Mustardseed
Posts: 291
Joined: 5/27/2006
From: Seattle, WA
Status: offline
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Face slapping
At one point, Daddy and I were watching a porn DVD he'd purchased of pre- or non-op MTFs. The first sequence was the best, and the woman was drop dead gorgeous, very into what she was doing and evidentally sucking off her top for the camera. She'd get very interested in the camera, and every so often he'd slap her face to draw her attention back to her main project: him.
After a few rounds of this, I realized that it was making me pretty hot. I'd been slapped before: usually randomly and even once by a lover who had really poor communication skills but knew I was interested in kink. ("Dude, I am so going to kick your ass once I uncurl from this fetal position.") None of it had ever involved my consent, none of it had ever been arousing. While watching this video, I asked my Daddy if this was something he'd like to do with me. He considered it and said most likely, and the subject dropped. I brought it up a few times over the next couple of months, but it took a while for Daddy to decide on the right circumstances. The first time he did so, while I was going down on him, I was more surprised than anything else -- he was risking my teeth sliding badly.
But he'd timed things such that I didn't hurt him, and I found it ... a very powerful way to focus on him and my relationship to him. Somehow, "I'm John's slut" had never fully roared into my head until then. Each time he slapped my face, the feeling of belonging as a submissive increased.
I once slapped someone during play, and by their request. I think that my heart stopped beating when I did it -- either that or it'd lodged in my throat. They got off on it, and intellectually I knew it. However, I think I experienced something similar top drop that night. I remember washing up in the club restroom later on, staring at my reflection in the mirror and not quite recognizing myself. It was like a rite of passage happened that I hadn't been aware of at the time.
Rape play
Not yet, but possibly this year. Last year, or maybe even in Fall 2005, my Daddy brought it up. We'd both been drinking our respective wines (he likes Merlot) and were a bit tipsy. Daddy, who'd even started rocking from side to side minutely by then, said, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I really wanna rape you someday."
*blink*
It's not often that I try to automatically make myself sober that fast. It almost worked. When I tried to ask Daddy for specifics, he refused. We'd been drinking, so now wasn't the time for such a conversation. It was simply the time for him to bring up the possibility. 
Later and far more sober, we discussed it a few times. Why he'd want this. How we could do it such that:
- The cops wouldn't be called on us.
- I could safeword without losing out on too much realism.
- Puzzling out the element of surprise.
- How, if applicable by then, to integrate condoms into such a scene.
- Would I be fighting back?
- Would this involve a full-fledged take-down scene?
We have a pretty good structure planned out. Time will tell how well our intentions hold up to the reality, though.
Breath play
I've heard very romantic, sexy descriptions of breath play. I've read that it can enhance sex. I've read that it can lead to euphoria. I've read that it's dangerous to the point of being deadly. I knew that it was an interest of Daddy's, so when he started putting his hand on my throat gently during sex I decided to experiment and see what happened.
The first few times, it was fine. It was rather sexy, even. He looked so concerned for me, beautiful and curious as he started down at me. It was a little distracting from what else he was doing, but still -- nice. During later sessions, as he started to tighten his grip, I started getting uncomfortable and managing to deal with it ... but that was about it. It was something to endure, not enjoy.
The most extreme suffocation scene we had involved Daddy covering my nose and mouth with his hand. I'd had a lover cover my mouth before during sex and enjoyed it -- it's as though the attempt to silence me gave me permission to make more noise than I would have otherwise. What happened with Daddy was different. I'd be breathing okay, and then he'd adjust his hand so that I couldn't get any air. I'd immediately start moving my face, adjusting my nose and mouth such that I could suck down some more air. Then he'd adjust again.
I hated it. I realize that this is going to sound utterly stupid considering that Daddy's a sadist, but it seemed so mean. Mean in a way that I not only didn't like, but could barely tolerate. After getting barely enough air to keep me comfortable, he'd shut it off again. And again. And again. Before it got absolutely unbearable, I started crying. Crying helped a little: it was a bit like a release valve that allowed me to do something with all of the frustration I felt. Once I started, though, it felt like I couldn't stop. This was too close to death for me, too close to the people who'd fucked with my life and my sanity just because they could ... not because I'd consented. At that point, I'm not sure I realized that I could safeword my way out of it -- I think I forgot that safewords existed. I was simply stuck in a situation with a very mean person who wouldn't even allow me air!
Once Daddy realized that I wasn't going to stop crying, he took is hand off of my face and started petting my hair and fucking me in ernest. He cooed at me, told me it was okay and that I was safe and a good girl. And that was kind of him, but I still couldn't stop crying for an alarming amount of time. It was probably only another five minutes or so, but it seemed like a few hours.
I felt bad at the time, as though I'd failed him. Instead, he told me how honored he was that I'd trusted him enough to let him, that I was willing to be that experimental and adventurous, and how relieved he was that I didn't hate him afterward.
Nowadays, Daddy won't touch my neck during sex unless I offer by trying to nudge his fingers towards it. Having his hand rest lightly, or even a little firmly, on my neck is still something I enjoy. I'm not sure if it's enough for him, though, and I'm not sure of how to work around my hysteria ... or even if I should.
Knife play
The first time I encountered knife play, it was with a woman who turned out to be probably less safe than I would have preferred had a known. While chatting in the social area of the club I attend, she whipped out a blade, flipped it open and displayed it to me. A friend I was with found it fascinating, how quickly my breath caught. I was a little surprised myself. I'd never eroticized blades before, but feeling the edge of it along my skin gave me involuntary shivers ... all the more agonizing because I really, really had to hold still.
Daddy loves knife play. During one of his early visits to my apartment, while I was washing dishes he came up behind me and asked, "Do you trust me?" I said, "Yes," and heard him take one of my cooking knives out of the block. He started tracing the point along my back and arms as I held still and tried not to breathe too heavily.
Daddy, who will be entering college this Spring in order to gain certification as a metal worker, wants to set up a forge. He has a strong affinity towards metals, and actually likes to be the recipient of knife play himself. This past weekend, he showed me how to service him. We started with a slightly seraded butter knife on the back of his thigh, and slowly worked up to me using some of his personal weapons. It was a very meditative experience on both sides: he got to lie back and simply get done -- like massage, but with more of an elemental link to it. I was in hyperfocus mode: no blood, no marks, watch out for the backs of the knees and elbows, be careful of creases -- I was able to prove before we started that I knew most if not all of the concerns simply by developing a mental list on the fly.
It was power exchange on the "holy shit!" level for me. Like with cocksucking, like with strap-on play, I was responsible for my Daddy's pleasure, comfort and safety, but I wasn't in charge. That's probably the most intense type of power exchange I've experienced -- where there's a balance that can be felt as I'm playing. Service bottoming puts me in a fascinating headspace. Adding blades that my Daddy loves, watching the tension soothe out of his muscles, realizing that not only could I do this for him, but that he trusted me to.
oh. Oh, yes.
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RE: My perception of face slapping is it more of a hard... - 
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