We had a relaxing morning and afternoon, just hanging around His apartment. I hadn’t been used in a couple days, so I was very horny all day. When I told Him this, He asked what specifically I wanted. I knew I was craving Him and His touch, but what else? He’s constantly pushing me to be more specific with my thoughts, feelings, wants, needs. Being that much in tune with myself is something I’ve been working towards for a while now, so it’s nice to have someone helping me do that, I honestly don’t keep on top of it enough. Hmm, but sometimes when I try to stay on top of it, I end up overthinking too much. But then again, maybe not. Maybe the overthinking is a product of trying to be logical about something I should know my feelings about, but I am not in touch with them. Either way, moral of the story, I need to be more conscious of my emotional self more often, and He wants to help me do that. Man, He’s such an awesome guy. Anyways, I digress. Knowing me so well, He asked if I wanted any bondage or beatings, which of course, sounded amazing. It had been a while since I’d had either, and I was definitely in the mood for being used and abused.
He introduced me to some new props during this session. He ended up naming them Snap, Crackle, Pop and the Tickler, but how we got to those names was quite the journey. Oh boy. The session started with stripping down and Him binding my wrists and forearms with rope. Rope feels so nice against my skin, it’s oddly comforting, familiar. Being bound is something I really enjoy, it quickly relaxes my mind and helps take me to that subspace where I can just let go of everything and attempt to be the best sub I can. I have a tougher time achieving this state when I’m not bound, although I feel I am getting better at it. For now though, binding seems to be a physical trigger for that state of mind, and I feel like I’m subbing at a higher level when bound as opposed to not. I’m not entirely sure why, although one explanation could be that it’s a physical reminder of the mental bondage and ownership I’m experiencing and should be aware of (Also, there’s no possible way of me attempting to top from the bottom when bound, as I have no physical control). Having the physical bondage helps propagate and solidify the feelings I experience in subspace that I’m not quite there with 100% otherwise. It gives me a tangible feeling to connect those attitudes to, a base to build them on. He also bound my legs and gave me a lead. The lead is something I never expected to be fond of. Not too long ago, I would have seen a lead as restrictive, misogynistic. I may have even gone as far as imagining myself controlling the lead. But I know better than that now. I could never be comfortable at the other end of a lead. I belong with the lead around my neck, and Him controlling it.
With my ass in the air, we played the name game with the new toys. I was tasked with observing the different types of pain and to describe them, ultimately giving each toy a name. I failed miserably at this. Unfortunately, pain makes me dumb. Really dumb. It makes me ridiculously wet, but ridiculously dumb. I couldn’t describe any of the differences between the toys He was hitting me with. I could certainly feel the differences, my brain could conceptualize them, but my tongue couldn’t name them, or even describe them. He got frustrated and named them for me, since about all I could say at the time was “fuck!” “shit!” “hurts” and “stings!”- all of course mixed with various noises of surprise, pain, pleasure and fear. So, now that I’m pain-sober, I’m going to describe them.
The first, which He named Snap, was a bit springy and very stingy. The surface area of impact was large, and the impact stuck to the surface levels of skin, probably showing up in shining red marks all over me. The second, Crackle, had more of a whipping action with a smaller surface area, but not pinpointed. It’s impact wasn’t as shocking, more solid. Pop was definitely a metal piece which hit me very deep, with almost a “thud” feeling every time it hit. The area was much more concentrated, which no doubt lead to the deep feeling. It was almost like being poked or prodded quickly. And that all brings us to the Tickler. *shudder* This one, despite the massive damage, was by far my favorite. The deep impact coupled with being spread over a larger surface area with a hot spot in the center was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Holy fuck did it hurt, but holy fuck, did it make me drip, actually, literally drip. Overall, the beating was a satisfying, incredibly intense experience which left me powerless to any treatment I received while being used.
It’s funny, because when we were chatting before the session, He was explaining pain sluts and how strongly they react to pain, how it’s often enough of a release for them. At that point, I didn’t see myself as a pain slut. I knew I am masochistic, that is easy to identify. But a pain slut? Nah, that wasn’t me. His pussy disagrees. When He was done beating me, I was the wettest I think I’ve ever been. So much so that He was laughing! I was laughing as well, the pain gave me such a high that my endorphins were running wild. I was having so much fun. Oh, it hurt. It hurt a lot. But I loved every second of it. The slow introduction to each of my new friends, the anticipation of the pain and differences, the twitching, squirming, all of it drives me to the edge. Hearing Him laugh and utterly enjoy it completed the whole picture. Being able to be in that moment of vulnerability with Him, and know we were both so thoroughly enjoying ourselves was magical, freeing. The idea of being able to provide that space for Him, in which He can be as happy as He sounded, lifts me up. For most of it, I was able to laugh and smile through the pain, but it seems that was not acceptable to Him, as He put me in my place towards the end. He took the time to take some pictures of me, showing off my bruises, handprints and complete wetness. He seemed to enjoy that, I most definitely did. It is a special feeling to have someone be so engaged in you and the moment you’re in together.
After the pain, He used me from behind. Every movement of Him against me I could feel in my bruises, recapitulating the pain of the beating with every pump, sending mixed signals of pain and pleasure throughout my body, completely confusing it. In all of the intensity, I forgot to say thank you for all of the beautiful use, and He got upset. He pointed it out to me, and I stupidly shook my head. I didn’t mean any disrespect, I wasn’t trying to argue. I just meant to convey that I was stupid exhausted and that it wasnt true that I wasn’t enjoying myself. That head shake was rebellious though, and I certainly got punished for it. I got hit, my hair and lead were pulled roughly, and He sounded very angry with me, speaking harshly, directing my head in a nod to teach me the correct response. The whole thing couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds, but those seconds were full of feelings of being small, insignificant, and fear. He released His anger my shoving my head and smacking it hard. This punishment was what brought me to tears in this session. I’d been on the verge of them before this from the pain and laughter, but this changed the whole tone and brought out the tears. I felt so destroyed that I couldn’t even give myself the compassion to say “take note of this for the future” in that moment. All I felt was the disappointment in myself, the disappointment I caused Him, and so the tears came, filling my eyes while he continued to use me. The tears weren’t a negative experience though. The whole session had been so intense, that it was almost a relief to let them spill down my face. They told me that we were pushing my limits, both physically and mentally, and because of that fact, I just let the tears be what they were. There was no sadness, no pain behind them, they just were, and that’s what I let them be, and it was beautiful. Shortly after that He stopped and pushed me over onto my side on the bed. My body, my mind were so destroyed at that point that all I did was lay there, breathing, finding my balance. He undid my leg bounds, and then slowly, carefully took the rope off my wrists. The deliberation in that action was comforting. He left the lead on and laid next to me, and rewarded me with some stroking of my body, and took some pictures of me in recovery. I think they are beautiful pictures.
Unfortunately, we didn’t time the play well, and so there wasn’t much physical aftercare. I should have taken more time to just lay and come down, but instead I got up and started moving around, helping with laundry and dinner. I paid for that haste later. When He was out with milf, I started to feel a severe physical crash. The adrenaline was depleting, and my body felt shaky and almost empty. I would have very much prefered to be in His arms at that point, His warmth, cuddles and adoration giving me strength. At that moment though, I couldn’t be with Him, so I tried to do the best for myself, and move slowly, deliberately, maintaining even breathing and an awareness of my body. And then, on my way home, I got ice cream. Fuck yeah. I ate half of a fucking pint. No, I scarfed half a pint. That helped a lot. And being able to go back home to Him later, falling asleep in His arms, is always a safe, unassuming, authentic place.
Well, this was fun to write 🙂
story of a submissive 