Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

Sexual arousal is, for me, often mostly in my mind.

The right touch isn’t nearly as important as having my brain engaged in the activity at hand (at tongue? at whip?)

It’s one of the reasons why I usually masturbate to erotica. It’s not so much the sensations that get me off as the neurochemical alchemy of desire.

I often laugh to imagine the standard porn trope - “show me how you masturbate” - applied to me… since it would primarily involve pulling out one of my most reliable books.

That’s not always as true when it comes to having sex with other people. Pleasure there is often more about connection and sensation than pure neurochemical bliss. Still, there is occasionally an exception.

One of the reasons I so enjoy submitting to my MDP is that it so often takes my brain to its happy place. In my head, things become not just about what is happening, but what could happen, and I end up excruciatingly turned on just imagining the possibilities.

I have to say, though, that sometimes it’s nice to know that the swirling mass of deviant ideas and wicked plans is not entirely in my head*.

The other day, he whispered me to an orgasm.

If you paid me, I couldn’t tell you what he said.

All I know is I was lying on top of him and he was speaking in my ear, and all of a sudden I said “You’ve pretty much just talked me to an orgasm.”

Then he grabbed my ass hard enough to really hurt, told me to come, and I did.

It was ludicrously, insanely, and intensely hot.

Gosh, but it’s incredibly perversely** fun to be involved with someone who has such a highly congruent and complementary fantasy life.

–
_{*Not that I even remotely thought it was, but Holy Crap Objective Proof, Batman!}

_**Literally

It was the middle of the work day for him, but I work at home and make my own schedule. Lately I’ve noticed that I tend to spend more time online during regular business hours so that we can chat, and so that I can spend time shmooping with my girlfriend in another window. It’s not the most productive part of my day, but it’s a nice connection when the people you care about live several hours away.

I had just stated my intention to walk away from the computer to engage in some “focused daydreaming” to improve my mood. I was feeling tired, cranky, and a bit out of sorts, and I wasn’t certain if it was a euphemism for napping, masturbating, or cleaning out my closet. Fortunately he had his own ideas.

The phrase, “I think it would be appropriate for you to” is not usually followed by “find something just a bit larger than is entirely comfortable inside you, fuck yourself with it, and come for me.”

That time it was. Apparently, we are redefining the term “appropriate.” Not that I could find it in me to object. To blush behind my screen, yes. To be slightly horrified that he was telling me to do that from work, yes. To become instantly, enormously turned on - to deny it would be to lie.

So I went browsing through the sex toy drawer. I had actually done a big clean out around 6 months ago, and gotten rid of most of the toys that I considered to be too large for comfort, but I thought I still had one or two of them left. My favorite of the two I found - the vibrator I use when I want the sensation of being filled to be just on the right side of pain, when I want to fantasize that it’s “too big, too much” - wasn’t suitable for fucking, but it turned out that I had a toy of a similar width that was. A little short, perhaps, but wide enough that it would be difficult to push in, and shaped so that I could fuck myself with it and stay on the boundary of discomfort without falling over the edge.

My instructions were to fuck myself and come, that was all, and so I decided to take them literally. I would be allowed no other stimulation - no pain, no vibrator on my clit - my orgasm had to be from the sensations of the toy alone. It was my only allowable source for pleasure or pain.

I took off my clothes, put a condom on the toy, and heard his voice in my head as I slowly worked it into my cunt. As I thought, it was a little too wide for easy insertion. I had to push it in slowly, and firmly, and it still was a bit large to slide easily along my inner walls. I wanted to touch myself further, but I forced myself to follow the instructions I had been given and just slowly fuck myself with the toy - pushing it in far enough to hurt, and then twisting the head so that it would press against different places inside of me. I imagined that it was him fucking me, because in a way it was, and pictured him above me as I pushed the toy deep against my cervix so that it would make me ache while it finally made me come.

Then I came back to the computer to tell him what I’d done. It seemed, somehow, like it would be appropriate.

