Today I read this post by @about the intersectional relationship between Dominance and Sadism and Submission and Masochism. For the most part I completely agree with it however I am not convinced that anyone truly inhabits the centre cross, which is supposedly the non kink folks. I truly believe that everyone has a kink, even if their kink is lights out sex, under the covers once a month then that is your kink or possibly that is your method of avoiding, managing, hiding, ignoring, coping, with whatever your kink actually is.
I digress though, my reason for writing this post was to talk about me. Yes, me, me, me. I am not a masochist. I am submissive (within the context of my relationship with Michael) If we define masochism as ‘deriving pleasure from pain’ then, as a general rule, that is not what I am. There are some sensations that I do totally get pleasure from but to me they are not really painful. The heavy thud of the flogger for example, does not feel like pain, it feels more like a massage, but if the tails happen to whip round the unleash their powerful bite across my hip, then that is pain and I will yelp and twist and turn to try to avoid it. Just the pain, isolated from anything else does nothing for me, in fact I would go so far as to say I hate it. There are moments, with the whip or the crop where I rage against the pain, I want it to stop and yet the moment it does I feel a tinge of sadness both that I fought it so hard and that it is over because for me enduring that, accepting that, is a massive turn on. The actual pain itself is not what gets me off but what it symbolizes, the context of it and my desire for that discomfort and difficulty is what I get off on. It is that which drives me through the moment, it is that which makes me long for it. I want that battle, I want that hardship, I want that test. Not the pain in and of itself but what the pain inspires and means.
However more than anything else I like the pain not for the sensation but because it gives me what I really crave and desire and that is the marks. I will endure pain, grit my teeth and focus my way through it, to get the marks which is why of all the impact toys we have it is the ones that leave the best marks that I will ask for. Even when those things hurt me in a way that makes me fucking loath them in the moment, I still welcome them, because ultimately they give me what I want. A perfect example if that is the cat tails whip. It is vicious fucking bastard of a thing that feels like red hot fire. When he gets it out the bag I will plead, beg, whine and general try to get out of having to endure it but he always calls me on it, reminding me why I like it and that if I grip the sheets, bite the pillow and accept the pain I will get what it is I really want; The beautiful red welts the will linger on my flesh for hours and, if I have been brave enough and he has hit me hard enough, sometimes for days afterwards. The desire for those marks is so strong that it allows me to ride the pain, to even accept it, in order to get my reward.