My tastes are pretty varied and I can enjoy a wide variety of scenes whether playing as top or bottom, dominant or submissive. I’ve come to recognise that my kinks are part of me and I relish the world of extreme sensations and emotions they have opened up. I also recognise that I am exceptionally lucky to be able to explore these things with beautiful and engaging women in the way that I do.
Of all the experiences I find myself seeking out, the blindfold, wordless beating is the one I least understand. I’m going to explore it here.
It’s the simplest thing: I’m tied to a bed with a blindfold on; Elita walks in, beats me, and leaves, just as in this post, from the first time we played this game. I’ve never heard of anyone doing this, yet I keep revisiting it.
That confuses me. What I tell myself I most need from a session is the electric connection between dominant and submissive; the challenge given and received in a momentary eye contact, the meaning in a single touch of finger to lips. How can that exist when I can’t see the Mistress or link with her in any way?
You’d also think there can be nothing erotic in this session; there is no physical contact, no touch, no stroking, no orgasm. And yet, somehow, it becomes about sex for me. A masochist is someone for whom pain, in the right circumstances (I don’t enjoy toothache any more than you do), is itself a sexual experience and for days after one of these sessions I will get hard just thinking about it and will find myself masturbating often.
Masochism is the absolute core of my kink. I first became aware of its urges as a child and they have been with me ever since. In this type of scene, with everything stripped away and the glorious vision of the Mistress replaced by the darkness of the blindfold, all that’s left is the pain. It’s an experience of total immersion and absolute focus, the blaring, discordant noise of daily life replaced by a single note of absolute clarity. The freedom to be completely engaged in that one thing, to go deep into it and explore the outer limits of my tolerance, feels edgy and exciting.
But what about the lack of connection? In truth, in these sessions we are connected, deeply connected. Denied sight, I have a heightened sense of her. I can feel her mood evolve: at the start, what she’s doing is almost routine to her, a job; in the middle I can sense just how turned on she is by the chance to really let her demons out; at the end she’s more violent but, paradoxically, also more cautious. I can feel her reaching out to me, deciding when to push forward, when to hold back. To judge that, she needs to connect with me on some level that is neither verbal nor visual. Similarly, I need to connect with her to survive the isolation that would otherwise engulf me. The erotic interchange between us is as charged and as real as if we were face to face.
And perhaps that’s why this works for me.
This week I’m going to do it again. I’m going to rent a hotel room, leave a key at reception, lie on the bed and wait. I’ll leave 15 or 20 minutes to settle and centre myself; to attune my sensations to the bed, the room and the small noises leaking in. When I hear her key in the door and the click, click, click of her heels on the floor, I’ll by terrified, sucking in oxygen, adrenaline flooding my veins.
I’ll be particularly terrified on this occasion because the clicking heels will not be Elita’s. In fact I have no clue whose they will be. It will be a mistress I’ve never met, never seen, never communicated with. Elita will have contacted her and made the arrangements; she’ll have hopefully given her some idea what I can and can not handle and told her my room number. This unknown woman will walk into the room, spend 30 or 40 minutes taking me apart and then leave without uttering a single word. I’ll wear a blindfold the whole time.
I’ve now written over 700 words about this.
It ought to be enough, but I still don’t really understand why I’m so excited by the prospect.
This link is to our most extreme exploration of this dynamic. It includes a rather touching letter from Elita describing how the scene felt for her.