I am a highly suggestible person.

This, in most circumstances, is extraordinarily aggravating. I yawn when I hear someone yawn on the other end of the phone. Anytime someone mentions having to go to the bathroom, I suddenly have to go too. It’s a little ridiculous.

Still, in the context of sex and submission, I have discovered that suggestibility isn’t a bad thing at all. It means, among other things, that I am highly susceptible to conditioning… even when the conditioning isn’t intentional.

We have reached the point where when my main dominant partner touches my face in a certain way I become instantly turned on.  I don’t even know how or when it happened, but lately when his hand comes to my cheek I am suddenly wet and ready without even a thought.  I like it.

I also seem to have gotten past my orgasm issue. It turns out that what you can accidentally train yourself out of you can also accidentally train yourself back into - particularly if you have inspiring help. Why having to ask, or beg, for orgasms makes it easier to have them is inexplicable to me, but I will not look this gift horse in the mouth.

I really like the intense comfort of this submission. It’s odd to think of something that’s so often frightening or painful as comforting, but it is. It’s one relationship where I usually feel pretty confident of where I stand and what I should do and that’s lovely. It makes it easy to keep saying yes. Even when it scares me…. possibly especially when it scares me.

A few weeks ago, I was playing with someone who has negotiated that his primary partner needs to ask him before she’s allowed to have an orgasm. If she doesn’t… punishment.

I’d never played like that, and if you had asked me in advance it would not have been something I would have thought I would be particularly into.  I often have, after all, enough trouble having orgasms that I don’t really want to risk not having them when they seem to want to show up.

That night however, when he told me I had to ask for his permission to come, I discovered something fascinating. Asking helps.

Being told I had to ask for permission made orgasming substantially easier. It was like the responsibility for my pleasure had been taken completely off my shoulders. I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Plus, having that intimate a decision under someone else’s control was incredibly hot.

Playing with one of my regular partners, more recently, in happily submissive headspace I found myself asking to orgasm - even though it was not something we’d negotiated or actually done before. He gave me permission, and *boom* I was  falling over the edge.

In my mind, t’s all about the control.

Sexual control, being told what to do, how to move, what is and is not allowed is incredibly hot for me. This is especially true since a lot of times I find sexual touch to be somewhat physically and emotionally overwhelming, and being told to take it makes that fact tolerable or even exciting. It makes it not about me.

I like it when it’s not about me.

I like it a lot.

–

There’s also something insanely hot about someone whispering forcefully  in your ear, “I want you to come for me. Now.” It may only work, for me, if I’m already close, but god… the thought of being punished for not being able to, if it’s framed in a way that doesn’t make me feel defective or like a failure, is kind of hot in itself.

It also helps, a lot, when it’s set up as “you’re not allowed to orgasm” without permission. That takes the pressure off and makes failure, if you can’t avoid it, kind of a win win. Well, at least if you’re me.

Sometimes the human body baffles me.

Given a choice between intensely painful and intensely pleasurable stimuli, I have a significantly easier time processing the first. Purely on the basis of my ability to handle sensation, I am far more likely to safeword on sexual touch than on pain. My pain threshold is pretty high, and I often get off on taking pain to points that I should probably consider “a bit too much” precisely because it is a bit too much. Plus, I frequently contextually transform intense pain into sensual or sexual pleasure. I am, after all, a masochist. Intensity is good.

On the other hand, I find that often explicitly sexual touch goes very quickly from pleasurable to overwhelming. I’m not entirely certain how much of that is biological and how much of it is psychological, but it feels so strange to me that I find it easier to enjoy pain than arousal. You would think it would go the other way, and yet I had a conversation with someone (who likes to do a lot of forced orgasm play) a few months ago that suggests my response is not all that uncommon. Still, it’s somewhat bizarre from a conceptual standpoint, if not from a biological one. It makes sense, intellectually, that the body would have better systems for dealing with excesses of painful stimuli than pleasurable ones.

