#being ignored
It’s a human fleshlight- you use it to cum. Its pride doesn’t matter.
Make it get dressed up in its sexiest outfit, and don’t even look at it while you use its cunt and get off watching porn.
I would hate this. Having my efforts to please ignored and then being passed over (or mostly passed over) for something else to give a man enjoyment would make me feel horrible.
I need to work on those feelings. I should be thankful a man wants to use me and not just a regular fleshlight. That he’s willing to put up with me to use my holes should be more than enough gratification.
This is the proper place for a woman, if she’s lucky enough to have a man her life who wants to use her as cumrag.
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This would be awful for me. Being ignored is one of those things (along with feeling like I’m replaceable/not important/second best/a second choice/not worth effort, and comments about how I get off or how long it takes me) that I dislike on a level that risks bringing me out of a headspace or scene because it tips off actual issues. These things are limits when I play with most people, and even with people who own me/I’m very close to, pushing these boundaries requires thought and care, along with an awareness and acceptance that the play may very well have to stop in the middle or at least change course.
I do enjoy objectification, but the flavor of objectification that I like is more active. I want to be treated like an object and talked about like I’m an object, but I want these things to happen while I’m being used. I like being told that I don’t get a say because objects don’t have rights or opinions. I enjoy having someone use me to teach someone else how to do something while only speaking to the other person and talking about me like an object I like being told women are objects for men to use and that their (my) purpose is to bring pleasure and entertainment to men.
I truly hate the idea of being left alone in a room as a piece of furniture or decoration. Even if there were other people there, I would hate it if I was being entirely ignored. Being totally ignored for more than a little while would be too much, although I am somewhat interested in having someone I trust test that limit. It would have to be done carefully, and definitely on a one-on-one basis at first, but I think it would be a valuable experience and I’m curious how I would reaction.
A comment about me/said for my benefit every so often, even (especially?) a degrading comment or a misogynistic comment would soften the being ignored enough that I could stand it, if just barely. Even worse would be saying things about issues I care about or about me personally that the speaker knows I would feel the need to respond to. I wouldn’t be able to respond, of course, since objects can’t talk or argue. Being touched (either kindly or cruelly) and having to fight my natural reactions and hold position would also up the unpleasantness factor.
So long as there are little reminders that no I’m not being completely ignored because of course everyone is aware that the adorable, sexy, naked girl is right there and they’re all amused/aroused/entertained by treating her like an object, I could stand this sort of thing. I still think it would be punishment, especially with people trying to goad me into responding while I seethe and struggle not to talk back or move in response to their taunts and touches, but it would be the kind of punishment I would be able to abide by and handle.
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Reaction Junkie and I arrived at the party and socialized separately for a while. Or, rather, he socialized and I half socialized, half felt socially anxious in a corner. Eventually, I wandered up to him talking to a couple people and joined in the conversation. I’d recently written a post about objectification in which I’d talked about my enjoyment of being used as an object in terms of being a demo bottom, and about having my limits regarding feeling replaceable and/or ignored pushed (by particular people). So, when someone asked him about his handcuffs, Reaction Junkie grabbed me and used me to show them off, not speaking to me, but about me. It was exactly the kind of objectification I enjoy.
After he was done showing the last pair of cuffs, Reaction Junkie didn’t remove them. He left them on me and, with me facing away from him and the rest of the conversation, put his arm around me and talked to the other people, completely ignoring me. A few times, he put his arm around my neck and squeezed, choking me, but continued to ignore me. I wasn’t bored, since I was facing out into the party, so I had plenty to look at. When I looked back to see that he was using his free hand to play with someone else’s tits while continuing to ignore me, I felt somewhat uncomfortable, maybe a little jealous, but it wasn’t unbearable.
Eventually, he let me go, and I started talking to Mort, one of the girls he’d been showing off his cuffs to. We were having a good conversation, enough that, when I noticed Reaction Junkie kissing someone else, I was able to focus in on Mort and get through the jealousy pings without much difficulty. I was so focused on our conversation, that I didn’t even watch where Reaction Junkie went when he left to go play. Mort and I talked for a good while, about all sorts of things, from death, to being submissive, to her time in the BDSM scene in Germany, to wanting to try being dommier and toppier, and more.
During our conversation, I did look around a few times to see where Reaction Junkie had gone, but I couldn’t find him. I laughed and told Mort that he was probably right behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but didn’t see him. Later I learned that yes, that’s exactly where he was. Mort and I continued talking for what felt like an hour or more. She eventually went off to find someone and I sat alone for a little while, thinking about the conversation and considering whether or not to go hunt down Reaction Junkie.
I didn’t have to consider for too long, because he walked up to me shortly after Mort left. We talked for a couple minutes, and then he sat behind me with his arm around my throat. I wondered if we were going to start playing. I’d asked him to make me cry, but requested that he not take the easy way out by slapping me in the face or something like that. What I’d meant was that stingy pain brings me to tears pretty quickly and without too much effort, so I wanted him to make me cry with thuddier, deeper pain, like punching and elbowing and kicking. Reaction Junkie interpreted what I’d said differently. He decided to use his words.
Sometimes silence is worse.
