Now, what I say next is not going to come as the biggest shock to you.

I like marks.

See, I told you, no surprises there. But as one prompt is motivation and the Kink of the Week topic is marks, I’m going to combine the two and actually tell you something a little new.

I love marks, I love getting them, I love seeing them on my body, I love the way they hurt and they change over time. I love, love love that.

But marks aren’t my motivation for play. At all.

Yes, sometimes I’ve been disappointed when I’ve not gotten marks from play, but that’s actually happened pretty rarely. And it’s usually more to do with circumstances within the scene. So there’s times I’ve had to tap out because I’ve not been at full health and that’s annoyed me and there’s been times I’ve not connected with who I was playing with and that was disappointing. Not having marks just compounded those emotions.

And sometimes I might state up front that I want marks from play, because basically I’m saying I wanna play hard and with things that will definitely leave signatures on my skin so I’ll be feeling the afterburn of the scene for days or even weeks if I’m lucky.

My motivation is pain. I love the pain. I love enduring the pain and the pain in itself turns me on and satisfies me. Okay, so my motivation isn’t *always* pain. It can be pleasure, connection, relaxation, sensation but my main drive when it comes to kink is pain.

As much as I love scratches and bites and bruises. Red skin from electric play, rope or chain marks on skin (however fleetingly) they aren’t my aim. I think they’re beautiful and I peacock my marks hard but once there’s no pain left in them, I’m really not that interested any more.

I don’t like inflicting pain on myself, but I consider poking, prodding and upsetting existing marks from play as an extension of the pain that person inflicted on me. It’s as if they are hurting me still. Sitting on cold benches and hard seats, leaning against railings, choosing the seats over the bus wheels all these things are my way of remembering the way I was given the pain that I enjoy so much. To keep it going.

I tend to share the most impressive of my marks here. The big, the dark, the body encompassing because they’re the ones that look impressive. I take photos of all my marks. And some of the ones I cherish most are tiny but they mean something to me because of how I received them.

I enjoy being marked because it is the product of a fun time, a connection, trust, lust, love. It is the result, not the motivation and is often merely a beautiful bonus. My masochist loves the pain, and the twisted romantic in me loves the lasting reminders of a good time shared.