Surges of Love Amidst Brutality

Where I am at these days…

I updated my Fetlife profile yesterday with some new photos (@CreatureCrea if you’re interested). A couple of them are a bit on the brutal side, depicting around 90 needles as my tools of torture in a CBT scene. As scary as that looks though, the session itself was nothing but loving and kind. Brimming with surges of love and an exchange of exciting and sexy energy between my submissive masochist and his Sadistic and caring Dominants (two of us were emptying the boxes of needles that day). Honestly, the scene felt romantic and it was full of smiles mixed into moans. Pain/pleasure is a real thing, and the edges some people can get carried to are incredible. I feel lucky to work with bodies in this way.

What does it mean to take this amount of “torture” and enjoy it? Well, it’s not for everybody, that’s for sure, but I think it’s part of an internal conversation about desire which extends beyond the bounds of what we’re taught is “normal”. What do you want to do? What do you want to have done to you? What can you survive? What experiences are you curious to try? People tear their bodies apart mountain climbing, and we call it a sport, with admiration in our minds for those who persevere beyond. I think the mind and body of the BDSM masochist are wired similarly.

Reading about the brains and the visceral experiences extreme sport athletes share, I find myself nodding emphatically more frequently than not. Having been on the business end of a whip for hours on end (or any number of other intensely painful situations), there’s a certain place I get to where processing and taking the pain I’m receiving becomes a pleasure and an excitement I want to continue with. Focus, and an alignment of my body and mind takes over. The pleasure aspect to it is aided by a heightened awareness of my body. It feels a lot like “new relationship energy” to me. If I’m playing with someone who is mindful of pacing and physical cues, what we accomplish in scene can extend on and on and on, building and ebbing and building over and over again.

It isn’t just the activity though that makes this possible. It is the person on each end of the exchange, and the energy we’re willing to receive and let go of and send into one another in support of our sport. If I push a needle into someone with a specific intent, it feels remarkably different than if I push it into someone without, carelessly, or with a completely different intent in mind. If my submissive receives my needling and tenses up, or instead is breathing through it, or has the mindset of “being good” for me, or is resistant, we will both feel those effects. Energetic vampires exist and are horrible to scene with — but I’m a connection slut, so in general someone sucking all the energy out of the room and out of me without returning it for the benefit of my continued interest in play is my nightmare idea of a partner.

I’ve been lucky to find scene partner after scene partner, on this ride through BDSM, to be beautiful people who I feel lucky to jab/kick/pinch/hit and make howl. Perverted? Absolutely. Rewarding? Unendingly yes! Fulfilling and sustainable? Check! When BDSM play feels like love, paired with a giving partner, I never want to stop making my submissive feel as they’ve fantasized about wanting to feel. It works for us both.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Our Bodies are Amazing

Whip marks

Our bodies are amazing. It’s simply true. Our skin is this incredible material which holds our innards in despite gravity, tearing, impact, burns, and broken bones inside its casing. Pain is this amazing tool that our bodies offer us in conversation. It proves a malleable experience which we can turn up or turn off the noise of depending on our emotional fortitude, our expectations, and our perception of our safety in that given moment. BDSM plays with these things, allowing us to find newer and newer spectrums of control through sheer force of will, and with the survival intelligence we are gifted from experience. Trust is built through trial and error, and over time our lines in the sand about what we believe we can tolerate moves further and further into the wild. Humans were built for adventure, for physical fortitude, and for intellectual and emotional growth. We get bigger from trying new things and from digestible challenge.

Mummification

I am grateful that I’ve found these communities of people who are as interested in what their bodies are capable of, what their hearts are capable of, what their creative intellects and wills are able to accomplish, as I am. I am proud of what my body has shown me it’s happy (and sometimes unhappy but able) to take. New experience after new experience has taught me more about myself than comfort ever could over the years. I am repeatedly astonished when my desires shift from fear and rejection of an idea, to intrigue, to want, and oftentimes to ease.

There was a moment in time (just a moment) when I considered being punched and “rough body play” to be an awful idea, I thought “who does that?!?!”… The very next day I was punched in a scene and as I felt the deep reverberations echo through my torso, sending pleasure to parts of my body I hadn’t felt come alive for a very long time, I knew this was one of my favorite things. I was angry that being born female had taken these feelings away from me for so long. Getting beat in scene was a reclaiming of my own skin and bones, an emotionally powerful and moving new understanding that I was capable of so much more than I had known.

