CW: edgeplay and CNC discussion
It drives me nuts that I have a hard time writing about CNC and certain kinds of edgeplay. I wrote Edging Edgeplay not too long ago, but I really have a hard time writing- particularly erotica- about these things.
It’s frustrating. Probably the closest thing I have to a singular kink is psychological masochism and CNC, but I can’t find a way to flesh these things out into scenes.
Part of it is that I’m bad at “scening.” I can service top and demo top and sensation bottom, but what I’m looking for out of edgeplay is genuine response and reaction. The emotions are real. When I beg, there is a lot behind that. I’m not going to pretend to be terrified if I’m not. I’m not going to resist if I think I’m going to have to convince you that I don’t want you to stop. I’m not going to run if I don’t think you’re going to chase.
It doesn’t stop me from wanting it. God, do I crave it. Feeling terrified, not knowing what’s coming, telling someone to stop and meaning it with every fiber of my bones, being held in place because someone devised a choice bad enough that I would rather not know what’s coming than face the alternative. The sweetest thing I can imagine is someone coming into my bedroom on the middle of the night when I have no reason to think they even know where I live, let alone be in the area. The most atrocious thing I can think of (right now) is being forced to listen to someone read, out loud, erotica I have written about them. Bonus points for ridicule because humiliation.
Because it ultimately comes down to care. How well someone knows me. Thought and care and planning and time and energy and trust. That’s what CNC means to me. Trusting me to call a limit if I have to. Trusting someone enough to let them see me discombobulated, stripped down, open and raw. Knowing someone cares in a way that brought them devote time, energy, coordinating, planning, research into getting inside my head. Knowing me well enough to know how badly I accept care, and know that I will feel exhilarated and guilty the whole time.
I can’t tell you what that looks like.
I can’t tell you how to terrify me, because it’s different for each person. I can’t tell you how to get inside my head, because what I am looking for is the unexpected. Surprise me; I can’t tell you how to do that. You have to understand enough of how I work to be able to know which parts you can break.
I can’t tell you what CNC looks like because it looks different with each person I can go there with. But it always looks like not knowing what’s coming. It’s hard to write about something you can’t think of specifically because the things I can’t think of are the things I need to get me there.
I can’t give you a roadmap. I can’t even give myself one, because the allure, the need, the desire is akin to entering the woods off-path at twilight. I can tell you that well-done coercion is infinitely better than force, but force works. I can tell you that the thought of a well-laid trap, one that I think I’ve outsmarted only to fall directly into it, gets me wet. The idea of being in a position I truly can’t get out because getting out of it would cause something worse is way better than any restraint system. I can tell you that watching someone I love suffer is infinitely worse than anything you can do to me. I can tell you that shit takes time, because I’m going to try to outsmart you. I can tell you who to talk to that knows me well enough to give you tips and pointers (but then, probably not, because I would then know you were planning something and I will be on my guard the whole time. You should probably know me well enough to know who to talk to.)
But I can’t tell you how to terrify me. I can’t give you directions, a roadmap, an erotica that paints how to get there. If you want to, there are more than enough breadcrumbs lying around. It just takes time to follow them, and if you can’t take the time to follow those, then perhaps you don’t deserve to play around inside my brain.
Monomaniacism 