Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (29 page)

Bruce, with a degree in physics and an MBA, says, “When

the woman takes the initiative, it feels like permission for me to enjoy myself or when I’m forced to have sex, that also heightens the orgasm. In my relationships with women, I have sometimes

found it difficult to ‘let go’ and fully enjoy myself and gain plea- sure. I think this affects my fantasies, as they seem to revolve around situations where I am explicitly given ‘permission’ to en- joy myself or am ‘forced to enjoy myself.’”

m e N a N d T h e W o m e N W h o r a p e T h e m , o r ,

“What’s a Nice Girl Like You Doing with Handcuffs and a Dildo Like That?”

Teddy

Teddy, a young man with a master’s degree and a job in desktop publishing, says he too loveswomenwhoaresupremelyconfident. He fantasizes becominga beauti- ful woman’s slave.

She has many female lovers. Though I know she enjoys men as well, I never see them. The other women in the house are younger. They all enjoy abusing me. Slapping me, sodomizing me with their dildos. One of my mistress’s nieces, eighteen years old, straps on a dildo and fucks me up the ass for hours. I cry out, as the pain is excruciating. But my mistress barely notices.

Logan

Logan is an industrialist, happily married, with two beautiful daughters. His dad was a small-town psychiatrist. His mother was very strict, and sex was a forbidden topic in the house. i find it interesting that he uses his uncle’s new wife for his disci- pline fantasy, the seeds of which were undoubtedly planted by his mother.

We four brothers and three sisters were always afraid of our mother’s anger. When I was quite young and innocent regarding sex, I was sodomized by an elder cousin who fooled me into believing that taking his cock up my ass would build my muscles. I was dying to be a bodybuilder gymnast then.

At about the same time, my uncle married a beautiful buxom woman. I was so aroused by her big tits that I used to steal her 38D cup bra from her bedroom. I would sniff the perfume mixed with her sweat. I would madly kiss her bra, then masturbate on it. The aroma of her worn panties drove me to dizzy heights. Sometimes, I used to wear her bra and panties. That gave me the strongest erections.

In my fantasy, she finds me in her room with her bra. She decides to spank me in order to correct me. The sound of her glass bangles as she spanks me is music to my ears. The pain turns to pleasure. The spanking is so erotic that I can’t help myself and cum on her petticoat. The cum soaks through her petticoat onto her thighs. She gets angry and orders me to lick her clean. She pulls me by my hair and pushes me into her soaking wet crotch of her black nylon panties. I am also ordered to lick her asshole. I part her buttocks, inhaling the sweet aroma of her rosebud anus. She puts a dog collar and a leash on my neck and pulls me to her four-poster bed. She lies facedown on the bed and puts a pillow under her pelvis so that her milk-white, luscious buttocks are raised high in the air. “Come, slave. Lick your mistress’s ass,” is her command. I usually cum at this point in my fantasy.

Forrest

Forrest is a Southern lawyer in his thirties who still finds his wife extremely beauti- ful. it’s interesting that in times of stress, his desire to be dominated increases.

My mother was strict, and my fantasies have always concerned the same general topic: female domination. My sex life with others has always been heterosexual, usually in the realm of the normal as opposed to the kinky. However, I have noticed that during periods of stress, my desire for the kinky increases, wanting to completely turn my will over to a powerful woman. During the last year, my wife and I have begun exploring dominant and submissive sexual relations with largely good results. Last summer, she announced to me that she was interested in watching some adult videos. I rented movies I knew contained scenes which dovetailed with my sexual desires. As we watched the movies, she announced that she wanted to fuck me up the ass with a strap-on dildo. It spawned this fantasy:

I come home from work, and a hostile look appears on her face. “You want supper?” she asks. “Why, yes, honey, I do,” I respond. “Well, motherfucker, I have had about enough of taking orders from you. Things are going to be different tonight.”

She attaches a set of handcuffs to me, slings me down on the bed, and I look up at her as she removes her gown to reveal a black leather outfit. She is wearing a bra-like thing with no real cups but merely studded straps which encircle her breasts. “What has gotten into you, baby?” I ask. She stuffs a phallic-shaped gag in my mouth. Then, she walks back to her dresser and picks up a cat-o’-nine tails. “Stand up,” she orders. The first blow from the cat on my back is vicious. The steel from the handcuffs bites into my flesh. She proceeds to cut my boxers off. She grabs my rock-hard dick and says, “What would you do if I had one of these? And told you I was going to butt-fuck you with it.” She looks me in the eye with an amused, slightly sinister look on her face. I shrug.

She goes to the dresser, pulls out a large curved dildo, and I scream in agony as she sodomizes me with it.

I love this feeling of being violated. Of feeling an object in my ass and knowing that there is a beautiful woman on the other end of it.

I relayed this fantasy, and we tried it. She followed my fantasy as I had described it to her—to a “T.” It hurt like a motherfucker. If “May your fantasies come true” is not an old gypsy curse, it ought to be. I discovered quickly I am not a masochist. She really got into it though. Needless to say, after it was over, I suggested we rethink this fantasy business.

