Much as I complain and bitch about some of the people over there I have to admit I really like FetLife.  Not so much because I’m making bestest friends or learning a whole lot of new stuff – though I have gotten to talk to some really cool people and readers from here who have never commented and I do learn things, mostly about myself – but because it’s a constant source of inspiration for me.  Even when I don’t join in a thread I read a lot of them and they make me think.

And so between a thread over there on physical bondage vs mental bondage and Taylor’s recent comment about me being tied well enough to be immobile next time he uses the misery stick, I’ve been thinking and thinking.

I can count on my fingers the number of times Taylor has restrained me in the seven years we’ve been together.  Probably the fingers of one hand.  It’s just not his thing.  He totally gets off on making me stand there and take it without being bound in any way.  He gets off on my struggle to remain in place, on watching me turn around and snarl and give him that pleading look and cry only to return to whatever position he had me in with defeated resignation.  He enjoys this visible, tangible display of my surrender.

And most times so do I.

But, yanno…

I want more.  Not more as in better than but more as in different, something else.  Variety. A new experience.

It’s been so, so long since I was restrained and forced to take something, utterly incapable of avoiding or moving or protecting myself in any way.  So long I’m not even sure how I’d handle it; especially with Taylor who plays rougher and hits harder than anyone else I’ve ever been with.

Still, I want it.

I want to feel the terror as I’m being bound, knowing that it means I’ll soon be at his mercy. Not controlled by my need to submit, surrender and please him but by physical restraints.

I want struggle to cease to be an option. No internal struggle because I cannot move, because it’s not up to me in any sort of way. No real physical struggle because the restraints will hold me tight, keeping me where he wants me to be, forcing me to let go of my control and just take it.

See, with the mental restraints…  With him telling me or expecting me not to move…  I’m always somewhat in control of my mind and body. I have to be or I’d snap the fuck out. I cannot let the fight or flight mechanism take over, cannot really lose myself in the adrenalin rush, because I have to consciously maintain the standard he’s set for me.

It’s distracting sometimes.

I dunno. I have this fantasy in my head of being bound in some way.  Restrained.  A gag of some sort shoved in my mouth.  And the fucking phenomenal release of no longer having any choice or internal struggle.  Just…  taking it because I have to.

Then again…

He reads me very, very well. When I’m not bound he’ll often stop when he can tell I’m done, when I just can’t stay in position any more, when I’m about to lose control.

I don’t know if I can even imagine the level of pain I’d have to take if that was no longer a factor, if he really could just lay into me until HE was done.

It’s scary.  Very, very scary to think about it.

Ack. I don’t even think I want it any more!

Yeah, I do.

No, I don’t.

Yes, no, yes, no…