Sucker No. 1

It started during the rules, actually. And I haven’t been able to stop.

Because people have mentioned it to me, I am really embarrassed, so I try to be aware. It’s usually when I am alone or quiet. Watching television, falling asleep, waiting for something, during my prep period. I sit in these big circular scoop chairs and I look out the window, and suck.

Mostly my fingers, sometimes my thumb.

There are of course the two places this could go, in terms of analysis. The first is most logical, more typical and thus more likely: oral fixation. I have always bitten my nails and chewed my fingers. I suck on pens and straws, chew caps to bottles, gum, suckers, candy. Always want something in my mouth.

And yeah, that too. It’s a huge part of my sexuality. I beg for it, initiate and fixate. I often would rather suck than fuck, and would do it mindlessly, slurping through movies and video games, sporting events.

So, it’s logical to assume that in a highly sexualized situation, I would gravitate toward sucking. The rules are meant, in part, to focus my submission, to remind me of my position and to emphasize his ownership. It makes me incredibly aroused (a word I do not approve of, mind you) to have to tell him what I am, who I am, what my purpose is, and to have a physical manifestation of it—makes me straight up wet. So, as he lists off these things that will affect every part of my life, that will come before anything else I want, need, say, or do, I am insanely charged. Everything is twofold; everything is sex.

Eating, not eating. Pissing. Drinking. Clothing. Words.

I want to suck. It is the ultimate submission. Use my mouth, use me. Let me kneel between your legs and drag my tongue up your thighs, under your balls, around your swollen cock, suckling your exploring fingers, swallowing your cock head into my tight throat. I need something in my mouth when he is telling me how everything I do that day will be in effort to please and serve him.

And maybe it’s because there is that whole first analysis, and that there is certain truth in it, that makes the second part freak me out: the whole childhood thing. I avoid it like the plague. Because it’s not about my childhood, really. It’s about childhood in general. But how can you be a spanko and not think about that, considering how much this kink has to do with naughtiness and punishment and authority figures?

I keep trying to come up with a way to talk about this without feeling like a mutant. Sigh. Okay, boundaries. A trigger for me. Huge. I am nearly hostage, frozen. They have a way of affecting me at a core level. I am conversely, almost compulsive about destroying them, while at a higher level craving them, craving rigidity. I really have never felt a wall. I have never been separate from someone. I have never felt less than, inferior or even, manipulated. So to have someone take all that control and force it, and not let me get away with anything, even if it is just to say no no no over and over. Maybe head fuck, but even more basic than that.

And if someone could sustain that, moreover despite his circumstances, just take and stay and be rigid, it makes me feel less than—and more, it makes me feel little for the first time in my life. I think this is part of never feeling like a kid ever. And that makes me really scared. Scared because I don’t know how to do it, I don’t know that it’s appropriate and I suspect it’s not. I feel guilty and ashamed and perverse. I feel most out of control when I am being controlled. And I don’t know how to deal with that other than to sit and wait and be numb.

And so I suck my thumb.

But it is there. Tier 3. It’s coming up before I am ready for it and I am trying so hard to stop it. I am not ready to deal with it, I am not ready to be naked, and I am certainly not ready for that narcissistic honesty I spoke about.

Yet, I am forcing it, anyway:

I never sucked my thumb. I am conscious that there is a way that I am tapping into this thing that I never talk about. I always talk about spanking from a D/s adult place and it is highly sexual, how could it not be with hands and laps and cocks and cunts and fists full of ass and thighs and opening legs, twisting, moaning, grabbing, heat. It’s so alive. It’s so sexualized. But there were these other fantasies when I was younger. And I don’t talk about them. I still have them sometimes when I can’t sleep. They’re more comforting than anything else. I can’t push them into the sexual place, though I end up feeling that way if I stay awake, when I dream, and when I wake up the next morning. They are not even contemporary. It’s the romanticness. It’s the security. It’s golden in my head. And there are no faces. I can’t see them. Just feelings and words, then impressions. You remember when you would watch television programs of like, kids stories with illustrations rather than cartoons? That’s what it looks like. A book. And a familiar one. And he never looks like my father. And I never think of him. But I am aware that I don’t, so that must mean something. And there is no mother, but if there is, she is not active; she’s scenery. And I am not one of those girls. I refuse to believe that I am. And if I am, it is only a curiosity. It doesn’t have to be a father. I think that’s another truth. It is someone who I know. Who likes me or not, is kind or cruel. I can’t explain that. I get the same comfort either way, oddly. And that freaks me out too. It can’t be about the figure, because if it were, I would have to kill myself—because I’m not that girl. I think this is a phase and that I am going through it. It is a curiosity. But I feel really guilty that I am curious. And I am more freaked out because how do you do that to someone else? It’s not my place to do that to someone. It’s not my place to force my will on him. And it’s not my personality. So, I am just waiting again, trying to numb out that part so that I feel less like a freak. I bring up everything. He says yes or no, what he thinks, but never puts himself out there and says something first. And I realize that typically, I would be the humiliated one, but it still makes me feel really vulnerable. And I worry that I am convincing him of something. You see, it is that wall again. I am arrogant, maybe, to presume I could do that, but I have never had that problem before. I got away from the thumb sucking, but I only have two minutes to finish this, so I’ll come back to it...

You having this problem? Interactive this, baby.