#safewords
Listen, safe words are critically important. They’re non-negotiable, they have to exist in healthy BDSM.
But, we should talk a little about the fact that a good dominant / top shouldn’t be letting it get to a safe word situation. There is a whole lot more to all this than just going as far as you can and waiting for them to tap out. The dominant/top needs to be aware of when they’re pushing the envelope, we need to be watching for signs in the submissive / bottom of things going too far, we need to be checking in as things go on. When you’re taking the reins, you’re taking on a responsibility that is so much more than just agreeing to a safe word.
Yeah, safe word means stop. But lack of safe word does not necessarilymean go.
At dinner on Sunday night, I was out with Reaction Junkie, The Unknown Quantity, Cunt Destroyer, and some other new friends. I slid my phone over to Reaction Junkie so he could read the post I’d written about the Saturday night party. He started to read it out loud, but when I whined at him, embarrassed, he stopped and read it to himself. I explained to everyone what he was reading, and talked a little about my tumblr. Reaction Junkie must have decided to keep exploring once he’d read the post I’d intended for him to read, because the next thing I knew he was saying, “I’m at a play party and I just had an unexpectedly excellent scene with someone I hadn’t played with before, The Unknown Quantity…”
“Stop!” I said, feeling my face getting hot. I grabbed the phone and checked what I’d written. I knew I hadn’t said anything mean, and nothing super embarrassing, but I’m not confident about my writing. I gave it back to him, kind of okay with him reading it aloud, but didn’t leave tumblr open for him because I wasn’t that enthusiastic about the idea. He went online, found the post that way, and continued reading. I immediately got incredibly embarrassed again and changed my mind about letting him read it.
“No! Don’t! Please stop?” I said in a pathetic little tone. He kept going. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to read it out loud. Stop!” Nothing I said was making him stop reading. Of course, nothing I said was a safeword. I don’t often safeword for psychological things, but I was super uncomfortable and I’d been being a bit toppy (emphasis on “a bit”) earlier in the day. “Red!” I said, expecting him to comply immediately. He didn’t stop. I tried again. He let me know I couldn’t stop him, that I was powerless. I felt a little flicker of panic. “Safeword!” I said. Surely he’d stop. He just kept reading. I could feel myself getting hotter, and now it wasn’t just from embarrassment.
He finally did stop when I hopped up and grabbed the phone. Cunt Destroyer turned to Reaction Junkie and said “That’s not cool,” about his ignoring my safewords. He responded, “I know how far I can push her.”
That made me feel exposed, vulnerable, embarrassed, and it made my cunt twitch. It was also accurate. The whole thing was ridiculously hot. The feelings of being helpless, controlled, and having my wants disregarded combined with the twin embarrassments of having my tumblr read aloud and having my safeword ignored in public to create a recipe for arousal. He wouldn’t ignore a safeword in a situation with actually serious potential negative outcomes, but the reminder that he could do so, that he could decide to continue and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, that when he stops, it’s not because of something I’ve said or done, but because he’s choosing to stop…Just writing about it has me incredibly turned on.
Reaction Junkie started in on my beaten and already beginning to bruise thigh. He brought his open hand down on the spot, slapping hard, and mixing in punches that made me groan and gasp. Then he began throwing elbows again, his weight slamming into me behind the elbow. With the rope now gone, I had to exert more control over my body to fight the urge to struggle. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to change what was happening, and the attempt to get away or stop him would only result in my situation getting worse. As he hit me deep and hard, I wanted to safeword, at least to say “yellow” to make the pain lessen or maybe move to a different part of my body. But at the same time, I was hesitant to test him. There was the chance that he would ignore my “yellow” again, or even ignore a “red.” To be completely honest, I can’t say which outcome would have upset me more – if he had ignored them, or if he hadn’t.
Before I could put that to the test, the pain from the impacts and the racing thoughts about safewords and not being able to stop him and the fear all became too much and I began crying. Reaction Junkie continued hurting me as the tears started to fall. I tried to stop being a little bitch, but wasn’t able to stop crying. Rather than risk breaking his favorite toy with too much intensity, Reaction Junkie decided to stop beating my thigh. He lay next to me, arms around me, and held me. This break from the physical abuse didn’t mean I was free to relax, however, and Reaction Junkie began to talk.