I believe there is no trip like orgasm, nothing comparable. For a few moments, we are outside our skin, flying, floating, our mind cleared of all the obligatory facts of life. There is that moment before we let go when we know it’s going to happen, a most pre- cious, incomparable moment. We wonder why we waited so long to take this journey. But “be careful what you wish for.” As Forrest shows, fantasy is ruled by a very different set of laws than reality, where it helps to understand and honor our physical limitations.

Female sadisTic F aNT asies, or,

“Don’t Get Mad—Get Even”

Women come in all shades of anger these days, all degrees of toughness. In my own little world, I’d say the women I know are as quick to anger, faster on the draw, and can be more vengeful than men when crossed.

The dark side of women was there before, simply camouflaged by practiced girlish denials: “Hate her? Of course not. We love her!” With fewer chips to play with, our ammo back then was

emotional withdrawal from the victim, the withholding of our love, as in, “Give her the treatment!” Meaning, “Don’t ask that pretty girl to the party.” Today, we play with the same chips as men but still cling to our traditional revenge, the tried and true, when one of “our group” gets more than her share of the pie.

Once upon a time, men looked forward to well-behaved chil- dren, dinner, and a smiling wife and, maybe later that night, sex, though the marital deal didn’t promise the kind of sex men once dreamed of. Many men didn’t see their wives in that role nor did the women once they became mothers. For great sex, dirty sex, men went to bad girls.

Perhaps politicians, such as Eliot Spitzer, whose careers are based on a persona of respectability, advocating virtue and de- cency, are living closer to a world of forty years ago. It’s very telling that Spitzer, with so much to lose, was willing to risk his career in order to fulfill his sexual needs.

Obviously, there was a reason that men deprived themselves of a mate who had an erotic engine of her own. How could he hold his head high, putting his shoulder to the wheel of industry, if his mind was preoccupied with fantasies of his wife having it off with every other man she encountered? Better to neuter the wife and find great sex with bad girls.

Sometimes, I feel like Methuselah, reminding those of you who weren’t around prior to feminism what it was like before the world changed. There was a lot at stake keeping women out of touch with our influence, given that we raised the human race. We simply didn’t think of it that way. And when we did, the world changed. It happened overnight. A tiny spark caught fire, and women became the powerful force we are today. Once put in a position of competing with men—and other women—for

the job, we got off that pedestal so fast it was dizzying. I imagine even Doris Day, now a single entrepreneur, happily gave up the Doris Day persona.

Once we could pay the rent and put food on the table, the rigid rules that had defined what a woman was were rewritten. We were anything a man could be, including aggressive, vindic- tive, mean, and, yes, killers. The fantasies that we swore we didn’t have were now available. We could say, “Oh, I understand want- ing to tie someone up, climb on top of him, and…”

During the Iraq war, well-known photos of a female soldier physically abusing an Iraqi prisoner, all the while smoking a cig- arette and posing for the camera, sent shivers around the world. But no one suggested that it was a fake. No one said a woman couldn’t possibly do such a thing. We no longer deny women’s power or dark side. We know they can possess man’s capability for cruelty. Nor do we argue the correctness of men raising chil- dren as women go to war.

The women in this book have a field day punishing men in erotic fantasies of sadomasochism, as lurid as any invented by men in the past. Reading their fantasies, one can’t help wonder- ing where this killer creativity used to go in the distant days of “women, the caring, loving sex.”

When reading Ursula’s email, my first inclination was to put it aside as too extreme. I told myself, “Stop editing what doesn’t appeal to you.” The more brutal this woman’s fantasy, the more aroused she gets. She has fantasies of raping men and has been raped herself. She is furious at men for having raped her in re- ality and says, “My fantasies are brutal, but they help me have an orgasm.” The tone of these young women when describing the giving or getting of brutal punishment unsettles me. Did I

miss something? I go back and reread. All the brutality, real and fantasy, there it is in black and white, no tricks, no pretend. This is how it is.

ursula

When I was eighteen, I was raped in a city park by a boy I’d only met a few days before. A few years later, I met an older man who made me feel like the most important person in the world. Our lovemaking was gentle and satisfying, until about three years into the relationship, when he started sticking objects in my vagina that really hurt. It’s like he started thinking of me as an object and wasn’t concerned about my needs anymore. What he did felt more like torture than love. So I left. I started becoming very angry with men. I was told that women’s sexual needs were as important as men’s, so I decided to use men the way they had used me. This started a four-year behavior in search of sexual satisfaction and power. I think some men realized I was using them, and I got raped several times—once gang-raped. After that, I was even angrier because I felt like they were using their penises like weapons against women. I started having fantasies about raping men. I knew women could rape men even though I had been told it was impossible. It doesn’t take a genius to know you can drug a guy, tie him up, and ram a dildo up his ass. You can also force him at gunpoint to