Name: Curious. 2007-02-12 21:55
WARNING: This post is extremely long and detailed. Not for people that don't like to read or examine the human mind and its oddities. Kindly no flaming, but responses can be long or short as you wish. Long is appreciated, however.
Alright, I've been wondering about this for some time, and I figured this would be the perfect place to ask about it. I don't like even admitting to this, because I think it's wrong and twisted and often dislike myself for enjoying such things so damn much. I'm fucked up in the head and I know it.
Alas, I'm going to be a man and come right out and say it.
I love BDSM. I love tying girls up, watching them squirm and struggle and fight back with futility, fear and mock tears in their eyes. I enjoy predicament bondage, forcing the poor girl to torture herself in compromising postitions while I sit back or even torture her myself. I love the moans of discomfort and yelps of surprise and pain that come through her gagged mouth as she strains against the ropes and chains. And most of all, I love them looking up at me, begging for mercy as I push them ever closer to the thin line between painful pleasure and agony.
Yeah, I'm a bastard. I don't like it, but I am.
Please bear in mind I grew up entirely sheltered. I didn't even know what the word 'sex' meant, let alone have any inkling to the idea in general. All this transpired in innocence.
Docters say there's little evidence regarding how people end up like this, but I think each person's personal experiances early in life have a profound impact on it. When I was a young kid (6-10 years), imagination ruled the backyards. We were playing like any other kids would, but we had a certain emotion to it that most kids don't. Anyways, I rarely got to be the good guy, and was often the villian. Didn't mean I always lost. (We actually competed to see who would win. Usually sparring or somesuch.) What it DID mean is I was playing the traditional badguy role. I was destroying things, ambushing people, and even kidnapping princesses. This was an all-inclusive war game we had going on, meaning the girls that usually played with their Barbies also liked to pick up a 'sword' and go adventuring like everyone else.
And we played like professional actors, even back then. There I was, ten years old with brightly colored shirt and shorts, jumping out of trees, wrestling a girl to the ground, tying her up for real ( no pansy 'okay, you're captured. follow me' stuff. She was legitimately bound hand and foot. Usually with a jumprope or clothesline), then stuffing a washcloth in her mouth any tying it off with a bandanna. All the while she was fighting and struggling and crying for help from her teammates she'd been seperated from. Then I'd hoist her over my shoulder and carry her off to my base as she squirmed around trying to get free.
We were sneaky bastards, too. Every kid on the block was 'gifted'. I was known for re-inventing the flanking manuever and digging pitfalls in my backyard. They were real, too. Couldn't tell they were there until you were in one. Anyways, it also meant people liked to dream up secret weapons and plans and schemes and everything real life military is known to do.
I found another use for women in captivity.
I knew the opposing team had a plan. I didn't know what, and it had gotten me spooked, to be honest. Eager to clear my mind and think about it, I went on a little walk. I encountered one of the girls from the other team, just in chance passing. I figured I might as well diminish their numbers, so I did my thing. Soon afterwards, she was lying at the foot of my bed, hogtied and gagged. (I'd gotten quite good at this by then.) I was sitting next to her, trying to figure out the enemy's plan when it dawned on me that my prisoner might know. I casually asked her about it, and her muted response was easily read as 'yeah, what about it?'
I questioned her nicely, but it didn't work. I started thinking about old spy movies I'd seen, and a new, almost frightening concept lept into my head: Interrogation. I pulled a pillow case over her head and went to work. When I pulled it off, she was standing up in my closet, forced to stay on her tiptoes. I'd bound her hands above her head and looped the line over the steel shelving that at the time was much higher than us. She was stretched out, totally vulnerable, under my complete control, and scared out of her mind. And I did it. I tortured her mercilessly, the only pleasure in watching her misery derived from knowing it could bring me victory. My only comfort on looking back on it now is knowing that I never did her real harm. Just things that would make a young girl break, ie. stupid kids stuff. Pinching sensitive places, liberal use of ice cubes and water torture, indian burn, etc.
It worked. I bombed out their plan before it was set in motion, then received a ransom for her return. What struck me as most odd was everone's (her included) acceptance of the tactic. Indeed, I was commended for harming a helpless girl as she begged for mercy. SHE commended me on it, even. Torture was a game. A toy. And as the badguy, it became a signature tactic of sorts. It was frequent, and I loved the sense of power it gave me. I was the kid that didn't really get beat up, but wasn't taken too seriously. Suddenly, I'm a force to be terrified of. When we were playing the game, the girls were deathly afraid of going outside alone, but they loved the adrenneline of new and unforgiving danger. (I sometimes wonder if I've created masochists in my wake.)
I grew up with my entire experiance with females being torturing them, hurting them, taking pleasure (however innocently based at the time) in their writhings of agony. As I grew older, I moved away from my old neighborhood, and learned some things about the facts of life. I've become a true sadist since I've gone through the chaos that is puberty and beyond. I think it was my unusual childhood that led me to it. All the girls I tied up were ones I'd liked, some more than others. I think it clicked in my mind somewere that 'this is how girls you like are to be treated'. The counterbalance is my almost superhero-esque tendancy to take a bullet for any joe-schmoe walking down the street. Indeed, I'd shoot someone if I saw them torturing someone for real, no questions asked. Still, it's frightening to take pleasure in something so.... horribly cruel.
It's downright disgusting to take a step out of myself and see me holding a burning candle, dripping molten wax onto a bound and quivering body. To hear her cries and know that I'm not only making them, but ENJOYING the act of doing so. I know it's wrong and twisted, but I like it. I love it.
My one great comfort is knowing there are girls out there that genuinely enjoy being abused and tormented. I can only hope to someday find one that would love and marry me, that we can take our sick deviancy and keep ourselves pleased while not encouraging others in our debauchery.
