I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think of the 1978 exploitation horror film I Spit On Your Grave when I thought of this title. And I wanted to mention this, not only because I thought of it originally but also because how it connects with my line of thinking regarding the act of spitting in a BDSM context.
I didn’t always enjoy the act of spitting. I was too shy, too nice. If part of kink and BDSM is tapping into that unbridled animal within, I wasn’t able to seperate the real me from the act.
We don’t necessarily detach from ourselves when we engage in acts do we? We just learn to become who we’ve always wanted to be – or we learn to immerse ourselves in the scene. Some of us find that confidence to pursue that interests while others enjoy the role play.
For me, a big part of it was coming to terms with the sadist within. Much later in life I would realise that my sadist side was always a Master in disguise. But for the earlier D&D Years, I was the shy guy too polite to even act on those raw instincts. Which is why I so often offer round-the-clock Mentoring or provide my email for readers. Anyway, I digress.
It took a while to grow that confidence to be able to accept those desires, to let alone try those desires in the first place. I had to hold a communion with that other side of me, the one in the dark. Dark and light needed to come together, to fuse together and co exist.
That took practice. A lot of practice. It was another case of something having to occur time and time again, like an actor in a role learning lines, only I was getting used to this new part of me.
I think it took so long because the act of spitting was an aggressive thing for me. I feel possessed even now when I do it, almost as if I’m sharing a mind with a drooling, savage creature. But when I was younger, that raw intensity scared me because it was so potent and primal and all-consuming. In times like that, after such an act, I’d sit or lay still, as if coming out of a dream.
I mentioned, in a ramble last week, about being primal – well, this was another aspect I was coming to terms with, frustrated after being so quiet and holding myself back.
If humiliation and degradation was my gateway drug into BDSM and kink, spitting was like the second tier to that act, another form of degradation that got my cock achingly hard. But much more then this, it was something that I needed to come to terms with in order to grow and to cast away the shackles.
I rather enjoy it now that I’ve grown and spent days and months on end communicating with and listening to that other half of me. Like any thing requiring balance in life, I need that savage act once in a while.
And yes, I do like to spit on her tits, to circle my saliva till her nipples harden, to call her filthy things, dreadful things, as a means to dampen, to break her spirits, so that somewhere down in the dirt, down in her mind, she becomes willing, accepting – a Slave. Absolute. It was this thought driving me, pulling me away, all those years ago. And it was the same thought that brought me back to the beginning, full circle, so that I may evolve and pursue my own slut, my own willing Slave. To become her Master, absolute.