Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

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I was ordered to post today. It’s not that I don’t want to, I have lots to talk about (imagine that!) but I can’t seem to put it into any sort of sensible order. So, pre-apology if it’s jumbled.

We had a kid free weekend and wow… did Master ever take advantage of that. From the minute I got back into the house after dropping the kids off I was naked. I wasn’t allowed any clothes until we left to pick them up Sunday evening. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless answering a question. (And for the record, I failed miserably on that rule.) I was chained to something in every room we were in.

The jaw spreader was used while He fucked my throat and it wasn’t until yesterday that my jaw felt sore.

He carved on me… “owned” on the right tit, “slave” on the left, “slut” under my breasts (which hurt like a motherfucker), and “cunt” across my ass. For some reason the “cunt” just made my ass sting all weekend. That was the first thing He did Friday night and I remember thinking that He had just ruined my enjoyment of any spankings to come but it didn’t. Yes it made everything hurt more.. every swat seemed ramped up.. the cuts repeatedly broke open and bled again.. but it didn’t ruin it. It heightened it. Every time I sat down, every time He brushed across my ass.. every thrust of His hips as He pounded into me.. I didnt once forget that I had a large C U N T marking His territory.

I ate next to Him on the floor. I liked that alot.

On Saturday He led me down to the basement… the bare-cement walled, spiderweb covered, void of all furnishing, COLD basement… locked the chain around a post, handed me a broom.. and walked back upstairs. For awhile I stood there.. battling first the Blair Witch demons (I am such a baby about scary movies, I slept with a night light on until I was married). Then I battled the spider heebiejeebies. (I actually only saw one small one the whole time I was down there.) I battled keeping my mouth shut and not *screaming* at Him to either stay down there with me or let me the fuck back upstairs. And then I got cold. Really cold.

So I swept. And swept. In as big of an arc as the chain would allow me to go. Master came down once and fed me His cock. I can’t remember if He spoke to me, I don’t think so. I remember His sweet taste soothing my dusty throat and then He was gone. Talk about feeling objectified. Used. And unimportant. Mind-blowing. He came down later and moved the chain to a different spot so I could sweep more. I know I was trying to find a balance with the sweeping, just hard enough to keep me warm but not to make me sweat. I would sweep too fast and get sweaty and then freeze to death from being damp. I was dirty and grimy and dusty. I felt like Cinderella…lol.

But I loved it. I loved the whole experience of being down there.. and ignored.. and made to work like a slave. Used as nothing more than a sex toy. I was flying.

Eventually, some forever later, Master came down.. unlocked the chain.. drug me back upstairs.. and locked me to the refrigerator door handle. He told me what to make Him to eat. He carried His food into the other room while I sat on the kitchen floor and ate alone. I don’t know why doing such submissive things when nobody is watching affects me so much deeper. It’s one thing to be sitting on the floor at His feet and another to be sitting on the floor when He is nowhere to be seen. Weird.

I was pushed down and fucked.. I licked His semen off of a plate.. I was ignored and used. I don’t think I came down to earth for all of Saturday.

Then came Sunday morning. I woke up and He was nowhere to be seen. And I had to pee. So..I hollered. I mean, what’s a girl to do??

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk, cunt.” He hollered back.

I waited a lil bit longer.. stewing.

“I gotta pee!” I yelled after awhile.

I heard the scrape of a chair and His angry stomping feet and I tried to disappear into the blankets. He loomed over me, all 6’4″ and some 200lbs of irritated Master-ness and swatted me, not lightly, across the cheek. “Shut up.” He said.. and then stomped away.

I did.. for awhile. Then I said, almost quietly, making sure He could hear me but soft enough that I could pretend I didn’t mean for Him to hear me, “i have to fucking PEE.”

He came back with a bowl from the kitchen… set it down in the middle of the living room.. pointed at it.. “there’s your toilet.”

