50 Shades of… what’s all the fuss about?

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On Friday night I finally went to see Fifty Shades of Grey.

First thought?  I liked the movie a LOT more than the book… for one thing there was no inner goddess interrupting every five minutes!

Second thought?  Okay, the acting wasn’t the best, but as the movie went on the Christian Grey on the screen became closer to the Christian Grey I had imagined while reading the book.  Ana, on the other hand?  She reminded me so much of Cecile (Selma Blair) from Cruel Intentions that occasionally I forgot what movie I was watching, and kept expecting Ryan Phillippe to join her.

My main thought though?   I don’t know what all the fuss (ie critique) is about, with regard to the movie itself.  I personally thought the movie portrayed the relationship very well, particularly with regard to Ana willingly consenting to the type of relationship Christian wanted.  I didn’t see it as an abusive relationship – whereas in the book I did (to an extent) – I don’t know that it is a portrayal of a typical BDSM relationship, but it wasn’t something either of them jumped into quickly, or without discussion.

Having been in a sexually abusive relationship – masked as BDSM – the situation between Christian and Ana was 50,000 times different to the relationships and dynamics I experienced with my ex.  If it were an abusive relationship Christian wouldn’t have allowed Ana to make amendments to the contract, he wouldn’t have laid it all out like that for her.  He wouldn’t have cared about what she wanted or didn’t want and would have gone ahead and anally fisted her, not caring it was on her list of NOOOOOO NEVER EVER EVER.

I got the feeling by the end of the movie that Ana felt empowered and strong.  She had the lady-balls to tell Christian she did NOT like the way he was treating her and that the relationship had gone too far.   No way was she going to put up with it any longer, and she told him so.  She left.

Yes.  She LEFT.  She stood up for herself and left.

Leaving isn’t something done easily in a sexually abusive relationship.  In fact it is a bloody hard thing to do… so hard that a lot of victims just don’t do it.  But Ana, the first occurance of Christian taking things too far, the first time she felt as if she was out of her depth, the first time she felt he didn’t truly respect her, she left.  Yes, she is the one who told Christian to take her into the red room and show her what he was really like… but when she realised she couldn’t handle that version of Christian, she left.

It occurred to me while talking to my friend about the movie on the way home, that if Fifty Shades of Grey (the books) didn’t exist, but the movie did, people would go into the movie with a far more open mind.  Rather than seeing it as a story of sexually abusive domination, perhaps they would see it as a story about BDSM, about another sexual lifestyle?  Rather than seeing it as a story about an older, powerful man controlling a younger, naive woman, people would see it as a story about the importance of consent in relationships?  Rather than seeing it as an example of a woman caught under the spell of a messed-up control freak in all aspects of life, they would see it as the journey of this woman from timid and shy, to empowered and strong, strong enough to walk out when she felt she wasn’t being treated with the respect she deserved.

As for people complaining about the supposedly explicit sex scenes?   I have seen far more explicit sex scenes in mainstream movies!  Sure, it was a bit weird to be watching them on the big screen with strangers around me, but I have certainly seen worse.  It definitely deserves the R18 rating, but it most certainly wasn’t ‘pornographic’ as has been stated in many articles I’ve read.

If I am honest… I loved the sex scenes!  I thought they were tastefully done, showing enough to get your heart racing, but not so much it felt as if you were watching bonafide porn.  With regard to the BDSM scenes (spanking etc), I think those were particularly enjoyable to watch, and I can guarantee you that after seeing the movie, couples would have stopped at their nearest hardware store to buy a length of rope, or made good use of ties, experimented with feathers and other fabrics on the skin, on blindfolding and teasing each other.  It was by no means gratuitous, it was by no means violent (with the exception of the very last scene in the red room, when Ana decides she’s had enough).

No, this movie isn’t going to be to everyone’s liking, in the same way Avatar wasn’t to everyone’s liking, or The Notebook, or Armageddon, or American Pie, or Toy Story, or (this one shocks me!) Grease.  People who see the movie have every right to give their own review, their own critique… but if you don’t see the movie you have no right to bash it, to be negative and insulting about it.  Roll your eyes all you want, think every negative thing you want, but until you see it for yourself you don’t really have a right to give any form of feedback, negative or positive.

I have to share this because I'm a lip biter with a major elevator sex fetish...

I have to share this because I’m a lip biter with a major elevator sex fetish…

Women shaming women

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This post has been sitting in my draft folder for a couple of weeks now, or at least the mostly blank page, bar a couple of little notes.  I resisted writing it because if I had done so when I first saved it, it would have been a huge, angry, one-sided rant, mostly fueled by my sensitive nature; I get so damn offended, so damn easily.  On top of that I have this huge problem with not feeling good enough, with feeling as though everyone judges me, with feeling as though I don’t fit in.

What was it that sent me into this whirl of anger and… well, pissed-off-ed-ness?  Fifty Shades of Grey.  That’s what.