The nervous system is a strange little machine. Mine needs a nap so that it will survive its date tonight.

I had to put my dog to sleep a few days ago, and to say that I’ve been depressed would be an understatement - rather like saying that elephants are moderately large mammals or George Bush is a wee bit annoying. I’ve been in a mood as black as pitch, midnight shone darkness from my soul, and I haven’t been doing anything except sleeping, screaming, working, and watching West Wing DVDs. Still, after three days of a friend of mine sweetly pestering me to come visit him for some much needed distraction, I finally gave in. I wasn’t really feeling fit for company, but it was unquestionably the right decision since I managed to be distracted and, dare I say it, even happy for almost 12 hours.

When I went over to my friend’s house last night, I did not expect any naughtiness. Actually, I specifically expected a lack of naughtiness and a lot of sexual frustration since he has that effect on me, but was not currently, to my knowledge, the least bit jumpable. I figured that an afternoon of lying on the couch snuggling, talking, watching dumb movies, and wanting to get into his pants was going to be the limit of the afternoon’s activities. Which, for the record, I was fine with. I like hanging out with the guy a lot, and watching dumb movies, and mostly I really just needed to get out of the house.

After I got there, we chatted for a while and then snuggled onto the couch to watch a movie. I managed to pay attention to only about 3/4 of the movie, because somehow that man manages to be insanely distracting just petting a girl’s arm and leg, but that was fine. It was an action movie. The plot was less important than the really shiny and expensive fight scenes (Boom! Fire! Explosions! Whee!). It was hard to be good though. At one point I queried the acceptable boundaries, got an answer of “snuggling and biting”, and with great feats of willpower restricted myself to snuggling and occasional biting on the shoulder. It was nice. Very distracting. Which, at this point, was exactly what I needed, but man was I suffering from a desire to rip the guy’s clothes off. Still, I figured that that sort of sexual frustration is good for the soul…

In which case, my soul is in deep trouble, because I am no longer nearly so sexually frustrated.

Sitting on IM flirting with the friend’s girlfriend during dinner led to video chatting with his girlfriend, which led to moving to the bedroom because it had better light for video chatting, which led to my being instructed in how to pull the friend’s hair and bite him to get the best reaction for her to see, which in short order spiraled into full electronic debauchery of a most gleeful sort*.

It is a big conceptual high to be a proxy body for someone else.

“Do this, because this is what I want to see.”

“Turn your face to the camera”

It goes quite well with my whole “I like to be used for someone else’s pleasure” fetish, being discussed as an object. Although goodness knows that there was nothing going on that I didn’t also really enjoy on a purely hedonistic level. Teeth and clothespins on my breasts, fingers in my cunt over and over and over again until I was raw and writhing with over-stimulation. Words, and images, and the two fun, fabulous, and gorgeous people in bed with me - one in person and one on the other side of a screen.

I look forward to when she’s back on this coast.
–
*Realistically speaking there probably should have been a bit more advance negotiation, but I’m happy and as long as they’re happy, I say to the universe “eh!” We’re all grown-ups.

Sex research is fascinating. One of the things I love about teaching my sexuality course is getting to read all of the new research that gets published each year. For example, the study that found that 65% of men have a style of masturbation that contains types of stimulation impossible to recreate during partner sex.

Now, that statistic isn’t, in and of itself, all that interesting. What is interesting is the recommendation it leads to - for both men and women. Specifically this : if you want to have more orgasms during partner sex, then bring yourself to orgasm in ways that are achievable during partner sex. For example, women who cross their legs tightly when masturbating can’t replicate that same sort of sensation during partner sex and this can inhibit their ability to orgasm with a partner.

This advice is both completely obvious and something that never would have occurred to me. It may also both explain some things about my sex life.

You know, I hate that I come from a culture that made me think being able to, basically, orgasm by thinking about sex was a bad thing that I had to train myself out of. Still, what can be done can theoretically be undone, and, if nothing else, the retraining should be enjoyable in and of itself.