Needles

Another awe was found hanging 20 feet above a crowd of hundreds with only 2 hooks pierced through my shoulder skin holding me up. I felt my skeleton and organs trying to escape the meatsack I am alongside gravity. Epidermis, I kiss your virtues. Pain is a mindgame where fact and fear wrestle it out over intense sensation, and the journey is a classroom of information recalibrating one’s reactions for many future moments to come.

If you want it to.

The offer is open to everyone.

Dare to walk on fire with someone who knows how, and you’ll learn.

Recently I found myself with fistfulls of needles, pricking, suturing, and tying flesh in formations I hadn’t ever done before. It was beautiful. A love of blood satisfied for the evening, and my sadistic pleasure centers served well. Balls tied to the ceiling and pulled on with weights, labia and nipples sutured and strung up as well, two human animals who love one another and who offered me their flesh I tied together, then needled ribcage to ribcage, and corseted together with string on the bed which was our playground… The chemicals of connection, a practice of breathing, the fuel of trust and desire, and an electrifying sensation from every spark of energy in the room passed back and forth between us all as minutes turned to hours. From this I was high and happy and grateful.

Never cease to be amazed.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Journey to Dirt

In the beginning there was mucous, blood, grey and purple skin. There were cacophonous sounds and everything was light. Hands on your body, sensation of your own cry, coughing up the fluid from inside. Cold steel, warm blankets, pinpricks, trembling hands passing the new body around, the breath of your parents on your face, or not. It is romantic to think it was violent, that moment of your birth, it is arrogant to believe it was not.

Everything had changed.

Growth happened over the years. Plague and fear. Your unlimited curiosity stabbed by the million laws. Gratefulness is replaced with unrealistic needs. Things. A shopping spree of ballcaps, TVs, the latest brightener, soothe-goop, popstar jewels extracted unethically from third world thighs, and cattle crying in the fields for tenderer meat… Somewhere inside we must be trying to find the womb, swim against this tide, get back to our shuddering mucous covered muteness. Peace within ineptitude — now achievable through only our greatest sins. Sex by numbers is a game we placate our inner demons with, not seeing they grow wilder at the smell of our rancid unused groins… We need these demons, telling us who we are and what we’re meant to be. Lubricating oils spontaneously produce, made of scented atoms which open our chests to one another, engage the feral beasts underneath. The most natural thing is to growl as two and four-legged pheromones pass us. Sweat is the Goddess we were warned about.

Instead we play at it, repress, shame, shroud in silence, and ignore the harmonic dance of life.

We turn on the telly to remember how it goes: fuck when you see fuck, cry when you see cry, or sometimes rigidly sit in flaccid bewilderment while the clown fails to connect with you. These choreographies were meant for flesh met times. We aren’t learning an authentic dance.

The edge of a cliff looms. Stare down the slick walls of your erectness and the whole world seems opportunity to procreate. Unpracticed we fail and fail again, jizz impotent. Tissues, a hand. Silent. Waste without the divine intertwined.

You forget you are holy.

The most natural thing is touching yourself. Feel the hum of blood, rise and fall of sunshine in your chest. The most natural thing is wanting others, give and take, dark roots, bright moon.

Sip in the air, open up your chest. Oxygen works its way from center to the infinity above your head and depths down. Extend your range, aim to horizon and beyond, it’s what you are here for. Fill Universe with sound and light, your mucus filled lungs and mini images of you flying into the vastness. Again! Again! Thrive! Find delight! Seduce, ground, recognize this road lined in shining mica to the dirt.

Silence lies sold to you for comfort.  Bad exchange, believing yourself worthless, unwhole, made wrong, incomplete, or meant for less.

We are powerful and brilliant. Older siblings reaching hands to help the next. We are frustrated beetles covering the windowsills of this house, trying forever to stay warm and get the fuck out. We are hardy and hopeful, shaking the Earth, stepping on ground given us which someday will swallow all whole. Fall into soil. Risen from sex. Lived wary of love or discovery, no true release. How do we Gods master time before bugs carry corpus away? Smell of rain and soil is calling from your cunt. We learn to play.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

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