Toys with a Pulse

Some have tried to clas­sify me as a sen­sual sadist. I have balked at the moniker because it just sounds so girly (eww, girl-​cooties, he he). I want to be a big, gnarly, hard­core, hard-​ass sadist that makes hard-​ass masochists trem­ble when­ever they hear my name. Instead, I get a fetish devoted to me; STB — Sadis­tic Teddy Bears. That is how scary I am.

Still, there is truth to the sen­sual part. Quite a bit of truth, actu­ally. Note that sen­sual does not mean less pain or agony; the dif­fer­ence is the emo­tional con­text in which it is inflicted. In short, this is how I express affec­tion and love.

I am not one of those clin­i­cal sadists that walk into the room and lay out their pli­ers and specu­lums and then turn around with a raised eye­brow and say, “Shall we get started?” with­out even a hello. I’m not a mechanic; I am just a reg­u­lar guy whose objec­tive is to enjoy her and to have her enjoy herself.

Dammit, Jim; I’m a sadist, not a doctor!

I want it to… no, I need it to be organic. I need to con­nect with her emo­tion­ally and to enjoy her as a woman and not as a vic­tim. I may objec­tify her or treat her as a vic­tim or as a female to be mounted but I need the entire com­plex­ity of her.

To me it has always been about the emo­tional con­nec­tion. Not about toys and whips and stuff. So my hands and a lot of enthu­si­asm have always car­ried the day. This, how­ever, requires a strong emo­tional con­nec­tion that is not present in casual play.

When I decided to ven­ture forth into the local com­mu­nity and put a face on Dreamwalker, I also decided to open myself up for casual and pub­lic play, and with that the rules changed a bit.

I want to play and have fun too in addi­tion to expe­ri­enc­ing that pro­found emo­tional con­nec­tion and most casual play encoun­ters do tend to focus on spe­cific acts or toys for exper­i­men­ta­tion. Luck­ily, I have real­ized that para­pher­na­lia can indeed be a whole lot of fun. Espe­cially for a geek like me.

For the longest time I didn’t use any tools or toys at all (dis­count­ing reg­u­lar vanilla stuff like vibra­tors and dil­dos). Of course, if the lady had tools or toys, I would use them if it made sense and then there is always the kitchen with a lot of pervertables.

Side note: you would not believe how much fun I can have with sand­pa­per on ten­der bits and some Lis­ter­ine strips. Or clothes pins. Or, even bet­ter; binder clips. Evil grin. The fun may be awfully one-​sided, but, hey, that’s the name of the game. In any rate, you do not need fancy toys to have fun as long as you are mind­ful of the lady’s safety and wellbeing.

I am rapidly build­ing up a toy bag of my own. I have already acquired a vio­let wand, a Samu­rai, inflat­able stuff, tug­ging stuff, clamp­ing stuff, impact stuff, vibrat­ing stuff; all kinds of stuff. Some of it really expen­sive, and yet, one of the things that make me smile the most is the $10 sling shot I bought in the local sports store. Another is the black leather belt I have worn every day for ages.

Fur­ther­more, I recently won a flog­ger at the local munch, and I have my eyes on a cat o’ nine tails whip and the Scor­pion whip too. And as a self-​respecting sadist, I just have to obtain one or two Sjam­boks too. Evil grin.

Still, no toys in the world can ever con­vey the same con­nec­tion and inti­macy as my hands and my fin­gers and my teeth in touch­ing her. True, toys can be fun and a change of pace, but they must not be used to cre­ate a dis­tance between us. Touch is crit­i­cal. Con­nec­tion is crit­i­cal. Inti­macy is critical.

The play­ground is inside her, the sub­mis­sive. It is inside her that every­thing hap­pens, not in some fancy dun­geon or due to an expen­sive, hand­made flog­ger or what-​have-​you. I already have the per­fect play-​space in my hands; her body and her mind. Every­thing else is just tools to help me lead her on the jour­ney I want her to take.

And what goes for toys also goes for acts. I am still plagued by the fact that I have a hard time answer­ing the ques­tion “So, what are you into?” I do not have a laundry-​list of acts, really. I have only one thing, one result I want; I want to lose myself in her. I want to see the sur­ren­der in her eyes.

That’s it.

Sure, I can give a list of toys and acts and what-​nots, but what really gets to me is push­ing her but­tons and the but­tons are dif­fer­ent from woman to woman and from day to day on the same woman and even from minute to minute.

But when I try to explain just that, I often­times get a blank stare, Uh-​huh, but a twue dom will tell you what’s what and not floun­der around like that. Luck­ily, I do not iden­tify as a dom­i­nant and as such am not bound by the local dom­i­nant union’s rules and reg­u­la­tions, so that argu­ment is moot. He he.

I am just me and that is enough. I am not play­ing games; this is seri­ous for me. This is what I am. This is who I am.

So, yes, toys are fun and I do have some. And yet, when I close my eyes and fan­ta­size about her offer­ing her body and her­self as sac­ri­fice to pacify me, no tools and no toys are any­where to be seen in the dark recesses of my mind.

There, on the hard, stone-​cold slab, under the full moon’s mourn­ful gloom, it is just me and her.

My teeth and my hands, her screams and her tears.

Me and her.