M. spent the last day of the holiday in full press mode, making the best of our free time on Sunday. We went out to eat with Paul later in the day, which really surprised me, seeing as we’d gone to Boston just on Saturday. But he kept me in the cage much of the morning, and promised me a sybian ride after dinner, and wanted me to anticipate it all day, which I did. I wasn’t sure if I was looking forward to it or not, as it’d been a while since we’ve used it. He kept me in the cage for what felt like forever, until I was beyond words and eager to be touched or paid attention to or let out or *something*.

By the time we got back from dinner, we were both sleepy and I thought he’d just skip the sybian ride, because really, it’s not like we needed to play or anything because we’ve done so much lately. But eventually, he brought me downstairs to find the bedroom all set up with chains from the hooks over the bed and the digital camera straight ahead. Gulp. That was definitely a first, and I was really concerned because what if it didn’t work? Hell, what if it did? I do remember thinking about all that, but it’s amazing how it all went away when he put me back in the hood and up on the damn machine.

They sybian is like that, though. Absorbing. Unforgettable. Irresistible, at least for me. He chained my ankles down as well as my hands overhead, so once the insert was positioned in exactly the right spot, M. had great fun turning the speed way up, way down, on simmer. He used one of the whippy things on my tits and ass, and I remember that he hit spot on the left nipple right from the beginning and it sent me through the roof right off the bat with pain. But then the sybian worked it’s magic, and I haven’t a clue how many orgasms I had before he finally took me off and fucked me.

I did something to my right hand that night, I think. He’d chained me to the bed by my collar, in locked hand and ankle cuffs, which I thought was just the hottest thing ever. I remember drifting off to sleep thinking I was the luckiest slave alive, but I woke up in pain the next morning with a sharp pain in my right hand. It bothered me all day, and was strangely much colder than my left, and swollen, but I could move everything. It’s amazing how much I use my right hand — brushing my hair, brushing my teeth, typing, washing dishes. M. massaged it with lotion a couple of times, and set me to take a bath after a really good run. And today, it’s still a bit off, but much better, so whatever I did seems to be healing up quickly.

My body impresses me lately with resiliency. I ran/walked 5K yesterday, and was very impressed with myself, but today I’m feeling some soreness near the site where I had my ACL replaced in ’98. I’ve been reading up, though, and it’s going to take a while for my bones to strengthen, but running is good weight-bearing exercise, and will do my bones good eventually. I’m sometimes bothered by how transparent I am with M., telling him all my aches and pains, and holding my breathe in case he tells me I can’t run. The temptation to keep stuff from him is sometimes strong, but I never do it. I’m not just an open book, I’m a damn audio book.

M. took me down for a break this afternoon in a way that I found most cold and calculating. We’d both been working, very solitary, and hardly talking at all. Every now and then he’d watch me in my corner, contemplating, and again had the room all set up when he brought me down. I tried to point out that if I still had marks left over from the 31st, wasn’t it against the rules to cane me again? Won’t he get thrown out of the dom’s union for that? He wasn’t impressed, and said he really enjoyed clinically putting me through my paces.

I’m sometimes having a hard time when I realize that there’s really nothing I can do to avoid a caning. Being good doesn’t help — he canes me when he feels like it, however hard he wants. I like being good, and do everything I can to avoid disappointing him, and I sometimes get a helpless despair over not being able to do anything to avoid the cane. I thought the other day at lunch when I was making sure it was all presented perfectly that I’m so motivated by something I rarely hear. The thought of him inspecting my work and finding it lacking, telling me that something was amiss in that authoritarian voice he uses with me, is something that I find so hot in the abstract but do everything I can to never hear it, because I like to be pleasing, and I hate to disappoint him. Neither one of us are turned on by punishment, either him
giving it or me receiving it, and that’s so not our dynamic. But it’s weird that I’m inspired and motivated by the thought of him saying something that I try so hard to avoid.

Bridge tonight was short and fun. We had to cancel party bridge this weekend because we’re going to attend the fetish flea in Boston. I was thinking the other day that it’s two years now since he had my labia pierced there. I don’t think I have any more piercings in my future, though, being the migration queen and all. He hasn’t decided what I’m going to wear yet. He’s had me in leather, the o-dress, and velvet in other years. I’m very much looking forward to another face painting!