clarify.) Plus, in the conversations that evolved during the play date we established a mutual interest in a little fantasy fulfillment from something that didn’t make it onto my to do list , but was definitely a desire of long standing. That, in fact, was the conversation that originated the title of the post, although it was a… repeating sentiment. Alas, we didn’t get to act on it, due to terrible traffic induced lateness, but we established a rain check for the future.

I look forward to the rain check. I also look forward to hopefully indulging the other side of my sensual nature sometime soon with some serious masochism. Possibly with my breakfast date of this morning, or with one of the people who came up in conversation during it, since my desire is for sadist levels of pain, and it’s not nice to ask for that from someone who isn’t one. Especially since, for me, a great proportion of the pleasure I get from playing with someone is from doing what they want. Right now, I’m in the mood to be caned by someone who wants to hurt me, hear me scream, and see bruises blossoming on my skin. Hurt by someone who takes a vicious satisfaction in causing pain, and for whom it’s only a convenient permission that I enjoy it.

I always forget that the downside of a good scene (or good sex), is that it doesn’t only scratch the itch, it intensifies it and makes you want more. If the silver lining has to come with a cloud; however, that’s one in which I don’t mind getting wet.