Home > ethereal, fantasy, it hurts so good, reflection, writing > random points along a string

random points along a string

I am quickly reaching that all-encompassing time of month, where I want everything to be grittier, harsher, rougher, and more primal.

Of course, I am currently all but being voluntarily celibate; I’m really just not interested in hunting and pursuit at this point (although I do have some students that make for pleasurable eye candy, which is always nice).  Or, I suppose, there is a part of me waiting until I find the One.  You know…the One who knows all the right buttons to push; who knows when to be soft and gentle, and when to push me to the ground and make me beg.  The One who will draw out the deepest, most humiliating fantasies that I refuse to tell and use them to bring me to greater heights of ecstasy.

Silly and romantic of me, I know.

Other than that, I have been thinking a lot about pain tolerance and masochism.  Especially after Alphabet Soup, seeing impact play for the first time, I started wondering where along this spectrum of pain-is-pleasure I belong.  I can take a bit of pain, though with no comparison to anything else I’m not even sure what that means.  I’ve been belted for almost an hour without resorting to using a predetermined safety word, and I can take clothespins on nipples.

But the dataset is far from complete, and I can’t form any concrete boundaries around pain play.  What does it all add up to? I can’t tell with the limited experience I have had thus far.

But I will admit something, here:

There are times when I can imagine myself, bound and made immobile, tied so that I cannot shrink away from any kind of stimulus.  And then I imagine an abstraction of pain: a slow, glowing heat in the small of my back that deepens, forms liquid ripples radiating up and down my torso.

I imagine pain so intense it burns my vision away to whiteness, fills my ears with rushing air and the shallow rasping of my breath, the only sound keeping my consciousness tied to my body.

I imagine a disembodied voice, hovering somewhere off to the side and behind me, asking, challenging me to handle it, pushing me to the razor-sharp edge of my limits.  I imagine the pain taking the place of orgasm, wracking my entire body and saturating my senses.

It takes my breath away to visualize and sense the echoes of yearning my body respond with.  I’m honestly not sure what to make of it all yet.  Nor why this particular fantasy (if it can properly be called one) focuses around the small of my back, one of the most sensitive areas of my body.

Only time, and experimentation, will solve this little puzzle.

  1. J
    April 12, 2009 at 6:26 pm

    Yes. I know exactly what you mean.

  2. December 19, 2009 at 4:58 pm

    Small of the back is where kundalini is supposed to originate…


  1. April 24, 2009 at 2:28 am

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