For many of us who live with chronic pain, kink — especially spanking and submission — can offer more than just erotic pleasure. It can also offer healing, relief, and a way to reclaim power over a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
This will be 10 part series. I’ll be exploring how my own experiences with chronic migraines, submission, and erotic pain have shaped my kink journey — and why certain types of chosen pain help me not only physically, but emotionally. If you’ve ever wondered why some of us are drawn to pain we choose, even while we struggle with pain we didn’t choose — or how submission can become a source of strength — I hope you’ll enjoy or get something out of these posts.
I live with chronic migraines. It’s a fact of life for me — a constant background hum of pain and fatigue that I’ve learned to manage over time. I’m often in pain even when I look fine on the outside. Some days are better than others, but the migraines never truly go away.
And here’s something that may surprise people — certain kinds of pain actually help me. Not random pain, not pain from the migraine — but chosen pain.
When I’m teaching — fully focused in a class, preparing a lecture or creating new materials — my migraines often fade into the background. This isn’t magic — it’s something neurologists call pain gating. When the mind is absorbed in something fully, pain signals are deprioritized.
But this happens even more powerfully — and more erotically — in certain kinds of scenes and experiences I choose:
✅ A deliberate spanking scene
✅ The slow sting of a piercing needle
✅ The sharp, intense sensations of a manzilian waxing
I’ve had my nipples pierced (twice), a Prince Albert, a frenum piercing, and my ear pierced — and I genuinely enjoyed each experience. Piercing pain is fascinating: it is sharp and quick during the moment, but lingers in sensitivity while the body heals. I would actually like to get more piercings, though I also know I don’t want to end up looking like a pincushion — but I do understand the addiction some people feel for it.
My nipples were originally pierced once, but I had to remove them for a chest X-ray before they had healed completely — so I ended up getting them pierced a second time later on. Recently, I had an MRI and had to remove my piercing. Somehow, the piercing in my left nipple shrank, even though I’ve had my nipples pierced for years. When I put jewelry back in them, it became swollen and I had to take it back out. Now, it has closed up, and I’ll have to get it pierced again. The first time I got a nipple pierced, it was just the one, and I felt uneven, like I do now, so I’ll get it pierced again soon.
I also had a frenum piercing for a while, though that one never healed properly, and I eventually had to remove it. I later chose to get a Prince Albert instead — and that piercing was by far the most intense experience. When the needle went through, my body seized in pain — I tensed up, my legs shook — but the sensation was over too quickly. Still, the memory of that intensity stays with me.
A manzilian waxing is something else again — and unlike the piercings, it’s something I can return to again and again, about once a month if I choose. The sensations are sharp, stingy in places, but also incredibly satisfying. It didn’t arouse me sexually during the process, but I enjoyed the intensity, the rhythm, and the feeling afterward — of having chosen the experience for myself.
The pain of a spanking scene is even more layered — especially when I submit to someone I trust and admire. In those moments, the pain draws me out of my head and into an altered space where the migraines recede — and the chosen pain becomes a kind of release.
Not all pain works this way for me. I discovered that getting a tattoo did not give me the same experience. The constant, buzzing, grating sensation lacked the rhythmic build or sharp intensity that I enjoy in other kinds of pain. It wasn’t linked to submission or agency for me — it simply felt like an endurance test, without the same release or satisfaction.
There is something deeply healing — for me — about surrendering to a trusted top or practitioner, and offering my body for chosen pain. It gives me back a sense of agency, of power, that chronic migraine pain so often steals. I don’t get to choose when the migraines hit me — but I can choose when and how I submit to pain that heals me.
That difference means everything.
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