He told me he was going to take a melonballer to my eyes to blind me. Then he would put drops of molten lead in my ears. Not enough to damage my brain, mind. Just enough to destroy my eardrums, making me deaf. Next, my tongue would be cut out and all of my teeth pulled. After he removed my septum, he would burn every inch of my skin, except maybe my tits. When I went to say something about dying, he stopped me and informed me that he would do all this with me sedated and give me painkillers during all of it. The different mutilations would be performed over the course of a few years, giving me time to heal in between. Reaction Junkie promised that I wouldn’t die from shock, adding, “You can’t get away from me that easily.”
He continued, saying that after he’d done all that, mutilated me and destroyed my body, after that was all done, one day he would gently lead me to the car. He would drive me out to the woods, carefully take me out of the car, and then just drive away. I wouldn’t have any idea where I was or what had happened. He might even do it somewhere where if I got lucky and went in the right direction, I could have a chance to wander into civilization. If I did, someone would find me and take me to the hospital. People will try to figure out some way to communicate with me, but it’s going to be difficult, what with me being blind, deaf, mute, and without fingers. Because of course, he’ll remove my fingers before he lets me go. Scientists will want to study me, trying to figure out how I could have survived the trauma. They’ll assume I was in some kind of horrible car wreck. Who could even begin to fathom that someone might inflict such damage on another person?
I was done crying well before he was finished speaking. At the beginning of the story, I’d been amused by the seemingly over-the-top threats, but as he continued describing the mutilation that would be coming my way, amusement turned to some kind of fucked up enjoyment. It wasn’t arousal, exactly, but I got into the narrative and felt strangely comforted. The level of dedication that it would require to keep me like that made me feel wanted and valuable. A favorite toy. A well used, beaten up, and almost entirely broken toy. But a favorite nonetheless.
Reaction Junkie saw that I had recovered from the beating. He asked me, “Do you know what’s going to happen now?” “No,” I responded with some trepidation. Leaning in closer, Reaction Junkie said, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you until you yellow. And then I’m going to keep hurting you. You’ll probably try to say red, but I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop until I feel like it.” As he spoke, I thought about how it felt when he was slamming his elbow into me, about taking more of that, about it not stopping until he decided it should end. Ignoring my “yellow” earlier in the scene had made it clear that I was in a position of powerlessness. It drove home my utter lack of control of my situation. “Red” wouldn’t work, “safeword” wouldn’t work. Nothing would work. I curled into myself and started sobbing uncontrollably.
After making me cry with his words, Reaction Junkie cuddled me close again. He whispered into my ear that there was a DM standing right over us. I don’t like the idea of someone getting the impression that I’m not okay with what’s being done to me (I know, I know. Maybe not the most rational thing in these circumstances, just from crying after being beaten.), so I turned my head and kissed Reaction Junkie. I later found out that the DM had been there for a while and had heard Reaction Junkie talk to me about ignoring my safewords. Thinking about that fact makes me shudder. Of course no one would interfere. He’s my owner and I’m his property. What he does with me is no one else’s business.
Reaction Junkie comforted me and then began beating me again. I begged him not to hit that thigh any more, and he kindly agreed. Just as he was starting to hit me in the tits, a DM came over to us and let us know that time was up. Reaction Junkie had been abusing me for too long. Or, from my perspective, not long enough.
Just as quickly as the knife had become the focus of my attention, it was gone. My trials and tribulations were far from over, however, and Reaction Junkie began to use his hands. He started hurting me, hitting my tits and my stomach with open and closed fists, making me breathe heavily and gasp with the impacts. Still blindfolded, I was taken off guard when the first slap hit my face. Then there was another, and another. These were hard slaps, and as I yelped, he told me to be brave and take them, making it clear that he’d read the post I wrote about wanting face marks. Everything I said in the post is true, but imagining how painful and difficult it would be to handle enough impact to get a mark, and thinking that he meant to leave one on me during that very scene was enough to freak me out. My whimpering intensified. Then, suddenly, bright light hit my eyes, making me squeeze them shut. There were tears in the corners of my eyes from being poked with the knife and from the face slapping. I peered out from half-lidded eyes and saw Reaction Junkie’s grinning face. I grinned right back, and he leaned down for a kiss.
The blindfold now gone, the scene continued. Reaction Junkie began smacking my outer right thigh, warming it up. Then he began punching it increasingly hard. What had been controlled movement on my part turned into writhing, and then thrashing. Grabbing my leg, Reaction Junkie held me down and still and began elbowing me. The first time he did it, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt, and I cried out in surprise and pain. He repeated the action, kneeling next to me and dropping his elbow into my thigh, putting some of his weight behind it. I felt a deep pain each time, like he was hurting me all the way to the bone. I started whimpering, and felt the tears starting. Reaction Junkie made fun of me, asking, “Are you going to cry like a little cunt?” I nodded, and began crying. Just like a little cunt.
