…and yes, I do mean that literally. If you want to make me instantly wet, command me with confident assurance, to get down on my knees and open my mouth – I’ll be in slut heaven. Or clip a lead to my collar while looking directly into my eyes with a mocking half-smile, and say something like “now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, aren’t you?” Chances are, I’ll be too shivery with lust and anticipation to respond out loud right away. Cue vigorous nodding and a huge grin. Or simply be competently in charge of something, anything, in my field of view. Phwoar.
Mmmm, authority. Not anger or hostility – those will shut down my libido quicker than you can say “bad girl!” – but calm, confident assertiveness. If you radiate an air of Being The Boss, I’ll probably have a wet dream about you at some point, whether or not I actually physically fancy you.
Maybe it’s the hierarchy-oriented wiring of my evolved social biology. Maybe it’s a psychological effect of spending most of my life utterly baffled by what other people say and do, and looking for guidance to help me navigate all the hidden traps. Maybe I’m just a dirty little whore who enjoys subjugation for the dark thrills of its own sake. I could analyse this aspect of myself until the end of my days, but since I’ll never really be able to untangle nature from nurture in this narrative of causality; it seems like a waste of time to get my knickers in a twist about why. Far better, I think, to turn my powers of analysis towards an understanding of what, and how, and when.
What and how are easy enough, I have decades of experience in getting horny! Tone of voice is important – I like to hear it low and level, but with an undercurrent of steel. If I hear calm, firmness, confidence; I can feel safe and cared for. I have no objection to hoarse, lust-thickened overtones – in fact, that’s a bonus because a big part of my kink mosaic is made up of a desire to be appreciated – but perceiving aggression, or spite or contempt in words directed at me, makes me sad and afraid. I’m excruciatingly sensitive to nuances of language (thanks, freaky brain) and I have to keep reminding myself that other people aren’t like this, that they use words with less pedantic attention to meaning and detail than I do. With that in mind, I keep a running list of Hot Names (slut, whore, toy/fucktoy, fuckpuppet, vassal, good girl) and a list of No-Go Names (bitch, slave, , Thing, slag, maggot etc) to share with my play partners so that they don’t inadvertently brush against one of my turn-off triggers.
Authoritative touch is super-important too. I don’t just mean those sharp, open-handed slaps that make me squeal and wriggle, or fingers twined tightly in my hair to hold my head in place while my mouth gets filled – these are of course, fucking lush. But there are many little, subtle touches to convey authority which are supremely effective at getting me from zero to hot mess in seconds – a hand laid briefly on the nape of my neck, or clasping me by the wrist to steer me. Lips pressed softly against my temples, a nip on my earlobe, stroking, and slowly pinching my tits or buttcheeks until I’m wide-eyed and breathing fast. The one thing I absolutely detest is having my arms – especially my upper arms – jabbed or poked or swatted. Thats a rage-button, and douses my ardour as effectively as a bucket of cold water to the face.
Restraints, for me, are absolutely essential to a good fucking. I simply can’t concentrate or derive maximum enjoyment from being stimulated, if my hands are free. It’s a combination of sensory focus issues and submission-wiring, I think. I mean, being strapped, roped, chained, taped (etc) in place is massively hot and an instant turn-on in general, but if I have free hands when I’m being fucked, at least 30% of my mind is occupied with wishing they were restrained, and another 10% is fretting about where to put them and how to move them, all of which distracts me from enjoying the actual fucking itself. I have to be quite careful about wriggling against restraints because I could dislocate something easily – which means that, for me, the more restrictions on my movement while I’m getting railed, the better. Safer. My penchant for being immobile, helpless and exposed is pretty unsatisfying without there being someone there to take advantage of it, however, and that’s where my authority kink steps in. Someone who knows what they want from me, who can direct and instruct me on how best to offer it to them, or who can reach down and take it for themselves without scaring or provoking resentment in me, is my ideal Authority Figure.
Although I haven’t yet had much opportunity to explore my preferences for ritual and protocol, I’d like to experiment with presentation and inspection, as the very notion sends a Hotness Alert flare straight from cunt to brain and back again. Arrange myself for the pleasure and admiration of Someone In Control? Fuck, yeah. Having said that; I don’t like being punished or disciplined. There, I said it. Even ‘funishment’ is something of a hurdle for me – I’m so much of an anxious perfectionist that I can’t cope with the notion of having done something wrong, or inadequately. Being set up to fail, even playfully, causes me to feel sullen and combative. I can’t yet bear being told off or criticised – maybe some day I’ll be able to play with this without a whole bunch of trauma responses in the way, but I’m a long way off from that happy state at the moment. So, my Authority Figure can control and hurt me for their own sadistic enjoyment, or to challenge me, or test my endurance; and I’ll probably love every minute, but if it turns adversarial; I’ll go to pieces and either start sobbing and ruin the mood, or freeze and retreat into my shell until it’s over (then spend the next few years hating myself for not speaking up). Positive reinforcement only, please! I may fantasise and frig myself cross-eyed about chastisement for being a Bad Girl, but it just doesn’t work for me IRL.
There are those (mostly Twitter Dom types, it seems) who would consider me an inadequate or failure at being submissive because of my aversion to discipline, but quite frankly; they can fuck off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being part of the kinky community, online and offline, it’s that there are as many flavours of kink as there are kinky people – and every one is equally valid as long as it is practiced with respect and honest communication. This has helped me realise that I am no less of a submissive for being unable to cope with punishment or criticism in practice; and crucially, that I have not only a right, but a duty to assert my physical and emotional boundaries in play, to protect both myself and my partner(s) from unintended harm.
Figuring out the boundary line between my feisty, sassy outwardly-vanilla personality and my eager-to-please, obedient subby-sexual self is a work in progress. It probably always will be, because none of us are ever the same person from one moment to the next – our experiences, circumstances, interactions, environment, all alter us in tiny ways as we live them, and it’s okay to change and adapt!