“No one gets their way. Until they whip it.”

I’ve put off doing this post for too many days. Ugh. I tried to beg out of it, but no dice.

I was gonna title it: “Look at the fat girl tied to the chair!” but Master hates it when I insult “his” property. Bah.

Okay, enough about that. I’m fat. Deal, right? Right!

So! On to the posting then.

I wish I would have posted while the experience was still fresh in my mind instead of being a “omgz! I can’t show my gut on teh intrawebs, Master!!” ninny. Now it’s lost a lot of the spark.

This was directly following the breath play so I was in some weird headspace. Pretty zoned but super disconnected from him. Which is what he tends to do when he’s about to get mean. He distances himself from my emotions.

(I have a post I wanted to do about that – about love and s&m and such. Maybe this will remind me to do so.)

I have a shameful confession to make.

I will do my damnedest to play on Master’s feelings. It’s true. I try and manipulate the situation (by situation I mean scene) by tugging on his heartstrings. Looking pathetic, imploring sympathy with puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears, pleading whimpers… you name it, I do it. I’m not acting or trying to be sneaky or anything. I mean it when I do it. I’m responding honestly to the pain by “asking without asking” for him to dial it down a notch.

If he ignores that -and he does, often- then I’ll just tell him (if I’m not gagged) he’s going too hard/fast/whatever. It’s a statement of fact, a warning really, that grace is about to take a flying leap out the window if he keeps it up at that pace.

Which is what I did less than 60 seconds into the whipping. I’d run quickly through the whole heartstrings attempt which he paid not one second of attention to, and damn it, he really WAS whipping fucking hard. No warm up (unless the breath play was the warm up), it was full speed ahead right out the gate with the whip. I told him. That’s too hard, man!

So he gagged me.

I have another shameful confession to make.

I’ll try and make too much noise so that he HAS to dial it down a notch. *blush*

Thing is though, I really, really don’t think I can stand one more second of the pain when I start hollering and crying. I’m not making it out to be worse than what I think it is, it seriously hurts bad. He’s not always out to help me find my happy place or to sink into subspace or to just make me horny. When he wants it to just hurt, it’s just going to hurt and I’m not pretending otherwise. It’s pain, real pain. My reactions are not stellar performances when that’s his intent.

But I do know that he’s bound in some manner to keeping things fairly quiet. Keeping it on the down-low. So when I’m sitting there thinking I’m dying, I’m gonna holler like I’m dying. It’s survival instinct! Sometimes it works enough that even if he doesn’t stop completely, he’ll switch toys or switch spots, which is sometimes all I need to get a grip on things.

I tried that. I was really trying to get some serious sound around the gag. All I wanted was for him to slow down. The repetitive strikes of the whip so fast together – there just isn’t time to breath, you know? The pain builds and builds.. and I was already all fuckled up from the breath play and face slapping – I was in bad shape. That’s all there was to it. So I hollered. Loud.

I thought it had worked too, as he lowered the whip and took a step away – only to reach the stereo where he cranked the volume up higher. I knew I was sunk then. Up a shit creek without a paddle.

After that I was a mess. I utterly and completely lost it. He felt so far away, I was all alone with the pain and my tears. I don’t know really how to describe that distance or how badly it fucks with my psyche. Once I enter that space, everything hurts more than it otherwise would. My nerves are all ramped up, on edge, jittering.

I was sobbing. Sobbing. Drooling around the gag, snot running down my face, can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t connect. And him? He was so turned on he could hardly stand it.

When he was done hurting me, he left me alone for a bit, putting my stinging body into bed, handing me the bullet vibe, and telling me to calm down and get ready. It took me a bit to find a happy place. For a while I was angry-vibing, hating every second of that vibrator pressed against my over-sensitive body, cursing him for “ruining my good scene time”. It took a little bit, but I got there. I found a good place.

I always do though. Those kind of scenes, heavy ones, I need those way more than the lighter fluff scenes. I just don’t always know that at the time. It’s hell to get there, but what lies over the horizon is fucking wonderful. For both of us.

I don’t know if he wanted these pictures behind a cut or not, but I’m doing it anyway. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t.

Read more »