Friday, March 23, 2007

Yes, My Lady: Beset by Abjection

Food loathing/adoration/addiction is perhaps the most elementary and most archaic form of abjection. When the eyes or the lips touch the skin on the surface of milk--harmless, thin as a sheet of cigarette paper, pitiful as a nail paring--I experience a gagging sensation, and still farther down, spasms in the stomach, the belly; and all the organs shrivel up the body, provoke tears and bile, increase heartbeat, cause forehead and hands to perspire. There looms, within abjection, within SM, one of those violent, dark revolts of being, directed against a threat that seems to emanate from an exorbitant outside or inside, ejected beyond the scope of the possible, the tolerable, the thinkable.

Those who purport that BDSM is safe, sane, and consensual attempt to maintain cleanliness, health, borders, positions, and rules. However, it is in the very nature of SM to cause abjection; that is, what disturbs order, system, and identity. Be it forced feeding, pie throwing, stuffing (in the vagina, anus, or mouth), or whatever else SM play that people who covet food come up with, I will always remain beset by abjection by all types of SM play with food.

However, there are many players who use food or plants to build the intensity of passion in a partner to match that of a fantasy model or to create desire for a person who otherwise would not be of interest. Many people use SM this way. Rather, many people use food in SM play to make the play/partner of interest. What better way to keep from having to have sex with an ugly bottom than to spread food all over her body? Clean, strict, timely Tops could not compromise their dominant position with such mess. Therefore, it is imperative not to allow the dirty bottom to touch you -- humiliate her, but for god's sake, do not touch her. On the other hand, how about form a 24/7 contract with the undesirable bottom where you feed her until she is huge, and then leave her? It is time to move on to the next wannabe-fat feedee--food's a wasting!

Food-loving bottoms are always stuffing their asses. This is called analipsation. I have tabulated cases in which items were recovered from the rectums of clients of My fellow Dominants. Here are some of the things that have been forcibly removed from human butts: an onion; a 9" zucchini; a potato; an apple; a banana encased in a condom; a turnip; salami; frozen grapes; an 11" carrot; a bottle of syrup; a jar of peanut butter; peanuts with shells; ice cubes and a lemon.

Obviously, these food-stuffers lowered their inhibition before proceeding with analipsation. How could you lower your own inhibitions? Enough to stuff your butt with veggies? You might want to try amyl nitrite, also called poppers, as this seems to dilate arteries and relax the sphincter. Of course, authorities generally agree that the best aphrodisiac is found in good health--not in recreational drugs. Drugs are not recommended for sex or SM. Now, that is all said and done.

I, unfortunately, have one of My own foodaphiles who derives a form of aphrodisia from the type of SM play called forced feeding or stuffing:

I do the pouring into the vomit bottle as fast as I can. Still, it reeks every time. I put My nose near burning incense. I pour the thrown-up food; still the putrid cloud awaits Me when I lift My head back up. All the corpses awaiting autopsies are in this bottle. Thrown-up food from inside you, and there's always more. There's always more of My client. There's always the vegetables left on the plate.

My client loves this scene more than all others. He says, "Nothing causes such reaction from you as this." It makes him feel like nothing. Abasement. To be forced to eat vegetables until the belly spasms, tears fall, and bile forms. Until the heartbeat increases, causing forehead and hands to perspire. Until one of those violent, dark revolts of being is thrown-up onto his chest...onto his Mistress.

His mother made him eat his vegetables. Let me repeat: his mother made him eat his vegetables. If orgasm is the little death (la petite mort), then vomiting might be the littlest death. How he manages to eroticize this and die a little each time is a difficult task.

It's starting to feel like a chore. Forcing cut-up vegetables, some fresh, some cooked, some from baby-food bottles, down the man's throat until he starts to gag. I feel it, like its an excess, somehow I can't just swallow it anymore. It wants to be kept, immortalized. It wants to be exhibited, to gross Me out. He wants to be kept, his pain exhibited.

It creeps Me out. He creeps Me out. I let the abjected veggies drip into the glass. It could hardly be called vomit. There's no velocity, just gravity. It just drips out of his mouth, sometimes in whole form, as if he hadn't had a chance to chew. It just falls out, like the bottom from underneath Me when I feel like killing him.

I had forgotten how hard it is for him to eat and vomit for an extended stretch of time. I am beginning to notice how different foods affect the viscosity of his saliva, its willingness to flow, its volume. After fifteen minutes, I had to get him a drink of water to wet his drying mouth. One glass of water on one hand, one glass of spit, food, and vomit in the other. I thought to myself, I/he must not confuse the two. I am disgusted with Myself.

"Why did I ever play with this man?" you ask. Why do I continue to play with this man? Because never at any other moment am I absolutely disgusted with someone else and Myself simultaneously at the same time. Nothing makes Me look at what, why, and how I eat quite like him.

No comments: