KOTW: Pony Play

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In a previous blog entry, I wrote about pony play and upon rereading it,  I must say most of it still holds true.  Perhaps I would no longer call it my ultimate fantasy since fantasies evolve along with the reality of life.  However, I still think of it and wonder about it whenever I see someone trail riding where I run.  I admit I am envious of those whose lifestyle allows them to experience the reality of pony play.  My kink travels incognito through my life so I will probably meet zombies running in Asbury Park before I pull a cart dressed in pony gear like Onyx.

But what is the appeal of pony play to me?  It is definitely based on my childhood dreams and wishes of becoming a horse and traveling in a herd running free on the plains waiting to captured by the One.  But I think there is also a freedom and release from being me and carrying the weight of my real world with me most of the time.  Perhaps that is one of the perks of being an actor .. to step away from the person you are and become someone else with a different reality.

But there is also a disquieting, fearful aspect of my desire for pony play.  I know I would be totally humiliated with any type of role play which puts pony play firmly at the mile marker of edge play.  I wonder if I could get past that fear and enjoy either the humiliation or the actual play?  Would the act of pony play be erotic to me or would it be the journey to acceptance of the role as pony?  I don’t have the answers.

There are those moments when I am running and fantasizing about Sir and that cart.  I imagine the look on his face as he harnesses me, the feel and smell of the leather and the weight of the cart settling into my hands.  The fear, the excitement, the shame, the knowledge that he has the control over me to make me do this … it makes me stop running and I shudder.   The immediacy of my need overwhelms me simultaneously as intense embarrassment quickens my pulse and my face burns.  The entire narrative of forcing fantasy to become reality is too much for me and I can’t help wondering what if?

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KOTW: Biting

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Biting … OMG yes, bite me!  Recently Sir nibbled on my ass and I remembered how much I have loved biting and I have been mulling this over in my head.  Biting is just another one of those deeply hidden fantasies of my 30-odd years as a vanilla person.  During the course of those uninspiring years, there were so many occasions where I simply wanted my vanilla partner to stop being such a wuss and bite my damn nipple!  I can only blame myself since I never communicated to my partner my need for a nice, sharp nip because … well simply good girls didn’t do such things.  I wonder where I got these ideas that clashed with all my liberated ways?  But as I discussed in Fantasies, communication on my part destroyed other necessities of my sexual dreams.

As I contemplate those years now, the frustration I felt when a partner didn’t nibble, bite, or attempt to chew me down to nothing is a source of irritation now.  Of course, it was the pain I desired but only now I know this.  I still dream of being eaten alive, almost like a holy communion of sorts, but now the need is replaced by that deep submissive bliss of surrender to a speck in Sir’s mind.  I assume it is the totality of incorporation of my being inside another’s that attracts me and wishes I would meet Hannibal on the street.   The ultimate cage with no escape, perhaps?

In reality, I do not wish to actually be eaten but there are still those thoughts of my vanilla years and being so excited watching a girl in a hot tub with carrots and other vegetables swimming along side her with the gleeful diners looking on.  I saw this on Twilight Zone in my pre-teen years and it has been there ever since tormenting me with its erotic tug.  I do not find hickeys erotic but discrete bite marks are like brands left behind to claim ownership and are nice to look at just as all the marks Sir leaves on my body are.  It is the tooth marks since then I can imagine a whole bite taken out of me and enjoyed with a nice glass of wine.

It is good I don’t live near any cannibals and I try not to read more into my dark thoughts then needs to be.  Since meeting Sir, my desire to be bitten have been superseded by so many other toys and sensations that I forgot biting existed until Sir bit me that day.  And then I bit him back.

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Fantasies

I have wanted to try something different and decided I would explore writing erotica but every time I sit down with ideas, I feel such resistance that I end up cleaning the kitchen!  Where do I start, how does the story build in suspense, who should be the characters, and what about the ending!?  I have more questions than answers but end up thinking I should start with my own fantasies.  I seldom dwell on my fantasies and I consider them extremely private not to be shared with anyone even Sir.  Over the last few months though, I have been thinking about what I fantasize about and examining my darkest desires.

