Wednesday, October 15, 2014
After more than 10 years, you’d think I’d understand my inner masochist. I like thuddy impacts, no, sting is better, no, thud. Awwwww…insert expletives.
Seriously, I avoided single-tails because the impact of stingy floggers made me cringe and flinch, drove me out of subspace and maso-space, and in general, made me feel bad. But Master picked up a Dragon Tail made by Victor Tella, and that was challenging, but heavenly. Our first trip to Thunder in the Mountains, Victor Tella was one of the vendors, and we picked up twin signal whips, and oh, how I love them. There’s not enough space to use them at home, but oh, they are lovely.
So between heavy, thuddy floggers and sharp stings from single-tail like toys, I should like it all, right?
Hah. Poor Master.
Lately, I’ve been craving some whooping, and Master is, of course, more than happy to oblige (and a quick aside: how many subs and slaves would it take to wear out Master’s arm? I would like to know, because he gave pet one heck of a whooping and had plenty of gusto left for his creature.), so once he had me immobilized in ropes, he started in on my backside with one of my classic favorites: leather gloved hands.
And then he punched me. In the ass.
I liked it.
So, he figures I’m sufficiently warmed up, so he starts to apply other implements. Paddles. Canes. And each one of them drove me right into not-fun-pain. On the first impact. Because I have no safewords, and because I’ve struggled with many issues in the past during beatings, he expects me to communicate, find words and help him navigate the tricky headspace that exists inside his creature. So I do.
“Master, I don’t know why, but that’s feeling really not good.”
It’s frustrating for him. His sadist can enjoy me not enjoying things (especially when we play with fear), but when it comes to impact play, there’s a fine line for him; if I’m being driven into anger instead of pain, it’s no fun.
So he punched my ass more. And it was hot. I could tell that there was a lot of force behind them, and he later told me they were simply straight punches, with none of the proper twist and pop. I twisted and squirmed quite a bit, but I liked the feeling of his leather gloved hands slamming into my body. Some blows were delivered to my legs, but mostly they landed on my hindquarters. I wanted more punches, but I also wanted him to plow into me…
After, my hind end was so very, very sore. But no marks. No signs that he punched me in the ass for about half an hour. It hurt to sit. It ached when I walked.
Master said he hates the fact I don’t mark easily.
Three days later, the first signs of bruises appeared.
My ass still hurts. And there are faint little bruises.
Life is good.