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- #BDSMBookapalooza and Kinky Girl have come to an end.
Giveaway Alert! Elle Wylder is giving away a copy of her book, Saving Grace, Liv Honeywell is giving away a copy of Coming, Ready or Not, you can still win a prize from Tina Donahue AND you can still win a book from Cari Quinn. Don’t miss these!
The internet is this amazing meet and greet where you get to know people you’d never otherwise run into. My guest today is that kind of person. Without Twitter I’d have never met her.
So I’m a 24/7 owned pleasure slave.
I always feel like I have to define that. People see it and think, “Hold up! She gets to have sex all day?” But alas, that’s just not true.
The 24/7 means that my owner is in control of all of me all of the time. I’ve given up control of every aspect of my life, from how I cut my hair, to whether or not I leave the house, to who I’m allowed to talk to from day to day.
The owned part is pretty self-explanatory.
The “pleasure slave” part is what usually trips people up. People hear “pleasure slave” and think I spend my days locked up in a box, somewhere out of the way, only to be brought out for sex. And as hot as that sounds, let me tell you…the reality does not live up to the expectation. For me, anyway.
I mean, at first, it’s hot as fuck. Here you are…tied up in a closet. Gagged. In the dark. You’ve got no concept of time. You aren’t even sure your dominant is still in the house (though, if you’re logical about the whole thing, you know they are because leaving someone tied up and gagged in a closet and then leaving the building is hella dangerous). So you sit there. Your mind going a mile a minute; only itself to feed on. And the things you’re thinking?
You’re thinking about your submission. How could you not? Objectified beyond your wildest dreams. Put snugly away in the toy box like one of your dominant’s toys.
But then, after the first few hours, you have to pee, and you have no way of letting your dominant know this. And your nose itches. And you start to get a cramp. And you’re hungry. And you’re bored.
You chastise yourself, and you’re back to thinking about your submission. And it’s hot again. It’s a vicious cycle.
But eventually, it just gets annoying. For me, at least. Like, how can I take care of you if I’m locked up all the time? Who’s doing the laundry? Who’s making your dinner? And when I get out of here, I’m gonna knock that bitch’s teeth down her throat…er, I mean, thank her for pleasing my master in my stead, of course, Master.
It’s funny. I’m not a jealous person by nature, and I literally don’t care who M has sex with, but you start talking about another person taking care of his day to day needs, and I see red. That’s my job. And no, I won’t share!
Of course, I will share if that’s what he wants. That’s the deal, and that’s why I identify as a pleasure slave; because I do what pleases him, whatever that may be.
Dishes? I do ’em. Cooking? I do it. Standing on my head in the corner? If that’s what he wants. I’ll probably fall a lot. But the boss gets what the boss wants.
I’ve known I was kinky since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. By 16, I’d heard of kink clubs, and swingers parties, and munches. Aside from the obvious sexual draw of the first two, and the curiosity most people feel, I was way too shy to even consider attending one. I learned later that they call that “social anxiety” and for me, it can be debilitating. I have trouble calling a new delivery place for pizza.
I met M by accident through his ex-fiancee. We didn’t know we had mutual interests until we were dating. He’s not at all interested in clubbing. Conferences aren’t his thing.
So! In the name of our sanity, and outside of the writing I do online, we’re pretty private kinksters. No munches, no events, no kink clubs. I’ve never even been inside a kink club.
We’ve been invited to play parties, offered a free stay at a kink mansion, and invited to stay with a kinky poly family. M turns up his nose. I give in to the butterflies. We don’t go.
We talk about it. We find munch groups. We get an invite. We don’t go.
After 12 years of the same, you eventually go, “Hey…I think we’re private kinksters, doing our own thing.” and that’s okay. There’s no rulebook saying you’ve got to put your private life out in the public world, or play in front of or with other people to be kinky.
You don’t hear about kinksters like us often because privacy usually means not talking about it. I like to talk about it; from behind my computer screen. But nobody really writes about us, either.
Show me a BDSM blog (besides mine) that doesn’t discuss a real-life trip to the kink club, or their last munch, or all they learned at a conference. Point me to a BDSM erotic novel or anthology that doesn’t have at least one scene in a kink club or other public kinky setting. Introduce me to a “kink expert” who doesn’t regularly go to kink clubs, munches, play parties, or events.
People have this vision of the professional dominatrix in full, sparkling latex carrying a single tail, or the bear submissive with leather armbands, and a black wife beater. More often than not, you’ll find me in an eternity collar and running shorts.
Or naked. Naked is the way M prefers me. I’m supposed to be naked save collar and cuffs. I suppose that fits the fairytale ideal.
Rayne Millaray is a wild, 30-something, sex enthusiast who’s owned by and married to the most wonderful human being she’s ever been privileged to know. She’s been having sex since 1996, blogging about her sex life at www.InsatiableDesire.com since 2005, advocating for a sex-positive society since 2008 and working in the adult industry legally since 2010. Rayne is, without a doubt, the girl your mother warned you about. Chaos incarnate. And she loves it.