In my fantasies, I am taken, used, abused, in pain and bound so tight, I cannot move.  There is a non-concensual element that has confused me my entire life.   Perhaps this is a common theme in fantasies, but in my young adulthood when I didn’t know of kink, I was sure there was something wrong with me to get excited when the victim in movies was kidnapped, bound and tortured.   I still remember this particular nasty, vicious movie and shudder at my reaction.   I suppressed my submissive, kinky side and when my physical urges escaped the steel vault in my head, I couldn’t help thinking I was dirty and nasty for my arousal based on my fantasies.  My desires were there and over the years, hints and suggestions of my kink expressed themselves in subtle ways until that day I learned a consensual kinky world existed.  Consensual kink – the relief that such a wonderful pairing exists can’t be described.

In the beginning of my relationship with Sir, he suggested I read SM 101 and I couldn’t even touch the book, let alone read or look at the pictures.  I shied away from that book like it was evil embodied in a book.  I blamed my sexual ignorance for my feelings but now I realize they were due to this deep suppression of my kink and the persistant opinion that I was one fucked up person.  However, even more so, my inability to examine this book or research kink or understand what I was getting into was my need to be taken.  Once I consented to my relationship with Sir, I have not been able to express immediate needs or wants even when he has asked me what would I like.  I can’t identify bondage positions or toys I would like to be used because it just seems so wrong to me … it interferes with my deep desire to be taken and then used.  That question just makes me so anxious, I don’t even want to contemplate it.  I can speak of my needs and wants in general terms but I doubt I will ever be accused of topping from below.

This need to be taken manifests itself in other ways also.  My BDSM checklist includes few no’s and for the most part, I am open to most types of play.  My feelings about my safe word tend towards an uneasy truce and it is only to be used in true medical emergencies.  Recently in The New Topping Book, the authors mention that some bottoms appear to be “bottomless pits” that express a desire for more play immediately after being untied.  <meekly raises hand>  Someone who is taken has no say when the play begins or what is done or how it is done or if it ever ends!  I sometimes read of negotiation between play partners at public parties and wonder if I could even enunciate anything but a few mumbled words.

Now maybe others might describe this kinky need “taken” as consensual non-consent (CNC) but then the definitions I have read on Fetlife do no resonate with me.  And my need does not involve the act of abduction but is rather the subsequent state with absolutely no possibility of escape.  The outcome of my need is not a captured victim but a proud piece of property belonging to Sir.  I liken it to a cowboy looking over a herd of mustangs out on the prairie, selecting the one mare that perks his interest, settling the lasso around its neck and after a bit of resistance and rebellion, the mare looking at that cowboy with adoring eyes.  In fact this was my favorite pretend game as a pre-schooler.  I have never been able to satisfactorily explain my hysterical sobbing when Sir put a collar on my neck but perhaps this moment was my conversion from free person to taken slave as the lasso tightened on my neck.  And now I suppress the knowledge that shit happens but for now, I must feel there is no way out of my relationship with Sir.  Now that he has taken me, he owns me and it is absolute.

Does this sound like I am labeling myself somehow?  I am not but it does have implications about my self-identity.  For much of my life, my associations of kink were non-consensual and knowing it can be consensual does not erase decades of suppression and unease of my fantasies.  Over the course of my relationship with Sir, I have forgiven and accepted myself and moved beyond my nasty opinion of my kink many times and yet the doubt persists at odd moments.  It is that distinction between fantasy and reality that clarifies my thoughts.  Just because I watch with longing at the bound woman getting whipped on Criminal Minds does not mean I wish to be in a non-consensual situation.  I am firmly on the consensual side of that fence in the real world but who can say how I got bound and gagged in my fantasies?  I just don’t know or care since it is the outcome that is my fantasy – that closed off world of being someone’s precious possession.

 

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