312. Thoughts on Pegging (2018)

I’m a bit hesitant to only put a year to differentiate some of these posts as I’m sure I will visit them again and I know this isn’t the first time…

D brought up the idea of pegging in one of my comments.  SG also echoed the topic idea.  Here goes.

For those who aren’t familiar with pegging, pegging is the act of a woman with a strap-on having anal intercourse with a man.

I almost started this by saying that I have a love/hate relationship with pegging.  That would be a lie.  It’s more like, hate/tolerate.  For many men (myself included), the idea of having anything up your bottom makes your sphincter pucker and you want to curl up into the fetal position with your back to the wall. There are men that enjoy pegging as an intimate act.  They are able to enjoy the prostate stimulation, have an orgasm, like or love it.

Pegging is my worst nightmare.  If anything even touches my thighs near my hole, my pulse immediately skyrockets up to about 140bpm or more.  If anything touches the sphincter, I will be thrashing, sobbing, bawling, screaming, clawing, and fighting.  These are subconscious acts that I cannot control.  I don’t think I was abused in that way when I was younger, but who the hell knows.  I can’t deal with it.

Anyone who has seen my drawings or read fs01 is probably thinking, dude, you do a lot of stuff with pegging in it if you hate it that much.  Therein lies the catch.  In submission I chase the deepest submissive mental space possible.  I want to be immersed so deep that I can’t even see the daylight.  I relaxed my hard limit on anal play 7 years after entering the lifestyle.  Getting pegged pushed me to a whole new realm of subspace that I didn’t know existed.

Nothing else makes me feel as completely owned and totally helpless.  I just have to suck it up and endure.  Part of the helpless is probably closely tied to the bondage required to make it happen.  It needs to be full on chains and locks.  The method we found that worked involved a spreader bar between my ankles, my wrist chained to my ankles, my collar chained to the spreader bar, and a locking gag.  No safe word, no way to make it stop, and no way to free or defend myself.

I scream.  I cry.  I die inside.  My soul gets thoroughly crushed.  I want nothing more than to make it stop.  I want to be anywhere but there.

That is what does it for me.  It breaks me.  It breaks my will.  It asserts true inescapable dominance over me.  I am helpless and in turn, my mind surrenders.

When it is over, only my submissive self remains.  I love her.  I adore her.  I cherish her.  I will do anything for her.  I want to do anything for her… except that.

That is pegging to me.

What is pegging for her?

This gets a bit more complicated.  Pegging for many of the women that do it, do so because it is either a fetish or a Domspace trigger.  I can understand the rush and empowerment of taking a man from behind, whether he likes it or not.  I can understand how that would drive someone.  I think for the women who live for it, it tends to fall into the realm of a fetish.

Now, most pegging occurs with a standard dildo mounted on a harness.  There are a number of double-ended dildos out there, some designed to work with a harness while others do not require a harness.

These double-enders make infinitely more sense to me.  If the act of pegging gives her a full-on orgasm, I find the idea of it a lot more attractive.  I also think this type is easier to process for both men and women who do not have an interest in pegging.  (The type that I write about in my fiction is designed to make the user orgasm).

Overall, I think my own mental block makes pegging pretty much the most intense form of submission that I can experience.  I don’t know if doing it more will make that intensity fade, but I do know as of this time, it pushes me deeper than anything else can.  That really gives it a twisted place within me, knowing that I crave the byproduct of something that I despise experiencing.

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