Leash Fantasies for Him

My arousal is a suffusion from the nape of my neck to my knees, a warmth and skin hunger that buzzes away in my breasts and the softness of the inside of my thighs. I think about a thing he doesn’t want to do and it is erotic.

At the party, I took his necktie, parading him about with the enjoyment of my casual ability to inspire obedience.

Blame a friend joking, oh no now that we’re dating “[Brick] wrangling is your job” and that I got the leash now. I sent back that nobody told me there was a leash in full enthusiasm, kink hiding in the plain sight place we use humor to fig leaf.  Hahaha, you want your boyfriend in a symbolic costume of  servitude, a base state where you can pull a band and make him comply.

I think, naked. It’s my fantasy, though there’s a pile of edge play that in real life would be negotiated and blocked out safely, here I can have my audience to his helplessness.  Here I tell him to put the collar on and clip the leash in place and there’s no self conscious echo in my own head… but only if you want to, right?

Hey, it’s a fantasy, it doesn’t have to be real. I can put all sorts of scenarios. Porn likes losing bets to create this sort of thing, but I could have mind control powers I’m using to break him down if I want, make him helplessly watch as he does the thing he doesn’t want to do and fastens collar about his own neck. Kneel. Surrender.

Brick doesn’t like it. Doesn’t come easy to him, doesn’t know how a lot of the time, good natured about it, but not necessarily comprehending the depths of the metaphoric rabbit hole.

So he finds it distasteful? Tough. My fantasy, he has to.  Has to be naked on command because seeing even a shirtless picture makes me catch my breath a bit. Mine. Strip, slut.

I like the idea of leaving him with an in his head defiance, an awareness he is being forced into it. I like puppet play, where the victim knows what you are doing is wrong but can’t help it. I want it. Actually that real resistance becomes another toy in the toy box.

Trawl through my fiction from a young age and surprise, lots of tall, skinny redheads.  But the real? Fantasy screams to break him, tie him, chain him, find out what takes to make him beg.

Lust is a heady, heavy body grabbing sensation, a hunger I can self slake temporarily, but that wants to devour someone else.  I want to treat Brick like a sex object,  and while he’s used to being found an object of desire, I don’t think full on sex slave is part of the repertoire he’s tackled before.

No, no gimp suits, none of this boys are icky never gonna come while the bull fucks me. No, Brick’s the man other people see as their Bull. And you know what? I’m the girl who sees that and thinks about how to put a metaphoric ring through his nose.

I’ll lead you to market.


The image in this post was borrowed from here, where you can buy a leather english bulldog leash and collar.

LARP Boys & Sexuality

I am awash in LARP boys.

I am seriously concerned if I show up for one of the conventions, it’s going to be spontanious bukkake with the amount of attention. Which brings up the same thing I have talked about before, one’s relationship to the voracious desires others have for you.

Wildcard remains with a steady rotation of “kitties” some of them closer to him than others, all hands off to the point he likes, harvested from the local kink scene. Occasionally he bats them away from his penis, like small children being kept away from the breakables. He wants their upturned asses to beat, and maybe to jam a hitachi against them until they come. They are invariably at least a smigen younger (or like a full decade), cute, usually dark brunette- assigned female at birth but respected for their pronouns. To get off with them spoils his control.

He keeps a steady stream of IMs with the favourites, always a little gunshy about me knowing, like he isn’t entirely sure he has my explicit encouragement. This is his sexuality, what he needs to be happy. He’s making them happy too, so where is the harm?

At first I was a bit jealous as the transition to pursuit of kitties came with a natural drift from his obsession with me, but I have seen it is basically water seeking its own level. This is who he is, living geniunely, to have me as a part of his sexuality but not the entirety. That is kind of important and fits what I told him as one of my rules, which is that he should choose what makes him happy.

But me: LARP boys are just as kinky as BDSM scene boys, but more inclined to lead with their vulnerability, not their dicks and kinks. While my fetlife inbox is a trickle of “can you get me off to that complicated itch I need scratched, just so?”, with LARP boys, there’s a sensitive sweetness, a big eyed emotional hopefulness superceding the evident rampent erections.

Wildcard was a LARP boy once. I met him when my character boldly wandered into his troupe. As soon as the whole world I unlocked became evident to him, a wild wonderland of sexual freedom, he jumped and I don’t think he looked back. We still play games together, but to be honest I don’t think he likes mixing sexuality into story the way I do. His characters are asexual or delibrately distanced.