When the movie was finally released and reviews began rolling in, I started to get defensive.  Everything I read (and I’m not exaggerating when I say everything) in that first 24 hours suggested that if a woman wanted to see the movie, there was something badly wrong with her.  Amongst the reviews were people suggesting anyone who saw the movie was insulting all the women who fought so hard for women’s rights,  that they were essentially saying it was acceptable for men to control women in all senses of the word

Before I turn this into the rant it would have been a couple of weeks ago, I’ll move on…

What I realised, after a long talk with my wife, is that women are far too good at shaming other women.  No, not all women do this, but it seems women are judged for almost everything they do, that if they don’t do things a particular way, if they don’t feel a particular way about something, then they are scum.  Or this is how it seems to me anyway.

I always knew women could be bitchy, but it wasn’t until I became a parent that I realised just how nasty women can be to one another.  To start with, I was a single parent… there was a look I used to get, always from other women, the type of look that said ‘something is obviously wrong with her if she can’t hold down a man‘, then there is the ‘I bet she got pregnant after a one-night-stand and didn’t even know the guy’s name‘.  Not only was I a single parent, I was a single parent who gave birth via cesarean section – twice – and formula fed both babies.

To a lot of women, cesarean section seems to equal taking unwarranted risks, and endangering the life of mother and baby; similarly when it comes to formula feeding, it seems to equal not caring about what is best for your own child, being completely ignorant, and putting your own needs ahead of your child.  What BOTH of these scenarios in particular have in common, is that all the judgement thrown around makes those who didn’t have a natural birth and/or  didn’t breastfeed feel as if there is something wrong with them as a woman.

I remember being told by more than one person “Women’s bodies are created to give birth naturally” – and I knew this actually meant “you’re not a real woman because you opted to have your baby arrive via a surgical procedure” or “I went through 20 hours of labour, I deserve to be proud… you had a 45-minute-long surgery and didn’t do any hard work, pfffft, and you call yourself a woman?!”  My first cesarean was an emergency delivery, my second was because my anxiety disorder meant I was terrified of the process of giving birth, terrified of being the one responsible for bringing a baby into the world, being responsible for making sure she entered the outside world without dying.  To say I was terrified is an understatement.  Do I wish I could have delivered naturally?  Yes, I do.  I had dreams of a waterbirth with my first, and fantasised about a homebirth with my second.  I wasn’t strong enough to fight the anxiety-ridden part of my brain.

I lost count of the number of people who commented “Oh…. so you’re not breastfeeding?” when they realised I was feeding either of my babies with a bottle.  It was always said with shock, with disappointment, with disgust even.  I managed to give my eldest breastmilk until she was 14 days old and my second until she was four or five days old.  I TRIED MY HARDEST.  Those people who gave me the look had no idea of the hours I’d spent crying, upset because I couldn’t do what I should naturally be able to as a woman.  They had no idea how much I hated myself for not being able to perform this one task other women seemed to be able to do no-handed.  They had no idea how depressed it made me, how guilty I felt, how inferior, how useless, how worthless it made me feel.  I saw a lactation consultant in hospital with my youngest, but that was the one time she actually fed well.  She told me I would do fine.  I left the hospital and it was just me.  No nurses to help latch her on, to talk me through what I was doing.

One of my problems was my relatively flat nipples, the other was the fact my boobs are HUGE.  My babies DID get smothered by my boobs while they were feeding, the nurses at the hospital told me, the midwives told me, I could see it myself.  I tried all the positions I could to find the one that worked, but none of them did, not for me.  As I said, hours were spent crying about it.  Rather than enjoying breastfeeding for the bonding experience it should have been, I dreaded it…  I was told flat out by THREE people that big boobs isn’t an excuse not to breastfeed… but how would they know?  They had normal-sized boobs and more than that, they had the support at home, someone to sit and help them try to reposition the baby, to speak words of encouragement.

I already felt bad enough about not having the natural births I wanted, about not being able to breastfeed for 12+ months… but other women made me feel worse, a lot worse.

And this is how I am made to feel about wanting to see the Fifty Shades movie, and having read the books.  All three of them.