I took as much of the elbowing as I could, but after only a few impacts like that, I felt like I was going to break. “Yellow, ” I panted out. Reaction Junkie just looked at my frightened face and pointedly ignored my request to dial things back. He slammed his elbow into me again, just as hard as before. As he set himself up to do it again, I started to breathe faster and faster, half-panicked at the thought that there was nothing I could do to stop him. I watched him dropping his weight into me again, his elbow landing hard, and groaned loudly in response, the tears rolling down my face. He hit me again, and then again. Finally, he decided to stop. It wasn’t anything to do with me wanting him to, of course, but because he felt like it.
Just because he stopped hurting me that way in that location didn’t mean he was stopping altogether. He straddled my legs, sitting on them. That put weight on my now battered thigh, making me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut from the pain. He started slapping my tits and my face. I struggled, but my arms were bound and now my legs were held in place, so it was even more futile than usual. When he paused for a moment, I realized that my thumb felt numb. Not an emergency, but also not something I care to experience for longer than necessary. I opened my eyes and asked Reaction Junkie if the rope could come off. He sat me up and obliged me, wanting his toy to be fully functional. By the time he finished untying me, my thumb was back to normal.
When the rope was off, Reaction Junkie allowed me a few moments to rest. He comforted me, telling me, “There, there. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” By the end of the night, those words would provide no solace. To the contrary, because of the way he was saying them, and because he would tell me such things in the midst of frightening me and hurting me, each time he said them, I became more and more certain that he would do the very things he was saying he wouldn’t. Promises not to hurt me meant pain was imminent, guarantees of safety meant certain danger. In my mind, reassurances turned upside down into threats. In fact, Reaction Junkie eventually had to switch to telling me “You’re not safe. I’m going to hurt you. You’re in mortal peril.” to convince me he meant me no harm. My mind was thoroughly and deliciously fucked.
When I stopped crying, Reaction Junkie resumed his lesson about what it means for him to own me. He made a comment about the horrible things he could do to me, and I replied that he probably shouldn’t do some of them there, at the playspace. He looked at me and, using that voice, he said, “I don’t think you understand how much power I have when it comes to you.” He reminded me that I’m his property, that no one else cares, and that he could kill me and no one would even notice until it was too late. Then he began to hurt my thigh again.
When we got back to The Super Sadist’s apartment, we relaxed for a little while until he decided that it was time for him to use my ass. I cleaned myself out for him (I’m still embarrassed about talking about this subject, by the way.) and came back into the room. He had me head down, ass up. While lubed up his cock, I pushed a couple fingers in and out quickly. He grabbed me and pushed himself into me. I could feel him stretching me out, but it wasn’t toooo painful. In fact, he said it was easier to push into my ass than my cunt. Like Legolas says, I have a “greedy ass and a shallow cunt.” The Super Sadist fucked my ass hard for a while, enjoying his first use of one of the new holes that belong to him.
When he was done with my ass, he pulled out and told me to suck him off. I balked and asked if I could take off the condom. He gave me a look, and then I guess decided to be nice to me, because he said “Take it all the way in once with the condom, and then you can take it off.” That was more than fair, considering the fact that I shouldn’t be hesitating at something so simple as ass to mouth when I’d spent time between his legs, licking his ass. I took his cock all the way into my throat, pushing myself to bottom out. When I came back up, he took the condom off and pushed me back down. I sucked his cock and then licked his balls and ass until he came.
We took a little breather, and then he decided it was time to take some embarrassing pictures of me. He put a hood on me, added a dental gag, and made me hold the SCUM Manifesto in front of me. Then he used my mouth like that. Now that was interesting. It was both easier and harder than a normal blowjob. I didn’t have to worry about my teeth, really, but I also couldn’t use my tongue, and there was no closing my mouth. Finally, he made me spread my ass for him to look at. He knows I hate inspection-type things. Of course, I hate them in a way that makes my cunt hot. He knows that, as well.
When he was done with the pictures and using my gagged open mouth, we decided to Skype with Marxman. Fun fact: It’s pretty much because of him that The Super Sadist and I got together and that I ended up visiting in him. He very much played matchmaker. (So domintaipei is the one you have to thank, littlefeministbitch/The Super Sadist shippers.) The very least we could do was give him a bit of a show. We talked for a little while, and I cuddled up next to The Super Sadist, being my adorable self. They were talking, and I wasn’t reeeeally paying attention to where the camera was pointed at our end, so when I bent my head down to take The Super Sadist’s cock in my mouth, I didn’t expect Marxman to comment right away.
