The sadist has informed the beast that I am off limits.
We both know the situation is only temporary.
One day, despite my Master's firm belief that to unleash his sadism on me would be dangerous for us both, the beast will break through the invisible fence that surrounds me.
We both, I believe, fear and long for that moment.
Certainly, my Master knows himself far better than I do, and knows far better the evil of which he is capable. He has, as I've said before, another outlet for his sadism, and I am truly grateful for that, even as I wrestle with jealousy that there is someone else whose services he so badly needs.
Compared to what I suspect has been inflicted on others, the few small tastes I've had of the beast's bite have been exceptionally mild, and I have felt very little of it for months now.
I confess to disappointment.
I confess to longing.
I confess to flirting with danger.
I confess to flirting with the beast, to leaving him little messages that I know will make his mouth water, to painting pictures of my weakness, of my vulnerability, of my pale exposed neck begging to be torn to shreds by his cruel jaws.
I'm walking on the edge of a precipice and hoping the ledge will give way beneath my feet. I'm prepared to jump up and down on it if necessary.
And when I begin to tumble into the ravine below, I will regret not having a parachute.
I am obviously a bit mad. But I am also hungry, though for a different meal than the one that lures the beast.
I am quite aware that my fantasies of being spanked and flogged and caned and raped and burned and branded are far more extreme than what I could tolerate and, I hope, more extreme than what the sadist would permit me to suffer. He is a wise and focused man, despite the deep vein of cruelty that runs through him. Still, when a wild animal breaks out of his cage, one can never be sure how well his training will hold, just as I am never quite sure how far my Master is planning on taking the gang rape he has been planning for me. (Though is it truly rape if I submit willingly? And is it truly willing if I have been deeply hypnotized into always wanting to obey?)
What it comes down to is this.
I want to know.
I want to learn.
I want to experience.
How much can I tolerate?
How will my suffering change me?
How will my suffering change his attitude towards me?
How much have I changed so far? I do believe I have changed. I think I would respond to a caning quite differently than I did last time. I think I have learned about acceptance, about offering, about the intimacy of giving him my suffering. There is a beauty to it - not to the pain itself, but to the complete destruction of walls between us. I have tasted that. When he tortures my nipples, I taste that.
There is an intimacy even greater than sex.
And dangerous though it may be, I long for it.