There will be someone who bitches about the internet but I'll tell you something for every vice, there's a freedom of expression for us women out there. And no I still don't think we get to express ourselves enough outside the internet without having to make some sort of sacrifice or play into a man's game. If a woman dresses up she's going to have to face shit. This is a reality. So on the net you can let your inner slut out without having to live up to the expectation and cliche that are you asking to suck every man's cock or the ultimate bullshit, asking to be raped. The idea of sucking every man's cock is hot but my point is, the inner slut needs to be respected also.
I found this blog which I just love. Yesterday I was cracking up and have a gay old time and nodding at the themightycharlottestein.blogspot.com sweater vests posts and her, like me, English vocab and sense of humour and today it's ol http://bitchyjones.wordpress.com
This blog is going to take up most of my day too. I love what she writes which I have linked below. Mostly I myself have written about a man dominating me but sometimes I want to be dominating him. I think I'm going to do that for Julie in Desire. I think there's going to be lots of of play between being dominated and dominating but ultimately the woman is a dominatrix. You see I may want a man to come over my breasts, spank my arse till it's red and stings and have his friend fuck me in my anus whilst my boyfriend fucks his cum in my pussy and makes me pregnant, but I do want to spank ooh let's call them Neil Perry or Todd Anderson. So it may sound hypocritical to some but somethings I can't quite articulate ..but she does a good job of it in her blog. One thing I love is when people don't understand and say she's really a man. *freak wave of an eyeroll*
http://bitchyjones.wordpress.com/2007/04/17/what-it-feels-like-to-hurt-a-man-until-it-makes-you-have-an-orgasm/
"I like pain. I like it quite simple. I don’t want to be distracted or have my concentration focused outside of my body. I don’t do anything flash. I’m generally uncoordinated and clumsy. I know there is little point in me trying to be all fancy with whips or anything too clever or hard to handle. I’m not dexterous. I can’t put on a show. I don’t insert things in his urethra or breathe fire. I don’t tap dance. I miss sometimes. The first ten are always practice. I lose my grip. My skill set is tiny. What I do is often unaesthetic and messy and awkward. But I’ve been doing this a while and what I do works. It hurts and it doesn’t rupture internal organs. It turns me on and I am now at point where I know that that is fine. That hurting men can be something that is decidedly not performance art and that is fucking damn okay. It’s sex, not cabaret.
But this is the most dangerous part. The hitty-hurty part. Drop likes this part too. Sometimes I fight all the way through. Sometimes, when it’s bad it feel like every stroke is ripped the wrong way though every bit of social conditioning I’ve ever had. All my life I have been taught to give, to nurture, to soothe, that I shouldn’t damn well hurt people to get myself off.
You know that whole line about, This hurts me far more than it hurts you.
Subs are laughing at me now. Yeah, it’s kind of trite I know but all I mean is I *get* where that is coming from.
I can’t actually come from hitting someone, but I can get pretty close to the edge, so much so that when I stop and get the vibe out or get his mouth on me, I’ll need to watch out I don’t tip over too quick. And hopefully he’s smart enough or knows me well enough to realise that while I’m getting off a little movement that rattles the cuffs or a dirty little moan is just what I need.
I come and then I’ll sometimes cry a bit and then my whole world will contract in a big rushing implosion of the fuck! and – wow – I am the tiniest loneliest person in the world. And I hate myself. And I hate what I just did. And I hate that it got me off so hard. And this happens every time. Every. Single. Time.
And then I pull myself up enough to jerk him off or move on somehow because every responsible top knows that even if you drop into a pit of post-orgasmic utter despair with yourself you still have responsibilities. That’s the nature of the gig.
So – you know – perhaps I am that giving nurturing soothing creature I was taught to be after all.
But then, just when you thought this was going to have a downbeat ending, I get my everyday miracle. It doesn’t come with the orgasm. And after the orgasm is the pit of despair. But after the pit. Now there, there’s where we were trying to get.
About twenty minutes after the orgasm that results from hitting a man with stuff sex, there is an overwhelming feeling of righteous wonder that I have only ever felt equaled in pleasurability by falling in love.
I am so fucking grateful to the guy who let me do this. Who came on this journey with me. Who took me to this place. *This* is why d/s is *always* better with an emotional bond.
I don’t want to really call it love, it is though, it’s love. This is where love lives for me. Play games with pain and you’re playing games with emotions. And this is why my heart is always getting broken.
It soars too high."
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