Mr. Brooks

Although this might sound disturbingly like another cunt/bum insertion device- owing to my penchant for naming toys ala Reservoir Dogs, it’s actually the name of a Kevin Costner movie I watched on the plane on the way back from Melbourne. While Master was busily scrolling through the games on the entertainment unit (which, along with the after dinner ice-cream and the guarantee of a 747 if you choose your flight right, is one of the only reasons I fly Qantas) I was pondering the last time I had seen a decent Kevin Costner movie and being unable to remember one in the history of mankind, I was preparing myself to be disappointed.

Surprisingly enough the movie was good, really good and I thought Kevin did a great job as the serial killer addicted to murder. But owing to the fact that I always try to draw connections with BDSM in absolutely everything I see or watch (Do the dynamics of  Bananas in Pyjama’s B1 and B2 show an under-lying power exchange?) I found the scenes where he was drinking in the power of his kills fascinating because they reminded me of how I interpret the feelings of Doms drinking in their power over the submissive. I’m not saying that I think that Doms are psychotic killers, but I do think that there are some similarities in the way that they process the feeling of having power over another. 

Throughout the movie William Hurt played Kevin’s ‘evil internal voice’ instructing and arguing with the ‘straight and narrow’ Kevin and the whole concept of having an ‘evil voice’ inside really struck a chord with me. There was also one scene in particular where Kevin was pouring over post-kill photos, hunched over the images naked, soaking up the bliss of exercising the ultimate power over someone that I thought matched my ideas about how Doms might feel post-scene. My own experiences have shown me that the pre and post-event rolling around of images in my mind are always so much more delightful than anything I feel during the actual event.

Having never ‘topped’ someone, I really haven’t experienced being on the other side of the BDSM fence so what I’m saying here is purely my own speculation and probably fantastical in some ways. The only time I can even remotely relate to what Doms could possibly be feeling is when I am involved in what I call ‘self-scening’. I used to do this a lot in my pre-slave days, planning sometimes for hours or days in advance what I would do to myself and what I would need to do it. I was always very calm but very tightly strung, laying out instruments of bondage and thinking about anchoring points and predicaments. A sort of nervous tension was around me that I felt the whole world must be able to see. 

The ‘scene’ itself mightn’t take very long, 30mins to an hour usually, with several adjustments of positions and uppings of the ‘ouchie factor’. I even remember making some holes in the wooden beams of my rented apartment for hook-eyes, doing a scene on the cold concrete of my balcony (screening material needed for that one) and messing around with thumb tacks and candle wax. It was almost as if there were two parts of me, the inflictor and the inflictee, but what I enjoyed most was not so much the event itself but everything above and beyond it.

Last night Master had me in what I’d like to term ‘training mode’- naked, leashed and being put through my paces like a pet on an obstacle course. For about two hours there was crawling here and there, dragging by hair, head to floor, foot-licking, cock-sucking, nipple wrenching, caging and crop, crop, cropping. He was being relentless on my ass with that mother- fucking crop that doesn’t function as a crop but as a short cane because the tongue is so soft and worn. He had me in tears numerous times and when I’m not even vaguely concerned about eating chocolate off his cock that is a serious state of mind. 

It’s times like that when I both hate and love him with a passion. The duality of it is crippling at times. My cunt was juicy beyond belief, but my pride was bruised and battered. I would have liked to thump the crap out of him in retribution, but there was also a lovely warmth that spread from inside rewarding me for being what I am.

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One thought on “Mr. Brooks

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  1. would have liked to thump the crap out of him in retribution, but there was also a lovely warmth that spread from inside rewarding me for being what I am.

    oh yes i hear you on that point, VERY LOUDLY.

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