May was kind of a rough month. Not because of anything bad, but because Master and i were a bit apathetic about really enforcing our roles. We were doing just enough to say we were doing it, but not much more.
While time is always short for the kinds of scenes we'd like to do, we didn't really put much effort into our playtime being anything other than sex with subtle overtones of BDSM. Which, in and of itself is not a bad thing, but i'll admit, i'm kind of a high-maintenance kind of slave. Not to say that i need lots of time for primping, or that i cost Master a pretty penny, or in the girlie-girl kind of way. But as a slave, i've come to realize that feeling His dominance, either via His sadistic streak or with His boot on my neck, makes me function better.
Granted, i don't need that stuff to mosey on and do what i'm told ─ at least for the most part. But it drives me to do better, reminds me to not be apathetic about what i am.
After a particularly long period of apathy, i think it takes longer for the sadistic message of dominance to really hit my core. So despite the afternoon spent wrapped in sisal rope, i still managed to prove that i wasn't fully under Master's heel.
And i proved it well. Master was, to put it bluntly, fucking pissed at my behavior.
We only have one flogger (for shame, i know, shame), and it is a light thing. There are plenty of falls, but each one is no heavier than the feather of an owl. (Is that a weird, obscure reference or what?) Each fall is just under an inch wide, and they're about two feet long.
i am a masochist, but for some reason, there are some pains that take longer to process, or that are beyond my ability to absorb. Does that make sense?
When Master lays that flogger onto my back with force, instead of letting its own weight do the work, i cannot process the pain. And this time, i wasn't meant to.
While this was punishment for my behavior, i reveled in it, i dwelt in it and i screamed. After every stroke, i screamed, until i thought my voice would vanish. i was sure, as He continued to flog me (for what felt like a lifetime, or at least hours) that my skin, at any moment, would split open.
And when it was over, my back was red, but no bruises appeared on the surface of my back. A few tiny welts remained for a day and vanished.
And yet, though there is now no remnant of the flogging visible, the incident was burned into my mind, and my back is tender to Master's caress.
And i am coming to heel, appreciating the full value of my role.