Do I think the story is an accurate depiction of a BDSM relationship, or the BDSM lifestyle?  No.
Do I think the relationship in the story is healthy?  Not particularly.
Do I think the story is well written?  No… I don’t.
Do I want to see the movie for any deep, philosophical reason?  No.  I want to go because… SEX!  Sex.  I love sex and seeing sex in movies.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, their own thoughts on the matter, their own reasons for liking or disliking something… but should that opinion entitle us to shame another woman for liking or disliking something?  For doing or not doing something?Hell.  No.All the articles and posts on social media that pissed me off, I could have responded to negatively, starting an argument; but I didn’t because I know every single person who states an opinion on a matter does so for their own reasons!  It’s not the opinions that get to me, it is the attitude of ‘I believe ____________, so if you don’t believe __________ as well, there is something wrong with you’.  It’s the ‘I’m looking down on you for wanting to _____________’ / ‘I’m looking down on you because you did/didn’t _____________’ attitude.  It’s the seeming desire to make other people feel inferior for living their life in a different way; for choosing a particular parenting method, for formula-feeding rather than breastfeeding, for liking a certain band, for liking a certain author, for liking a certain genre of movie, for being in any relationship other than a heterosexual monogamous one, for having a particular kink, for having a particular job, for liking sex, for not liking sex, for their weight, for their fashion sense, for wanting children, for not wanting children.As you can tell, this is something that has really been eating away at me!!!  If you are still following, I applaud you.I just wish people would focus on the positive things to have come out of the ‘whole Fifty Shades thing’.Alternative relationships are being spoken about!  Never has BDSM been spoken about so much in the mainstream, and I think it’s great.  It’s not something that should be hidden, it is something that should be spoken about, that people should be informed about, that people shouldn’t feel ashamed for feeling curious about!What constitutes abuse in a relationship is something else being spoken about.  The relationship between Ana and Christian has made people consider what abuse looks like in a relationship, that it’s not always as obvious as a black eye or a fat lip.  People are discussing what is healthy and what isn’t healthy in a relationship, about control and manipulation, about sexual abuse, about the importance of consent, the need for communication.SEX is finally being spoken about in a wider context, and I think it’s brilliant. … I would love to know how many people, after reading the books or seeing the movie, have decided to explore their own little kinks?Imagine a world where spanking was something openly spoken about in the break room at work.  When you could tell tales about that time you tried out those really intense nipple clamps.  Or maybe about that time you tied him up and flogged him.Okay, I doubt the above would ever happen, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that the world would be a better place if we could be more open about sex… and perhaps Fifty Shades is going to play a tiny little part in helping us evolve toward that point.

Hard, fast, & rough – just the way they like it

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You know that feeling when you’re just about asleep and you get a brilliant idea.  The idea is so brilliant you are suddenly wide awake and your brain is all ‘OMG THIS IS BRILLIANT!  YOU ARE FANTASTIC!  YOU MUST THINK ABOUT THIS FOR HOURS!  WHO NEEDS SLEEP? SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK!‘… and you just have to do something about it; that or not sleep at all.

That was me last night, well, this morning.  1.54am I got out of bed, sighing and frowning, thinking about the stupid words that were forming in my head, the story that was writing itself and just begging to be given my full and undivided attention.  To begin with I thought I’d get up briefly, write a couple of sentences in my notebook and go back to bed.  But no.  My brain had other ideas.

I sat down in front of the computer, opened up a blank word document and let my fingers do the talking writing.

The following is what I came up with.  I have no idea if there will be more – if I will get to explore Carla & Andy further – but at least I got it out of my system and eventually managed a few hours sleep!

Enjoy!

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Carla smiled sleepily at the feeling of lips pressing against her neck. Predictably she had fallen asleep but as promised, Andy was waking her up so they could see in the New Year together.

“Happy 2015,” Andy proclaimed quietly while at the same time prying her legs apart and gently running a finger up and down her slit which was still wet from the sex that sent her to sleep in the first place.

“Happy 2015,” Carla replied, spreading her legs further upon the welcome intrusion of two of Andy’s fingers inside her pussy.

“Told you I’d wake you up,” he reminded her and even in the dark she could tell he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“I didn’t expect anything less from you,” she informed him and a smirk spread across her own face as she wrapped her hand around his cock and squeezed tightly.

“I was hoping I’d be inside you before you woke up,” he said, his voice a half groan as she again gripped his cock tightly in her fist.

“Should have moved faster then,” she said innocently, grinning into the dark when, as expected, he moved on top of her.

“Like this?” he asked just as innocently while plunging inside her and making her moan loudly.

“Like that,” she gasped when her body had recovered from the initial shock of him suddenly being inside her.

Andy reared up and plunged into her again, causing her to moan louder and dig her fingernails into his shoulders. Beneath her fingers she could feel the slightly raised areas of skin covered by one of his many tattoos, and something about that turned her on even more. Continue reading

Is it BDSM or is it abuse?

This blog post has been a long time coming.  What finally triggered the desire to actually go ahead and write it, was seeing this list on A Good Womans Dirty Mind today.

At 20 I was stupid enough to mistake sexual abuse for BDSM.  I was young, I was inexperienced, I was uninformed.  Sadly I am sure that I’m not the only person who has been in a situation such as the one I will go on to discuss, and it is my hope that by posting about my own experience, it will make people realise that lines can be blurred, particularly when we’re younger.
THIS is why adult sex ed is vitally important, and I wish now I had decided to do this post as part of #AdultSexEdMonth in June!  It’s not just important for adults, it’s important for young people who, while they are ‘educated’ about sex, only seem to hear about the black and white of sex.  Have sex when you are in love.   Sex without consent is rape.  Use condoms.  Yes, that is all good advice, but not enough is done to educate about the blurry muddle in-between… the fact emotional/mental manipulation can be used, the fact that people take advantage, the fact that it often isn’t until you are deep in the middle of it that you realise just how wrong the situation is.
This is my story… yes, it’s long, but something like this can’t be covered in a few paragraphs!
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If you had asked me a year ago to give my thoughts on the BDSM lifestyle, I would have answered very negatively.  I would have acted on assumptions tainted by my own personal experience as a young woman who had been in a relationship with a man who wasn’t a believer in consensual BDSM.

