A long time ago, I wrote about struggling with loving a sadist. I said then that I didn’t know if I could be the object he so wanted, and that hard, fast and heavy was something that might just not be something I was capable of doing. I remembered that entry today, because I was really struggling.
I think it started last night. We spent much of the day in work mode, though everything was fine. I’m adjusting to working out of the corner, handling work stuff without a problem. He didn’t chain me in, so I could get up and wander around as I needed. After work, he was antsy and set out to do some moving around, remarking that I get a lot of that with my running and by being tortured, where I struggle a lot so get lots of isometric exercise.
Oh, yeah. We had a visit yesterday morning from a house designer/architect sort of person. He was recommended by the guy who built our house, and we knew he was coming so had cleaned up all the public areas of the house, taking down chains and such. We are totally psyched to get plans drawn up of the library and barn additions that we hope to get started this spring. It was funny to dance around why we want so much space. Doesn’t everyone want a full basement with high ceilings for a dungeon? I was a bit bothered when he wanted to do a full floor plan of the existing house because our bedroom and M.’s office was definitely not in shape for a non-kinky visitor but oh well. He saw what he saw.
Anyway, I amused myself after work by sitting over in my old chair, not in the office on the floor, working on my current crochet project while M. puttered around. I was quite content, snuggled up under blankets, and had pretty much settled in for the night. He certainly wasn’t looking or sounding like playing was on his mind, and he hadn’t been micromanaging me as usual, so I figured I had the night off.
But instead, he took me downstairs around 9, tied me up very stringently, in a position that kept me on my hands and knees. I’m not quite sure why, but that position turned out to be very hard on my achy shoulder, but it seems most anything is hard on that shoulder these days. (My hand is all better though, which was quick.)
He roughly put two needles in each nipple, and then caned me, hard. Just as quickly, he took me down, made me come, fucked me, then tucked me in for the night. I swear the whole thing was over in 30 minutes. Gives a whole new meaning to ‘wham, bam, thank you ma‘amster’, doesn’t it?
It’s been so cold here these last few days. We didn’t get out of the single digits today, and the house is frigid around the edges. The weather station on our roof says it’s two below right now. Brrr. You know it’s cold when M. brought over my robe tonight so I would warm up. We snuggled in bed last night, glued together all night, which felt so cozy and nice.
Where was I? I’m all mixed up over what happened when tonight.
I’m not sure what got me started this afternoon. We had an emergency run to town because my laptop wouldn’t boot this morning, and instead of futzing around with it, we wanted to get it into the shop as soon as possible. I made what I thought was a very yummy and healthy lunch when we got home. M.’s been obsessing with de-cluttering the level of paper we have in stacks everywhere. He started looking for something, and got more and more irritated and cranky the longer he looked. Every other sentence was something about how I need to do this better or that better, and it all felt so unfair. I couldn’t believe he is asking for more, and thought he was being an ungrateful selfish bastard.
But I didn’t say that! I’m not that dumb. I just stomped off to the bedroom to watch stuff off the TiVo, something funny to cheer me up, I thought. He, of course, wanted none of that. He came down, chained me to the bed, but let me be for a while. Then he spread me out and fucked me, because he could, he said.
He had me all over the place, actually. Up in the corner, spread out on those hooks against the wall again. This time he put me in my reading glasses because he liked the way they look. He was rough, with the single tail and clothespins on my clit, but what sent me ’round the bend was a damn ruler on the inside of my thighs. Why didn’t I think about stupid office supplies in his office? I think it was the deliberate harshness in a spot that he knows I don’t handle well, over and over again, very hard. Damn. I lost it.
That’s what has me thinking today and remembering that entry I wrote over three years ago. I fell in love with a sadist, someone who truly gets off on making me really upset and miserable. He loved to fuck me while I was crying today, and when I stopped he did something to make me cry again. This dom has been writing about different types of doms, and specifically mentioned M. in his January 4th entry, which M. commented on in the comment section there.
The difference between my reaction then and my reaction now, though, is that the whole thing sort of centers me and leaves me cuddly and clingy, not feeling traumatized or abused after, though I certainly was feeling that way during. Damn, though. If only the during didn’t hurt so bloody much!
