One of the aspects of my second life that I always find so interesting, is how fast men are willing to dominate you. One of the more popular requests is "will you struggle for me?"
They get off on having a little boy squirm underneath them. On pinning your arms to your side and whispering frankly terrifying words into your ear as they roughly pound into you.
I realize that this topic might be a little close to my Rape post. But I've been saving this one as a draft for a while, and its finally time I let it out.
In my short time doing naughty things, I've noticed a trend where quite literally, the more you act like you don't enjoy it, the faster they get off. I've been a lot of personalities. The shy child, the preppy cute one. The confidant type, the slut and the Victim to name the most popular. Ironically enough, people prefer the confidant one the least. Its really for those who want the 'boyfriend' experience, while still being able to go home to their wives. The slut is the most basic for those who want to go in, act near pornographic and leave. There is always the weird pedo teacher who likes the shy child, and usually just wants to touch you while masturbating to themselves. And the preppy cute one is usually for those wishing to feel like they are young and hip again. (Hey, I'm not trying to win any friends, I'm just telling it like it is)
But by far, by a long shot, the Victim seems to be the most popular ending so to speak. When you're acting bright and bubbly right before they push you on the bed and start getting rough. When you're shy and start crying. When your confident boyfriend bravado turns into a "Stop, you're hurting me!". And when they want to watch your slutty self gag on their huge manhood.
Its a fantasy to them, to be able to use force to get what they want. I know the hard way that some take it past fantasy into something else. But for the most part, its an act. A dance. And once you learn how to play the part they are hooked. Addicted to the feeling of power the find between the sheets.
Its not entirely a bad thing. I've noticed some people change and gain some confidence they didn't have from the start like "Look at me! I'm so manly!". While inside I laugh and roll my eyes like its a 90's sitcom, I know that somehow they've fulfilled something they had been looking for. Sometimes its just the feeling of power. Other times its a bit darker than that. A fine line between something primal, and something more spine-chilling.
Try it next time you have sex. Act like there is a part of you that doesn't like it, and is resisting. You'll be surprised at how much harder they'll cling on. Or maybe your man is the sweetest guy ever and he'll stop and feel terrible for the rest of the night :P Your call.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
Exchange
Every one gets paid for. Even if they don't know it. When someone takes you out to dinner, and a movie, a night on the town. Buys you a drink, a fancy ring, icecream at a shop. All of this is paying for you whether you like it or not. Once you realize this, the whole idea of selling yourself isn't so far fetched. You've already been bought before. Just now you are demanding your own price. And if someone doesn't like it, they can go ahead and move along. There is always someone willing to pay the price for a single night.
I came to this realization when I was hanging with one of my friends. He's someone I would daresay I love. Though not in the way he wants me too. He's my control sample. The one I go to when I want to know what it feels like to be loved. Because I know he loves me. So dearly it hurts. But he also knows I don't feel the same way back. But he tries so hard it's undeniably charming. Which is why on occasion, I do spend a night at his house.
And every time I do turns out to be pretty magical. He always seems to have a small surprise or gift. Be it a single t-shirt, or a piece of chocolate. I can tell he's trying which makes him irresistible. On occasion, he'll bring out a pipe and some catnip. And though I usually deny it at first, I'm usually soaring through my own imagination an hour later. Its surprisingly clarifying, and its given me so many great ideas and insights. I know there are people out there who knock it. But it really can be fun if you give it a chance.
Anyways, as I lay there, stretching as he slowly undressed me on his bed, I realized that though he may love me, he was still paying for my time. Little trinkets and an altered state of mind. But most of all, I realized that the currency I most valued, was his love. Is love itself not a form of payment? Someone gives you their devotion and their heart. Their most prized possession. Really the only truly selfless payment they have to give. Most don't expect anything in return for their love. They just want to love you. They find you flawless, and remind you how beautiful you are. They tell you your hair smells nice, and that to them you are exotically enchanting.
Maybe it goes both ways. While hes paying for sex and companionship with love and objects, am I not paying it back in reverse? I love his love, and I love his devotion. And I love the little gifts he sometimes has waiting for me. I pay for all of this with sex. With the idea that for a night he is not alone and I am there just for him. I pay him in amusement. In words and actions.
As he started pushing into me, these thoughts started to scatter. Maybe I'm just a crazy kid with crazy ideas. But as he held me as he entered me I couldn't help thinking to myself
Maybe love really isn't such a bad exchange after all....
I came to this realization when I was hanging with one of my friends. He's someone I would daresay I love. Though not in the way he wants me too. He's my control sample. The one I go to when I want to know what it feels like to be loved. Because I know he loves me. So dearly it hurts. But he also knows I don't feel the same way back. But he tries so hard it's undeniably charming. Which is why on occasion, I do spend a night at his house.
And every time I do turns out to be pretty magical. He always seems to have a small surprise or gift. Be it a single t-shirt, or a piece of chocolate. I can tell he's trying which makes him irresistible. On occasion, he'll bring out a pipe and some catnip. And though I usually deny it at first, I'm usually soaring through my own imagination an hour later. Its surprisingly clarifying, and its given me so many great ideas and insights. I know there are people out there who knock it. But it really can be fun if you give it a chance.
