I think it began when I was a kid back in England or maybe France. My parents sent me off to boarding school to get my secondary education. Some of the things I learned were: 1) follow the rules, 2) don't talk back even if it's justified, 3) only the tough survive and 4) be tough.
Being in your thirties, one starts to think back on your life, even as short as it is, trying to figure out, "How did I get like this?"
Don't we always blame our parents? I do, and so does my therapist.
My mom is a guilt and shame dispenser. Women tend to use soft forms of psychological punishment rather than the corporeal ones like whipping out a belt, smacking your ass with their hand or using a tree switch for discipline. Although, I've had both, since I was a rather, let's say, wild child. It must be my red hair and those other genes that come along with it.
Dad is a teddy bear, a rough exterior but a cream puff on the inside. Being his only daughter, I can wrap him around my little finger. I try not to do that, but sometimes, it's just necessary.
When I exited my twenties, I began to ponder my life thus far. It started with one of those management training courses I was mandated to take. The instructor required you to write down some things about yourself that you liked and some you didn't. I guess I took that assignment to heart and went further just for my own edification.
That's when I first realized that I liked rough sex and began looking for it. When a man or woman got a little rough with me, I had bigger and more intense orgasms, especially when there was some pain involved. It must've been the discipline I endured at school.
Our grand master or mistress always made you cry before they stopped giving you licks for whatever infraction you committed. Once, I was able to wear her arm out.
That night, I remember masturbating on my belly, because my ass was too sore to lay on, and having a huge orgasm. I never knew why until now.
Pain is a welcome companion, and I love it. Yes, I know, why would anyone want to experience pain? I'm what is called a "pain slut."
Granted, I love sex, and always have, but the pain, sexual high is a tsunami of endorphins that equals no other I've experienced. It's the one life-changing event, when your brain is malleable, and is burned into your gray matter's pleasure folds. It ends up being the last thing you will ever forget.
We all have them, be it an event based on pain, fear, anger, love or some other primordial emotion. What is yours?
You could say I'm a junkie for it. When it hits, I squirt, scream, convulse and lose consciousness. When I reemerge back into this reality from the fetal position, I usually find myself in a pool of body fluids, mine and theirs.
About two years ago, I found what I was looking for, or rather, who I was longing for, Matthew Silvan. He is handsome, well-hung, has a strong personality, and most importantly dominant. Within a couple of months of dating, I knew he was who I'd been yearning for to give my life more meaning.
He called me his "brat." Initially, I took offense to being called that, but I soon found out that brats need to be punished for their defiance of the "rules." Matt, it so happened, was into BDSM. Many times, I would disobey just so I could get punished. It just made what I felt for him stronger.
Finally, one day he proposed to me, not in the marriage sense, but to be his "owned” sub. I was still learning the ins and outs of this genre, but loved how it made me feel and gave my life the discipline I needed. I committed whole-heartedly to him and our new life together, signing an owner's contract and getting tattooed with his mark on my inner thigh.
I remember the day I got tattooed like it was yesterday. I was dripping with excitement, which I'm sure the tattoo artist picked up on by the rather large wet spot on my panties. As you know, getting tattooed requires enduring some pain, which I enjoyed immensely. Matt's mark is a tattoo of a heart with my initials in the center, surrounded by a chain, locked together with Matt's initials.
From my school days, I am a very good rule follower, and Matt began my training with commands that meant a given pose or stance held until he gave permission to release it. I had to be trained, so I wouldn't embarrass him when he took me out to the club. The added plus was the clothes I got to wear. OMG, I love shopping, and there are some places in London and Paris that specialize in this type of clothing.
It's funny to think of all the men at work who feared me because of my domineering work persona. I supervised a large group of men and women in an international company. When I would walk into a meeting, I could sense the mood change because there was no bullshit, just a let's get this work done vibe when I entered the room. If they only knew, how different it was when I got to Matt's place.
I think many people in supervisory roles like to leave that necessary identity behind when they go home to whomever is waiting for them. It's such a relief to be off-duty for those hours.
My work BFF, Evie, who reports to me, noticed the change in my attitude. She said, "I've never seen you happier. Who is this guy, and what has he done to you? I need to know."
