Oh, the pain…

In my last post I started to write about the scene I had on Sunday with Spike_NY, my Dom until recently. I didn’t mention that after the bath brushing, after the knife play & the whipping on my inner thighs and pussy, he strapped me with three different straps, the pinnacle being his scary razor strop. Fantasy objects meet reality. It ain’t easy… But there was a reason Spike was my Dom, and there is a reason I still like playing with him. He pushes my boundaries. He creates scary scenarios. He makes me take things I am petrified of. You’re going to use THAT? THERE? Oh, fuck! I am not some super masochist. I don’t lie back & say, “Bring it on.” I am scared. I don’t know if I can take it. I DON’T think I take it well. It sometimes reduces me to a panicky, blubbering mess. It’s at those times, when I don’t say “red” and my top surges forward, that the magic starts to happen. It doesn’t look like magic. Like I said I may be struggling, I may be hating it. On Sunday I was screaming quite a bit. He took a few seconds break, perhaps, & kept going. The whip struck my thighs, my mound, played with the clothespins but didn’t knock any off, at first. I had this hopeful notion in my head that perhaps the clothespins would block the whip from striking my pussy. Wishful thinking. When it first touched down I yelled. No, he’s not doing this to me, he won’t do more … And another scream as it hit the target again, lightening on my cunt. Unbearable, unbearable… I am not a tough girl, I am not … but I am not saying red. The whipping continues. At one point Spike got impatient at the progress, as far as removing the clothespins, and he simply reached down and ripped a handful off all at once. The zipper was not as painful as the whipping, and if it meant I wouldn’t be whipped as long, I was grateful. I couldn’t escape or turn over, but some strikes made me sit straight up and roar. I was encased in the straitjacket & hood, and believe me, I was sweating. It’s hard to think much about anything beyond the pain, while it’s happening. It’s only afterward that I feel high, ecstatic, grateful & full of admiration about how he had pushed me. I felt so close to him, felt a kinship. The two sides of the coin, melded together. I’ve mentioned before that there are only a handful of people who can do this to me. By “can do,” of course I mean “i allow to.” Any garden-variety sadist can reduce a sub to tears. I need them to understand, to have an inkling of what I’m going through … but also, when the scene’s over and the toys are put away, I need them to care about me & I need to care about them.

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