Now.. He had told me that using the toilet was a privilege. But I didn’t think He meant it! The whole bathroom thing is… private. I’ve been over this before. My bathroom bodily functions are off limits! Or they were… *sigh*

What followed was a four hour marathon of absolute stubborn refusal. I was *not* going to squat in the middle of the living room and pee into a tupperware bowl.. in front of Him.. like some .. some.. dog pissing in the yard! I was not. I refused. I cried. I begged. I sulked and pouted. I cajoled and whined and used every damn trick I had. And I almost won. I could tell that He would get close to giving in which only fueled my resolve to win this battle.

I didn’t win. I was seriously starting to feel ill from needing to go so badly. I know it’s such a simple thing for some… it wasn’t for me. Squatting over that bowl.. while He took pictures.. and laughed… was THE hardest thing I have ever done.

Afterwards I had a serious meltdown. The whole weekend, ending with that little pissing contest just blew up inside of me and I went postal. I was literally slamming the toys back into the toy box.. whipping the chains and the cuffs in.. and bitching. I hated that the weekend seemed to be ending on that sour note, even though it was my own doing… and I hated that submitting to that.. giving in and obeying (belatedly) to peeing in that bowl… had been… nothing. No big deal. No trumpets or balloons. No trophy. I don’t know what I expected but what I got was…. nothing. He wasn’t surprised that I did it. He wasn’t astounded at the depths of my submission. He already knew I would do it. His confidence that I would acquiesce seemed to belittle what was a HUGE deal to me.

So He bent me over the bed and whooped my ass and back with that goddamned evil leather belt of His until I had cried it all out… and mentally moved back into my place. Whipped into submission *is* a good thing.

Once that was all over we had a nice rest of the afternoon.. lots of play and fucking. Lighthearted and fun… just what I needed to make the transition back to mommy.

I am in love with being a slave. Being His slave. I am in love with Him. It’s all wrapped up and wadded inside of me… I’m having trouble keeping a coherent thought in my head. I suppose thats the goal. I am unable.. or unwilling.. to let my thoughts move beyond pleasing Him.

Did I please Him? How can I please Him more? Am I pleasing to Him? Use me, hurt me. Take me. Deeper Harder Faster.

What more does a cunt need to think about?

I love You Master.
cunt

Sunday

When we woke up at the hotel Sunday morning, Master wanted to take a shower. I didn’t want to take a shower. I didn’t have *my* shower stuff, we were less than a mile from home and leaving from there to home right away anyway. So I balked.. and whined.. and grumbled. Not defiance though. After the night before? Hell no. I was heading for the shower (with my arms crossed and glaring at the floor) but heading there all the same.

Once in the bathroom, the reason for His insistence to showering became clear as He stood me in the bathtub and urinated all over my body. I was in such an incredibly raw state still that this activity, something that I normally enjoy, was simply painful to me. Inside. It was insult to injury and only drove me further inside myself. To top it all off He pulled me out of the bathtub and made me stand outside the shower, stinking and wet and dripping His urine on the floor while He showered alone. When He was finished I was allowed only to rinse off under the water since I “didn’t want to take a shower anyway”. The day was starting out hard and I was emotionally at the end of my rope.

Master mistakes this place I go to in my head as me being angry at Him.. or pouting. And it’s not that at all. There is some bit of anger, though it’s not at Him and not at the scene we may have had. It’s at myself, for a variety of reasons. For my behavior which is usually the catalyst to such scenes, for the fact that I talk bigger than I can take. Mostly though, I’m locked inside myself.. sorting things out. Maybe I’m fooling myself into thinking there is a deeper issue than just “Master likes to beat slave”. I look for it though. I reflect on it all and stay there, until it all makes sense to me. I’m also in an extreme state of deference to Him. I can’t look Him in the eye, I’m not spontaneous with my actions or speech, I’m subdued. He claims to not like this mood I get into but I don’t know how to change it. I tell Him “You make me what I am”. But it’s not a bad thing Master. And truthfully, if You say You want that ‘cunt in a cage’ in the future, thats most likely what I’ll be like a good portion of the time.

It could be that You need to be willing to give that part of me up. I don’t know if I can be both.

