Make them perform humiliating actions, stress positions, writing lines, say horrible thinga, caging, furniture use, so many things to do to someone besides hurt them.
If you think of BDSM as a scale of 1-10 (which is bad you shouldn’t), most blogs post stuff in the 3-6 range.
The problem with also liking the 7-9 range is that the people posting good stuff like that also post 10s, and you just have to quietly suck it up through the gore and puke and other cringe ordeals.
Don’t send them anons complaining about it, that’s gauche.
I’ve been thinking about the first part of this post all morning. As theruleset mentions, BDSM as a spectrum isn’t accurate or helpful, really. But it is interesting. Particularly since that spectrum would be different for each person.
What’s at my 3? What’s on your 6? Is bruising a 2 or a 5 or something else entirely for you? Do we just know it when we see it.
I feel like I’ve been fruitlessly tumbling for my 7-9 all morning. Urgh.
Negotiation is important, but checking in is even more important, because things come up that negotiation can’t always prepare for. Communication above all else. Live this.
Of course, he’s “punished” me before, and I know I’m behind on most of the stories of spankings, denial, etc, but this was the first serious punishment. Our dynamic has gotten to a place where he’s gotten the go-ahead from me to do stuff like this, but it still hit kind of hard.
Yesterday, I’d been pushing myself really hard to get a bunch of stuff done, because Sir said if I was very good I would be able to tr out the new vibrator I bought. And, I’d done it, and I was at Pup’s place and was looking forward to that. But, I’d been goofing around, and he told me if I pushed it one more time, I would be in trouble. And, well, I pushed it.
I apologized right away, but it had ben done. “I told you if you misbehaved again you’d be in trouble,” Pup said. “You’re sleeping on the floor and you don’t get the vibrator tonight.”
“No, but,” I pouted. “But I got all my work done. And I was such a good girl today. And I said I was sorry.”
Pup agreed that I was a good girl that day, and so I earned my spot in the bed. But I wasn’t getting the vibrator and I was still being punished, which meant he gave me a talk about why I had been bad and that he expected me not to behave that way again.
While he was talking, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I got little, which was a little uncomfortable for me since that isn’t our dynamic. I wanted to cry because this was new and vulnerable and I was caught in that weird space of wanting it and hating it and being glad it was happening but also dreading the whole thing and what it implied. I went back to the first time I was punished like this – in the serious way that feels like punishment – when Elle made me hold my iPod up against my bedroom wall with my nose for five minutes. It had been so long, so unsexy that it shocked me, and the fact that the effect was a genuine punishment had made me cry that night five years ago, because I was I was alarmed that our dynamic had suddenly shifted out of playfulness and into something with consequences.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I said. “I won’t do it again.” I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my skirt. At first, he mistook my behavior for being insincere, playful, and I realize he’d never seen me be contrite in this context.
I told Sir what happened and why I wasn’t using my vibrator tonight, and he agreed that I had been a bad girl and that Pup was doing the right thing in punishing me. So there’s the downside of two doms, I realized: getting scolded twice over when I was being punished.
He had me change and get into bed with him so he could hold me. He let me talk about how I felt, and stroked my hair and told me I could cry if I wanted. “You know I’m not really angry with you. I’m punishing you, that’s all. And it’s okay and tomorrow you won’t be punished anymore. And if it’s too much today, you can turn it off. We don’t have to do this. You have the power to make this stop,” he assured me, but I told him I wanted this, and I knew that was true.
“Will you slap me, then?” I asked.
He brushed my hair from my face. “How do you ask for that?”
I averted my eyes. “Will you please slap me, Sir?”
He did, and let me suck his cock for a bit after. I made a joke about how he was already hard when I pulled him out of his pants, trying to grasp some sense of power or something in being playful that way, but it was so clearly a move for that. I felt so vulnerable – moving into this territory of our dynamic, being in that sad little punishment head – and weirdly it all made me pretty aroused.
But, when I asked him to fuck me, he refused. I huffed, and he told me I could touch myself. I rolled onto my back, sulking, with his arm still around me. As I rubbed my clit, he teased his fingers idly over my nipples. When I argued that it wasn’t fair, he told me I should try to sleep. My head was everywhere and I would feel better in the morning, he suggested, and I knew he was right.
“You’re going to break me, you know,” I said. “if you keep at stuff like this.”
He put an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. “Go to sleep.”
Standard
I’m proud that I made time to do some self-aftercare last night. I ate well, drank water, journalled, stayed consciously aware of myself, and didn’t fill up too much of the evening with mindless activity.
This weekend, I played a lot. In ways that were new to me and in a location that is far away from my usual support network. I’m generally bad at taking care of myself in situations like this, but I managed. And I feel better and more capable for it.
Been really especially feeling this lately with respect to intense and interesting and non-exoticizing BDSM porn. Sometimes I get so frustrated with being able to reblog (almost exclusively!) skinny white cis women in the scenarios that I blush about being in.
