Apparently designer vaginas are a thing…
I was very curious when I saw this in my local newspaper, not only because of the offer of 20% off the first treatment (and I loves me a good bargain), but because…well…designer vagina?!? Who the hell thought that would be a good name for an actual medical procedure?
On closer inspection it’s not meant to be a purely cosmetic thing and mostly for post-partum women suffering from incontinence and elasticity problems but still…designer vagina?
Speaking of designer vaginas though, M and I watched a documentary on Netflix called ‘After Porn Ends’ and it followed the lives of several ex-porn stars – both male and female – after their heedy days of fame and fortune in the porn industry.
As expected, it was depressing to see the difference in the experiences of the men and women. The men were treated as gods and had very few consequences later in life (other than being unable to stay in a marriage) while the women were, for the most part, scorned and treated as whores.
But the connection with designer vaginas, well, one of the ladies on the documentary, Houston – who you may remember from such porn classics as The World’s Biggest Gangbang 3: The Houston 620 – apparently used to have large inner labia and she had them trimmed. The trimmings were then encased in lucite and auctioned off.
If that ain’t a designer vagina, then I don’t know what is.
Anyway, now I’ve got that off my chest, let me come back to the title of this blog.
If you haven’t seen House of Cards, it will mean nothing and if you haven’t seen the last episode of Season 3, then it will also mean nothing. But if you have seen it and you remember that bit when Claire says to Frank, “I need you to treat me roughly”, well, yeah…that’s me. Claire Underwood.
After my hormal pms ramblings last Sunday, I had a moment where M told me to put my boots on and get on the bed for a ravishing. I said, “No” then decided that it would be fun to play chaseys around the kitchen island so he couldn’t grab me.
He got annoyed and went to his bed assuming that I would eventually do what I was told, so I went into his room and instead of putting my boots on and getting into bed, I said,
“This…does nothing for me.”
I know, right? Typing out some of the shit I say and do just makes me seem like a monster.
He looked at me, got out of bed and said, “Just remember that you said, ‘no’.”
And if that wasn’t the most ominous thing I’ve heard him say since “Nose ring”, I don’t know what is.
So he was frosty to me and I was frosty to him for a week and then last night I obviously got too close and he grabbed me by the hair (I’d forgotten how much that can hurt sometimes…) and there was some extended cropping with the crop I bought to use in photos for my book covers (it was a bad, bad choice because while it looks good in photos, it hurts like a mother-fucker.)
And after the cropping – during which there was a LOT of swearing – we had a chat and once again he came to the conclusion that he is too nice to me.
And I have to agree. I’m never going to be the sort of slave who takes pride in a collar or is humble and demure. I’m never going to ride home after work on my unicorn and kneel at his feet to ask in rainbows for his collar to be placed around my neck.
The willing slave thing just doesn’t float my boat. I’m Claire Underwood. I need to be chased and held down and have my autonomy wrenched from me. That’s what makes my breath come quicker and my stomach flip.
M said he loves me too much.
While I need love and acceptance in healthy doses, I also need to know that he loves me enough to be cruel when it’s needed.
When I need it.
That picture I posted last week was the aftermath of a beating I received from a Mistress I’ve known for many years and her friend that occurred during the Great Slave Revolt of 2014. When M saw the pictures afterwards he said that he would never have allowed that to happen to me. He said he thought it was too much, too severe. The ladies were beating on my ass for a good 45 minutes and a friend I went to the party with had to leave while it was happening because she found it was ‘too much’ to watch.
I don’t class myself as a masochist and I know a lot of people who do play that is a lot funkier/bloodier than an ass beating but the experience scratched an itch in me that I don’t often get to scratch – my limits.
I didn’t ask for them to stop. I wasn’t restrained while it happened.They checked with me a few times during the beating and each time I said I was okay. I was even talking to some friendly hecklers in the audience while it was happening. It only stopped when they both got tired and decided they’d had enough.
For the endurance bunny in me, it was a good moment. I’m curious to know what my limits are. I want to know how far I could go. The experience gave me a little indication of what is possible when I put my mind to it.
I’m Claire Underwood. Sometimes I just need to be treated roughly.