Anways… when we got home I cooked breakfast and slowly started to make my way back to Him. We laid on the bed and talked for a long time. Times like this I can’t get close enough to Him. I feel like I could crawl right up inside of Him and still not feel connected. He held me tight to His body, our legs intertwined and He let me talk. And He listened and He reassured me that things were going to be fine. And I knew for certain that things *were* going to be fine when I asked Him for a spanking. Just the fact that I went to Him and requested more pain said alot to me.

And He did spank me. Alot. And hard. And long. And it was delightful. I’m a spank-ho. Later that night there was another under-the-desk fuck, some breast bondage and clovers and a bit of time in the corner. He didn’t lighten up because I was emotionally wiped from the night before, He didn’t coddle me because I was sore, He maintained His rules, His desires, His strength, and *thats* what I fed on. Thats what I needed to pull myself back up.

There is something very primal about a man who is self-confident enough to go after what he wants and to keep at it until he gets it. He’s a source of strength, a well of assurance. I stumble, I hesitate, I sit down and dig my heels in and He’s always right there. There is no “I cant”, “I wont” doesn’t exist, “no” is forbidden.. and all that’s left is … firm hands, guiding hands, sure hands, His hands.

It was an eye opening weekend to say the least. It was harder than I expected, though not as hard as I know it could have been. He is both the hard and strict Master, and the loving romantic husband. All at once. Steady.

And He’s mine. *grins*
kaya

Saturday

Saturday morning started out wonderfully. We woke up slowly.. that deeply lazy but comfortable wake up and kiss and snuggle then doze back off again kind of morning. I was mostly lying on my stomach, facing away from Him. I was aware of him getting out of bed at some point, but not entirely awake yet. Until a path of fire zipped across my ass! There is little that will wake a slave up faster than a leather belt. I got a very nice and heavy butt-warming morning spanking. We used to do those so regularly. I wasn’t aware of how much I had missed them.

That, of course, led to an amazingly hot, sexy, sensual round of morning-sex. At least I can say that Master’s libido is thriving in Mexico…:)

After that, I did my work-out and came home to fix Master a nice home-cooked breakfast. 3 weeks of restaurants and room service and He was ready for some homemade meals. Doing that stuff, the domestic stuff, is the easy part of slavery. And He genuinely seems to enjoy it and appreciate it which just furthers the pleasure I get from doing it. I suppose we all live for praise, validation, being noticed. If bacon and eggs is all it takes to make a morning pleasant, who could complain about that?

Since He’d been gone, He’d hinted at increasing the pace of things. Raising the bar I guess. I already knew we were getting a hotel for the night. The kids limit the noise and privacy a bunch. I was nervous about it some, but not too bad. He’d pushed me hard lots of times.. I just didn’t think this would be one of them. I thought that since we only had the two days together, it would be… simple.

I could not have been more wrong.

We did several everyday type chores for most of Saturday. I made lasagna (Master’s fave) for dinner, we ate with the kids before packing up for the hotel. (does it show that I’m avoiding the rest of the night?) *sigh*

I had been taunting and picking at Master for several hours. Not outright rule breaking but toeing the line for sure. What had been talked about was some pretty strict stuff and I wasn’t feeling it then. I was feeling pretty darn cocky in fact. I hadn’t been called out on anything as of yet. Master’s favorite line is “I’ll give you enough rope to hang yourself with darlin’.” And I was fucking swinging.

The closer it got to hotel time, the better I began to behave. The fact that He was letting me have so much leeway was disconcerting. It was more than usual even and I was beginning to get nervous that I had gone too far. When we got there though, He threw me for a loop with starting the hot tub and opening some wine. I was thinking it would be a purely romantic night… until He pulled out the crop. I was still not too concerned. I mean come on, hot tubs..wine.. nice hotel room… those just don’t add up to punishment, right? Those first few wind-whistling cracks across my ass sure blew that fucking theory.

Warm up? No. Sympathy? No. Go easy on the ass that hasn’t been beat in 3 weeks? No fucking way. Pin the bitch down and make her cry? OH yes.