I bring sexuality with me, and flirt and charm and try to be as honest as possible. The attention I get is mostly a challenge for the contextual social situation outside the game. First off, I want story. I need story, and I have learned the hard way that boys prefer me to fantasy. Characters get abandoned when they realize there is a mind behind the mask. I don’t mind them getting to know the real me, but it kind of feels disappointing if it comes at the cost of my creations. Strong did that to me, trading out an interesting story for lurid sexual fantasies and then burning out all together. It kind of hurt.

Secondly, there is the whole slut-ego thing. I am not supposed to acknowledge my participation in attracting people. It is supposed to be an externally applied objectification people feel sorry for. Oh how sad, Pearl gets boys going! Mention “I get a lot of attention” and people treat it like street harassment or cruel manipulation. Victim or femme fatale. Take your pick.

Attention you can control and escape is not the same thing as attention jammed down your throat. I might be the sort of person who responded yesterday to a guy whistling at me and going (literally) “hubba hubba!” with “Seriously?!” (because it was in front of a Tim Hortins at 2PM. I mean jesus fuck, oggle at what I offer to the world but have some fucking decorum), but I also am the sort of person who acknowledges that there is more than  demeaning objectification in the scope of casual interest. But you aren’t supposed to. The princess is always pretty, but she always needs to wait for the hero to tell her how special she is. Tits sell everything from computer software to perfume, but God forbid you add your own to the conversation on your terms.

That is how a lot of the other LARP girls do. They have their turgid bleed-romances like everyone else, but discreetly, carefully, and hidden. We have girl talk and they are guarded about the sexuality in our hobby, scared of the men and pushing the envelope. And they have a point, some of them are rapists, more of them are coup counters who gossip who fucked you, as if your exposure to sex diminishes you a bit at a time. Lord save me from virgin chasers. I cast off mine as soon as possible, and I won’t be bound by guys whose goal is to be the cock with no point of comparison.

And the other trick, outside the coup counters, is that LARP boys, as a rule, don’t like acknowledging that they are not the only guy seriously strategizing getting you into a hotel room at a gaming convention and making the maid service hate them forever for the mess that would result. It’s either itchy fists directed at the other guys, or hurt feelings at you. If you notice the other men, how can they be special? 

Thing is, the 20th time he’s “never met a girl like you before” maybe you aren’t being full of yourself to see a pattern? My brother is furious that people keep messaging him to tell him his sister is hot. Wildcard gets peppered with squeeing “omg Pearl!!!” from the kitties who see us as a package deal. And I notice back. I like men. This isn’t a one sided thing where guys are sexless and icky.

I guess that is the other taboo. I like men. Really. They are fun, with their jaws and their swingy shoulders and their careful socially forced repression and power fantasies. And I think I am missing I guess the uh… misandry? Fear? That is supposed to blot out my ability to acknowledge them as just as much objects of desire.

But, these days when I get praised, I answer with “I know”. I put Wildcard’s presence and my ego into the conversation early, to lay out where I stand, almost like a challenge. Want me? Acknowledge me as I am. Then we can talk.

Being a slut, in that awkward kind of way where I don’t actually get fucked all that much, but I play with desire, is hard. The attention turns me on. The sweetness turns me on too- I like watching them worry if their voice is goofy or react to me discovering something special to them.

I like making them feel good, with sincere compliments. I might have a predatory streak (worship me! worship me!) that goes straight to the core of my dominance, but I actually like LARP boys. These are my people. Fun.

But there isn’t really a space to say that you get turned on by the attention. It doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat when a LARP boy carefully unpacks himself in front of you. It’s a strip tease.

And I won’t pretend it is not a delight to tease right back.

 

Lipstick, Tease & Denial

So I recently discovered a lipstick fetish, and I’ve been having a lot of fun with it.

Smear!I put on lipstick because he doesn’t like it. Not as a torture, but because I enjoy the duality of my mouth made more sexualized by a slash of red, and yet un-sexualized by locking it down under a coat of paint- as much as we use lipstick marks for a kiss symbol, it’s the least  sexy mouth option in practice.

It’s a bit of a surprise to find myself smearing faintly flavoured red paint on, because I very seldom wear makeup. It’s a tool for me, but right now it’s really playing into the chastity aspect of tease and denial.

I’ve talked before about the problems with managing desire by other people- for example the obvious interest of the guy in charge of my driving school does not thrill me the way that captivating a room can. I like that my sub is attracted to my body, but knowing there’s physical fetishes of his that I don’t fit does not trouble me unduly, because they are things that are not earned or done, but come naturally to a woman. Actually, for Strong, this has unsexed my mouth.

