I love making the bruises.  My girl and I both enjoy admiring the bruises. ariaonthefloor: ms

I love making the bruises.  My girl and I both enjoy admiring the bruises.

ariaonthefloor:

msawake:

joandefers:

cleanmoralpolite:

Souvenirs.

Me, photographed by Me.

So, I’m reading Mary Roach’s Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, because The Foster Kid’s review made it sound worthwhile.  It is, but boy-howdy I’ve read a lot of information about pig orgasm now.

According to research, when you’re sexually excited your pain threshold goes up. Way up. People achieve pretty impressive and cringe-worthy feats when hopped up on sex hormones. Doctors have stories. Fetlife has pictures.

I’ve seen things, y’all.

The first time I attempted this sex blogging thing, I posted a picture of myself, specifically my breasts, bruised. I got very concerned messages.Very concerned.

And I get it. I do. I think, there is an element of wanting to save the damsel in distress when you send that sort of missive through the tubes, but really, I believe them. It looks like it hurts. It does hurt. I’ve been pretty marked up. There’s that little voice, on say… day three?  When the purple maxes out? That voice wonders, ‘Jesus, you perv, what the fuck? This is okay with you? Issues much?’

That little voice goes pretty much silent when you’re actually getting the bruises, though. You are busy, just then. Preoccupied.

Yeah… totally preoccupied.

It’s an interesting phenomenon… my voice also goes silent (the one that tells me I’m a fucking perv too) when I nipples ache when my bra rubs them the right(?) way and I go immediately back to that place, the place where I cried out in intense pleasure/pain. The place where I wish the bite marks stayed on my ass longer.

Yeah… I’m a fucking freaky bitch.

Ugh, but then you get that feeling of petty abandonment right after they fade away. And then the whole, “JFC, what the fuck, you actually want them back? Perv.” restarts in your head.