Monday, September 22, 2008

Sadistical analysis

When i'm swatting my girl, her shrieks, jerks, moans, and groans are the currency that affords me purchase to a very erotic engagement. The thought process i embark on to derive whatever posture she will assume while getting tortured satisfies a deep mental itch. I do enjoy handling a cane or a whip. I especially enjoy the feel of rope as i bind her to a pole or bed frame in a prone position. However, these are the prep work a sous chef completes in order for the master chef to create a delectable repas.

When i strike her exposed behind, the bludgeoning is not the end of the dialogue for me. I seek her response. I'm not poking and prodding a lifeless doll. Her pleas for clemency are the fruits i seek to feast upon. Her appeals for leniency give me the sustenance i require. She knows i'll listen, but what makes me grin wickedly is that she knows that's all i'll do. Now the question that should be carefully handled is does this man who calls himself 'Deity' like any and all torture?
Actually, no.

I've collected a large number of SM videos wherein there are many scenes with a girl getting tortured and screaming bloody murder out to the heavens, and for the most part, this does absolutely nothing for me. On the intellectual side, i'd like to think that speaks to how little misogyny plays into my sexuality. On the emotional side, i know precisely why it doesn't excite me. What i need is a relationship between the 'victim' and the 'torturer'. Simply seeing a girl withstand lashing after lashing across her back does nothing for me. Now, if you were to provide some narrative details that reveals the level of intimacy between the two parties, then it would suddenly become interesting. What excites me is understanding the amount of submission and sacrifice the girl is offering. Watching two complete strangers engage in corporal punishment will never arouse my interest.

This reminds me of a public flogging me and my girl witnessed at a local play party a few years back. It was a thing of utter beauty. The setting for this event was a loft converted into a multi-chambered torture vault. This allowed many voyeurs to scuttle along the hallways and peek their heads into different rooms where scenes of various nature (medical play, water play, knife play, etc.) could be viewed. I'd brought my girl, at an early point in our relationship, as way of giving her her first public spanking. Being as gorgeous a creature as she is, she received the grand share of interest of most any girl in attendance, except for one named 'lacey' who we found bound, nude to a St. Andrew's cross in an all candle-lit room. Being so packed with gawkers, it truly was standing room only. We found a place that had my girl and i only a few feet from lacey's naked backside.

She was blindfolded, wrists and ankles bound by leather shackles to the wooden frame. Not a single stitch of clothing, she hung there, waiting. For what, none of us really knew. Then suddenly, a man entered the room, black button-down, black jeans, black boots, in his hand a sheath that held multiple rattan canes. Without seeing him or hearing his voice, somehow lacey sensed it was "Him". Her body tensed. Her posture improved. Her buttocks pointed out with intense supplication. Over the next 40 minutes, me and my girl would bear witness to eight different canes being broken over lacey's backside, accompanied by her marvelous masochistic expletives. The colors of the streaks across lacey's flesh, held up by the swollen welts that gave her torment raised dimension were stunning and beautiful, but they were not the most admirable object on display that evening. The relationship that lacey had with her Top, the intimacy she invited us to witness, and the gift of seeing her torment (as it was quite clear that she was not just suffering for "him" but for all of us in the room) touched me for many, many days.

When i force pain upon my girl and make her endure it, the end result isn't that she's simply taken it, but rather we've explored, together, another dimension of our relationship. I adore her when she wakes in the morning, hair all mussed by her trip to beddy-by, and it's that which i value as i strip her of her personality and flog her beautiful ass until she pleads with me to stop. That she puts herself in that position, that she puts her limitless intelligence and emotional aptitude in my hands to suspend for the duration of our disciplinary scene is a strange way of achieving intimacy, but what i understand is that its her struggle, her sacrifice, her surrender to me that ultimately satisfies my sadistic bent. Pure pain doesn't capture me, but rather sacrifice and humility.


oatmeal girl said...

thank you SO much for this, Deity. so very very much. i'm always searching to understand from the other side. well, actually, i'm always searching to understand, period, but especially from the side that inflicts the pain.

i do know that it is all about the relationship. but suddenly, reading your description, i understood not just what it does for the torturer as embodied by you, but WHY i keep asking "how does it feel when you...?"

i think that for me, understanding what the sadist gets out of inflicting pain (or even just out of controlling behaviour) makes the structure of the relationship clearer, and cements the circle of action and reaction, give and take, the amazing mutual bondage that comes from the emotional nakedness of both parties.

thank you for yet another lesson - and you didn't even have to scare me this time!

Deity said...

don't forget, darlin, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.