I get asked that question a lot. It always makes me giggle a bit too. I am a masochist. That means when I get a good beating I get off on it, and nothing amuses me more than being asked if I can come during a bar fight. The answer is no, usually I am too worried about not losing half my hair and a good pair of stilettos to really like it. That is sarcasm, but true enough I guess.

There are different kinds of hitting after all, and no matter how much I like it, I am never going to react to a blow I didn’t ask for or set out to receive the way I do to a well-aimed kick or flick of a whip.

But how kinky am I?

I have read profiles that said “I like it thuddy, stingy, burny, slappy, stabby, grabby. Hell beat me with a meat tenderizer, I don’t give a fuck.” Okay—so I have to agree with that, to a point. I do have definite things I do not do because I have triggers just like the next person, but from the moment I got spanked in a bathroom stall at a punk club I wanted more. I owe a lot of my kinky life to a seriously hot dyke with heavy eyeliner and heavier hands.

Spanking always will turn me on. Spankings come in a wide variety too. Contrary to popular belief, they do not have to be just the average garden variety of palm striking flesh. You can use paddles, belts, shoes, SAP gloves, horse scrapers (I swear just try it), and even some biting to go along with it—bring it on. When my ass gets red and my pussy gets all wet I don’t go into head space, I go into a near frenzy.

I like all types of implements, but it is not always the tool, sometimes it is the setting that does it. Drag me into the basement room we set up as our private dungeon, and I get hot before we even get all the way down the stairs. It’s the thought of it, and the smell. Our whips hang on the walls, and the spanking bench I had made for my partner dominates the room (no pun intended). The smell of leather hangs over everything. Open the closet door and you will find dresses and shoes, and my cute little Catholic schoolgirl uniform.

It can also just be the look my Daddy ( I am a lesbian who has a butch dyke Daddy type Dominant) gets during play. I like to be blindfolded in dungeons, so it is a tone of voice, and the feeling of being restrained that does it then. Well that, and the beating.

Being tied up, or down depending, is something that is at once intense and highly personal. It’s sexual in and of itself. The rope can make me feel helpless, make me feel sexy and beautiful, it can make me feel afraid and powerful. It can make me fight or simply submit.

The kink that I am into sort of depends on the moment and what is happening in it, and even what I am or am not wearing. Daddy loves my heels, especially when I am wearing nothing else. I like boots with five inch spikes, it makes it harder to stand in one position, it makes me have to strain my thighs, and it is almost a kind of mental bondage.

I like the cross better than anything when it comes to public play. In our home, I like the bench, or to be tied to the wall in the garage. We have chains up out there, and the feeling of the gritty floor and the cold stone makes me feel cheap and flashy. Why, I couldn’t say, but I get a cocky and nasty cant to my hips and mouth when I am there. I never wear heels because I like to feel the concrete beneath my knees and feet, and the smell of old motor oil just does something to my belly.

During private play, I indulge my bratty side, and sometimes I let that pop out in public. But since public play is so very highly sexually charged for us, it is something about the crowd watching—and for the record, no we do not ever engage in sex of any kind while in public—I am usually too high and too in need of a release to do anything bratty.

We do have sex in private, of course, and in private, the play is more sexual, but less sexually tense. It is the change in energy again, I think. In public, I know I won’t be touched, licked, or stroked or penetrated. I don’t need it in public or private to come if we are playing, again masochist, but I like it in private.

Being bratty is playful and fun for us. It is not a case of topping from the bottom, or being a bitch, or being disrespectful. It is just me having fun, and Daddy allowing it because sometimes I need to be silly and step outside of the spaces we usually occupy.

I like sensation play, because I never really know what will happen next. I like when I am blindfolded and being stroked by vampire gloves or a Wartenberg wheel (I recommend the ones with seven or five wheels just for the crazy hot feelings you get), and then being shocked by a TENS unit followed up by a rubdown with a rabbit fur glove. It is intense, to say the least.

So does any of that stuff make me kinky? Well, I would say so. But kink is not defined solely by the fact that I like those things. Being kinky means I look at things a bit differently. Take me to Lowe’s or Home Depot, and I will wander the aisles thinking on how to pervert most of the merchandise. Show me paint stirrers, and I will show you a paddle. She me a garden hose, and I will remember that awesome cool toy someone made by bending a length of hose, filling it with marbles, and adding on a handle. Wooden dowels make me think of flogger handles. Do not even get me started on wood, I will look at it and wonder if we need a new piece of dungeon furniture.

I am in a long term monogamous relationship. To some that means I am most definitely not kinky, or if I am, it is just a little bit. I do not play with others, but my Daddy does. He plays in a non-sexual manner, so sometimes people will ask us if we are just into it for pain. That never makes me laugh. The truth is, it has nothing to do with pain for me. I have a real sexual connection and reaction to being beaten. For me sex is pain, pain is sex. Call it what you will, but for me it all translates into pleasure. So if you look at it in that context, well hell…I guess I really am kinky.

Just how kinky? Well…Daddy and I have broken a few meat tenderizers. What does that say?

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