Tuesday, 3 November 2009

Take It Bitch!

Mr Vanilla Edge wrote a post last week that got me thinking.

He ended with this:


Some people enjoy the subjugation aspect of BDSM play. I’ve read of women getting so wet that they actually drip their lubrication when they think about past or upcoming scenes. I’ve read about men who go weak in the knees when thinking about being forced to serve under cruel, dominating women. Some men — and some women — become sexually excited when told by their partner to “take it, bitch!” while being fucked; their turn on is their own subjugation and submission by someone more powerful.

And yes, this is fantasy, not real life. That should make it different, right?

Yeah, sure. But if you consider that fantasies play out in the context of the culture of the the partners, isn’t it possible that those of us who enjoy sexual subjugation can only do so when the concept of real subjugation is extant in society? That is, in a culture in which “Fuck you!” never had the connotation of penetrative violence, could such fantasies arise?



Having spent the morning being spanked and taking it like a bitch, yes, the lead up to it does make me very wet. Ruf certainly enjoys the whole dominant male scenario, especially when the resulting sex produces the kind of orgasm that leaves splashback all over his shirt. However, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't find it anywhere near so exciting if it happened every time... or if there was actually real fear involved.

It made me think back to a time when I was quite innocent in terms of sexual acts and perversions. As a child, I used to bury my head under the bedclothes and touch myself, imagining scenes where 'bad guys' had captured and restrained me and were going to do 'things' to my nether regions. What those 'things' entailed, I was not quite sure but there were definitely implements involved of which I had no knowledge and, whilst I was apprehensive, I was not afraid... just very excited.

As I lay there in the warm dark safety of my single bed, my fingers were busy. There was no penetration or even active stimulation of my clitoris. I just used to touch and squeeze and pinch at the folds and lips of my vulva and labia, applying pressure to my clitoris from the outside, without actually realising that this is what I was doing.

I'm not sure I ever actually gave myself an orgasm and I don't recall noticing any lubrication since my fingers were always on the outside of the vulva, but it certainly produced a very pleasurable experience that would culminate in my stretching out with my thighs pressed together to elicit the most pressure and feel the wave of excitement surfing from between my legs, up my torso and into my brain, where it broke and then dissipated with a fizz of electricity inside my skull.

At that time, I had no real knowledge of sex other than for procreation and I don't think I linked my excitement with that type of act since I believed that in the middle of the night, whilst both were asleep, the man's penis grew like a hosepipe and entered the woman to deposit the seed for a baby.

There was nothing particularly appealing about that particular activity as I understood it then, but there was something very arousing about the idea of being captured and having that part of my body used in some indistinct and undefined way...

I had no knowledge then of penetration as dominance. And, even as I got older and learned a little more about sexual intercourse per se, I didn't link my nocturnal fantasies of capture, bondage and something more with the far more unpleasant real life versions that I was beginning to notice on the news.

Just that there was a concept which made me very excited... where the captor and captive shared a more romantic bond and something very pleasant physically was going to happen between them, despite her feelings of horror at his behaviour.

I think I must have read far too many romantic novels in my teenage years but, prior to that...?

Perhaps it's just somehow genetically pre-determined.

7 comments:

Gorilla Bananas said...

I'm sure the Marquis de Sade would be nodding wisely if he were reading this post, before inviting you to his castle. Did you find the baddies sexier than Superman and the Lone Ranger?

Hayley said...

Badies are great - I root for the vamps in true blood!

Joanna Cake said...

MrB - Terence Stamp's baddie over Superman any day. And I must admit to having a soft spot for Captain Black. Maybe it's just that I have a thing for men in black because I adored Manolito in the High Chaparral... but Im pretty sure he was a good guy :)

Hayley - Im loving True Blood too :) My new tv is now working so Im really looking forward to watching it in non-fuzz :)

Tom Allen said...

since I believed that in the middle of the night, whilst both were asleep, the man's penis grew like a hosepipe and entered the woman to deposit the seed for a baby.

What makes you think it doesn't?
;-)

nitebyrd said...

The ability to experience those type of fantisies safely is the difference between arousal and abuse. Both partners have trust in the other.

Kevin Musgrove said...

Trust is the key in real life. Fantasy always has a get-out clause and can safely be as dangerous as you want.

Manolito was always supposed to be a loveable rogue rather than a baddie. I always fancied his sister.

Jackie Adshead said...

Yes, safety and trust are big issues here behind all of this. But then there's always a lot of safety in fantasies if they stay in the head. But more fun if part of them can be acted out....in a way both parties are happy with!