The three of us began hanging out together. I knew Evie had feelings for me and probably wanted to sleep with me. I helped her through several bad breakups. The guys she gravitated to tended to be abusive and didn't treat her like she deserved. She is the sweetest person with a kind heart. Once you're her friend, she'll do anything for you.
Although they were discreetly positioned, Evie began to notice that I'd gotten several more tattoos, and she wanted to know more about them, more specifically, why? Was it this new relationship with this Matt guy?
After another bad breakup, she was left without a place to stay, so Matt graciously let her stay at his house, where I was practically living anyway. Evie slept in my bed even when I didn't sleep in Matt's.
One night in particular, Evie was feeling depressed about her life in general and said, "I want what you and Matt have. I hear you having sex. I want love like that, too."
I gave her a kiss to calm her. Soon, we were entwined in a passionate melee that led to our first sex together. Although, the sexual tension had been there for a long time. Evie would do anything I asked.
After several more weeks, Matt and I sat her down, filled her in on our relationship, and all that it involved. Initially, she was gob-smacked, but she couldn't get my transformation out of her head. She was intrigued.
Evie was already happier than I'd seen her in all the years I'd known her. If she committed to Matt and me, she would be treated well and be even happier than now. Over a long weekend together, she signed her agreement and fully committed to us.
The very next day, she wanted to get her thigh marked with our tattoo. Her's was different because she was committing both to Matt and me as our sub. Her tattoo was a heart with her initials and two links of chain. One connection at the top and the other at the bottom. The top connection was Matt's initials, M S, and the bottom one was my initials, M s. She loved it. I loved it and so did Matt. We were a family.
As the three of us settled into our relationship together, Matt began training Evie in the basic positions and commands as an owned sub, which she mastered quickly because of her ballet training. Matt was aware of my switch tendencies and began teaching me how to be a Femdom. I was excited to learn and enthusiastic, sometimes, too enthusiastic.
When dealing out punishment, my tendency is to get too worked up, hit too hard, and inflict too much pain because that's what I like, not everyone enjoys my level of pain. Maybe in a former life, I was a taskmaster doling out floggings to those strapped to the whipping post. Isn't that a line in a song somewhere?
I love Evie, and when giving her lashes, my pussy gets so wet. Thank goodness Matt is there to keep me from just whaling on her ass until she bleeds. It's good that I'm learning more self-control.
Here's something you might find a little unconventional. I think I would enjoy having a beef carcass hung up and whipping it until I was exhausted. I know I'd cum several times while laying into it. That would be some of the most tenderized steaks ever.
As I have explored my strong emotions and impulses, especially the ones tied to power, control, and pain, to better understand "How I got like this," a blend of the elements of dominance, catharsis, and maybe even ritual, bubble to the surface. That doesn't mean I'm bad or broken, it's just part of who I am today.
I know this makes me sound like a bit of a sadist, and maybe I am, but my recognition that power, pain, and pleasure are deeply intertwined in my psyche has been eye-opening. Certainly, some things in my upbringing had a huge influence on me in regard to giving and receiving pain. You must have intestinal fortitude to be strong enough to not flinch when hit with a willowy branch across the back of your legs. All my work subordinates know that I'm not a woman you fuck with because I'll eat you alive, if need be.
Sometimes, when I get bratty, Matt knows what I need and arranges for me to use a sissy sub. Matt says that if the sub cums for me, he's toast. I do enjoy the power of edging him, controlling his orgasms while he kneels, begging for me to let him cum, all the while my strap-on is buried in his sissy cunt. Seeing his useless, caged clitty dripping is such a turn-on for me.
After I've been with a sub and have dominated them thoroughly, especially if I've given punishment, (pain is my aphrodisiac, whether giving or receiving.) I find it difficult to control myself. It's hard to describe the feeling I get having that kind of power over someone. It makes my juices run down my leg.
When I return to my owner, Matt, he puts me in my sub-place by taking me and edging me to the brink several times utilizing the crop by tapping on my clit until I'm begging to cum for him. That's when the nipple clamps go on. The pain just takes me higher, and I get frantic. Going from Dom back to sub again is such mental gymnastics, and the high I get from it can't be described. It must be experienced.
I've told you too much, and my confession has made me begin to leak. I was ordered not to do that. Punishment is waiting for my disobedience. I hope it's the cane for my ass today.
