“You never find yourself until you face the truth”
What is your nastiest closed eyes midnight fantasy that you go to when the vibe is just perfection and i want details.
I have been avoiding this question for weeks. It’s not as easy as you think. (Because I let nothing be easy, you understand. Ms. Difficult, that’s me. In fact, last night Master elected not to hogtie and face fuck me because I made it too difficult. ~le sigh~ Some days it simply does not pay to get out of bed. 
)
/self-pity
Okay. Fantasy.
I have one fantasy that I almost always end up in “when the vibe is just perfection”. No matter what simpler fantasy I may have started out with, or what bit of porn I may have been watching, when the going gets good I generally let my mind dip into the same end of the perverted pool.
It is me, naked and dirty, chained by a welded shut chain looped around my neck, to a corner of a kitchen in a run down hovel of a house. When I let things get really detailed, the chain that secures me to that corner is just long enough to reach the parts of the house that are necessary for me to be of any use to my captor. But I rarely worry myself over those non-painful, non-sexual details, except in a very abstract manner.
There is a man. Older, out of shape, unshaven.. and dirty. Smelly, unkempt. There has to be some element of repulsion and disgust. The acts that I must perform cannot be erotic or enticing. It has to be something that, in real life, I would absolutely not want to do, but in the fantasy it is a do-or-die scenario. This man likes, needs, to know that I am disgusted, but that also I do what I’m told without a moments hesitation. Or else.
The fantasy always begins the same way. I’m in the corner, on display. ’On display’ varies according to my mood, I guess. Sometimes I’m standing, hands on my head. Sometimes I’m simply kneeling. Sometimes- most times- I’m kneeling with my head on the floor, hands reached behind me to spread myself skin-tearing wide (Insert various horrific punishments for being caught not ’on display’). The man enters, grimy, sweaty, and sits at the table to the meal that I’ve prepared for him. A meal that I, of course, am not allowed to eat. Once he is sitting he grunts for me (in the fantasy my ’name’ is bitch. It used to be cunt, but more on that in a bit), I crawl from my corner to under the table where I’m set to work cleaning his filthy feet, dirt and all, with my tongue while he eats.
From the kitchen he drags me to the living room by my hair, where he reclines in a chair to watch tv and my tongue bath moves from his feet to his crotch. With copious amounts of derogatory name calling, smacks and slaps to my head and face, hair pulling of the sort that rips out chunks of hair, and rough face fucking, I thoroughly clean his stinky cock and balls. Once cleaned and aroused, one of two things happens.
The “nicer” one: I’m flipped around and ass fucked. Quick, no lube, harsh. Nothing more involved than if my ass were his hand, wrapping around his dick to masturbate, I’m used and discarded, sent back to the corner to await another time of use.
The other, and favorite, one: I’m secured to the floor in front of him, by rope or chain, on display in much the same manner as described above. On my knees, face pressed to the floor, hands secured to my ankles. My ass and cunt is fully exposed and open to be kicked, slapped, scraped with his filthy toenails. Poked, prodded, hurt. The “abuse” ramps up and up the longer I fantasize, until my unprotected cunt is being whipped and beaten to a darkly bruised mass of flesh. I imagine his laughter as I scream and beg, the mocking of my suffering as he works to hurt me, causing me extreme pain that he finds nothing more than humorous.
And of course there will be, at some point near the end, more plundering of the damaged asshole and bleeding cunt, more laughing as I cry.. until, finally, the fantasy drives me into a shuddering orgasm and I tuck it away until the next time.
Now, why did I find this so difficult to write? Well, I’ll tell ya!
The man is a faceless, nameless wretch of a human. At one time, it used to be Master’s face and Master’s name as I worked myself through that fantasy. It’s not anymore. In fact, trying to interject Master into the fantasy in some capacity ruins the fantasy for me.
I struggled with that for a long time. Did it mean that I didn’t love him as I used to? Did it mean I was subconsciously wishing for someone else, a different dom or sadist? Had I lost respect or was it some other equally dooming prophecy? The guilt I felt over not fantasizing about my own Master was intense. I was ashamed, embarrassed, worried. I asked myself how I would feel to know Master was fantasizing about another woman, a different slave. Someone else for him to hurt and torture. How devastated would I be to know that I wasn’t “good enough” to fulfill his fantasies?
It was a bad time, bad thoughts. You know me; always borrowing trouble and making things worse than they really are.
But here’s what I’ve come up with. Master no longer fits the bill of that faceless man because he is not repulsive to me. He does not disgust me, he’s not stinky or filthy. And, he cares about me. About my health, my safety. As much as he may hurt me, it’s never, ever on a permanent or damaging level, because it is not do-or-die, and he fully intends to keep me around long enough to earn my keep. But more importantly, he loves me. And I love him.
All of those things, the love and affection and tenderness that we share, makes that fantasy impossible to have with him in it. There is no tenderness or caring in that fantasy. That “man” has to see me as a totally worthless object, there cannot be any regard for my feelings or safety or future. Once that comes into play, it’s ruined. And that’s why, while Master was that man once, he’s not anymore. And cannot be.