It was fast and it was brutal, that first whipping. Enough so that when I climbed into the hottub, the water stung my ass like alcohol. I was subbed out pretty well though. Once you get over that initial “thathurtmotherfucker” thought.. and slide into the heat, the sting, the pain… the bubbles, the wine, just sitting there with Him, listening to His heart beat.. He looked so relaxed and comfortable.. not a regret in the world… quiet acceptance sneaks in. We sat there for a long time, and I played with the bubbles, getting childish and giddy… He indulged me forever. Looking back now, the way He was watching me.. observing me.. almost like a spectator at a zoo.. He was probably plotting and planning while I played with His cock in the bubbles with complete innocence. I was so far into my comfort zone.. into my ‘confidence that I have Him wrapped’ zone that I was the first to mention the small butt plug in the toy bag. I wanted to try it. On my terms. Did He decide then? Was that where I lost control? DId I ever have control?

The whole anal issue has turned into a stumbling block for me. I’m not an anal virgin. Not even with Master. But somehow, somewhere, I built a wall around my asshole..lol. And I was determined to not let anyone break it. Me being the one to mention the plug was a huge step… but I was confident that He would indulge me in doing it my way. Climbing out of the tub I was prepared to take *my* plug and lube into the privacy of the bathroom and either insert it if I wanted to, or not. My choice. Wrong answer slavegirl.

Immediately out of the tub Master went after me again with the crop. And my entire load of self-confidence went out the window. I am reduced to nothing when confronted with His sadism. I’m still struggling with the notion that He beats me hard because He likes it and not only if I’ve crossed the line. I am my Master’s whipping post. That was one lesson learned.

I lost any desire to do the plug. I begged to not do the plug. I cried about doing the plug. And, at His command, I bent over a footstool, with my ass facing Him and inserted the plug. And I cried the whole time. It’s not the pain. It really didn’t hurt at all. It’s… being conquered. It’s having nothing left.

He pushed the small vibe into the middle of the plug and turned it up high. I didn’t like that sensation at all. Not one little bit. I was absolutely hysterical when He flipped me around and began to fuck me. I wish I could explain this better. Just how hard that was for me. Everything anal was the enemy. The possible mess, noise, smell, embarrassment, humiliation all rolled into one huge bundle of psychotic issue. And my *Master*! The one person in the world who I would die to please, who’s pride and approval mean more to me than the air I breathe! Would I possibly dirty myself in front of Him?? It would kill me. It WAS killing me.

And He fucked me, hard and fast, and slow and deep with the buttplug buzzing away in my ass. And I sobbed. Overwhelming emotional chaos. And don’t think I can’t see how unreasonable this is.. over a butt plug for christs sake! Yet, there it was. And He liked it. Make no mistake about that. He whispered it into my ear as He pounded away on me, how much He enjoyed my discomfort. Making me confront and admit that I own nothing, not my ass, nothing on my body. It’s His to do with as He wants. To shatter or coddle. And this was shatter time.

Objectified. Nothing more. And when the Master told the object to pull the plug out and lick it, the object did. Because the object had no choice. The worst part… the command to look Him in the eye. To let Him see how far He got in. To see the enjoyment on His face. To see… that this would become commonplace. Object. Used.

*big deep breath*.. it ain’t over yet.

He told me to clean up.. and to lay on my back on the coffee table in the middle of the room. I washed up slowly, washed the plug, washed my face. Dawdling, trying to calm down. Trying to guess how much worse it could get. Trying to keep from out and out panicking. But I dared not waste too much time. That would only make whatever was coming worse. Heading back the table, He handed me the cuffs without a word. I didn’t need one. I knew to put them on. He locked the collar around my neck, the click of the tiny Masterlock going straight to my brain, and wrapped His hand tightly in the chain for a moment, just barely choking me, holding it… sending that message of dominance to my soul. Normally a message I embraced, but this night, it terrified me.