I was a mere 20 years old when I met J.  He was 26 and seemed oh-so mature.  He dressed nicely, he smelt divine, wearing proper cologne as opposed to the putrid body spray other guys wore.  He had travelled, he had worked on a film set, he had lived abroad, he had had experiences that seemed so exciting, so adult-like.  He had lived, something that at the age of 20, I felt I hadn’t.  He was different from the other guys I knew.  He was very confident, almost to the point of arrogance, but blinded as I was by him, I found that confidence sexy.

The night we met I should have known he was bad news.  Bad bad bad news.  I was at a nightclub – rather drunk – and this guy begins dancing behind me, dancing really close, pulling me back at the hips so I could feel him against me.  For a chubby young woman with very low self-esteem, it felt amazing that someone like him could be interested in ME.  I laughed as he led me over to a big booth, my friends followed, as did the friend he was with… we sat down and tried to talk over the loud music, without much success.   I was having a great time.

And then his hand slid up my inner thigh and before I realised what was happening his fingers were inside me.  Part of me was horrified, part of me thought ‘wow, this guy is adventurous!’, and in my naivety, I let the ‘wow this guy is adventurous’ part of my brain win.  I sat there while he fingered me, my friends, my sister, his friend all sitting right there.  It was okay to start with, but then he became rough and put more fingers inside me.  I should have known right there and then that I was in over my head.

But the attention, God, I loved the attention!  My friends always had guys flirting with them and most were also in long term relationships.  My longest relationship up until that point had been two months!  I willingly gave him my number but didn’t expect to hear from him, particularly because he hadn’t wanted to give me his number!

Hear from him I did though.  I convinced myself he must have been really interested in me, and walked around with a certain spring in my step, after agreeing to go on a date with him.

We went ten pin bowling with his friend, and afterward his friend dropped us off at my house, I took him inside and we went on to have sex.  He was rough.  It hurt.  But I put that down to the fact it had been months since I’d last had sex.  We had sex in positions I hadn’t tried before, and though the positions didn’t do anything for me (other than cause discomfort), I thought it was so exciting… I loved how ‘adventurous’ he was, that he clearly wasn’t quite as ‘vanilla’ as the other guys I had dated.  I had always been curious about more adventurous, non-vanilla sex, and decided perhaps it was my chance to experience that type of sex.

There was no cuddling after we had sex, and that disappointed me a little.  I figured we’d cuddle the next morning, but no, after we had sex again he made up an excuse to have to leave.  If I remember rightly he had to go to his parents’ house.  He used that excuse a lot.

After that first time having sex, I think I knew that there was something not quite right about it, and looking back, I should have cut all contact with him then, but I didn’t.  I longed to be loved, I longed for the attention of a man, I wanted to be wanted so badly, that I ignored my gut feelings and continued my relationship with him.

Soon he began referring to me as his slut.  While I didn’t particularly like being called a slut, I did enjoy that he had a pet name for me.  I knew he was a highly sexual man, and convinced myself he only referred to me as his slut because he loved having sex with me, that he was using the term in a fond way, not in a controlling way.

I read something around that time about BDSM relationships, and realised that THAT was what we were in!  It was BDSM, a legitimate lifestyle, a legitimate type of relationship.  I was able to justify his actions as being part of a BDSM relationship.  He was the dom, I was the sub.  It was all okay!

Not long after the ‘my slut’ name calling began, he began to tell me what he wanted me to wear when he took me out.  Short skirt, no panties, boots, my hair done a certain way.  Again, part of my brain registered that what he was doing was wrong, but the other part of my brain took it as a compliment, that he thought I looked sexy wearing a particular type of outfit.  He wanted me to look sexy, was there anything wrong with that?  I reassured myself that no, there wasn’t.

To start with the sex was all indoors, and at my house… but one night he took me to a pub and at some point told me to go outside with him.  I did and he took me around the back of the pub, dropped his pants and demanded I give him a blowjob.  Taking it as part of a naughty game, an order from dom to sub, I knelt in front of him and did as I was told.  I hoped no one would catch us, but figured that if they did, what was the worst that could happen?

Afterward he praised me.  Called me a good girl.  Told me I was a good slut.  I had pleased him, and it felt good to know I had made him happy.

Our relationship continued like that.  Me, his obedient little slut.  Him, my adventurous, non-vanilla dom.

Only in reality, it was more a case of abused and abuser.  I failed to see it that way though, because we were in a BDSM relationship.  It was what BDSM was about.  Domination and submission.  It couldn’t be abuse if I knew it was happening, or if there was a reason for acts and treatement which would be defined by others as abusive.  What did they know?  I was enamoured by him.  Still amazed that this 26 year-old would be interested in pathetic little me!

