|
chiaThePet -> RE: Why are Bitch Goddesses so erotic? (6/4/2007 1:16:09 AM)
|
quote:
ORIGINAL: DominaSmartass
Maybe I am wired differently but I actually don't find real cruelty erotic. In fact, even in porn, I don't get turned on by mere brutality and sadism; there must be an underlying relationship where I know there are all those happy fuzzy feelings. Otherwise, it isn't hot but just wrong, in my mind and my gut. Now, if I know that basic foundation is there and that the sub really thrives on being treated that way, then bring it on.
I don't know if I'm alone in this but would love to hear if there are others who feel the same way.
Well what'ya know DS, we got something in common after all! (Hugs)
i know without anyone defining or prescribing or applying or analyzing me, where
my submissive nature rises from. i was under the umbrella all my childhood of
those with a Dominant nature, their requirements and commands were a simple
way and fact of life. i knew nothing else, for there was nothing else but my
surrender to them. Young adulthood was just a bit confusing as the vanilla
world around me left me empty and unfulfilled, for me, it was just a tad bit
out of whack. (no pun intended, believe it or not) i suppose one might think
of me as a "stepford" male, assuming the role in a manly world, uncomfortable
with the neanderathal grunting and hoarding of lives and possessions, but existing
among them none the less. Marriage was good when it was good, bad when it
was bad, my former wife somewhat domineering, but not really a Dominant force.
i was passive, She was a bit aggressive, so things got done, in our own ways.
When the marriage ended, and after the depressing season which follows, i began
to think in ernest of my past, those deep feelings within that had not been met, nor
addressed beyond simple passive/agressive behavior in a normal day to day. The
exploration which followed, and talk about looking for Dommes in all the wrong
places, found me smack dab in the middle of thousands of images of corset clad
beauties hovering menacingly over bound, gagged and blindfold laden lads, all
statuesque in boots all the way up to there, flaxen hair cascading commandingly
down and across strong shoulders, pouty red lips grimicing bark and bite on
the prisoner of their cunning capture. That wasn't quite the committment of memory
i myself recalled. No, i was certainly held accountable to their demands, but the
picturesque scenerios which rapidly infested my mind, had no recollection what
so ever. Is this what i was? Is this what i am? Is this how it is supposed to be?
Is this my destiny? To be hogtied and suspended, quivering naked, probed, used,
abused, stripped, whipped and led by collar and chain into the twilight of my
years. And all at the nine inch nailed hands of a seductress of surrender, barking
instructions of duty and demise in the depths of the dungeons of my heart. Ah.....
No. Sure, i was subject to humiliating circumstance, horrible abuse, such things
that no child should experience, but it certainly wasn't at the hands of some
ravenous bookstore BDSM Babe all beauty and bossoms, piercing into my
eyes from the DVD of the month display. No, it was regular looking folk, the
kind you find at the Sunday social picnic, sucking juice out of the chicken legs
as they give you that toothy grin, rolling their tongue around their lips, just so
you are reminded that you are next on the menu. No glamor, no glitz, no high
expectation of porn flick degradation, just the nasty smell of sour beer as they
breath into you, sucking the very life from your quivering resistance. Darkness
never brought the flicker of candelabra's, reflecting the predicament in the eyes
of a slave chained to the castle wall. Darkness brought terror, and silent shadows.
A nervous munch proved the erotic, exotic damsels of demand had not recieved
the memo to attend. Twas like a neighborhood BBQ, sans the boy on the spit, all
roasted and toasted, submitting to such saucey desires as one would believe.
Why they looked and acted just like me, a cocktail to ease the moment, a dip
into the salsa, a nervous laugh to break the ice, and a boy of the shy gaze, all
uneasy about being among them, just waiting for Her to burst through the door,
corset pulled tight, breasts spilling over into the room, flogger waving with
anticipation as She stormed Her way into my reddened face. "Why are you still
standing there you piece of shit?!" <SLAP> " On your knees you pathetic worm!"
<WHIP> "Lick My boots good and clean you scum!" <KICK> "Get off me you
worthless sissy boy!" "Excuse me sir, sir, excuse me, could i get you another
cocktail?" "Oh i'm sorry, my mind was wandering there, sure i'll have another."
If i seek a vodka tonic in this life, don't offer me a scotch and soda, it's not me.
i am a submissive, many reasons for such living here in my heart, mind and body.
Such is recognized and accepted, my journey encouraged by the kind and wise
words of those whom offer guidance and knowledge which uplifts and gives
encouragement beyond mere image and expectation. There are many things
that i know i am, there are just as many, that i know i'm not. Sometimes though,
i feel like the boy at the BBQ, all spinning on the spit, covered in their favorite
saucey delights as they poke and prod, "Is he done yet Marge, i'm hungry,
let's eat." Expectation and image has brought failure and frustration, but the
boy walks still, as he always has, as he always will, as his heart finds the way.
The world can bitch at me if i'm doing it wrong, just not simply because i exist.
chia* (the pet)
|
|
|
|
