Fascination With Religion and BDSM

A Repost From Jewrotica, I did not write this but found it in my research.
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Coming Out Kinky

Photo credit: Jean Paul San Pedro
Rated R

Written by Jean Franzblau. Jean was raised on bagels and lox in South Florida. This is a partial excerpt of her show “Coming Out Kinky – A Grown Up Comedy” which she performs at theaters and universities across the U.S. Jean is a coach and sex educator. She blogs at SexualEsteemWithJean.com. You can also find her on Twitter, Facebook and YouTube.

As a thirty-eight year old professional woman in big-city Los Angeles, I knew a lot about life. What I hadn’t learned was how to end a relationship with a boyfriend I was no longer attracted to. It dragged on and on. When we finally broke up I felt malnourished where it counted – in my pussy. I promised myself, “never again.” Never again would I sacrifice this important part of myself.

With this resolve, I revised a list I’d been keeping in my mind for a long time – my sexual bucket list. I was committed to adventure and experimentation. I even went to an S&M dungeon here in L.A. called The Sanctuary. I saw spanking; I witnessed bondage. And on my way home from the club, I began feeling this nagging need for something. That week, I posted an ad on a website called Bondage.com seeking a dominant man.

I received messages from several guys who obviously didn’t take the time to read my profile. A few seemed to be cutting and pasting the same blurb to every woman on the site. Then I got a note from a man named Zack. Here’s what he said:

Just wanted to say that what you wrote in your profile intrigued me to say the least – the balance of curiosity, and intelligence – lovely, really. Usually I don’t reach out to those without photos, but I felt your “voice” comes through loud and clear, and perhaps that’s what attracts me the most. I like women who can express themselves, as you clearly can.

What to share of myself on this fine evening? Well, I paint as a hobby. L.A. provides lots of inspiration for that. It’s a fun outlet and I’m pretty good, if I say so myself. I’m an Art Director in the movie biz. Went camping on the Kern River last weekend with some good friends. Cooked, floated, sipped whiskey, and watched the sun go down.

Been in the scene for years. Very experienced. I respect limits. I enjoy guiding. Would love to chat more if I seem at all interesting to you.

I liked everything about this guy’s approach. Zack and I met on a Sunday afternoon at a Starbucks in Brentwood. He was six feet tall with dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. My first impression was his hearty laugh – warm and deep. First, we talked about life. This is how I found out that his grandfather was an Orthodox Jew who left the faith and married a Chinese schoolteacher. That would explain Zack’s sexy, almond shaped eyes.

Then we talked about his art – he pulled out his iPhone and swiped through a gallery full of exquisite photography from Burning Man – I was impressed. He switched to another folder of family photos. He showed me an ancient black and white of his grandfather – who looked a lot like the forbidding, bearded Jewish men in my own family. It felt strange to find this commonality with Zack given what had brought us together that day.

Finally we talked about the kinky interests we had in common. “I like to go deep,” he said, and I became really curious what he meant.

“Would you like to experience a scene with me?” he asked. “Yes.” I never felt surer about anything.

“Good,” he answered. “What would you like your safe word to be?”

“Safe word,” I responded. “That’s what I say if I want you to stop doing what you’re doing, right?”

“Correct. Many people go for yellow and red like the traffic lights. Yellow means slow down and red means stop.”

I’ve learned since then that there were many words I might say to protest like “Ouch,” “I hate this,” “Stop,” “No,” or “Fuck you,” without actually wanting it to end. So a safe word helps your partner know you really, really mean it.

“That sounds fine,” I told him. “And I’ll set a silent alarm.”

“Great,” he answered. “I’m glad.”

I learned about silent alarms from the book SM101, which I found on Amazon. A silent alarm is for people who want to play together – but don’t know each other well. It’s a safety precaution. My friend Julie will know where I am and what I’m doing. She’ll have Zack’s phone number and address with explicit instructions that if she doesn’t hear from me by a certain time, then something may be wrong. She should try to contact me and if I’m still not responding, she should call the police and give them his address. Zack knew the drill.

“So, may I call you names?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Slut. Whore.”

I got very quiet and then nodded. Yes.

“May I blindfold you?” he asked.

Another nod.

“Okay.” He said. “Saturday night, my place at 8:00pm. Exactly 8:00pm. Do you understand?

I took all the time I could ever need to get ready, arrived twenty minutes early and parked. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw my eyes shining back at me – happy. My lipstick was on just right and the wind was going through the trees just right. There was nowhere in the world I’d rather be.

