Masochist

I am a masochist. I have always been this way for as long as I can remember.

When I was a child I was a scratcher. I would scratch myself with needles and anything sharp at all. The sharp edge on a plastic item would cause me to become blissed out at a very young age. I remember being around 8 and brushing my hair with one of those really stiff bristled brushes. My hair was laying down my back and over my shoulders in long rippling waves and it was summer so I was wearing a tube top. The bristles scraped down my back and shoulders as I brushed my hair. I can remember shivering in delight as they dragged across my sun browned skin and turned it a bright red. My skin protesting the abuse as my nerve endings sent pleasure sensations coursing through me.

At 10 I discovered that the pain sensations were pleasurable from impact. My father had given me a beautiful leather belt for my birthday. I was amazed by the texture of this animal skin. So supple and soft, yet strong. I don't remember the first time it struck my bare skin, I know it was accidental. I know the strike caused my pulse to race and breath to quicken. I know it was followed quickly by more. I bruised myself and my mom was very distressed when she saw that. She told me that bruises were ugly. I couldn't see ugliness in them. The were glorious reminders of pleasure.

I spent my entire childhood being sexually assaulted by various people who were in positions of power over me. Sex became something different to me. An expression of love. And hate. I don't remember my first orgasm I must have been extremely young. Sexual acts had a physical pleasure that was separated from anything emotional or anything cerebral at all as I would disassociate during the abuse. My body would react with orgasms, but my mind was elsewhere.

I do remember when I started to masturbate at around 9 and have orgasms. I would disassociate from that as well.

Until pain. Pain was mine. Pure. Untainted by any abuses.

Cleansing.

Jarring.

Pain was grounding. Yet freeing.

At 12 I started cutting.

At 14 I started burning.

Each level of pain I climbed higher with, I achieved a new sense of purity. A new sense of balance.

I remember heating metal pieces in fire. 14 years old, a few friends around, one was a boy I was fucking. I plucked the shard of metal from the fire. It was glowing red hot. He asked me what I was going to do with it. I told him it was to mark me. He didn't believe I would do it.

I was staring at it, eyes bright in pain lust. The red glow reflecting in my clear green gaze. I licked my lips. My nipples were erect and I was soaking wet. Every nerve ending in my body was clamoring and banging. Almost as if begging for it to be placed, here on my thigh, here on my tummy, no here on my breast..

The red glow fades, I know I can't have it to hot or the metal will go past my skin and into my flesh. I wait and turn it over and over with the tongs. My friends are jeering now, daring me and calling me a wimp. I can't hear them much through the blood that is pumping hard and fast. Ears hearing only that rushing and thumping of my excitement.

I bare my thigh, my free hand smoothing over my sensitive skin. I have goosebumps and am salivating. I wipe my mouth and push my hair back away so it hangs down my back. Intent now, I hover the piece above my thigh, I can feel the heat radiating.

My boyfriend, in an attempt to distract me, turns my face to his, and he sees close up for the first time the rapture that pain lust is causing. He is aroused by my intensity and His lips are on mine.

I drop the hot metal onto my thigh.

His kiss is firm and insistent and I allow him to rape my mouth with his tongue. Orgasm rips through me as the bright hot burn sweeps over my senses and obliterates everything but lust. White hot sparkles drift and float and burst behind my closed eyelids. Awash in the intensity of the burn, I am pliable and surrender to his kiss. Heart racing as I abandon inhibition and rub my nipples against his chest. I hear his groan and can feel his desire swell between us. I am in control of this moment, his lust following my own. Every pore, every cell is aflame in lust and I am pouring it out of me and into him. His hands tangle in my hair that is spilled down my back and tug at it unintentionally. I am transported, orgasm shudders through me again as the intensity drives my endorphins ever higher.

Far off, I hear my girlfriend gasp and start to scream "SHE DID IT"

The moment is torn from me as the lips retreat and he is pulling the metal off my leg. You can smell a faint scorched scent as if I had burnt a bit of my hair. My skin is yellow where the metal touched and red all around, as my body reacts and isolates the wound. Blood rushing to the site as my skin reacts and my body begins the healing process.

He is swearing at me and wiping his mouth. I taste faint copper and realize I must have bit him at some point. I lick his blood from my lip and murmur apologies. More lust raging inside me. He isn't really hurt but I have startled him. And he never kisses me again...

As an adult I had to hide my love for pain even more. Married to a vanilla man and being a mommy. I felt society would never accept a pain-lover.

Then I found BDSM online. Years of hiding fell away and freedom was at last granted to me. It has been a glorious 9 years or re-awakening and exploration.

Pain is ecstasy to me. It washes me in sensations that I cherish. Pain is my most longed for and loved companion. Sex is fun, but something entirely separate and distinctly different from the all encompassing enrapturing state that pain places me in.

My toy box is beginning to take over an entire closet now with instruments to cause levels of pain that I can experience and share with others.

I am always negotiating scenes and many are surprised when sex is no part of it. It is not required to get me off. Sex is intimate and.. sex is a different animal entirely.

Give me pain... I am very much a taker when it comes to the glory of pain.