The gag went on, the blindfold followed. As the binding started, securing me to the table, my ability to move rapidly dwindling, I could tell I was beginning to lose control. I was scared, I was completely fearing the depths of His sadism. I know I mumbled once, through the sobs, through the gag that He pulled from my mouth to hear me that I was scared. And His response sent a bolt of terror down to my toes. “Good.” was all He said.. and pushed the gag back in.

Good. I had lost the connection to play on His sympathies. Good. He was delighting in my fear, my pain. Good. He had tapped into Himself and I stood no chance. And I knew it with that one word. “Good.”

I broke then, sobbing heavily into the gag. And the beating hadn’t even started yet. He was still tying me down. I knew I *had* to get it together. My emotions were going to make an already hard night unbearable. I did start the process of self soothing. Self hypnosis, maybe. Talking to myself, reassuring myself that I had been here before and survived. That as bad as He was going to hurt me, He wouldn’t kill me. And it was working. I had stopped crying by the time the last knot was pulled. I had regained a very tremulous hold on my psyche.

And then He leaned up and kissed me hard on the gag. That one last act of kindness, of love. So unexpected, so blunt and matter of fact… so final. And I lost it again. Anything that needed to be started with a “last kiss goodbye” was bound to be bad. I just wasn’t ready. I couldn’t move an inch, I couldn’t cover or protect one little body part, I couldn’t get His attention. And the first stroke, catching me right on the labia. Directly on the one spot that I have never been able to take any amount of pain on. A hard stroke, and many many more following. My legs and stomach, breast and thighs, my face and arms. Nothing left alone. Nothing not screaming in pain.

I bucked, I screamed, I cried and begged. Your response? To switch from crop to flogger. If You spoke, I don’t remember it. I was lost in the haze. I remember Your laugh only. You laughed while I cried. You laughed in the face of my helplessness. You laughed as You swung harder and deeper. That’s what I remember. You couldn’t fuck me on the table, the angle was off. You tried.. and You punished me for that. You punished me for the table and the position being wrong. You whipped me because You can. Because You need no reason. Lesson learned. I am not responsible for the table. I am Your whipping post for whatever reason.

Untied but still gagged and blindfolded, roughly shoved across the room onto the bed… and fucked like a whore. You don’t want to see my face, You don’t want hear what I say. The evidence of Your enjoyment and arousal in the face of my discomfort painfully clear as You pound and bang into my tired and whipped-sore cunt. Your cunt.

“Cum for me, cunt.” Your voice a low growl in my ear. And I tried. I tried so hard. But You knew. You know me inside and out. You knew I wasn’t and You punished me again, as You fucked me, punished me for not cumming. Punished me for not being the cunt You demanded me to be…. and I was afraid I wouldnt be able to. And when I finally did, when my body betrayed my mind and responded to the aching thrust that was You inside of me, it dried up my tears. It dried up my mind. I *am* a cunt. Your cunt. Owned. Controlled. Dominated.

The rest of the night is blurry.. fuzzy. I know I laid across His lap for a long time while He spanked me. His hand, the paddle, the spatula. At one point I was turned with my ass facing Him and I sucked on His toes while He spanked. I know I gave Him another blow job at some point. I know He petted me, soothed me. Praised me. Told me that I had taken the best (or worst) that He had to give. And He assured me He would do it again, if my attitude or behavior warranted it. He said that I needed to know just what He was capable of, the days of me dancing up to the line and poking my toe over, then running back were over. This is serious business.

Master and slave. Owner and object.

I am just an object. The whipping post. The cunt.

It.

Friday

Friday evening I drove to the airport to pick Master up wearing the blue sundress with white flowers as He requested. I arrived a little early, having never been to the Green Bay airport before, I wasn’t sure where to go or how far away I’d have to park.

I went straight to the airport restroom and removed my panties, as instructed. I wadded them into what I hoped was an unnoticeable ball of black silk with pink lace trim..lol. Walking from the bathroom to baggage claim with my unders in my hand was… strange. I was positive that anyone looking knew what I was carrying, sure that they could all tell I wasn’t wearing underclothes under my dress and loving the free feeling of cool air rushing up my skirt and caressing my wet and drippy parts.