After that episode at the pub, he began to exert his dominance more often and more openly.  One day that sticks in my mind is when he asked me to meet him at the mall and told me we’d be going for a walk.  I happily met him and we walked to a nearby park then played on the playground.  We were acting like kids, it was fun, I hadn’t laughed so much in a long time.

Then he pulled me into a tunnel, pulled his pants down and ordered me to give him a blowjob.  It felt very naughty to be giving him a blowjob on children’s play equipment, but it was during school hours so I figured we were safe.  When I finished he did his usual praising of his little slut, and for about two minutes he was the kind, caring, sweet, affectionate boyfriend I had always wanted.

When he led me from the playground I admittedly felt relieved that he wasn’t going to make me do anything else on that playground.  I didn’t want to get caught, and by that point I was feeling a little sick of him being the one to get all the sexual gratification, while I got none.  I don’t remember having an orgasm when I was with him.  Not a single one.

Instead of walking back to the footpath he pulled me into the public toilets and playfully pushed me inside one of the cubicles.  Toilet sex.  Okay, I could handle that.  He pulled my underwear down from beneath my skirt and when I stepped out of it I was grinning in anticipation of what was to come.  Maybe I would finally get some sort of enjoyment out of the sex?  He turned me around so my back was to him and told me to put my hands on the wall.  I did this, feeling rather excited about having sex in a position I’d never had sex in before.

Instead of initiating the sex I had been expecting, he anally raped me.  The one thing I had always said a big resounding NO to was anal sex.  I wouldn’t give it to him, so obviously he felt he was within his rights to take it.  I told him no.  I told him to stop.  I made it clear I didn’t want it.  But he didn’t care.  I was too scared and dumbfounded  to try to push him off me.  I bit my lip and tried to think good thoughts until he was finished.

The walk back to the mall was a quiet one on my behalf.  He was full of praise for me.  Congratulated me for ‘letting go’, told me how proud he was that I had let him take our relationship to the next level, told me how pretty I looked, told me that it was my fault he had lost control the way he did, because he just couldn’t get enough of me.  He held my hand, he acted like a real boyfriend.  So much so that by the time we were back at the mall I was wondering if it simply had been a case of him losing control because he was THAT sexually attracted to me.  He promised me that next time wouldn’t hurt as much, and that the first time was always the most uncomfortable.  Next time, he told me, we could do it at his house.

Wow.  His house.  He was actually going to let me go to his house?  He really must love me!  That was what ran through my mind.  I felt honoured that he thought enough of me to take me to his house.  I told myself it must have been the real deal, that WE were the real deal.  I imagined the wedding, I imagined the kids.  He could be sweet, it seemed.  He could be be kind and loving, it seemed.  He was just very sexual, and got a bit carried away in the heat of the moment.

He informed me he was very busy at work so I didn’t hear from him very often over the next few weeks.  One night I was out on the town with my friends and got a text message from J while we were waiting for a taxi.  Did I want to go back to his house?  Of course I did!  Silly man!

He told me where he was and I walked to meet him.  He was, as usual, with his friend and we all got a taxi back toward J’s house.  His friend was in the front and I was in the back with J.  Like that very first night we met he was very naughty and began to finger me.  It was dark and I knew that if anyone turned around he could just stop moving his hand and no one would be any the wiser.  I thought I noticed the taxi driver adjusting his rearview mirror, but didn’t think anything of it.

J asked the driver to let us off at the shopping centre near his house so they could get cash from the ATM to pay him.  With the driver paid, J’s friend announced he was going to go ahead, give us some time alone.  I thought that was incredibly sweet of him, and hoped he would be asleep by the time we got home so he wouldn’t hear us having sex.  We started the walk across the carpark but he stopped me at the trolley return bay, bent me over it, pulled my skirt up and proceeded to have (vaginal) sex with me.  I told him that I didn’t want to, I was terrified of getting caught, but he told me to shut up and just enjoy it.  I tried.  I convinced myself it was fun.  Sex in public, what a rush, right?

When he was done he took my hand and quickly led me to his house, obviously in the mood for more sex I figured!  He took me into his bedroom, pushed me down on the bed, took my skirt off, tied me at the wrists and began having sex with me.  Profanity after profanity flowed from his mouth, he called me every nasty name under the sun, while telling me how fat I was, how ugly I was, that I was no good, that he was the only man who would ever have sex with me.  The more he spoke, the rougher the sex became until I was pleading with him to stop.

Did he?  Of course not.

When he pulled out of me I felt immense relief and tried to work out how I would get home.  I didn’t have money for a taxi, my house was kilometers away, but I didn’t care… I wasn’t staying there!  The relief wasn’t very long lived though, and for the second time he began to anally rape me.  I said no.  I said I wanted him to stop.  He responded by telling me I was his slut, that I had to do whatever he said and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. ‘You belong to me’ was repeated over and over as he refused to listen to my requests for him to stop.