That’s also why the name in the fantasy switched from cunt to bitch. Cunt is Master’s name for me. It no longer signifies anything objectifying or demeaning. Cunt is as normal to me as Tess is.
Also, I’ve found out that Master does have fantasies about other women. Women that he does not care for, women that are objects to him, that he can hurt beyond repair and it matters not to him because he’s not invested in their future or happiness. Women that, he says, he could cut loose on and completely fuck up.
I’m okay with that. Sort of.
Love is a tricky addition to a bdsm relationship, in ways you’d never see coming.
Tuesday March 18th, 2008 9:36am 
thank you sweetie – I’ll respond later
Damn…
That was horribly intense for me to read.
But on the fantasy angle, I’ve imagined other men too and not just Penguin.
Wow and I thought my fantasies were intense…HA! *smiles*
It’s so great that you answered that question today…perhaps TMI but last night as I was masturbating, lol, I tried to visualize Master but it always, ALWAYS ends up reverting back to my *standard* fantasy that doesn’t include Him…(a dirty pool hall, about 3 men, broken pool cues and beer bottles, an alley behind the pool hall, and beaten to pulp then raped against a dumpster.) I worried for awhile that maybe my body decided He wasn’t doing it for me anymore, or that it just wasn’t *dirty* enough…
…I understand now that it’s just not *anonymous* enough. And that’s okay.
I routinely visualize scenes we have done, and always His voice is a part of my masturbation, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, it’s not his image in my mind.
Great post!
~magpie
“Love is a tricky addition to a bdsm relationship, in ways you’d never see coming.”
A-fucking-men.
Likewise. I too, have a nameless, mostly faceless, “male factor” that I masturbate to. I’ve had that same sinking feeling that there was some kind of lack of loyalty in that. Never really gotten what you’ve come to as to the “why.” Makes sense.
I also know that He fantasizes other women. I’m only just barely sort of OK with that — not really much of a problem for me as long as I am pretty well sure that when He’s hurting me, it is ME He has on His mind. If I get convinced that He’s got somebody else pictured in His head while He’s whaling the tar out of me, that sets me off completely.
Love is indeed a tricky potion.
swan
I had to wonder while reading this if some of the reason it works so well is that it will always be an unfulfilled fantasy because your Master cannot be that impersonal and uncaring with you. I wonder if some of the emotional pain of knowing you won’t ever quite get it might add to the excitement of it. I can’t remember if you identify as a masochist, but masochism isn’t necessarily “just” a physical pain thing, but could mean getting pleasure out of fantasies that can never exist because it hurts to think that they won’t exist.
An intense fantasy, but not one that actually surprised me after reading your journal. (I’m the sort of person who when I found this journal went back and read all your back entries)
If you think about a cross between George “Gabby” Hayes and William Daniels, and you agree that -that- image would fit, then I’d be perfect type casting. I’m the type, after all.
Upton, the unkempt, Ogood
Very fine point made by Alyson. i think she has a point. Funny how so many of us have these orgasm cues like this. It was vivid, and fucking a… hot! So finally, thanks for writing about your vision. Did you read mine yet?
We both have a thing for being fucked too much, huh? lol
xoxx
If your dreams come true, does that mean you no longer dream?
I don’t think so. I don’t think the person who wins the lottery ceases to day dream about “how nice it would be if only…” Sure, the content of the dreams change, but not the fact of them (maybe the bazillionaires dream of a simpler life without sycophants; maybe the celebs dream of being unknown).
So… dreams coming true just means you need new dreams. And if they come true, well, you’ll need yet another set.
And so to fantasies. If a fantasy comes true, the inner urge to fantasize doesn’t go away, and no-one fantasizes about reality — that’s what we live.
People need to think of stuff they don’t have or don’t live or are not. Everyone does. It’s the biological urge to improve, to change for the better. So if a dream or fanstasy comes true (or nearly true), it ceases to do the job, and our minds need a new challenge…
Thank you SO, SO much for this post! I’ve just recently started dabbling in bdsm and making some of my littler type fantasies a reality. I was a little dismayed though because it seemed like once they happened, they lost their lure when I masturbated. Granted, I still got there…just took a lot longer. But after I read this I stepped my fantasies up a little – to the realm of the “never” world, stopped imagining my boy and replaced him with a random guy and wa-la! Perfect quickie orgasm has returned!!
Anyone ever tell you you’re a genius??
Thats about the most bizzare heavy duty fantasy I’ve heard in a long time and it had it’s moments where I was like ok, why that? but heh, its your fantasy not mine. I too get into the abuse me use me like the whore I am fantasy but mine is more related to multiple men over and over until I no longer exsist kind of thing. The smelly dirty guy adds “flavor” to the disgust mentality and yet again he isn’t your husband for all the right reasons. This fantasy is just that and it should remain so because if it happens it will lose its luster.
I like the fantasies that aren’t easy to talk about but are so fulfilling in ways that nobody else can quite bring to you.
Love is a fantasy killer but essential to your being
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