But oh.. when I saw Him walking towards me.. such a rush of school-girl emotions! I was shy and embarrassed, nervous, giddy. I just held Him, tight. He squeezed me to His chest and kissed the top of my head. I feel like such a little girl when He does that. Holds me like a child. I love it. I kind of thrust the panties into His hand, not sure what He was going to do with them. “Here,” I mumbled and then hid my head. He only laughed and seemed *almost* as embarrassed as I was! He stuck them into his front pocket and I just breathed.. glad that was over and seemingly uneventful.

He actually snuck in several playful swats while we stood at baggage claim. I was so hyper-sensitive though. A bundle of nerves.

Standing there in the airport He slipped the wedding ring that He bought me onto my finger. It’s beautiful, sapphires (to match my eyes..*grins*) and diamonds arranged in an almost knot-like formation. “In keeping with the bdsm theme,” He said. Such a hard combination for me to grasp sometimes, romantic sadism. He so easily blends them and I… don’t..lol. One seems to negate the other to me and it fucks with my mind how swiftly He incorporates the two as one. Anyway, that’s another post…:)

He had talked about giving me a nice hard spanking in the parking lot.. and he did try! Unfortunately, there was too much traffic, too many people. I got a few swats, enough to warm the bottom. Once we got in the truck, the skirt was pulled up and His fingers went exploring, the panties came out of the pocket and were sniffed and examined. I was poked and prodded and tasted and smelled and swatted, pinched and fondled, squeezed and invaded. I hadn’t been allowed orgasm for days and days and He took me to the edge over and over. Driving was getting dangerous in my opinion..lol.

He finally pulled into a small river-side park. We were alone and he took me out for a stroll, following a path into the woods, heading for the river. My skirt was tucked up and I was paranoid about being seen but we were so obviously alone. He took off His belt and as we walked, He swatted. He had me pick out a switch and then be broke the ends off to make a Y shape. That sucker had some bite to it. We walked along the edge of the river for awhile.. just searching for the right spot. We found the perfect shelf shaped boulder and I bent over it. There were more swats than I care to remember with that switch. I know I had a fiery backside that stayed with me all through dinner that night.

But I was hot.. and horny.. and dripping. Being outside, in public, in the daylight, being spanked and finger fucked, half naked… and just having Him near me again. The transfer of control, so easily, so natural. It was more than I could take.. and more than He could take too. When He slipped inside of me…I rocketed to orgasm in record time and then wheeled around to drain Him of His cum.

I love the taste of Him..:)

I think we both got a case of nerves then and we giggled (as manly as a Master can giggle anyway) our way back to the truck and home. We picked up the kids and went to our favorite Chinese restaurant and had a nice, normal family dinner. It’s such a joy for me to watch Him and the kids interact. The kids were starved for male attention (can we say deadbeat dad for their father??). Master enjoys them, and vice versa. It’s not always roses, of course, blended families rarely are, but it’s nice. It’s more flower than thorn and it warms my heart.

After dinner we went to the video store and home, the kids promptly scattered with their various movies and video games and Master and I found ourselves lying in bed, alone. Well naturally we locked the door and went at it! Wouldn’t you? There was lots of breast squeezing and nipple pinching, hair pulling and throat constricting. Damn, the man lights my fire to put it mildly. He was so hard on the breasts that they stung and burned for the remainder of the weekend. Saturday morning at the gym was torture. All that bouncing with screaming titties sucks!

Sometime later that night, He put me under the desk. But He gave me the pocket rocket and I think I enjoyed it more this time than He did. I know that I begged Him not to stop when He said He was close to cumming. I wasn’t ready. Being under there and used is a mindfuck for sure, but I was needing that mindfuck then. I needed to be put back into place.

If I would have known His plans for the rest of the weekend, I may not have been so eager. Friday was vanilla night.

More later.
kaya

Fucking crop.

I don’t even think I want to post. Bah.. like *that* ever matters.

I’m way over the three a week requirement lately. I should count them. I deserve a gold star or *something*.

This.. emotional nakedness is exhausting!

Okay… enough lollygagging.