It was late.

I was tired.

I lay my head down in my friend S’s lap to take a rest while still remaining part of the conversation, and he put a clothespin on my earlobe and another on the cartilage along the top curve.

I think he expected me to protest and bite him, or something.

Instead I simply said “Huh” and squirmed a little bit.

He inquired as to the nature of my “huh,” and I explained that for some reason clothespins on my ear were really turning me on.

He was highly amused by this fact and proceeded to spend the next 45 minutes or so doing a range of things that should have been unpleasant to my ears to see if they would make me squirm more.

They did.

I actually ended up orgasming from, primarily, ear manipulation with a little bit of fully clothed dry humping and extraneous pain thrown in.

Apparently I’m part Ferengi*.

It probably didn’t hurt that this weekend coincided with the time of the month when I’ll turn on if you look at me funny, but the whole experience was still highly amusing and somewhat baffling to me. My physiology is weird. I mean, I can accept that if I want to have an orgasm with another person I’m normally going to need them to either hurt me, hold me down, or do something that my brain and body read as dominant, but the extent of the effect of hurting and otherwise violating my ears (my virgin ears!!!) was just bizarre.

I was also terribly amused when another friend, the one who would in less than 24 hours scare the crap out of me with a straight razor, came in, looked at what S. was doing, looked at my reaction to it, said “You’re being way too nice to her,” shook her head, and left. She was right, he was, but I didn’t mind. Especially since when I asked him to hurt me more he did.

I really am a play slut, although I must say that, in general, far fewer of my scenes involve orgasms than they would seem to from my tales of this past weekend. Not to say that I mind the shift…
–
*S’s joke, not mine

For me, the secret to successful orgasms is a good book.

Oh, in a pinch a good website will do, or some really raunchy content from alt.sex.stories (what are your search keywords? mine are nc and mmf) , but it’s words that are the most important component in my recipe for getting off. If I’m masturbating, no amount of even amazing sensation will give me an orgasm if I can’t engage my brain in the activity, and I frequently have trouble holding onto a fantasy to fulfillment without the presence of visual aids (literal aids? I do not think that means what I think it means.) In contrast, the right story, such as something from Shokushu High School, can get me off with little physical stimulation at all.

Am I weird? This is an honest question. I’m actually rather well educated about the academics of sex and sexuality, but the answer to this question I do not know. I know that, in general, there is more pornography consumption by men, but also that people who masturbate more consume more pornography - regardless of gender. A quick search of the literature suggests that men are more likely to use fantasy as part of masturbation than women, but nothing specifically on my, possibly ADD mediated, use of the written word.

I was thinking about this prior to my afternoon nap and post my afternoon pre-nap orgasm. It made me wonder, what the most important ingredient is in the orgasm recipe - and if it varies between masturbatory orgasms and interactive orgasms. I don’t know if it’s that they’re different for me, or if I just weigh the importance of orgasms differently in different situations. If I’m masturbating, it’s because I want to get off. I want the physical release and relaxation, either because I’m horny or because its better than drugs for helping me fall asleep. On the other hand sex with someone else can be good or even great, with no orgasms anywhere in sight. Not that they’re not nice there as well, but, for me, sex with other people is about the experience and the interaction - not achieving an orgasmic “goal.” Getting off isn’t an intrinsic desire for me in BDSM scenes, either. I just like having the crap beaten out of me… or whatever*.

Are these things that other people think about as well?

———-
*Here in the privacy of my anonymity I will admit that sometimes when I’m playing casually it’s not about the interaction at all. It’s about experiencing certain types of enjoyable sensations. There has been more than one time when I really could have cared less who was at the other end of a whip, candle, or hand as long as it was delivering enjoyable sensations. It’s certainly more fun to play when I’m playing with someone fun, but sometimes a girl just wants some good no-commitment bruises. Admitting this makes me feel terribly selfish, but it’s the truth.