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A New York Escorts Confessions
Mean
I’ve discovered I like to hurt myself. A lot.
I always thought I was a fetish-free kind of gal. I cast myself over and over again as the observer. I’ve had men that wanted to bite my shoulder until they drew blood. Women that were all about leaving marks, a trail down my back for others to follow. The spankers, the impalers, the clothes-rippers, the pubic-hair-pullers all.
It’s not that I didn’t derive some pleasure from these acts, mind you. I did—but they were more about watching the other person get off than reveling in the pain myself. But all that changed when I started doing yoga.
Isn’t it funny? Yoga is supposed to be all about letting go. You experience a feeling, a memory, a moment and you cast it off. At least that’s what you’re supposed to do. But me? I find myself lingering in the pain. And then lingering and lingering some more.
Last week I took a class with Debi. She’s a truly gifted, focused teacher. But I’ve noticed she’s far from impartial. Whether she knows it or not, she’s drawn to those who are the most pliant. And I easily fall into that category.
If I’m a masochist, Debi is my co-dependent, my aggressor, my sadist in disguise. when I walk into her class, she gives me a sideways glance then cracks her knuckles and neck.
We did a straddle facing the wall. We grabbed our hands behind our backs to draw our shoulders together. And then we bent over and tried to get our hands to touch the floor in front of us. Debi came by me. “You’re almost there,” she whispered. And she drew my shoulders even closer together, closer than I thought possible. Slowly and surely she thrust my knuckles to the floor.
She never pushes, and yet that’s all she does. She’ll lay the full weight of her body on top of mine in a downward dog. And with each breath, my heels at last ease to the floor. And then she’ll stay there that extra second so that I get that intoxicating rush of adrenaline and the lust for more.
There are times I know I should tell her to stop. Sometimes my right hip gives out, a result of childhood scoliosis. But I let her push my back to my knees anyway. I let her turn my rib cage like she’s winding a clock. I let her wrap my legs around my head, even when I hear a strange sort of pop from somewhere around my right knee.
I wonder sometimes what Debi would be like in the bedroom. Could she teach me the secrets of the kama sutra? Would she tease me with her tongue while I held a handstand against her bed post? Would she stroke my nipples with her palms while I pushed into her for a backbend?
Maybe. But I wonder if it would really be the same kind of rush at all.
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about me
So why am I writing this blog? I have an inner exhibitionist that just needs to be let out. I've always wanted to bare myself completely in front of strangers but have always been held back by fear.
As strange as it may sound, I've never really truly bared myself in front of any of my clients. For all that they've seen, they've never seen me be me. And for all that I've seen, I simply need to share it with you!
So why should you come? To be tantalized and teased. To get release by knowing the true me.
I promise that I won't bite, and if I do bite, I'll make sure you like it!
my favorite posts
- Caveat Vendor - Part II
- Selling Out (Part III)
- Poops!... I Did It Again!
- My First Escorting Experience
- My First Lesbian Experience
- Daddy's Little Girl (Part II)
- Selling Out (Part III)


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sounds like you should find out. for science, of course.
Posted by j on Sep 14 05:24AM