I’ve thought about this post and how I would approach it. Being academically minded, I felt that I could go about it from a nerdy point of view and tell you all about the nucleus accumbens and neurotransmitter dopamine, that beautiful, beautiful neurotransmitter that plays a role in arousal, addiction, and sexual gratification, among many other things. I thought I might wax about seeking and liking and rodents and stimuli. Or about serotonin and happiness and maybe even a little bit about oxytocin. But I thought it all seemed a little too clinical and would probably read like an academic paper, which I am happy to be done with, for the time being.
I thought… I might talk about my old issues with addiction to MDMA and perhaps even a sexual addiction–a concept that I wrestle with and that I’ve sought therapy for, but I am still unsure if is actually real, or if it is, if it applies to me personally. But it’s all a bit messy and a bit foggy and not worth bringing up at any length more than I already have.
But my reward system, my pleasure center, my psychological Xanadu is highly active, perhaps even overactive. I seek pleasures (in and out of Mania) like my lungs seek oxygen. My drive in life is pleasure–a hedonist then… you might label me as such anyway. Pleasure is my drive but it is my reward too. The high that I derive from it, especially sexual pleasure is enough to keep me going, to help me subsist–it is sustenance in its highest form. If it fed the body the way it fed my brain, then perhaps I wouldn’t eat a thing. I seek reward like a rodent in a cage (maybe I’ll mention science a little); having discovered the lever that leads to my reward, I would happily tug at it until I wasted away. My sexual appetite is voracious. Even when I am physically spent, I want to go again and again and again. My desire to please others plays into this too, because it is from that which I derive my greatest pleasure. I would happily be someone’s living fleshlight if I could see and feel and smell and taste and know their pleasure was complete because of me.
Orgasms aren’t my reward. Physical stimulation, sexual arousal, pleasuring others, and any number of other acts or services that are intricately woven within my particular brand of sexuality, are my rewards. I don’t need an orgasm to feel satiated, to feel whole and happy and high and floaty–but they are nice. Very nice.
If psychology was my field, I might someday write a paper on the way BDSM ties into this, but I’m not that well versed in the area.
My point is that it does tie into this. I get a lot of sexual stimulation, sexual pleasure, and sexual and personal gratification from simply following rule number 1: obey.
Send me dirty photos. Obey.
Edge for me. Obey.
Don’t touch yourself for me. Obey.
Touch yourself for me. Obey.
Talk dirty to me while I get off. Obey.
Suck my cock. Obey.
[[Insert anything that you would never normally do but will do for me]]. Obey.
The level of need, obsession, desire, addiction (maybe) that I feel may actually be bordering on dangerous. Luckily… for the most part, I know my own limits, and those that I’m unsure of in the moment… Sir knows me well enough to guide me through.
What I’m saying is… in spite of my mouth… I very rarely get the desire to disobey. It goes against my carefully constructed pleasure and reward system. If I disobey, it does me no favors. It will bring me pain, but not the pain or the satisfaction that I crave. Real punishment pain is as different from pleasurable pain as is stubbing my toe or breaking a rib or having a migraine. The way my brain sorts through complex pleasures and desires and emotions astounds me. If he spanks me because I broke something in our dynamic, it is no longer pleasurable, even if the day before he spanked me because we are spankos and we both get off on the power exchange that is giving/receiving consensual pain.
The mindfuck for me, the psychological BDSM, the power play transcends the physical by the farthest stretch of the word. I’ve wondered before, why it is that I have the kinds of experiences I have with Sir. Why it is that I climb so deep inside of myself, and alternatively… float so high outside. Why do I bawl my eyes out–not from a rush of sadness, but from the intensity of the fulfillment, and the satisfaction? How is it that he can… talk me to squirting/gushing/ejaculation (oh, so much more on this later) when some men cannot begin to fathom the depths to which I can… go.
He’s so deep in my mind that I can’t shake him. I don’t want to. I’ve never tried. I probably could. It would take a while. Maybe a long while. But he’s crawled inside of my brain and figured it out, how it works, what it responds to, where my weaknesses and my strengths hide. The mindfuck is everything. The psychology of it all is the backbone of our dynamic. It’s not the rules, it’s not the spankings, it’s not the collar or the cuffs or the rope or the tasks. The psychology MAKES all that matter, but it is all superficial otherwise.
If I willfully disobey him, if I break the understanding between us, within our dynamic, it’s not for play, it’s for real. It’s either because 1) I didn’t understand the parameters of his expectations or 2) I am not getting something I need or want from the dynamic or I am scared or unfulfilled in some way.
Heavy, negative stuff.
If I willfully disobey it’s because of a communication breakdown that’s so big, it may have already ruined our dynamic/relationship.
Accidents get reinforcements of the rules but not punishments (this may be a spanking, but not a punishment—not necessarily the same thing, remember the mindfuck!). Clever wordplay and my sassy mouth get funishments. Direct and willful disobeying breaks our dynamic and requires a discussion at least and maybe a break from the relationship at most.
We’ll return to regularly scheduled programming soon. :]