The act of SHAME

How is it that as a kinky person I still feel shame for something I do? In fact, it’s the most sexually ordinary thing I do: masturbation.

I am delighted to write kinky stories, but to talk about my own masturbation makes me turn red and want to hide my face. Masturbation is something most kinky people will talk about freely, so why do I find it so hard?

I will masturbate for Dr. Payne, but to talk about sticking my fingers in my pussy or to use a toy, leaves me squeamish.  Is it the act, or the account, that I find shameful?

It’s an odd level of shame I have trouble understanding, and it sticks with me. Why? As a submissive my life is full of personal and sexual exploration. It is very much what I am about. Dr. Payne and I tell people to feel what you are going to feel. We know from experience that bottling up feelings and denying who you are is emotionally toxic.

Thus, I find myself asking: what is my deal with masturbation? Is talking about the act of sticking my fingers into my moist pussy a necessary thing?  I feel it’s something I have to explore.

Why do I have any shame about this, and why do I feel this need to figure out that shame?

There are kinks I now love and embrace happily, that were once hard limits. I did not accept these kinks as a part of me. In the early days, even the thought of getting naked in a public dungeon wasn’t just shameful, it was horrifying! There was a certain level of self-confidence I needed to get to, and a level of shame for those specific things I needed to get past.

So now I am back to wondering why I do I have this sense I need to examine and get past this most basic of sexual activities? Might it be that my need to get past this shame has to do with a very big fear: If I do not keep moving forward—learning, growing–might I go backward to the person who was ashamed of everything about themselves and had no self-love?

I understand how important it is to not let negative emotions control me, and shame was an awfully controlling force in my life for many years.

At the heart of why I need to assess my shame in talking about masturbation is about the fact that at some level, I am still allowing shame to seep in and control certain parts of my thinking. If I am allowing shame to control me who am I really submitting to?

Now I’m back to the shame and how do I get past it? Is it about the act?

The answer is in the why I need to delve into this: It is about my submission to Dr. Payne. In my heart I have a deep need to serve Dr. Payne and I desire to please the people around me. Masturbation is often a solo thing, for my pleasure only. Pleasing myself and doing thigs strictly for myself has been historically a difficult thing for me.

In the end it seems I am still learning to love me and allow myself to be sexually free and allow myself to do things that are just for me.

Soon I may be writing tales of sticking my tiny pink vibrator in my dripping pussy and squirting all over my sheets. 

Hmm.  That didn’t feel shameful to write.  Maybe, like masturbation itself, practicing writing about masturbation makes perfect.

Tie Me Down

“Strip!” Sir commanded. A wicked grin crossed my face as I began to comply.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“No Sir. I am just excited!” I replied. Admittedly, this was at a time that I was still in sub-frenzy and even the command “Attend!” heard from across a room had my pussy wet and my body feeling electric.  

“Let’s see,” Sir said as he reached his hand inside my panties and felt my already-slippery pussy. A grin spread across his face. “You’d better finish getting your clothes off, or I might have to rip those pretty white panties.” I would never dare disobey, but the thought of having my panties ripped off me raised my body temperature and the level of excitement.

Once I was naked, I was told to lay back on the bed. “Don’t move!” This command from my husband, my Dom, always turns me on.  Each hand was bound with wrist cuffs, then my ankles, then attached to straps from under the bed. The last thing he attached was my leash snapping into place with a seductive click. Sir laid the cold chain across my belly and down over my pussy.

Sir slowly began exploring my pussy with his fingers. I closed my eyes and prepared for him to do whatever he wanted. Sir bent down and let his tongue explore my wet, shaved folds (Sir insists on a bald pussy and I willingly comply). His tongue does things my fingers never could, and a clean cunt ensures I am rewarded for my efforts. Sir rolled the tip of his tongue on my clit, then covered my nub with his lips and sucked.

“Are you going to cum?” He raised his head to ask, as he slipped a finger inside my cunt and tickled. “Tell me how many times you cum!” His mouth went back to work lapping at me until those wonderful tingly tremors began signaling my impending orgasm—that electric feeling that my pussy and entire body were about to become a quivering mess. His face in my cunt, lapping away and making me breathless, is one of my favorite things. He inserted two more fingers.

 “Cum for me!” Sir commanded, and at that same time he reached up and pulled hard on my leash. That was the catalyst for the first orgasm to start and with it I was squirting in his mouth. He didn’t stop and reminded me to count for him. “Two.” I said. I would come down from one orgasm for a moment, and then he’d lap my clit and another orgasm would have me convulsing on the bed. Unable to grab his head, or my own leash made it all the more erotic.

I love to have Sir lap at my pussy, and he prides himself in making me cum multiple times but being restrained was the most intense sensation ever. He held my thighs down and apart as the restraints still allowed me to bend my knees.  I couldn’t have been quiet if I wanted to. I came so much the blankets were soaked where I lay.  

“Twelve.” I counted breathlessly: I almost lost track and had forgotten to count out loud. As I came down from that twelfth orgasm, Sir stood up, stripped off his clothes, and shoved his raging hard cock into my pussy, the metal chain smashed between us as I came three more times.

I was exhausted, certain I would pass out before Sir finished. As he continued to pound me, he reached down with his hand the push the chain against my clit. Sir wasn’t close to coming, but my brain was so foggy I lost count. When Sir finally shot his load into me, it was as I had one last orgasm; His moans mixed with mine.

We lay there sweaty and breathless for a few moments. He slowly reached one at a time to undo my bindings, then he curled himself around me and we lay there until I began to shiver.

“That’s my good girl.” He said, wrapping me in dry blankets and tucking me in for the night.  

Years later, the words “Cum for me!” still turn me into a wet mess.