But the lipstick… it smears across my lips, creamy, first the thickness of the bottom lip and than twice darting to the highest points of my top lip. I press my lips together, and push left to right, right to left, pressing the pigment. Sometimes I blot it until a clean, precisely folded tissue blushes, reapplying thin layers to build up a brightness, and sometimes I leave a single bold coating. You can feel it after, if you think about it, like paint that never dries perfectly.

But I like that it’s false colouring, an angler fish lure. It demands to be looked at and yet… my lips are sealed.

Me, the Masochist AND Dominant ALSO Ego

I recently filled out the University of Nova Scotia’s sex research survey, apparently trying to cross correlate personality  with self identified sexual orientation in BDSM.

So my identification is something that’s sometimes a bit awkward for me. I’m not “Undecided”. I know I’m a dominant. But even beyond the sensual/sensitive/strict variations, I also have other stuff in there.

I am, among many things, a masochist, and not just a pure sensation based masochist. I have of course encountered this often enough that I can’t claim to be a special snowflake. However I can observe how it effects and effected me and what this sort of experience demonstrates about how we construct the concept of sexual dominance but also submission.

Dominants, by common stereotype, are not supposed to be in a weak, subjugated position. We’re not supposed to be confused, incompetent or insecure. And not emotional either, though we can be rhapsodic about our “pet” a bit, or possessive. It’s hyper performance masculinity for the masses.

Occasionally dominants chirp up that they feel a little bit like they’re not allowed to be incompetent- Bitchy Jones and Dumb Domme both touch on it pretty well. A lot of pixel text passes through BDSM forums fighting the idea that dominants can’t fall in love (wah?!) and so forth. Everyone’s fighting the looming spector of the true dom.

Me, my masochism was a red herring that diverted me for quite some time. Of course we make room for so called ‘sensation bottoms’ but trying to explain that I enjoy more than physical sensations but I don’t actually submit really makes me feel like I’ve traipsed into that special zone of hell where you need to split hairs and refine terms so exactly you’re defining things on the molecular level.

Then again, you have to do that anyway when you define what kind of dominant you are. I’m nobody’s Mommy, Sissy Trainer or Goddess. I have to do that already. And yet…

I like, as an overarching thing, to have authority. It feels very good in the “me” place. The principle that someone or something is Mine really appeals to me. i’m a nasty little sadist who would love to hear you in that abject, broken down place. I just go a tingle from writing that last sentence, it’s such a big thing for me. And yet I like to caretake in a way that borders on acts of fussy service (of course I made your gruel into a happy face, prisoner!) and there is an aspect of me that really enjoys sexual victimization.

Yeah, yeah, all strong women secretly want to be raped and taken by an aggressive man, etc… etc… No. I don’t want to be owned. It’s not about submission. In practice, being on the receiving end does not take me to that good, cozy place that domination does.  As a victim, sure I’m physically aroused, the orgasms are good, I’m crying and pleading and so forth. But part of that is the ability to pull away from the victimizer. I’m actually pretty loathe to experiment because I don’t want actual vulnerability. Ew, gross. I pretty much have a rule that if you don’t sub to me, it isn’t going to happen. And don’t get me started on me and aftercare.

I’m a person who needs to be hugged and held after something intense, or I feel like a truck backed over me the next day. Constitutionally speaking, though my pain thresh hold  is high, I think I take strong emotions really hard. I’m even a little loopy after intense topping! But there is very few instances where I will trust someone to give me that real need.

So there’s that piece of awkward. Especially since there is a background tendency, that bastard “True” to think about subjugation on a rank scale. Like people still tell others how positive it is to “start as a submissive” as if being a dominant was something you worked up to. Or that you would be a more skilled dominant, which from a sensation experience might be correct, but honestly, from a *doing* perspective, if you’re actually into technical skill the sooner you can get started the better.

I’m a lot less open about the broad spectrum of my sexual desire because I feel like it creates more headaches than it sooths. Kink profiles mainly only make oblique references to it because I am made extremely uncomfortable by aggressive come-ons, much less the sort that people perceived as sub women get. I mean outright rape threats meant as come-ons will make me stabby.

So far my policy is simply that if you don’t sub to me, you don’t get to even consider negotiating with me. And I really don’t appreciate how often some random would be mentor has offered to help me “explore” this side. Granted the last guy went off on a rant about how I was rejecting him because he was black, so there’s other reasons why that sort of explicit come on creeps me out.

So I’m a dominant sadomasochist. If I own you, I own you. If I like and trust you, I can be a victim too, but don’t get too attached because the dom thing is going to bob back to the surface.