Kiss With a Fist

His Little Friend and I had a date last night. It was lovely.  Beautiful day, tasty food, great beer, gorgeous company, and of course there was the slapping session which led to an epic wrestling match and amazing sex.

Yep, I said slapping. To strike with open hand. To smack, thwack, whack, hit, wallop. It was a titillating sexploration of a mutual interest and here are a few observations on being hit.

Physically, the sting startles me.  Adrenaline surges. I clench my fists, widen my stance, and prepare myself for battle. The sting softens into delicious warmth that spreads to the rest of my face, my head, and soon my whole body is awash in this amazing glow. I become incredibly aroused.

Psychologically, it’s an affront. Shocked despite knowing it was coming, humiliated despite having invited it upon myself, and an overwhelming desire to strike back despite the affection I feel for my attacker.

Sociologically, a slap-in-the-face of polite societal norms and mores. I am no polite lady. I am perverse. I am deviant.

So what is it about striking someone and being struck that is so exciting? Is it the humiliation? The disregard of social norms? Is it simply chemical? The release of adrenaline and endorphines? I don’t know, but I LOVE it and am sooooo looking forward to exploring this further.