Last night…. seems a lot of posts start that way.. “last night”… I’ll have to google-thesaurus on “last night”.

Yesterday evening…(heh).. Master beat the hell outta me with His crop.

No…. see. That’s not right. Well.. it IS true. But it sounds icky.

Okay okay… He was absolutely relentless with the crop. If I could have maintained any rational thought I would have counted the strokes. A thousand? Ten thousand? A millionbazillion! At least! The pictures just don’t show it. I’m telling you, my ass was on FIRE and it barely looks pink in the picture. And not many marks today either which truly burns my ass. I love marks.

He was… sadistic (way too mild a word here)… I was sobbing within the first ten minutes I think. Hard hard strokes.

And more! than the crop… the face fucking.. making me gag myself (what a fucking mind bender THAT was). And, did I mention, it was one of my best and most favorite masturbation fantasies? One that I don’t recall even talking about before. To be ordered, which entailed being trained enough, to throat fuck His cock. Now I’m sure that I wasn’t completely satisfactory… but still… I was proud of myself.

I puked. It’s not that Master or I have any kind of puke fetish by any means. It just feels to me, that throat fucking past the point of puking.. not stopping for *any* reason… is…. extreme? I don’t know. You are all probably just thinking it’s gross and here I am practically bragging about it.

Anyway.. I puked. He wiped His messy balls and cock in my hair. He whipped me some more with the crop. Did I mention they were hard strokes? I’m surprised the crop isn’t broken. I think my ass is..lol.

He spit on me.. He pissed on me. I can’t even imagine how lovely I must have looked.. with slobber and puke drying in my hair and on my face, spittle running down my cheek, urine soaking me. I will never, in a million years, understand what fuels a sadist. Never.

We showered, thank the lord for that. He tied me up to the wooden pony and cropped my tits… I was done, though. Exhausted, mentally and physically, and still sobbing at this point. He didn’t leave me there for long (thank You Master), letting me down and pushing me into the cage.

The cage.. my refuge. And yes Sir, I was thinking that as You shut the door. You mocked it as You locked the door, mocked me feeling safe in there. But I did.

Adrenaline overload.. mental fatigue.. whatever the reason… as soon as You walked away, I was out. It was a brief nap.. probably more my mind’s attempt to revamp than actual sleep. When I woke, You were gone.. my head was pounding.. I felt cramped and stuffed and I hurt in places I forgot I had.

And I was afraid.. afraid that You weren’t done with me yet. Afraid that calling out to You would kick things up again. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like feeling like I couldn’t count on You. I had to talk myself into it.. to convince myself that no matter what the scene, no matter what the activity, if I *need* You.. You are there. And You were.

And You weren’t done with me yet. You did let me out for an aspirin… and back into the cage. I don’t know how long… I was sooo tired. At that point, I just wanted.. needed.. to know that You still loved me.

How can You… or anyone… be *in love* with a person… and be as sadistic as You are. I’m glad it happens that way, or masochists would be SOL… but I don’t get it.

All the crying and sobbing that I do.. has not too much to do with pain. I don’t think. After all, I gave birth to three kids and shed not one tear and as bad as Your toys are, they ain’t shit compared to labor pains! It has more to do with Your attitude… Your cruelness towards me. That’s what breaks me.

What are You thinking… what are You feeling.. as I lay there at Your feet crying? What thoughts run through Your head as You raise the crop to strike me again? Do You hesitate? Inside, do You? What is it, what happens to You, to me, when You decide You are done?

Does it take You awhile to come back to me? It takes me a long time to find my way back to You. I’m ashamed … embarrassed.. humiliated. I’m mortified by my bodies reactions… still fighting the old demons… aroused by such inhumane treatment…worried… that You are changing Your opinion of me every time my pussy clenches and squirts.

This morning though… I was back, You were back. You still love me. I am more in love with You. Gentle hugs and tender kisses… those are nice, after a night like last night.

And did I… did I honestly *ask* if we could do this again tonight?? I will never in a million years understand what fuels a masochist. Never..;)

kaya