Eventually it was over… he untied my wrists, he held me.  I was so confused and torn.  Had a friend told me her boyfriend had done something like he’d just done, I would have been disgusted.  But there in his arms with him telling me how ‘good’ I was, that he didn’t want anyone else to have me ever again… my resolve started melting.  Domination and submission.  That’s what it was.  That’s what I told myself.  Over and over, while I tried to ignore the physical pain I felt.  I numbed myself to the emotional pain, convinced myself there was none.  I was very good at pretending by then.

The next morning at 6.30am he woke me up and told me I had to leave because he was going to work.  I walked to the nearest bus stop and waited almost an hour for the bus.  I went home.  I went to bed.  I tried to forget what had happened.  He texted me at some stage, telling me how much fun he had had giving me what I supposedly deserved, and that he was hard just thinking about the taxi driver watching him finger me in the rearview mirror.

I felt dirty.  I felt used.  For the first time I allowed myself to acknowledge that I also felt abused… only to shake my head and remind myself that no, it wasn’t abuse, I was simply a submissive woman who had been well and truly dominated the night beforehand.  Yes, I had said no on more than one occasion, but surely if I had really wanted him to stop, I’d have been more forceful about it?  I would have found a way to get him to stop?  Maybe I wanted it as badly as he did – something he often told me was the case.

It wasn’t long after that that my best friend at the time informed me J had been flirting with her, and had asked her to go away with him for the weekend.  I was at work when she broke the news to me… and suddenly the overwhelming reality of what was actually happening hit me.  I locked the office, I lay down behind my desk and proceeded to have a breakdown.  I don’t remember a lot about it, only that I cried a hell of a lot, and that I was shaking uncontrollably.

Up until that point I hadn’t thought that rape wasn’t only vaginal, that it was possible to be raped anally.  The feeling I got when I realised I had been anally raped was… it was crushing, it was… I can’t really describe how it felt to acknowledge I had been violated and abused like that.

Finally I saw him for what he was.  He was sexually abusive.  He was controlling.  He was manipulative.  He preyed on young girls and with his smooth talking lured them into a world they didn’t want to be part of.

What had started out as dancing in a club, ended up in sexual abuse and anal rape.  I couldn’t believe how stupid I was, that I had let myself get so deeply drawn into his world… that even though I wasn’t really comfortable with our relationship, I justified everything he did to make it seem okay.

If that was BDSM, why the hell would anyone want to be a part of that lifestyle?

For a LONG LONG LONG time, hearing about BDSM would send shivers up my spine, I would be taken back to that pub, back to that playground, back to that carpark, back to that bedroom.  I would re-live it all and feel numb all over again.  BDSM in my mind was all about one-sided control, it was about wanting to control one person so completely that you almost brainwashed them.  It was about getting someone to submit to your every sexual desire, it was about sexual gratification for one person and pain for another.

Then in December last year I decided to become more open about the fact I write erotica.  In doing so I joined Twitter, I joined a few Facebook groups, I began reading a few blogs… and was shocked and stunned to find how many people loved BDSM, how many people felt that BDSM was a HEALTHY part of their relationship.  I researched more, I spoke more, and realised that under the right situations BDSM could be something amazing shared between a couple.

I learnt that in a healthy BDSM relationship it isn’t about control, it isn’t about sexual pleasure for only one person, it isn’t about taking away power, it isn’t about hurting someone, it isn’t about non-consent.  It is about love, it is about trust, it is about respect, it is about empowerment, it is about communication, it is about excitement, it is about agreeing as a couple to what is okay and what isn’t. It is about consent.

What I had with J wasn’t a healthy relationship of ANY sort.  It was a man controlling a woman because he wanted to, and felt it was his right.  It wasn’t something we agreed to as a couple, it wasn’t something we had conversations about.  It was him exerting his power, his authority, his sexual desires…

After learning that BDSM can be healthy, it helped me to heal in someways, because I realised that not everyone else’s experience with the BDSM lifestyle is the same as what I experienced.  I now feel guilty for saying negative things about BDSM, for stereotyping all BDSM relationships negatively… because it seems that for a huge majority of the men and women I have spoken to, BDSM is something that enriches their relationships, something which strengthens their bond, and is a way to express their love for one another.

Introducing you to ‘Zoe: Spanked’

After the success of my first short-story on Smashwords, today I got around to posting the second story in the ‘Georgia & Zoe’ series.

The new story is called ‘Zoe: Spanked’, and as the title suggests, in this story Zoe gets spanked!  This story happens a bit later than the ‘Georgia: Restrained’ story, taking place the morning after their wedding!  Short-story short, Georgia wakes up, Zoe is asleep, Georgia decides to give her the spanking of her life!  And she does.

I plan to write more in the ‘Georgia & Zoe’ series, as you will see when you read the story, I leave it open to tell the story of how Georgia met Zoe… and this will indeed be the focus of my next story.

