Marked for pleasure

I am fairly sure that my blog gives off the impression that I am a masochist; that I derive pleasure from pain. It is a label I have thought about a lot mainly because despite looking like one, acting like one, responding like one and sounding like one, I am, in the true sense of the word, not one.

It is not the pain that I get off on. It is not as simple as that. Yes there are some pain sensations that I do actively enjoy, mainly the deep tissue thuds but to be honest, they don’t feel like pain to me they feel like pleasure. They are sensations that I can get lost in, that make me feel relaxed and calm. At no point is my body registering it as pain.

So, if I don’t get off on pain why do we indulge in pain play? Well, because I do get off on that play, just not directly from the pain sensation. It is more complex than that. I get off on giving myself to him in that, offering my flesh to him and enduring. When I grit my teeth and bury my head in the pillow as he stripes my flesh with the whip, it is not the actual pain in that makes me wet but the dynamic between us, the fact that he is hurting me and I am allowing myself to be hurt in the quest for that dark space of lust that is fired between us when we play in this way. Then the searing heat from the stinging lashes become a massive turn on, not because it is pain but because the pain is mine to master, to embrace, to fight and to ultimately conquer by accepting it as what I need.

However what I have really come to learn about my relationship with pain in a kink context is that I will accept and endure and actively enjoy pain if I know it is leaving a mark on my skin, the more bruised and long-living the better. Pain like the hairbrush or the wooden paddle, that slaps at my skin making it blush red, which will quickly fade in minutes if not hours holds much less eroticism for me than something like the cat tails, the flogger with the metal bead ends or any of the spiked impact toys. If there is blood and bruises then I will ache for it, dream of it, crave and even ask for it because I want the marks it leaves behind. Pain is not a turn on to me, there are even times when I hate the pain but the marks its leaves behind most definitely are and I will take the pain to get me those glorious marks.

I am not a masochist, that word is too simple. There is a direct correlation between pain and sexual excitement for a masochist. The simple act of pain, regardless of how or what or who, turns them on. For me pain is something I endure, that I experience, that I feel, that I embrace and love, not for the sensation of the pain itself but for what it represents and most of all for the marks it leaves in its wake. Marks that I will poke and prod and inspect and nurse and spend ages admiring in the mirror for as long as they last and when they finally fade and go I will mourn their demise and wait, with longing in my kinky heart, for them to replaced with more.

I am not a masochist I am a marks slut.