Finding My Beast... "Here, Beast!"
This is a minor adaptation of a comment I posted to another LJ post. I found I couldn't keep myself from going back and re-reading it. So instead I've decided to repost it in my own blog for the potential enjoyment of others, and so i won't lose it in the mists of time. I adore Sharon Masters and her ability to express so succinctly complex BDSM topics; she's always worth the time to read.
I had been shuffling around the edges of my Beast in sex play. And then there was that day, playing with R upstairs at the dungeon. We were dancing our dance and while S had wandered out of the room -- I didn't see her, but she told me later -- it happened. My Beast spoke. R's Beast heard mine. We locked eyes and all she had to say was "That. That's what I want." I suddenly became aware that what I'd previously dismissed as a sound of play might be something more. I opened myself up a bit and let Him come out and play. And the more I let my Beast romp and dance the more energized I became. By the time S returned, she was a little stunned to hear me growling like a caged animal being tortured by some twisted person.
I guess the notion that our Beast, released through the submission to another, can be empowering, intoxicating... might seem a bit ironic to those who haven't experienced it. The closer I get to my Beast, the more I want to be mangled, torn, and mutilated. My Beast wants to be pushed, challenged, and wrestled with. This is not torture... this is play, the best kind.
This Beast could really kick some ass... if it wanted to. But it hungers for the dance. It wants to be courted, teased, tousled. Sharon has used the example of Klingon mating rituals, and oh Goddess I couldn't agree more. Call to my Beast and it will answer. But don't call it if you aren't prepared for a knock-down, drag-out fight... because that's exactly what you'll get.
There is power in submission. I heard a dom just this evening say, "I don't have big enough balls to be a submissive. I just want to hurt people." When I reflected back on that, I realized that their Beast would be unlikely to speak to mine. My Beast desires a bloodthirsty, angry, wounded, chained up wildebeest that's looking to make something suffer, a sensuous positive feedback loop of torturous lust.
I think of this dance a lot like many animals mate. This isn't going to be some polite moment where I quietly open my legs and let them gently fuck me and whisper sweet nothings to me. My Beast needs to be subdued, hunted, stalked. It will fight with every last ounce it can muster... but this is only because it's not gonna get raped and pillaged by just any fuckhead who comes along. If it's gonna go down, it wants to give it up to another worthy Beast, one to whom my Beast's song will make it's own heart skip a beat with glee.
My most favorite moment in play by far was in a scene where my Beast was on the warpath. I could feel the urge to lash out, gnarl, bite. Our eyes met, and I saw right into her Beast. She came close and whispered, "So who's gonna win?" In the most respectful way my rational mind could, I responded, "Oh, you will... but I'm going put up a damned good fight!" And that's when her Beast lashed out and made mine howl to wake the dead. I can still feel, smell, taste every moment of that scene. And I remember, too, that our Beasts spoke not just to each other... but that several others took notice and came to watch the beautiful carnage.
For me, this dance that we do isn't about the tools or the skills or the acts... it's about reaching down into the hellhole of our Soul and finding our Beast. And letting that Beast out to hunt for it's mate... reveling in the sweet destruction of play. For when we sate our Beast's desires and it later retreats within us, we feel the wholeness and completeness of it's fulfillment.
I had been shuffling around the edges of my Beast in sex play. And then there was that day, playing with R upstairs at the dungeon. We were dancing our dance and while S had wandered out of the room -- I didn't see her, but she told me later -- it happened. My Beast spoke. R's Beast heard mine. We locked eyes and all she had to say was "That. That's what I want." I suddenly became aware that what I'd previously dismissed as a sound of play might be something more. I opened myself up a bit and let Him come out and play. And the more I let my Beast romp and dance the more energized I became. By the time S returned, she was a little stunned to hear me growling like a caged animal being tortured by some twisted person.
I guess the notion that our Beast, released through the submission to another, can be empowering, intoxicating... might seem a bit ironic to those who haven't experienced it. The closer I get to my Beast, the more I want to be mangled, torn, and mutilated. My Beast wants to be pushed, challenged, and wrestled with. This is not torture... this is play, the best kind.
This Beast could really kick some ass... if it wanted to. But it hungers for the dance. It wants to be courted, teased, tousled. Sharon has used the example of Klingon mating rituals, and oh Goddess I couldn't agree more. Call to my Beast and it will answer. But don't call it if you aren't prepared for a knock-down, drag-out fight... because that's exactly what you'll get.
There is power in submission. I heard a dom just this evening say, "I don't have big enough balls to be a submissive. I just want to hurt people." When I reflected back on that, I realized that their Beast would be unlikely to speak to mine. My Beast desires a bloodthirsty, angry, wounded, chained up wildebeest that's looking to make something suffer, a sensuous positive feedback loop of torturous lust.
I think of this dance a lot like many animals mate. This isn't going to be some polite moment where I quietly open my legs and let them gently fuck me and whisper sweet nothings to me. My Beast needs to be subdued, hunted, stalked. It will fight with every last ounce it can muster... but this is only because it's not gonna get raped and pillaged by just any fuckhead who comes along. If it's gonna go down, it wants to give it up to another worthy Beast, one to whom my Beast's song will make it's own heart skip a beat with glee.
My most favorite moment in play by far was in a scene where my Beast was on the warpath. I could feel the urge to lash out, gnarl, bite. Our eyes met, and I saw right into her Beast. She came close and whispered, "So who's gonna win?" In the most respectful way my rational mind could, I responded, "Oh, you will... but I'm going put up a damned good fight!" And that's when her Beast lashed out and made mine howl to wake the dead. I can still feel, smell, taste every moment of that scene. And I remember, too, that our Beasts spoke not just to each other... but that several others took notice and came to watch the beautiful carnage.
For me, this dance that we do isn't about the tools or the skills or the acts... it's about reaching down into the hellhole of our Soul and finding our Beast. And letting that Beast out to hunt for it's mate... reveling in the sweet destruction of play. For when we sate our Beast's desires and it later retreats within us, we feel the wholeness and completeness of it's fulfillment.