Tomatoes Can Be Torture, Part 2

At the end of part 1, Femcar was wallowing and coming in a kiddie pool during a demonstration in her class called "Erotic Humiliation." I found out later that the men who had stepped up to throw tomatoes at her and use her as a public urinal—the ones whose willingness to degrade her I questioned—actually knew her and most had played with her before. So it wasn't exactly the free-for-all it looked like. Still, it was a lot to take in. In their class, Phantom and Femcar talked about how their public play was received within the BDSM community. Although the community encourages everyone to embrace their kinkiness, even sex radicals have their limits.

Our tenets are "safe, sane, and consensual," and for many people, Phantom and Femcar's play had trouble qualifying. Hearing them speak assured me that they were relatively safe, since Femcar can be coated in people's bodily fluids, but none penetrate any of her orifices. The pair were obviously sane, as well as highly self-aware, introspective, and articulate about why they do what they do. While their scenes might appear to cross lines of propriety and go beyond what is considered "edge play," they were absolutely consensual. In fact, the architect of their most extreme scenes, down to every last degrading detail, was always Femcar. Hearing them speak, I had a sense of who they were, and I never worried that Femcar was in real danger or being coerced into something she didn't want to do. But I could see how watchers in a dungeon at a party, without the benefit of any introduction, might look twice.

During their class I found myself thinking, wouldn't it be even more humiliating if, when Phantom invited people to join in, no one did? What if folks responded by saying she wasn't worth their time? Or started to leave, announcing, "There has got to be a better presenter teaching at this hour"? Being ignored is pretty humiliating. It scared me that I had such a sadistic thought, and it came to me so easily. But I liked the idea of taking away the one thing that Femcar clearly loved: an audience.

She wants her ego bashing to be witnessed, and she craves attention, even so-called negative attention. But she also really likes to engage others, more so than anyone else I've seen. And she does it with a democratic, nonjudgmental spirit most of us just cannot imagine or achieve. "People in the BDSM scene love to role-play with power, like when a submissive claims she is 'less than' her dominant, lower on the food chain," she told me. "But then that same person will turn her nose up at certain people. What if you really behaved as if you were no better than anyone else?" Femcar takes her role as object quite literally, and objects can't choose who uses them. When she gets used, except for assuring a level of safety and trust, she gets used by anyone and everyone. This part of her fascinates me and challenges me to look at the ways most of us judge each other and perpetuate social hierarchies and high school–esque cliques, even in a progressive environment like the BDSM community.

I got the nerve to talk to the two of them many months after seeing that first class, and I knew I wanted to play with Femcar. I was simultaneously drawn to and terrified of her. What attracted me was her boundless energy and fearlessness. What was intimidating was how clear she was about her desires. She had done so much heavy play and she was so smart that I would really have to step up my game. She was the ultimate challenge for a creative top. I wasn't sure I could find it in myself to be as rough, cruel, and unrelenting as she wanted. Her talk of letting her beast out had really resonated with me, but was I ready to let my beast out?

Our first scene was at an event where I was teaching, and it was not planned. One evening I did an anal-fisting demo she said she would come to but didn't. After it ended and the crowd left, I was cleaning up as a few people lingered. She wandered in. I knew that with all she had done, no one had ever anally fisted her. She mentioned more than once that she wanted to try it. At first, I wasn't sure. Anal fisting is a slow, sensual, spiritual experience for me. I have never done it with the aggression or attitude I know she likes.

I had covered the massage table I did the fisting on, and the paper drapes I used, now sticky with lube, were tossed on the cement floor. I told her to get on her hands and knees on the used drapes, amid the filth where she belonged. No cushioned comfort for her. I'd washed all the butt plugs I used on my demo-ee and put them in a pile on some paper towels. I picked one up and shoved it in her mouth, telling her that it had just been in someone else's ass. I put on a latex glove and lubed it up, telling her, of course, that I wouldn't be using any lube because she didn't deserve any. When I slipped the first finger in, she pushed back on it, hungry for more. But I had to balance warming her ass up (the responsible me) with taking her however I wanted (the sadistic me). I added a finger each time she begged me to, all the while saying nasty things to her. When I slipped the widest part of my hand past her sphincter muscles, she squealed, and I kept fucking her. She had one of her enormous orgasms, and as soon as she did, I gently pulled my hand out of her, ripped off the used glove and tossed it on her. Then I left her lying there.

Of course, I went right outside the building and spied through a window. She writhed around for a bit, then a friend of hers who'd been watching came up and asked her if she wanted help or anything. He took a bunch of the garbage scattered around her and threw it out. I wanted to rush back in—check in with her, give her aftercare—but I remember her saying, "If you totally use me, then five minutes later you're sweet to me, it ruins it." So I waited about half an hour. Then I went back in.

To be continued.

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