#Pervember 4: Begging

Now here’s a topic I have ambiguous feelings about.

Some aspects are totally hot – voicing my submission, vocalising the power and control that I have gifted to someone else, uhuh, oh yeah.

Begging for permission to orgasm, and getting only a cruel smile and a firm no in response.

Pleading for mercy as the slap of leather, or wood or plastic meets my tender reddened skin.

Making wide beseeching eyes of entreaty to a stern unyielding Dom/me as I am tormented and used to their satisfaction.

All of these things excite me.

But there are things I will not beg for because they come with too much baggage – sackfuls of shame, duffels of doubt, tote-bags of trepidation.

I will not beg for attention. I hate being made to feel as though interacting with me is effort or chore.

I will not beg for sex. Too many years in a relationship where my partner could not be honest about his absence of physical desire for me wrecked my self-confidence. I hinted, I flirted, I enticed, I begged – and finally I left. I can’t cope with the feeling that I’m asking for something I should have, don’t deserve or that I’m simply unworthy of. I might – in the heat of the moment – beg for teasing to turn into fucking, but rarely so and only if I know for certain that that is indeed what we both want.

I will not ever beg for freedom or love. Even though one is mine by right and the other is elusive; to be the supplicant for either feels like an outrage. Don’t I deserve both?