The powerful effect of ‘good girl’ is no secret, what’s interesting is how the opposite can work in terms of arousal. Being called a “bad girl”, subjected to insults or abusive, humiliating and degrading words stimulates a similar effect even though the associated emotions would appear different.
It’s not about the delicious warmth or belonging of being praised a “good girl” though I may melt at your feet just as quickly; my blushes happily-shameful rather than proud. It’s not about encouragement or reward like being called a“good girl” although it can spur on my behaviour with equal success, whimpering, sobbing and squirming rather than wagging and bouncing.
There are important nuances to using the ‘bad girl’ approach for optimal effect, the intent is important; whilst some people have a “treat me like I’m worthless” fetish that’s not my kink; I don’t want to be perceived as somehow less, unwanted or unloved and I’d be mortified to genuinely disappoint you or make you angry.
Discussions with Pup highlighted how we feel similarly; she said “I’m finding it hard to articulate such a complicated and contradictory thing. Basically I only like to be ‘bad’ in the sense of ‘filthy’ but even then not as a true pejorative”.I understand the challenge in that it takes very specific use of the weapons in this kink arsenal for me also, for example…
For me it’s about pointing out what should be most shameful, like whispering in my ear “Everyone can see you cumming, you filthy bitch” as I lose myself in an exhibitionist display. “Did you make a mess? You bad girl” as I turn yet another floor into a health and safety hazard. My sense of shame still intact and in direct contradiction with my pride as a pervert.
Or highlighting how turned on I am by things that scream of filth“You like that don’t you? When I spit in your face, you dirty girl” the humiliation of the act evoking an undeniable response or “I’ve covered you in cum and you love it, filthy whore” as I eagerly lap it up. Or grinding his heel against my cunt as I lie on the floor below him, unable to stop the orgasm even if I’d wanted to, hiding my shame-face as he tells me “You filthy little fuck, I’m making you cum with my foot”.
Or calling me names as he taps into my most sinful and shame-filled fantasies and indulges me with threats to realise them. “I’ll get the guys to line up and fuck you, one after the other and you’d love it, my fucking slut” The implicating words and fantasy sufficient, safe that he would never force me into such a debasing act, no matter how much my treacherous vagina might think she wants it.
The suggestion that what I’m doing is taboo or forbidden comes with an addictive thrill of wrong-hotness. Uncle uses it to his advantage, telling me “That’s not how good girls kiss their uncles” scolding me as I can’t hold back on passionate kisses, grinding against him as he gently bites my face. “Naughty girl; don’t you want to be a good girl for your Uncle?” as I whimper and nod. A spontaneous role-play that is deliberately perverse for effect, with his promise “Uncle is grooming you….”
Words that come laced with a threat of punishment at my misbehaviour ramp up my arousal to quivering point, especially when the misbehaviour in question isn’t misbehaviour at all but a reaction to the physical pleasures washing over me “Sneer again and you’ll fucking regret it.” Or jolting me back to reality when I’m losing myself “Bad girl, don’t you dare stop looking at me” forcing me to look into his eyes as they burn me up. Opportunities to rectify the offending behaviour and receive praise or to push him to deliver punishment, my choice.
Promises to make me cry for my filthy deviant bad behaviour, or just because you can, are likely to produce cathartic self-fulfilling sobs. A much needed pushing of my buttons to get into that head space of release. My man hurts me because he knows I crave it; pushes me because he knows I can take it, ignores my objections of “No, no, no” because he already has my consent and trust, he reads me and knows where to draw the line. He understands when to praise and when to scold, amazingly so given the very fine line and apparent contradictions.
As a strong, independent woman I would never tolerate verbal atrocities used against me in real life but from lovers they can be utilised, their hotness harnessed and used to devastatingly delicious effect. There was a time I was determined I would never enjoy it, outraged at the idea I’d allow anyone to call me names, let alone encourage it. I was determined, “Never call me a slut! I won’t like it”!
As with any hard limit, it’s worth exploring more and now I have a much better understanding now of the subtle but hugely important manipulations that work for me.
Pup articulates my thoughts beautifully and concisely by explaining “Thinking about it, the only way ‘bad girl’ works is as a form of praise. They want a bad, filthy girl, so to be a bad girl is good!”
Demonstrated when my man referred to her as “our little fucktoy” as we filled up her holes, forcing her to keep enough composure enough to please him with her hands and mouth whilst I took her from behind, pushing my strap-on deep and pulling up on her hips. She did well; she was a good filthy girl. Just as I like to be…
Tell me I’m a dirty girl like I know I am, confirm my self-image as a filthy pervert, tell me how you love to abuse me because I deserve it, help me understand how I’m not a good girl at all – I’m a deviant with scandalous thoughts turned on by the most ‘wrong’ of perversions and you love it.
I’m a bad girl but it’s all good.