Saturday, May 8, 2010

Empty Nest again

Another time of change… My son and his wife found an apartment and moved out. Our nest is empty again. Master is jazzed but for some reason I feel a little sad. I think I will be a little lonely. I won’t miss having to figure out a time when we can have sex or play. I won’t miss having my carefully planned menu all fucked up because the “night people” ate everything in the refrigerator. But I think I will miss having them around. I am more social than Master and just the knowledge that someone else is here, even if they are upstairs in their room is somehow comforting.

But anyway, Master is happy to finally have our house to ourselves, he crowed, he jumped around… but then he saw that little bit of sadness on my face and he asked me if I was sad, if I was going to miss them. I answered that I was a little sad, that maybe I was going to be a little bit lonely and then teasingly said that maybe he had been a little bit boring lately.

One should know better than poke at the sleeping bear.

I was sitting on the couch, in my usual place and he lunged up and grabbed my ankles and lifted them up over my head and proceeded to spank me soundly. I twisted around and squealed but on some level I don’t think that was quite enough for him and he went off and found a belt in my room and once again my legs were lifted straight up. More whacks, more squeals… yelps…

There is something about that position, sitting on the couch with your feet lifted up, it stretches the muscles, tightens the skin… and my ass is mostly on the couch so he is hitting on the tender sweet spot, that crease where the thighs meet the ass and on the backs of my thighs clear to my knees. It hurts so much worse there… so much worse. I cannot sit all that still, cannot absorb the pain, and just cannot cooperate. No matter how hard I try, eventually I struggle and twist around, fighting to find a position where I can bear it.

You know there are days when no matter how much you love something, you just cannot enjoy it right at that moment? It was one of those moments where I could not find a place of acceptance, and the pain just tore at me, abraded me, it ripped my mind apart. And strangely this fed his sadism, and I could tell he wanted this, this total lack of enjoyment, this horror and panic. Master clearly enjoys hurting me more when I did not want it, a lot more… and then he was gone, downstairs to his lair, to his arsenal… and he was back bearing in his hands the two most stringent, most frightening and most dangerous tools he owns.

Again my legs were lifted up. I was so terrified that I was stiff as a board, I could not soften, could not relax. I was sobbing with panic and as he hit me with the heavy strap I squalled and began to fight. I bucked. I twisted. I begged. It was beyond bearing. He let go of my legs and just began to strike at me, swinging and hitting me with the little fiber glass stick that I call “my gom jabbar”… and in his new found sadistic joy he was swinging hard. Each blow planting a seed of agony that did nothing but swell and grow. If anything five seconds later, it hurt twice as bad as when he first struck and it did nothing but continue to grow. It was as if something was burrowing under my skin. And he was hitting me over and over, fast unrelenting blows that left a scattering of glowing coals along my thighs.

I think eventually he realized how close I was to totally losing it, to pissing myself or throwing up… I think he could see me trying to figure out how tell him where I was at. I remember yelling at him that that strap and that little stick were too dangerous and he HAD TO BE CAREFUL!

He stood over me. I could tell he was all lit up. He practically glowed with energy. And he would brandish those weapons and grin with complete evil, diabolical delight as I shuddered and cowered in terror. He would touch me with them, gentle, threatening taps just to watch me flinch and whimper in abject terror. He commented that “tonight I was extra sensitive”… not quite yet aware that he had been hitting me harder and in many ways I agreed with him… that the primary cause of my pain was my mental state.

But that night when I stripped for bed my legs still felt like they were on fire. And as I tenderly ran my fingers along them there were sharp swollen welts, welts as wide and high as a pencil, raised up sharply from the plane of my skin. And they were not red. They were black. I went upstairs and showed him. I think he was surprised and because he is still exploring his sadism, a little daunted.

All night they hurt, deep singing pain of blood continuing to leak out under my skin. This morning instead of distinct black lines they have blossomed and joined together, the bruises spreading and merging. I lay over his lap as he examined me and we talked about it. Master does not like bruises and especially does not like accidental bruises. Hitting me when I am not being still is risky, not knowing exactly where the blow will land. Using two implements so very different in weight and application can lead to misjudgments of how much force. And the fact I was not nude, that I was wearing thin black cotton tights that did nothing to mitigate the damage but hid the results from his eyes. It was a learning moment… how to tell if he is injuring me, so that he will have that knowledge to use or not to use depending upon his wish, his will, his whim.

I do not mind that I am bruised. And on some very deep level, I love the marks of his ownership upon my flesh. I love the fact that right this minute as I write this just sitting hurts. And while I did not find any sensual enjoyment of the pain he inflicted upon me last night, I love the fact that I did not like it. It is hard to explain, but the idea that he would do that, enjoy doing that, doing something to me that I don’t like… that idea, that very knowledge is incredibly powerful for me. It makes me feel an awe for him, a deep and profound awe… it is like it makes him godlike for me… the source of pain, pleasure, joy, fear. And it makes me so hyper aware of him. Each movement, each shift in position, each time he stands or says a word triggers in me a rush of awareness, a little twinge of fear and anticipation.

And I love the fact that we are alone with this feeling… this knowledge that hangs in the air between us… that he can do that… that he can do anything he wants… anytime he wants… any place he wants and there are no other people here that may interrupt us… inhibit us. We are alone again and it looks like we are going to be learning more.


  1. All in all, a very hard beating for you!!!

  2. +1 for Dune references :D
    Seemed like a definite learning experience...

  3. It is not exactly a gom jabbar... dune wise... that was a poisoned needle... the price to pay for failure to pass the test of being human. The little fiberglass stick is both my test and my consequence. But the words still fit.