That's my story. Someone please respond in kind.
Alright, I've been wondering about this for some time, and I figured this would be the perfect place to ask about it. I don't like even admitting to this, because I think it's wrong and twisted and often dislike myself for enjoying such things so damn much. I'm fucked up in the head and I know it.
Alas, I'm going to be a man and come right out and say it.
I love BDSM. I love tying girls up, watching them squirm and struggle and fight back with futility, fear and mock tears in their eyes. I enjoy predicament bondage, forcing the poor girl to torture herself in compromising postitions while I sit back or even torture her myself. I love the moans of discomfort and yelps of surprise and pain that come through her gagged mouth as she strains against the ropes and chains. And most of all, I love them looking up at me, begging for mercy as I push them ever closer to the thin line between painful pleasure and agony.
Yeah, I'm a bastard. I don't like it, but I am.
Please bear in mind I grew up entirely sheltered. I didn't even know what the word 'sex' meant, let alone have any inkling to the idea in general. All this transpired in innocence.
Docters say there's little evidence regarding how people end up like this, but I think each person's personal experiances early in life have a profound impact on it. When I was a young kid (6-10 years), imagination ruled the backyards. We were playing like any other kids would, but we had a certain emotion to it that most kids don't. Anyways, I rarely got to be the good guy, and was often the villian. Didn't mean I always lost. (We actually competed to see who would win. Usually sparring or somesuch.) What it DID mean is I was playing the traditional badguy role. I was destroying things, ambushing people, and even kidnapping princesses. This was an all-inclusive war game we had going on, meaning the girls that usually played with their Barbies also liked to pick up a 'sword' and go adventuring like everyone else.
And we played like professional actors, even back then. There I was, ten years old with brightly colored shirt and shorts, jumping out of trees, wrestling a girl to the ground, tying her up for real ( no pansy 'okay, you're captured. follow me' stuff. She was legitimately bound hand and foot. Usually with a jumprope or clothesline), then stuffing a washcloth in her mouth any tying it off with a bandanna. All the while she was fighting and struggling and crying for help from her teammates she'd been seperated from. Then I'd hoist her over my shoulder and carry her off to my base as she squirmed around trying to get free.
We were sneaky bastards, too. Every kid on the block was 'gifted'. I was known for re-inventing the flanking manuever and digging pitfalls in my backyard. They were real, too. Couldn't tell they were there until you were in one. Anyways, it also meant people liked to dream up secret weapons and plans and schemes and everything real life military is known to do.
I found another use for women in captivity.
I knew the opposing team had a plan. I didn't know what, and it had gotten me spooked, to be honest. Eager to clear my mind and think about it, I went on a little walk. I encountered one of the girls from the other team, just in chance passing. I figured I might as well diminish their numbers, so I did my thing. Soon afterwards, she was lying at the foot of my bed, hogtied and gagged. (I'd gotten quite good at this by then.) I was sitting next to her, trying to figure out the enemy's plan when it dawned on me that my prisoner might know. I casually asked her about it, and her muted response was easily read as 'yeah, what about it?'
I questioned her nicely, but it didn't work. I started thinking about old spy movies I'd seen, and a new, almost frightening concept lept into my head: Interrogation. I pulled a pillow case over her head and went to work. When I pulled it off, she was standing up in my closet, forced to stay on her tiptoes. I'd bound her hands above her head and looped the line over the steel shelving that at the time was much higher than us. She was stretched out, totally vulnerable, under my complete control, and scared out of her mind. And I did it. I tortured her mercilessly, the only pleasure in watching her misery derived from knowing it could bring me victory. My only comfort on looking back on it now is knowing that I never did her real harm. Just things that would make a young girl break, ie. stupid kids stuff. Pinching sensitive places, liberal use of ice cubes and water torture, indian burn, etc.
It worked. I bombed out their plan before it was set in motion, then received a ransom for her return. What struck me as most odd was everone's (her included) acceptance of the tactic. Indeed, I was commended for harming a helpless girl as she begged for mercy. SHE commended me on it, even. Torture was a game. A toy. And as the badguy, it became a signature tactic of sorts. It was frequent, and I loved the sense of power it gave me. I was the kid that didn't really get beat up, but wasn't taken too seriously. Suddenly, I'm a force to be terrified of. When we were playing the game, the girls were deathly afraid of going outside alone, but they loved the adrenneline of new and unforgiving danger. (I sometimes wonder if I've created masochists in my wake.)
I grew up with my entire experiance with females being torturing them, hurting them, taking pleasure (however innocently based at the time) in their writhings of agony. As I grew older, I moved away from my old neighborhood, and learned some things about the facts of life. I've become a true sadist since I've gone through the chaos that is puberty and beyond. I think it was my unusual childhood that led me to it. All the girls I tied up were ones I'd liked, some more than others. I think it clicked in my mind somewere that 'this is how girls you like are to be treated'. The counterbalance is my almost superhero-esque tendancy to take a bullet for any joe-schmoe walking down the street. Indeed, I'd shoot someone if I saw them torturing someone for real, no questions asked. Still, it's frightening to take pleasure in something so.... horribly cruel.
It's downright disgusting to take a step out of myself and see me holding a burning candle, dripping molten wax onto a bound and quivering body. To hear her cries and know that I'm not only making them, but ENJOYING the act of doing so. I know it's wrong and twisted, but I like it. I love it.
My one great comfort is knowing there are girls out there that genuinely enjoy being abused and tormented. I can only hope to someday find one that would love and marry me, that we can take our sick deviancy and keep ourselves pleased while not encouraging others in our debauchery.
That's my story. Someone please respond in kind.