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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Thursday, 13 August 2009

Slaves and lovers

With The Photographer last night, he asks in the middle of using me if there is anything that I want. I usually shake my head, because when we're fucking, like this, really my mind is in an empty space of use-submission and I have no wants. Except at the moment, I do. I'm presenting myself to him, hands around my breasts, pushing them up to meet him, a new position for him to use me in. His breath is brushing my lips and I find myself caught in the agony of knowing that I can't just reach up and kiss him. I feel silly asking it, because I know that I can't. It's not allowed. I ask anyway, knowing that all the same. Because it is a desire I have, because I want to be told "no" I suppose, and to be reminded of why. They why is important. He asks me to tell him why and I do, twinging a little, perhaps a tiny note of regret or even embarrassment, then overshadowed by a flush of pleasure, a sexual thrill in the most real and physical sense.

I am his slave and not his lover. Lovers are for kissing. Slaves are for using. Slaves give pleasure. Lovers give and receive. I am one but not the other. Which causes two pangs in my heart, pulling it both ways. Happy that I am his, for all that gives me. Sad that I cannot have those specific, tender intimate touches as well as the firm ones, that I am not his lover, because at that moment I want to be able to be everything to him, but some needs cannot be filled at the same time as others. Additionally, being a slave requires that there are things I want but sometimes cannot have - denial makes me feel owned by him and the sensation of ownership is a strong turn-on. If I had everything I wanted, whenever I wanted it, at my beck and call I would not be the slave. It's one of the necessary power exchanges that make a D/s relationship function, in order to be completely his, to be his slave and to be able to enjoy all the pleasure and satisfaction of that, I have to lose something else that would also give me pleasure, albeit in a different way. I could have the kisses. But I would not be owned.

It's made a little more complicated than that, of course, because we don't spend our entire lives in bed. I am his lover most of the time and certainly for all the outside world would know - and we do kiss. Just not whilst we are fucking or playing, which is the point during which I am most expressing the fact that I am his, when he is most demonstrating his ownership of me. Physical signs directed at each other, in private, where only we need know what it means and how it feels: I'm a public lover and a secret slave.

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