Zack opened the door and I gasped at my first glance at his amazing place. There were hardwood floors, books from floor to ceiling, bright, passionate artwork and a blown glass chandelier that looked like an octopus. Zack had romantic candles lit and red wine and finger food at the ready. I asked him questions about the people in the photos on his fridge. On the surface, we were twenty minutes into an awesome date. Underneath I wondered when the actual “scene” might begin. Zack was seated in his red leather chair.

“I want you to come over here,” he said.

I walked over and stopped a few feet in front of him. “Closer. Let’s see what we have here.”

He ran his fingers along my leg from my knee to my inner thigh. Like he owned me.

“Mmm, nice,” he said.

He stood up, took my black, silk scarf from around my neck and covered my eyes with it.

“Lights out,” he said gently, as he knotted the scarf behind my neck. “Now undress completely.”

What am I getting myself into? Why am I so turned on? I knew only one thing for sure: I wanted to please him. I undressed as fast as I could – dress over my head, heels off, bra snapped and panties peeled away. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was. It was quiet for a few seconds while I stood there, exposed, waiting.

“Kneel on the ground,” he ordered. It sounded from his voice that he may be smiling. Was he laughing at me?

“Fold your clothes, don’t be messy,” he said. Now I knew he was teasing me. I reached around myself with both hands hoping to locate my things. He was watching me make a mess of it.

“Crawl to the bed,” he said.

I felt my face redden, but only asked, “Where’s the bed?”

“Oh, I’ll show you.”

He gathered my tousled, brown hair in one of his fists and dragged me along on my hands and knees. It was a strange, sweet humiliation that even now I can’t explain. In a small chamber of my brain, I noticed he pulled only as fast as I could make my way across the floor.

He told me to kneel and wait. I knew I was somewhere in his home on the hardwood floor, but that was about it. I felt a cushion placed beside me. That was familiar. I used this cushion as a temporary home for myself – an anchor. I had slipped into another dimension. In the BDSM community, this dimension had a name. It’s called submissive-space. Sub space felt like a five hundred pound weight was lifted off of me that I didn’t even know was there. Like I had waited my whole life to be told to kneel and wait. Freedom, presence, bliss. Any worry I’d ever had about pleasing the other person – whose turn was it to do what? Was I doing this right – was gone. I had nothing to do but obey.

Zack told me to follow his voice the rest of the way. He was enjoying this game. I had never realized before how hard crawling was. The floor was unforgiving as I made my way down the long hallway. At last, I reached the foot of a bed. He directed me to climb up and pose for him on my hands and knees. My feeling of exposure and embarrassment escalated.

Zack left the room. I felt like a jackass – posing, alone. But he might return at any moment so I stayed, dutiful. I heard rummaging sounds in another room and then louder rummaging sounds. Then there was a clink of metal on metal. What was that clinky thing? Was it intended for me?

Silence.

“Ooh!” I was struck on the behind with something made of leather. And again. And then again, faster and faster. The sensation was a kaleidoscope of sound, impact and adrenaline. And there I was in the center of the storm. I felt like an Amazon – taking it all.

After a bunch more whacks, he told me, “Count them. And you’d better be cordial about it.”

“One, thank you, Sir. Two, thank you Sir.”

At seventeen, I didn’t know how much more I could take. He paused and said, “You are so fucking sexy,” He reached between my legs to touch my pussy. I couldn’t hide how turned on I was.

“What kind of woman gets wet from being stripped and flogged?” he asked. “Your kind,” I breathed.

“Get on your back,” he told me. “You’ve been very good, I’m going to give you a treat.”

I complied with alacrity. His tongue on my clit was sure and fast. His finger inside me was firm and slow. The combination took me over. I heard my voice – throaty – I’d never heard myself like that before. I was turning inside out. Tears. I heard myself say, “thank you!” and then “Thank you thank you thank you!”

Then I laughed, still blindfolded, this orgasm kept going and going. I reached between my legs to find his face, to connect with He who had just finger-fucked and mind-fucked me so thoroughly.

He lifted my scarf above my eyes. He was still in his black jeans and t-shirt, lying down, propped on one arm, smiling at my face. I wriggled closer to him, content.

“You were so much fun.” He said, “I’d like to see you again sometime, would you like that?”

I could only nod Yes. Words had not yet returned.

“Now hug me as hard as you can then turn around so I can spoon you.”

I was grateful to have a few more precious, nonverbal minutes to float in this new mental world He’d shown me. His arms around me felt like a safety belt. Bliss.

Sixty minutes later I was dressed and outside Zack’s door. I texted Julie: I’m safe. Heading home.

Julie wrote back: How are you?

I thought about it for a long time.

Changed.

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