I want to play with shame
Submitted By: Sophia

This might be a work in progress. Or I might I want to play with shame  just try to forget that I ever posted this to the internet and never come back to it. I'm not a writer, and I'm not one to try to work out my thoughts on paper. But for some reason writing this down seemed to help. I feel like this reads like erotica, which was not my intention. This is just a somewhat disjointed account of my foray into the world of BDSM- the memories that stick out to me as important and how I remember them- and where I'm at now.

I want to play with shame.

Because the first time I ever played, and felt rope slide across my skin, my brain was brimming with the thought what would they think to see me now? What would my family think? What about my feminist friends, who deride female subjugation? And my ex? The one who told me I was a freak. The one who told me that he didn't want to play with the fuzzy handcuffs, because next thing you knew I'd want to play with a ball gag, and that's just freakish. And these thoughts swirling around in my head made my face flush and my stomach flutter. And he bent me over and put my hands on the table, and stepped away to aim the flogger. And again my brain was overcome with the fear that he too thought I was a freak. That he stood there beating me out of some need that he also thought was sick and perverse. And I yelped and jumped when the crop replaced the flogger and he landed his first hard blow, and he came over to me, slid his hand down my back and ass and between my legs into my wetness.

“You are enjoying this,” he observed, and then stepped back to continue.

I was? I was. The butterflies in my stomach made my body realize what it felt like to feel sexual again, to feel tension, to feel vulnerable and naked. Exposing my shame reminded me of the way it felt to have a first kiss or first date or to stand in front of a man naked for the very first time. I realized that night that in my pursuit of vanilla sex and relationships, I had disassociated from my wants and sexuality, and I had forgotten the thrill of being connected to and exploring that. After some time he stepped behind me again and pushed his body close to mine, so I could feel how hard he was.

“I'm enjoying this too. See?” he reassured me.

And the rest of the night is a bit blurry in my memory. There were clothespins fixed to and torn from my chest. Riding him, gasping for air as hands closed tightly around my throat until my head spun. His cock pushed too far down my throat, too roughly. And after he finished he turned me on my back, intent on giving me another orgasm. And I couldn't feel a thing. I was swimming too deeply in endorphin's to even moan in appreciation, so he pulled me to his chest and stroked my hair until I came back to reality. And it was wonderful.

We learned more about each other, and he pushed harder. He put a ball-gag in my mouth for the first time, probably completely unaware of the baggage it brought up. He put me on my knees and lead me from room to room with a belt around my neck, and I felt the heat across my face and between my legs. The first time I was told I was a good girl I wanted to cum immediately and crawl under a rock and die, simultaneously. I felt, incredible, intense, instant arousal the first time I used the word Sir, but also loathed the entire exchange. I was in a perpetual state of dread and wetness the first time I was told to wear a butt plug to work.

But things changed slowly, and soon I was eagerly anticipating being pierced with needles the first time. I was excited to propose water bondage, and I explained the appeal of being held thrashing under the water. I was sending text messages that said “Dinner, movie and a beating tonight?!?” And the shame faded away and was replaced with total enthusiasm.

But for some reason enthusiasm seems slightly lackluster in comparison, so now I want to play again with shame. I want to discard my enthusiasm and go someplace that seems foreign and perverse. I want you to propose the next step, trusting me that I'll tell you if it's too much. I want you to know when a blush grows from my neck and washes across my cheeks, and when I avert my eyes because I'm ashamed to admit that I'd do these things for you, that I'm ready to play.

Disclaimer: This is not to make new or potential play partners feel like anything less than detailed, verbal, enthusiastic consent in negotiations is the standard.