I grinned when I heard him call me out, but didn’t stop. To the contrary, I started putting on more of a show. I was focused on what I was doing with my tongue, my lips, my hands. I heard Marxman ask in a mildly doubtful tone, “She any good at that?” Like he thought I might be mediocre at best. Of course that turned me on a bit. “Shockingly good,” responded The Super Sadist turning me on even more and making me very happy. I love giving blowjobs and licking balls and ass, especially when the person I’m servicing reacts as much and as positively as The Super Sadist did.
After a little while, I came off his cock, and he started hitting my thighs. I moaned with that wonderful combination of pleasure and pain. Marxman excused himself not long after, and I panted a goodbye to him. The Super Sadist continued hitting me for a while, and then told me he was going to put makeup on me again. He’d done it the first night. It embarrasses me both because I don’t ever wear makeup and because he’s legit better at it than I am. So it both invalidates the way I present myself in everyday life, and illustrates my failings as a proper fucktoy. So of course it makes me squirm with arousal.
Disclaimer for the next bit: For choking, I often, although not always, use a secondary safeword that consists of my hand around their wrist, and removal of that hand indicates “Red.” With blood chokes, which is what we were doing, I am also still capable of speaking and using a verbal safeword as the main safeword. In addition, The Super Sadist was paying very close attention to me the entire time and, by this point, had a good grasp of what it looks like when I go out. We were also still at an early stage in terms of what would get him to stop doing things. Long story short, I was never without a way to communicate I needed him to stop doing something. Actually playing without safewords is tricksy and not a good choice except under specific circumstances.
Once he’d made me pretty, it was time to make me dumb. He wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed, making me thrust my hips and whimper. Then he pulled me over and put his arm around my throat, making it easy for him to cause me to fade. He told me to give into the fog. He pointed out his power over me. How easy it would be for him to just keep squeezing until I was actually dumb. I had my hand on his wrist and let go. He stopped choking me and checked in. I was perfectly fine and ready for more, so we continued in that way for a while. He got me very close to going out several times and sent me all the way out at least once. Then the game changed.
His arm was around my neck and I felt myself going fuzzy. I decided to drop my hand. He didn’t stop. I thought maybe he hadn’t realized what I was doing, so I grabbed his arm and then let go. His hold around my neck didn’t loosen at all. I pulled at him, started to struggle, feeling a panic rising. He moved his arm, and I gasped, although I’d been able to breathe the whole time. My mind was fuzzy still, but now it was from arousal, not lack of blood to the brain. My hips bucked on their own as I said hazily, “Yer supposed ta stop when I move my hand away.” “I know,” he said in that way he says things. I whimpered and moaned, which thoroughly undermined my response of “That’s baaaad.” We both knew how incredibly turned on I was. It wasn’t the same as playing without a safeword, because I still had one, but it was a rush that was similar to how I imagine playing without a safeword would feel.
By the end of the evening, he’d put me all the way out at least twice, and gotten me very very close a few more times. The final time I came to, I realized how completely exhausted I was. I told him I was done, and we got ready to go to sleep. We crawled into bed and cuddled up with each other. Hee. I was the big spoon, and I put my arm around him as I passed the fuck out, already looking forward to the next day.
okay, tumblr. let’s try this again.
> safewords are 100% necessary in any BDSM activity.
> “no”, “stop”, and other plain language *are technically* safewords.
> everyone involved in a BDSM activity can use a safeword, not just the s-type or bottom.
> safewords must be negotiated in advance before play in order to ensure everyone is on the same page with what is and is not a safeword for that BDSM activity.
> even the most extreme of 24/7 TPE M/s free use CNC dynamics still have and use safewords.
> if someone tells you they “don’t believe in safewords”, or “safewords are for beginners only” (or the inverse, which i’ve personally experienced in conversation, “safewords are for advanced play only”), or “you can negotiate ignoring a safeword”, run away.
HeyBDSMcommunity,pleaseusesafewords!!! In fact, anyone who’s sexually active, use them safewords!!!
ENTHUSIASTICCONSENT!!!WOOO!!!
Enthusiasticinformedsoberconsent.
In other news, no kinkshaming, unless your kink is something that could get you or your partner(s) seriously hurtorkilled!!! Or jailed, try not to go to jail if you can help it.
Have a happy happy day!~
