23rd Aug 2010
Of all the tasks he sets me, I do so love a writing task. I love writing, but I often find that I over think about what to write and don’t actually just getting on and write it, and so when I am given a topic and a deadline it provides that little bit of discipline that I am missing and often allows the creative juices to flow.
I read a blog post this week on the topic of Consensual, non consent. (Read the original post here) In it the writer describes a graphic scene in which she experienced a consensual ‘rape’. The writing is powerful and honest and covers a subject that I think many women have hidden fantasies about but often won’t admit to. Anyway, it was this post that was the inspiration for my writing task. We had talked about the above mentioned post and the scene that it described and I had told him the things that made me buzz and the bits that I knew would not be for me and I suspected not for him either, namely the ‘other’ man scenario. As I talked, I knew this was a subject that would be revisited again and again; he had that expression he gets when he is taking detailed mental notes of every word I utter.
He wanted me to write about a scene or situation, placing myself within it.
‘What would it be like, in your imagination, how does the scene play out for you in that slutty little mind of yours?’ and that was my writing task, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get it to work, it wouldn’t flow, the images in my head were disjointed, like a fragmented dream remembered in little moments of time but the rest of the scene missing and so I have shelved that for now, but maybe with time, and more talking I might be able to piece it together, or maybe it needs experience to become fully formed.
I have had a strong rape fantasy for years now, in the past I used to have a reoccurring dream, it was always the same everything, I was in my bed, there was the faceless man, it was dark, he would lift the covers, hold me down, tell me what he was going to do to me, I would fight, but he was strong and eventually he would have my legs spread and take me. I used to have this dream, over and over again, but as the years wore on and my experiences broadened he turned from the faceless man to my then boyfriend at the time, and the dream changed too. In this dream there was another man too, who held me down for my boyfriend, and whilst he took me, they would discuss me, what it felt like to fuck me, whether they would take turns, who wanted to have what. This was a dream that would wake me wet and throbbing and so close to orgasm that, when I woke, one flick of my clit would have me cumming.
Now I have my Master, the man whom I was born to submit too, and the dream or fantasy has altered again. My desires to be used by him, for his pleasure alone, have changed what my body craves, in simple terms it craves him and him alone. I am never happier than when being used by him for his fulfilment and pleasure and now my fantasy is different again.
I think about gloved hands grabbing me from behind, whispered threats to do as I am told, the struggle, being overpowered and swiftly taken, rough and brutal. A hand on my neck, my wrists held, a blindfold maybe, or his face covered so I can’t see who it is, my tears and begging voice fill the silence.
Sometimes I see a knife, my clothes are cut or torn from me. I am bound, he tells me to behave or he will punish me further. “Do I need to gag you too Slutmine or will be quiet for me tonight?” He ties my wrists and anchors me to the ceiling; I am spread, open and exposed for his use…….
My mind is wandering now from scene to scene, little snippets of each one bouncing around in my slutty little brain. I know the thought of him raping me makes me drip, but exactly how that would be played out I don’t know. I know there is much more to explore on this subject, and I know that He will continue to push me to think about the possibilities and explore them. This post has been tough to write but like many things he asks of me, it has really made me think and explore the darker recesses of my brain. I think it is time to write about the jeans challenge.
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