Anyways, as I lay there, stretching as he slowly undressed me on his bed, I realized that though he may love me, he was still paying for my time. Little trinkets and an altered state of mind. But most of all, I realized that the currency I most valued, was his love. Is love itself not a form of payment? Someone gives you their devotion and their heart. Their most prized possession. Really the only truly selfless payment they have to give. Most don't expect anything in return for their love. They just want to love you. They find you flawless, and remind you how beautiful you are. They tell you your hair smells nice, and that to them you are exotically enchanting.
Maybe it goes both ways. While hes paying for sex and companionship with love and objects, am I not paying it back in reverse? I love his love, and I love his devotion. And I love the little gifts he sometimes has waiting for me. I pay for all of this with sex. With the idea that for a night he is not alone and I am there just for him. I pay him in amusement. In words and actions.
As he started pushing into me, these thoughts started to scatter. Maybe I'm just a crazy kid with crazy ideas. But as he held me as he entered me I couldn't help thinking to myself
Maybe love really isn't such a bad exchange after all....
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Rape
It amuses me to no end that I was raped.
It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Feeling truly powerless, fearing that maybe they are going to kill you afterwards. You're mind racing to every horrible conclusion you have ever heard. And when you know you can't fight them off, you know that you are at their complete mercy. Their will and morals. You just pray that you make it through it, and that you'll change if you can only just escape....
But after that, after the crying and self loathing. After the fear they will find you again. After all of that you can't help but think "They wanted me so badly they took it by force".
I know that rape is often a powerplay. A chance for them to feel oh so manly and tough that they can hold down a 120lb crying kid and forcibly penetrate them. In that moment they truly hold your fate in their hands, and the only thing you can do is pray they don't end your life.
It was awful. There is no denying the fear that was there. It was horrifying. I still remember thinking that all I wanted to do was tell my mom I loved her, just one last time. It was a powerful moment. It made me rethink a lot of the choices I was making. What if that really was the end? That at the end of this violent act I would find the end of a knife, or his hands around my throat..... That I would simply disappear from the world. Last thing I'd look at was my phone on the floor by my pants, wishing it was somehow in my hands....
I made it out alive, thank god. He threw me my clothes and ordered me to get out. I ran as fast as I could. Never mind I was in my underwear at 3 in the morning on a freezing January night. Barefeet on ice. I just wanted to be as far away from there as possible in case he changed his mind......
I remember going home to my boyfriend and just crying on him.... He always had an idea what I was doing behind his back. But never asked any questions because he was pretty much doing the same. He held me all throughout the night, and never questioned why I suddenly didn't want to have sex anymore. I think he knew, but he wanted me to say something first....
As I learned to cope with it, it started coming back to me. My original selfish reason I wanted to be an escort in the first place. I wanted to be wanted. Once I started seeing it in that light, it wasn't so bad... I started liking the idea that someone wanted me that badly. That they were willing to break the law (more than we already were) and risk prison just to get their satisfaction.
I once voiced this aloud, and my friend told me they weren't in it for me. They were in it for the power. God-dammit, if this is what helps me sleep at night, let me have it! Let me keep my little fantasy! It's not hurting you, though it is helping me. and now, so many weeks later, I can't help but be slightly amused by the idea. Someone wanted me that much....
It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Feeling truly powerless, fearing that maybe they are going to kill you afterwards. You're mind racing to every horrible conclusion you have ever heard. And when you know you can't fight them off, you know that you are at their complete mercy. Their will and morals. You just pray that you make it through it, and that you'll change if you can only just escape....
But after that, after the crying and self loathing. After the fear they will find you again. After all of that you can't help but think "They wanted me so badly they took it by force".
I know that rape is often a powerplay. A chance for them to feel oh so manly and tough that they can hold down a 120lb crying kid and forcibly penetrate them. In that moment they truly hold your fate in their hands, and the only thing you can do is pray they don't end your life.
It was awful. There is no denying the fear that was there. It was horrifying. I still remember thinking that all I wanted to do was tell my mom I loved her, just one last time. It was a powerful moment. It made me rethink a lot of the choices I was making. What if that really was the end? That at the end of this violent act I would find the end of a knife, or his hands around my throat..... That I would simply disappear from the world. Last thing I'd look at was my phone on the floor by my pants, wishing it was somehow in my hands....
I made it out alive, thank god. He threw me my clothes and ordered me to get out. I ran as fast as I could. Never mind I was in my underwear at 3 in the morning on a freezing January night. Barefeet on ice. I just wanted to be as far away from there as possible in case he changed his mind......
I remember going home to my boyfriend and just crying on him.... He always had an idea what I was doing behind his back. But never asked any questions because he was pretty much doing the same. He held me all throughout the night, and never questioned why I suddenly didn't want to have sex anymore. I think he knew, but he wanted me to say something first....
As I learned to cope with it, it started coming back to me. My original selfish reason I wanted to be an escort in the first place. I wanted to be wanted. Once I started seeing it in that light, it wasn't so bad... I started liking the idea that someone wanted me that badly. That they were willing to break the law (more than we already were) and risk prison just to get their satisfaction.
I once voiced this aloud, and my friend told me they weren't in it for me. They were in it for the power. God-dammit, if this is what helps me sleep at night, let me have it! Let me keep my little fantasy! It's not hurting you, though it is helping me. and now, so many weeks later, I can't help but be slightly amused by the idea. Someone wanted me that much....
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