Because I have made it available on Smashwords, I won’t add a link for a PDF of the story, but you CAN download the story from the Smashwords website (free) by clicking this link!

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Zoe: Spanked

When Georgia awoke in the morning, it took her a few moments to stop feeling disorientated and to remember where she was and WHY she was there. Thinking about the wedding the day beforehand, Georgia couldn’t help but smile. Glancing across at her wife, Zoe, she was torn between waking her up and and letting her sleep, because, admittedly, the day beforehand had been exhausting.

Deciding that the latter was probably the kinder thing to do, Georgia lay quietly and reflected on their wedding. It had been perfect and Georgia smiled as she thought about how happy their families and friends had been for them. It had been amazing to be able to share their special day with those nearest and dearest to them. She knew they were incredibly lucky, not just that they had had so many people who wanted to share their wedding day with them, but because they were ABLE to get married, in general.

It didn’t take long until Georgia’s thoughts drifted to what had happened AFTER the wedding, namely getting to the hotel, seeing that four poster bed, and remembering the scarves in their luggage. She had quickly realised Zoe had something very naughty in store for her and, at the time, had been overcome by the vivid memories of being restrained by Zoe on different occasions. The simple act of remembering the way it felt to be tied up, to be teased until she felt she was going to die if Zoe didn’t make her cum, was enough to make her extremely horny. It went without saying the rest of their wedding day was spent in orgasmic bliss. She could still feel the tension in her arms and legs, which came with being tied up, and only wished she had been able to spank Zoe before they had both fallen asleep.

As she relived the teasing and pleasing of the previous day, a little idea formed in Georgia’s head and she smirked to herself. It was mean, but it had to be done. Checking again that Zoe was still asleep, Georgia carefully made her way out of the bed and found two of the scarves that Zoe had used the day beforehand. She tiptoed back to bed and climbed in beside Zoe. Zoe was lying on her tummy with her arms resting on the matress, above her head. It didn’t take much for Georgia to gently lift both of Zoe’s hands and slide the scarves underneath them. It was even easier for her to tie a scarf to each wrist, before tying the opposite end of each scarf to one of the slats on the headboard. There was still enough slack in the scarves that Zoe wasn’t disturbed from her sleep, and Georgia giggled quietly to herself as she lay back down between the sheets and got ready to put her plan into action.

Lying on her side and facing Zoe, Georgia began to think of all the things Zoe had done to her the day before – the tying her up, the biting, the licking, the sucking, the oral. Very quickly, Georgia began to feel horny, and without Zoe awake to touch her, Georgia had no choice but to touch herself. Oh, what a pity. Georgia moved her arm from under her so she could start rubbing her nipple, while she moved her top arm down, so her hand was positioned between her legs. Her finger very easily slipped inside her pussy, with her thumb resting on her clit. As she continued thinking, her fingers began to move naturally and, in no time at all, she began moaning very very softly. As she began squeezing her nipple and rubbing her clit harder and faster, her moaning became louder and louder and she speedily became hornier and hornier.

When Zoe began stirring beside her, Georgia upped the ante a little, squeezing her nipple harder, moving her finger in and out of her pussy, while using more pressure on her clit. Naturally, this caused her to moan louder and when Zoe slowly turned her head and opened her eyes, Georgia smiled at her. She continued to masturbate, her pussy was getting increasingly wet and she could feel more friction against her finger caused by the swelling of her cunt. As Georgia had known would happen, Zoe came to and realised the full extent of what Georgia was doing. Georgia grinned at her.

Would you like a hand, wife?” Zoe asked sleepily. Georgia nodded.

I would love nothing more,” Georgia replied and winked at Zoe, knowing that she would not be helping! Zoe moved her arm toward Georgia, and when she realised she was restrained she gasped.

What have you done to me?” Zoe exclaimed.

Well, gorgeous wife of mine, I decided you needed a little payback after your hijinx last night,” Georgia told Zoe, very matter of factly. Zoe laughed.

Oh, you are SO evil!” she responded and Georgia nodded.

Pot, kettle, black,” Georgia teased. “But yes, I am a little evil,” she added.

So for my punishment I get to watch you make yourself cum?” Zoe asked, curiously.

No, that was just to wake you up,” Georgia informed Zoe with a wink. Zoe raised her eyebrows at Georgia.

Oh really? So how are you going to tease me then? I’m on my stomach – it’s not like you have access to any of my exciting parts!” Zoe joked.

Georgia pulled back the blankets and ran her fingers from Zoe’s neck, down to the top of the cleft of her bottom, then slowly raked her fingernails down over one of the cheeks of her ass. Zoe’s full body shudder was very evident, and when she raked her nails back up and down again, the shudder was accompanied by a soft moan.

No baby. I can’t do any of the things I’d love to do to your boobs, your nipples, your clit, your pussy… but I can do this,” Georgia said, then brought her hand down on Zoe’s bottom. Zoe moaned.

Oh god!” she exclaimed and Georgia giggled.

