Choosing a Path

NaNoWriMo has started and as I sit here looking into the white space of my blog I am not hit by the daunting challenge of what I have taken on but by the simple fact that I am looking at the wrong fucking blog. I have a a site set up for my fiction and I should be working there but instead I am here. Why?

I think part of it is because I know there are people that listen here. The fiction site is (semi)private and I do not get the feedback. A writer may say he is not writing for others but we all know the truth. If it weren’t for those other eyes, those other minds we would be scratching our thoughts onto napkins and sticking them under our beds. So to placate my need to reach out to people that might be passing by I stop here first on my way to the dark hole that is an unfinished book.

Discipline is not just for your slave. It is a practice for the Master too. The beauty of it though is that I use Dedita to keep me on track. By having her life to control, I am given a cue. It is like a leash in my hand that reminds me that I am walking my pet. I am finding more and more than the nuance and acts of Mastery are not new to me but the naming of them as such is. I was raised in a left-leaning house with a father who was president of his local union for nearly fifteen years. I was raised to see titles with disdain. They were labels we put on ourselves to create structure where there was not structure. I took this to mean that I was being raised with an egalitarian worldview but somehow that never seemed to fit quite right.

 

Generation of Swine

I think I was tricked as a child. I was raised with the words of a Marxist but the actions of a Master. My father talked a big game about how we were all equal. His language was about fairness and the rule of law. He wanted it to be about the work and not the station of the man. Yet, in his actions there was definitely structure. Respect was given to those who earned it. There was no democracy in the house, his word was law. It was not as if his rules were unfair, but they were his rules and make no mistake, they were enforced.

This created a bit of a dichotomy within me as I became an adult and took on the father role. I believed that I was supposed to be egalitarian. I thought the words were what ruled my actions but the way I wanted to act, the way I felt I should act, flew in the face of this. Why do I want to put my foot down when I should be taking everyone’s POV into consideration? Why is it the more I let my wife decide how she is going to run her life the less attracted I am to her?

I am looking back at the way my father acted and I see where the confusion comes in. It is not the words that carried the weight of his lessons. He is not a wordsmith. My father is an artist, a visual person. He shows you what he wants you to learn with his actions. He railed against class and inequality not because he thought there should be no structure but because the structure seemed arbitrary. If you game the system you can receive a title without ever earning it. People with money were not better, should not be treated as better just because they had money. An education did not make you a Master anymore than a lack of education made you a slave. Who you are is based on who you are. Likewise, your station in life did not make you better or worse. If you wanted to lead then you led, if you wanted to follow, you followed. It is not a good or bad thing to be in the front or taking up the rear. What was a good or bad thing was trying to be something that you are not. Owning your place in life, being comfortable in who you are is what is important.

This is what Mastery means to me. It is not a label that I put on myself, it is a way of behaving. It is an amount of respect for personal choices and a natural order of things. I do not care who you are or where you come from, I will show the respect of a Master when you have shown me you are worthy. I will not look down on you for accepting your place as a slave. You are who you were meant to be and as such in a better place than most.

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Feeding Off Her Pain


An interesting conversation was started by thedreamingsub that inspired me to talk on the nature of my sadism…

Oxford defines sadism as, the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from inflicting pain, suffering, or humiliation on others. This is often expressed in the form of physical pain. Most people think of the sadist as the big bad wolf, wielding whips and knives as his victims hang by chains in his basement. Well, that is the romanticized sadist. Even those who know sadists see them as physical people with a predilection for bruises and blood. This is not an untrue image but it s far from being the only type of sadist there is. While I enjoy causing physical pain and am just as proud as the next man when a play partner tags my name on her bathroom mirror shots of bruised thighs, it is not my main stimulus. I am, above all else, an emotional sadist.

An emotional sadist is just as it sounds, a person who derives sexual pleasure from the emotional pain of his partners. I like to play with the mind more than with the body. I want the mindfuck, the fear play, the consensual non-consent where no is ignored as you both explore places that are in the shadows of even our community. My heart is pounding the hardest when my blackest thoughts are realized. My blackest thoughts are realized when I feel that I have the soul of another person in my hand. I have another person’s soul in my hands when I see my words cutting them in ways that no knife ever could.

In the beginning…

When I was in tenth grade, my high school had a special day where the regular curriculum was set aside and alternative classes were taught. One of the classes was on using directed mental imagery. I spent the rest of the day in a world of my own creating. It was filled with mountains and forests, with roads and castles and ninjas and werewolves (I was fifteen, what did you expect). I fell in love with the potential of the human mind. I could create feelings in myself, I could remember textures and smells and recreate sensations with no outside stimulus.

I started to study hypnosis and found a new way to influence not only my own internal world but others as well. I wanted to use it to fuck girls without their knowing it but I refrained out of ethical integrity. It was difficult but I did it. Other games came into play and soon I was playing the role of the psychic. It was a short lived role because it felt inauthentic. I was in another person’s head with the implication that I had some magic power. This ability, this talent I have for what I was later to learn is called cold reading people, seemed manipulative so I put it away.

Rebirth

 When I found kink I quickly learned that many of the things I wanted to do were not only accepted but sought after by others. They wanted it. They wanted to be controlled, twisted, fucked with. I pulled my talents off the shelf and began playing with them. At first it was in a topping way. I would toy with minds, fuck with the senses, as a service. I took the name Magister Nodi: Master of Knots because I could tie the mind up without rope. I was Daedalus. I was the maker of labyrinths. The service was great in that I was able to do what I wanted but it was still for others and while I do enjoy the game and I do enjoy the effect, it was for them and not for me. I wanted something more.

I met a girl who, in one of the most horrible moments of my life, said to me, “What if you are an emotional sadist?” It was an interesting thought. What if I was not getting what I wanted from this type of play because I was doing it for the wrong reasons? What if I let go and did it for myself as opposed for others? What a concept! Are there people out there that wanted that? Are there women out there that wanted to not only to be fucked with but wanted to be mentally tortured not because they were complicated creatures but because it was a form of submission for them? I chewed on this for a while. I thought about the possibilities. I could be my darkest, most cruel self consciously and it would not only be ok, but it would be craved. It was like that day in high school when the idea of a world beyond the physical opened up.

Coming to Terms with Your Dark Passenger

I am learning to be ok with this. Society (and the kink community at large) still sees this with disdain at best. Most see emotional sadism as abuse. They see it as manipulation, as toying with the soul in ways that cannot be fixed. The thing is that emotional play is not any more dangerous than other forms of edge play but the wounds and the scars are less visible. They are not more damaging but most people miss the signs. Most people cannot see the effects or know how to tend to the wounds. It is not as simple as washing off the cut, or curling up with a blanket and giving her a cup of hot chocolate.

It is about knowing that emotional masochists need to feel the pain. Taking it away too soon is as damaging as not showing you care. You have to balance the two. Likewise you have to know how much repair you can do and how much has to be done by the person you played with. If you beat a girl unconscious and pick her up and think she can stand you will drop her even harder when you let go. She must be allowed to lie in a puddle on the floor and find her own feet when she is ready. This is difficult for an ethical person because after the darkness has passed all you want to do is hold her and love her. It is an interesting feeling, that moment after. You are lighter, freer than you have ever been before. Suddenly the anger, the angst, the blackness that had been filling the corners of your eyes is gone. I am at that moment filled with love and peace. It is for me as important a feeling as the pain is. It is in that moment that I remember, not my humanity, but the potential for all humanity.

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