M/s Speech?

Growing up as a sexual ignoramus - to a degree perhaps unthinkable now - I knew nothing of homosexuality or homophobia. Relevant because my youthful BDSM fantasies strictly featured guys my own age. (My momma and paternal grandma left me unable to think of a woman as unkind.)

I have a faint recollection of wanting to be ordered around but can’t recall what those orders might’ve consisted of. My nascent notions of being dominated might not have encompassed specific acts. Just the desire to be controlled.

Mostly I remember seeing myself bound to a tree or fence. Whipped of course. And - thanks to the Biblical punishment of stoning - having small pebbles thrown at me. Probably the mere earliness of that fantasy is the reason it has continued to recur through the years. First love as it were.

But I don’t remember those redneck lads having anything to say.

The island fantasy came well before any knowledge of BDSM or my own sexuality. The scenario I think was partly born of that slightly wacky bias toward plausible if highly unlikely scenarios. Or was it Gilligan’s Island?

In this some monstrous man and I found ourselves trapped on a deserted island. He was brutal in both tongue and action. Repeatedly in the harshest possible words he reminded me that I was impotent before him, my only purpose was to gratify his every whim. There was never any possibility that my feelings could matter or that he might entertain the smallest friendly feeling for me.

Pretty standard stuff I guess. My young self probably had no other idea of how sadism could be expressed. Unconsciously and unfairly his words may have reflected what life with my daddy often felt like.

With the discovery of BDSM - whatever it was called back then - my imaginary dominants grew more talkative. There were two main modes.

My owner would outline my status as property, often gloating loquaciously. For the first time I also imagined myself talking. Question and answer, call and response: some fact of the power exchange stated, my verbal acknowledgement.

And prior to a punishment or torture the sadist would coolly and methodically explain what I was about to undergo. The process and my helpless reaction outlined in patient, cheerful but clinical detail. The narrative built suspense and caused subjective suffering in advance of the actual events. It was intoxicating.

It was after I realized that I could worship a female sadist that the stories I told myself came to have the best spoken parts. A woman of power I - for whatever reason - imagined being more given to psychological torment. A mistress of emotional S&M: humiliation, degradation. She I felt would know how to exploit my vulnerabilities and manipulate my soul.

She would certainly gloat and offer analytical foretastes of my forthcoming suffering. When I started writing sketches I felt a need to come up with a new voice. They were written for Alexandra. While I couldn’t anticipate what she might say I felt it incumbent on me to create a spoken manner free of my ancient clichés. Something more evolved and aesthetically pleasing.

This hypothetical Domme could admit she liked, even loved me. Having a more complex heart and sensibility she was given to irony both tender and acid. She didn’t fear laughter. Her métier was affectionate sarcasm.

Having no talent for erotica I didn’t write many sketches but did become attached to her serene sweet mockery.

I wonder what it is like for the top / dominant / sadist: is there any hesitation that you might sound like a member of the Secret Society of Super-Villains? Or does that rush of unrestrained ego leave you free from the fear of sounding foolish?

Prior: Words