Tuesday, September 8, 2009
I shouldn't have thrown out the frozen peas
I did it a week or so ago.
Threw out the frozen peas.
Two big bags of frozen peas.
I needed the freezer space.
And I didn't need the peas.
Bags of frozen vegetables make great ice packs. The tiny little chunks move around and conform themselves to the injured area, preventing swelling, preventing bruising.
Great for a sprained ankle.
Great for a beaten butt.
But I wasn't being beaten.
Not all that much.
A spanking here or there.
And I loved my bruises.
The first bag was over 2 years old. I bought it for the philosopher's first visit. Oh, we were so careful, preparing so thoroughly. We neither of us had experience with BDSM in the flesh, against the flesh. And he had sent me that cane ahead of his arrival.
We have pictures of me, lying there post-caning with the bag of peas on my welted ass, a kitchen towel cautiously placed between flesh and ice to protect me from frostbite.
I wonder if he ever reads here any more. Because now is when I need the protection. When I first became involved with the sadist, the philosopher would read what I said here and worry about me. He said I was "just a friend" but he worried about my safety and vowed that if I said the word he would come down and protect me.
The sadist just laughed when I told him.
A very egotistical laugh.
He said it was because the philosopher couldn't stop him, but I think the truth was that he knew, he already knew, that I would never ask for the help. It was too late. I was doomed, we both were doomed, and where we are headed was ordained from the start.
We chatted this weekend for hours, long, intense, frightening, arousing conversations. We both knew the truth. I deserve to be punished, fairly seriously punished, but it's more than that. He is lifting the veil of protection.
My Master is designing my punishment, very methodically, how many smacks of his hand, how many strokes of the cane, how many times he will bring the flogger down on me... and then it moves into something else. He wants to hurt me, he wants the sadistic pleasure of hurting me, he wants me to offer him my pain, he wants to drink my agony, he wants to gorge himself on my vulnerability, he has wanted that and more for a long time and has been trying to protect me, trying to protect himself, but the time is now.
There's this word.
It has excited me since I was a teenager.
And long before that, there was the idea of being tied and whipped.
Tied to a tree.
Tied to a bed,
to a whipping post,
bent over I wasn't sure what
that made my ass available to the lashes.
And he wants to flog my cunt.
Which he always calls my pussy.
He did it a little, one or two strokes in my brief introduction to the flogger. He has barely used it since then, whether because he'd rather devote the short time available to the pleasure he gets as I kneel naked before him attending to his cock, or whether he's been afraid he couldn't control himself once he started lashing my pale flesh, I'm not sure. But he hasn't stopped thinking about it.
He isn't showing me the list he is compiling of the elements of my punishment. But I'm sure this will be on it.
I will be lying there naked on the futon, my pale belly flesh set off by the dark red sheets. He will order me to spread my legs, to offer him my pussy for torture. He likes that word, too. Torture. He will order me to touch myself, to arouse myself, so my cunt swells, becomes more sensitive to touch and easier to see. I expect I will already have suffered a fair amount by then, certainly the spanking (amazing how much pain his hand can impart), probably the caning as well. But I will look up into his eyes with my own tear-flooded ones, and show him with my eyes that I am offering him my most sensitive parts, in penance and for his hunger, his pleasure.
He will acknowledge my offer.
And will know it to be impossible.
So he will tie my legs open.
Perhaps he will tie my arms open, too.
I will hear the growl of the Beast.
And my Master
or the Beast
or both together
will bring the lashes down on my cunt
and flog my pussy as I scream and cry
and tell him I'm sorry.
So maybe I should go out and buy another couple bags of frozen peas.