Whose pleasure?

At the end of a post on limits, Discerning Dom (in my early days somewhat of a mentor to me - or at least a listening ear - under his former alter ego The English Gentleman) said the following:

A dom wants to bring her to sexual fulfilment. He wants that for her even more than he wants it for himself (because her fulfilment is in his gift; she depends on him for hers, and so it’s a big achievement for him if he can provide it for her).

Oh? Here, yet again, was another reminder of how different my relationship with my sadistic Master is from so many others. Because my Master's concerns with regard to sexual fulfillment are all for himself.

He has made this clear from the very beginning. There was no bait-and-switch. But recently, during the last and most extreme of the sessions of corporal punishment I've had to endure, he gave me a clear statement of what must always guide my life:

What does he want?

That's it.
That's all that matters.
What does he want?
What will bring him pleasure?

Now sometimes that may include my own sexual fulfillment. But even then, my own pleasure is incidental to the main goal. My orgasms belong to him, as do the accompanying moans and cries and sobs. When he allows me to cum, whether in his presence or on my own when he is miles away, I must always be aware that I am cumming for him. The pleasure is his, to be enjoyed via a report of my fantasies and methods of stimulation and intensity of the actual orgasm, or through a voice mail that includes the rising sounds of arousal and then the peak of cumming and the sobs that inevitably follow - a voice mail he can wallow in again and again and again.

Of course, whether or not that was my focus, I do receive substantial physical pleasure of my own when I cum - and from the various things he does to me despite the fact that I am deprived of orgasms. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise. But it is also quite clear to me that the pleasure is far greater - if different - than when all I was after was my own physical release. Rather than being turned inward, it all flows outward, to the one I serve, to the one who owns me, to the one I love in a much different and, dare I say, more fulfilling way than I have ever loved before.

Curiouser and curiouser.

It is really just a reverse of what Discerning Dom wrote. The reverse and the same. Just as he says the dom wants her pleasure more than his own, and finds his fulfillment in that achievement, so I feel such an extraordinary joy from the pleasure I give him. My own pleasure and the moans it triggers are as nothing compared to my satisfaction from the moans that I elicit from his throat with my own mouth on his cock. His orgasms are my artwork just as my poems are. I feel as if I am channeling his pleasure, his arousal, and in a way his orgasms as well.

Later, I will feel the nagging desire for an orgasm, but with the right words that usually subsides. And for a day or more I will exude a rosy glow as if the ecstasy had been mine.

Which it was.

I left a comment on this point, to which the Dom replied:

But perhaps he knows that this is exactly what you want. Or does he really not care?

It's a fair question. And a smart one. I am the sadist's creation. And yes, he is giving me what I want. Somehow, when he first spotted me on FetLife, he managed to read things in my profile that revealed who I really was and what he could make of me. And what he could make of me was what he was after. So he trapped me and, very slowly, has been training me - not to be something I wasn't but to free what I really was. To free me to embrace and accept my truth. And while some might call him unforgivably manipulative - hell, he takes pride in his talent for manipulation - the fact is that he saw me quite clearly.

He has indeed freed me to be myself. I have never been happier. And while one could say that my happiness comes from the attention he gives me, whatever that requires of me, my happiness comes from so deep inside me, from such a feeling of stability, that I have to believe his judgment is correct.

So no sexual fulfillment for me. My blue vibrator sleeps alone in the bedside drawer, contenting itself with reading erotica collections. My pussy weeps copious amounts of sweet honey, which accumulates in wasted wet spots on the crotch of my panties. And my fingers have to be reminded to stay away from my beckoning clitoris. Have you ever heard a clitoris beg? Absolutely shameless. So many false promises. Amusing but dangerous, because if it succeeds, it will be flogged.

Perhaps it's a masochist?