We’re off to Boston tomorrow. I have business stuff, then we are spending the night so that we can attend the Fetish Flea on Saturday. We are planning to attend the kinky journaling Birds of a Feather gathering at 4:30, and then hopefully heading off to dinner with a group of people we round up there. Say hi if you see us there.
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With your indulgence… 13 years ago I almost married this wonderfully masochistic little slut. We were torrid for about 5 months, then she went back to the married guy. Ok… advance to today. I’m widowed 9 years from remarriage to My first wife, mother of My children and full time slave, have been quiet now for some years, but decided to go ahead and “put Myself back out there”. My wonderfully masochistic little slut, in a dying marriage, does the same at the same time. With the handle of “2longlostlove” on a random BDSM dating website, she finds My profile, with no pic, different name than I used to use, and still recognizes Me, sends Me an email with a single word, My real first name. I knew immediately who had found Me. It’s love. The real, deep, head in the clouds feet on the ground thing. The kids remember one another (Mine and hers met each other back then, see it was serious), the husband is moving out, and as I look at what we want together, of course I get into her head.
For 10 years now she’s been following you guys. She describes “internal enslavement” as if it’s … well it’s always a snapshot of something, how deeply into their slavery a particular slave is, never the process of getting there, the means. I don’t lack for confidence, I can scene with the very best of them, not bragging, honestly, but I’ve taken that Pepsi challenge in some pretty high-concept arenas, including Chicago, Tampa, and SanFran, all places I’ve lived in the past so many years. But I want this to be perfect, this time. No matter how committed she is to Me, and she is very deeply, I want to be the absolute best thing that ever happened to her in EVERY way. HENCE… and I’ll try not to use that word again
, I ask for some of the nuts and bolts of how this has evolved for you.
It may just be time, the long and enduring involvement. Our situation will be different yours, she has a career, she’ll have to continue that for some time, I can’t move us to the pastoral idyll you folks have, and I hope her fantasy of how it will be isn’t dependent on that. We have children also, a couple who still live at home, so putting her in the cage or having her in cuffs and collar, naked, for days isn’t going to be a workable reality, though some lovely weekends will be possible once school starts again. Still, somehow, in her mind I’m sure this “internal enslavement” isn’t dependent on that, somehow or another it’s more about a constancy and attitude.
So… care to elaborate a bit on …. what exactly. I couldn’t begin to ask. I’m a heavy duty player, serious and intense, but I’m playful at times, too. Kids.. you can’t be surly/serious. Besides, I’m a funny motherfucker! I like the laughing, the romance, kissing and putting her on My lap. And she wants that side of Me too. So how would you be loving, romantic, caring, and also a certified Bastard who makes her breathless with anticipation. How does that balance work? Can it work? And maybe it is just time… making sure to keep her respectful, being willing to let her know when I’m righteously irritated. I’d love to know protocols you guys use, the rules, the limits. If she’s rashing from shaving her cunt, do I let her keep her hair or tell her to push through it, see how it is in a week, since she hasn’t shaved herself in years? Maybe it will clear up, but if it doesn’t then I was wrong about that, so what then? Just an example here.
Yes, My wife and I lived it. It was quite natural, and it did evolve over years, too. Again, maybe that’s what it’s all about. Love, I presume, and that is the driver here, is the first phase of this Internal Enslavement, or it was for Michelle (wife) and I. Her love pushed her to serve and please, her love of what I did to her pushed her to take more and more.
Interesting… this almost becomes an essay for My own decision making process, How To Sculpt a Slave. But rhonda ( new love ) isn’t a beginner, being forged from the soft clay of the young girl I began with in Michelle. Conundrum, am I overthinking it all?
I almost just cut this out and kept it all to Myself. But because she has followed you now for 10 years, I am asking, with respect, for you input. The simple would be some protocols you have that enforce your feelings, enrich your experience, and for these alone I’ll be grateful. Anything more would be a blessing, and I would count it as such.
Until soon…
Master Magnum