***I am not certain whether I experienced an “ah-ha” moment; an epiphany, a revelation, a realization or just plain relief…actually just reliving the moment right now brings me to tears.
I have spent most of my life trying to be normal, trying to fit in while standing out. I married my first husband because I was in love (as much as I understood it at 25) and because he was so normal – somehow I thought that could stop the desires and fantasies I had. But in time I only felt the overwhelming oppression of living as a false self.
In all honesty, I know that many (hmm, maybe even most) of the things I need (not just want) in a relationship are not normal. I do not know any other person who likes to be hit in the face the way I do, or who dreams about being a human punching bag. I want to experience a black eye and a bloody lip only to have them kissed and caressed afterwards by the same man who delivered the blows. MY MAN humiliates, degrades, exploits and encourages my needs. From day one, he established that everything we do will start and end with love – on this he has never wavered. He has consistently encouraged me to be who I need to be and has shown me illimitable love the entire time. This level of acceptance and encouragement are new to me. It is terrifically frightening to feel so real and to see nothing but love staring back at me…each tear I shed annihilates entrenched judgments allowing me to nurture my true essence.***
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I try to use my cock as a weapon. To perceive it as such, and to use it for it's intended purpose.
I want to destroy with my cock. Cause pain and discomfort. Push into unprepared and unaccepting holes. Push deeper than any other object has previously been, and stretch wider than any other object ever has. I want to make her cry with my cock. Because it hurts, or she wants it to stop. Every thrust should be worse than the last, and the anticipation of the next should drive her crazy. I want to force my cock into holes without hesitation or concern. Simply use what is available to me, with only my pleasure and satisfaction in mind.
My cock, as a weapon, would be brutal. The punishment would last too long, and the pain would be undeserved. It would, however, be accepted, and transformed into the very definition of compassion. My cock, as a weapon, would heal. It would open new doors and present new possibilities. Life, finally to be lived and enjoyed.
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She got up at 5:30am to exercise, and then it was a three hour drive to Portland. While she was in town, she took care of some business, and then turned around and headed back home. She walked back through the door at 3:30pm.
I got text messages while she was driving the three hours back, telling me that she needed cock. At home she told me that a specific thought had kept her wet all day. I think she calls it being "squishy" sometimes...
She was allowed to urinate, but that's as far as it got. I brought a sexy new outfit into the kitchen, where she was trying to put things in order, and opened the package for her. When it was in her hands she moved as if to leave the room, but I forbade her. She stripped, and put on the outfit while I stood a short distance away and watched. I did not allow her to turn around and face me, but bent her over the kitchen counter and began to use her pussy.
Starting slow, I began to strike her with my open palms, on her back, sides, and arms. As I pushed into her seldom-used pussy, I struck her, and watched her body slowly begin to slump from the blows. Then a pause, as I pulled her hips back up, and proceeded to do it all over again.
She said "thank you" more than once while I hit her. We eventually moved from the kitchen to the living room, and her pussy got some more use. It took some time, but she finished me off with her mouth. As I shuddered, she lowered her head and began to cry, in my lap. At first I was unaware, because she made no noise, or any other indication that she was weeping. Once I discovered it, I did not panic, for I knew that the tears would probably be of the happy variety. MY LOVE sighed and stated; "I feel so normal." I simply reassured her that I loved her.
The tears did not stop immediately. When she got up to go get some tissue for her nose, emotion overwhelmed her, and I gathered her in my arms again to hold her until it passed. I reassured her that it was okay to cry, and she seemed to let go a bit more. We both feel silly when we get emotional. I did not ask her to explain why she was crying, or to elaborate on "feeling normal". I would like her to explain it to me, and you, in a blog very soon.
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Did you know that Washington State is still so behind the times that it is illegal for two people to share a viewing booth in an adult establishment? Illegal, as in the cops will actually get called because it's considered lewd behavior. The doors to these booths either have glass in them so that the person inside can be seen at all times, or they are so tiny that you can see 12 inches underneath the door and almost twice that above it. When MY LOVE and I walked by occupied booths we could see the person's feet and the top of their heads.
We were planning on visiting one of the establishments that had the peek-a-boo windows in them, so MY WHORE could swallow my cock while I watched one of the young ladies dance. These are the old-fashioned windows with black shades over them that lift up when you put money in the bill-acceptor. Behind the glass is a girl, ready to perform for you I guess. I'll never know, because the dipshits in Washington are too prude or paranoid to let my girlfriend and I check it out at the same time.
The excuse is commonly stated as; "It cuts down on prostitution". Take it from me, I've worked in cities far more sleazy than any in Washington, and we didn't need to do this to our viewing areas to eliminate the problem. Simply being a good judge of people, and asking for identification, are all you really need. Common sense helps...
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I am not a dominant, though I do exhibit some of those characteristics. I would certainly never call myself a "Dom". To me, that is role playing, which is another way of saying make-believe...
I am not a sadist, though I have those tendencies. This is a part of me that I am going to explore and cultivate over the next few years, with MY LOVE, to see just how sick I really am.
I certainly wouldn't call myself a master; I don't own any slaves, and wouldn't be considered the "master" of anything in my life right now. People who call themselves "Master" must either be delusional, or seriously wrapped up in the fantasy. Either way...
I will never really own MY LOVE, unless it is a symbolic thing. I will never truly be her Master, nor she my slave. Even if we decide to try it out for three years, it will always be role-playing or acting. We are not deluded. We know where fantasy and reality meet, and we will attempt to blur the lines like a great many others do. My sadism may flourish, and my dominant side might ask to spend a majority of the time in the spotlight, but my tender, weak, and vulnerable side will never disappear. I cannot deny who I am, and who I am not.
The more I try to attach labels to myself, or our relationship, the more unique I feel. Nothing ever quite encompasses who we really are, and I think that's wonderful. Label away, but I will be content to resist your expectations. It gives me great pleasure to surprise and confound, if I can. I simply do not want people to know what's coming next...
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