Uh huh,” Georgia remarked, as she brought her hand down on Zoe’s ass again, a tiny bit harder this time.

Bitch,” Zoe remarked, and rather than reply, Georgia brought her hand down on Zoe’s bottom again, and as was the case with the previous time, her hand came down a little harder. The moan that escaped Zoe’s lips was music to Georgia’s ears.

From then on, the only verbal communication from Zoe came in the form of whimpers, moans, groans and cries, as Georgia continued to spank her – the spanking growing harder and harder with each blow to her bottom. Every few blows, Georgia ran her fingers lightly down the cleft of Zoe’s ass, her fingers moving until they were met by the warm wetness of Zoe’s pussy. Georgia was getting hornier herself and when she pushed three fingers deep inside Zoe and spanked her at the same time, she could feel Zoe’s pussy clenching in response. Feeling the effect the spanking was having on Zoe, first hand (literally), only served to make Georgia even hornier. THEN because Georgia felt hornier, she spanked Zoe harder – it was really a win-win of very sexy proportions.

As Zoe writhed around on the bed, moaning and crying out, she managed to pull her knees up beneath her, so her bottom was in the air. Georgia’s pussy squeezed tightly as she took in the sight of Zoe’s ass poking up in the air. The prospect of being able to spank her even harder, sending waves of pleasure through the wetness pooling at the apex of her thighs. She’d learnt early on that when it came to spanking, she shouldn’t worry about whether or not she was hurting Zoe; if it was too much, Zoe would tell her.

There hadn’t been one instance so far of Zoe telling her to be more gentle and Georgia wondered exactly how high her threshold was. It was the same with Zoe biting her though – she’d told Zoe that if it hurt, she’d tell her – but the pain inflicted by the biting was counteracted by deep-seeded throbs it caused inside her pussy, and she presumed that it was a similar story for Zoe when it came to being spanked.

Georgia knew that when it came to fingers and vibrators, Zoe preferred them to be used hard and fast. The one problem with spanking AND using fingers inside was that she could never move her fingers as hard as Zoe needed. Luckily, Georgia had thought about this before she’d started her grand wake-up scheme and when she took the vibrator from where it was sitting on top of the bedside cabinet (hiding behind a box of tissues), she heard Zoe whimper before she gave her a pleading look. A look that said ‘Now. Quickly. Please!’.

Georgia lined the vibrator up with Zoe’s hole, then slowly pressed it inside her, grinning when Zoe cried out loudly. The vibrator wasn’t even ON yet! When Georgia did turn the vibrator on, Zoe responded immediately, crying out loudly again. Georgia bit her lip as she raised her hand up and then brought it down on Zoe’s ass. Zoe shrieked and the shrieking continued as Georgia started bringing her hand down harder and faster on her ass. At the same time Georgia was pumping the vibrator in and out of her pussy – hard and fast – the way Zoe liked. The shrieking, the moaning, the crying out, all of it was coming in a continuous stream as Georgia worked toward her sole goal, making her wife cum.

Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Zoe began saying breathlessly – and Georgia knew she was getting close.

Georgia concentrated on keeping the two types of stimulation steady – not wanting to deviate from the current pace – not when she knew that Zoe was getting closer and closer to cumming. As Georgia continued bringing her hand down on Zoe’s ass and pounding her pussy with the vibrator, Zoe again began to shriek. When Georgia started moving the vibrator even harder, Zoe started to shriek louder, the shrieks growing more and more high pitched with each blow. Georgia could see Zoe was squeezing her thighs together, and she knew that Zoe’s orgasm was starting to build. Georgia brought her hand down just a little harder on Zoe’s ass, making sure her hand was making contact with skin at the same time the tip of the vibrator was hitting the back of Zoe’s pussy, and as Zoe raised her ass further in the air, Georgia knew she was getting painfully close.

Two more hard thrusts of the vibrator was all it took to push Zoe over that edge. She came loud, screaming, her legs squeezed tightly together, her whole body rigid. Georgia continued to pump the vibrator as Zoe’s orgasm ran its course, but began to turn the speed dial down, as it became obvious that the orgasm was petering off. Georgia timed it perfectly, as Zoe’s body went into an extreme state of post-orgasm relaxation, Georgia slowly slid the vibrator out of Zoe’s pussy, smiling as Zoe let out a satisfied sigh.

After putting the vibrator back on the bedside table, Georgia slowly and very gently rubbed Zoe’s rather pink bottom, before moving up on the bed and undoing Zoe’s wrists. Lying back down beside Zoe, Georgia pulled the blankets up so they were covering them then moved nice and close to her wife so she could take her in her arms. It was very clear that Zoe would need a lot of time to recover from both the spanking and the orgasm.

Georgia wasn’t the least bit surprised when Zoe went to sleep. She lazily kissed Zoe’s forehead and smiled as she thought about the fact they were now wife and wife. Thinking about their new relationship status, it was impossible to not remember the night they had met… THAT had been unexpected and a very big surprise!