Hi, I’m E. I’m a Miss to some, and Milady to others. I hope you enjoy my blog.
If you’re new here, you should know that this blog contains BDSM, kink, poly and gender explorations, and explicit Sadiomasochistic content. All sex and kink acts depicted are between enthusiastically consenting adults.
The first time I was ever sadistic was as a child. It was non consensual, I was merely 12 and poking my younger brother with a broom despite his tears and pleas for me to stop. The feeling was cold, yet pleasurable, in a completely non-sexual way. Was it actually that painful to him? I think it unlikely, but the fact that I was causing his distress intentionally probably was emotionally distressing to him. It’s a tad horrifying to look back on it now, and I have formally apologized to him for it. (he had no recollection of the event, the sweetness of time, I suppose.)
As I slipped into my teens and older, I think my sadism was swept off to the side and ignored unintentionally. Hair pulling, scratching, biting, a slap to the ass or carefully to the face; all that was heat of the moment animalistic fun during sex. Perhaps a few words here and there of naughtiness. Meant to give and heighten pleasure on both sides. I now refer to it as my “warm” sadism.
Then I entered the “lifestyle” as we call it. And met my submissive husband who had fantasies of this and that. We explored some of my cold sadism minorly but it became quite obvious as the “new” wore off hat he could hardly handle my “warm” sadism, and none of the “cold” sadism at all. He is a boy in need of strong hugs, loving touches, a few naughty words. A firm but gentle hair tugging and a spanking is as far as he can go without extenuating circumstances and a special mood neither of us can predict.
I still relish the memory of shoving him nude into cold metal of my refrigerator (probably about 50-60 degrees as I refused to turn on the heat in winter). As punishment for sending my little dog outside without her doggy jacket. “This is what is feels like to be without clothes in the cold. Perhaps you shall remember next time.” The power, the cruelty, the wings of delight fluttering in my chest as my upset got it’s perfectly released expression.
But it was not to be. Swept to the side again it went, and I hardly paid attention to it again until about a year later.
I started talking to a few guys about degradation scenes but it never went anywhere. I did end up taking a good long look at my sadistic self. I put it back to the side with a pat, mollifying myself that someday -it- would come.
Another year passed and I met my second husband, Alastare, and hoped he had a secret masochistic side…but alas, he is not masochistic at all. He’s absolutely submissive, that is certain, but lacks any fetishes. He does submit to pain I give him, but suffers so silently the feedback is about zilch. It’s just plain not enjoyable; at least not in the way I desire it to be. I want moans, and groans, and gasps and…
9 months later and I met a sweet masochist. It was weird, but I couldn’t hardly even find my sadistic self at this point. I had to read things and seek out images just to light up that engine again. But just when I was starting to mentally churn the images and scenarios of degradation and pain I wished to subject him to, I realized he was not for me and I was not for him. I need to feel safe emotionally inside as well as outside a scene to release that side of myself. Although it seemed I could be “safe” inside a scene, outside of what little play we did was near constant anxiety.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been a Sadist with nothing but mild temporary outlet for 14 years, but I can’t seem to let those scenarios be swept off to the side this time.
I want to hurt someone. I’m driving down the road, and suddenly daydream about backhanding someone so hard they fall to the ground. I want to make him wear muddy clothes and scrub the floors chained to a pole as every now and then I come round to kick him and make him wince from terrible terrible words I state to him. I want to slap him, I want him to cry until the snot mixes with the mud until finally, after many many hours, he curls up in a ball while I kick him and he just moans and sobs and refuses move. Then I want to pull him by his hair or clothes and push him into a tiny cage and shake it before leaving him in the dark.
I want… I want… I want..
Sigh. but I guess I don’t need. and there is no outlet. I suppose it’ll just take longer to put this urge to the side this time.