Autumn is here, and with it the promise of Halloween. So I’m excited to bring you this week’s guest blog on the hotness of fear. Katie runs her own sex blog at NymphoStimToy (@NymphoStimToy on Mastodon), which you definitely need to check out because not only did her first post (‘when I’m better‘) absolutely annihilate me, she also has the best sex blog tagline I have ever seen, and I’m jealous. But as I say, today she’s here to talk about fear: the fact that arousal and terror sit so closely in our bodies, providing similar heart-pounding, gasping, adrenaline-fuelled reactions means they’re incredibly closely linked for many of us. And she wanted to talk about giving an eager submissive the gift of pure terror…
Note: Katie has written consent and the build-up to fear very beautifully in this piece, but it’s important to state clearly that you shouldn’t ever seek to frighten someone unless you know they have consented to that, and you’ve discussed things like safe words and other ways for them to withdraw consent at any time. As a general rule, the scarier the play, the more groundwork you need to have put in beforehand to understand your partner’s limits and the cues they will give you if they need the terror to stop.
Fear me
Fear is such a primal sensation, rooted deep in the psyche of almost every animal. It’s the feeling that tells us we’re in danger, that we’re going to get hurt. We all, as animals, react differently to fear. Some of us flee, others lash out and fight, many will simply freeze in place. Humans also sometimes fall into a fawn response where the situation permits it. In all of these cases though, we have adrenaline and cortisol pumping through our body, our pupils dilate, breathing and heartbeat accelerate, sweat beads on our skin, and god do I crave the scent of it.
When you’re scared, you become hyper aware of everything happening to you. All of your senses go into overdrive, and that makes even the subtlest of sensations deliciously intense. What I love about fear is that it’s like a drug. Fear can turn a gentle kiss into a predator tasting its prey, a mere glance into a vivisection, a chuckle into a blood-soaked threat. Flirts that don’t just leave someone dripping with unsated horn, but ambivalently also stuttering with panic.
It normally starts with a fluster. Maybe it’s something in my voice, or my enjoyment of eye contact when I’m feeling confident, but when someone’s blushing and stammering at a compliment, I can’t help but smile, watching the first silk threads weaving around them. I never push, only respond, like a spider watching a fly’s movement tangling it further in its web, or a boa constrictor gently tightening each time its prey exhales.
“You’re kinda scary”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah… you should do it more”
It’s like they’re almost hypnotising themself. They know exactly where they’re going and yet they timidly approach regardless. Deeper into the siren’s lair, ever more white strands wrapping and knotting around them. They want to be caught. Maybe it takes hours, or days, or weeks, each of our encounters growing subtly more intense as they grow addicted to the high and beg for more. To rush could be traumatic, though why would I ever want to when I can savour their slow descent into obsession? A delicate feather drifting down a well mustn’t be grasped at if you wish to meet it undamaged in the dark at the bottom.
“She’s so small and cute”
“But there’s a demon inside!”
I don’t enjoy rules and commands and punishments. They feel far too bureaucratic and civilised. More importantly though, the power ultimately lies with you, not me. You could just as easily test that power by being bratty, or topple my reign entirely. When I control with fear on the other hand, the power lies with me, because it’s not like you can just decide you’re not afraid any more. The compromise though is I must earn that power, unleash the monsters, and give you something to be afraid of, should you desire it, and critically also be prepared to take you in my arms and patch you up and mend you should it ever get too much.
“I want you to scare me again.” A simple incantation muttered between morning kisses by someone very close to me, gesturing to a riding crop protruding from their bedside table. I rolled them onto their back and retrieved the crop, then straddled them. The moment I placed a hand on their throat and leant down close to them, they panicked, swinging their hands up to grab onto my wrist. There were two others in the room whom I asked to pin their arms down so they were truly trapped, trembling with fear, surrounded with only my wild eyes and wicked grin inches above them to see… my hand now over their mouth.
My sadism is fleeting but intense. It’s really not often I like to wield a flogger or a belt or a chain, especially not for a whole scene, but I relish the moments I do. I do not like to count or plan or prescribe. I want to construct a playground out of your comfort zone, erect tall, imposing iron fences, and then raze everything within to the ground in a manic inferno. I want your cries of pain to flow through my ears like music while my ecstatic laughter echoes through your skull, etching itself onto your soul. Just once, for a moment, I want to be utterly terrifying.
I was bringing the crop down on them with neither rhyme, reason, rhythm, nor relent. Each strike made their entire body convulse, their shrieks muffled under my palm. Their eyes were wide open and fixed on mine, tears welling as though they genuinely feared for their life as my delighted giggling obscured any hint of rational thought over my deep-set cruelty. I was completely unreadable. Feral. The only certainty being that their suffering made me smile. The way they happily curled up and melted in my arms afterwards reassured me I’d done exactly what I (and they) intended and nothing more.
I want to do this so that the next time I lean in close, run my fingers through your hair, and sweet-talk you in my softest voice, I want to be able to taste the fear on you. I want your unease at the stark juxtaposition of the gleefully confident tease that touches gently and speaks softly with the manic sadist that laughs childishly at your screams to be palpable. I want to rest my hand on your throat and have your breathing stop without me needing apply more than a feather’s weight of force. I want to bite into your neck and send you hurtling into a panic that swirls and emulsifies with lust.
What I crave is the power trip, so subtle as it is, of commanding a threatening aura that leaves entranced those that dare venture too deep, and to be able to idly fuck with anyone caught in my web. To be both feared and desired. I’m very much into monsterfucking, but sometimes I want to be the monster.