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.

Torture.

It has excited me since I was a teenager.
And long before that, there was the idea of being tied and whipped.
Tied up.
Tied down.
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.
You think?

10 comments:

Vesta said...

Forget the bloody philosopher. *I'm* worried about you!

Now, are you really all right, and do you really want to go through with this?! And, does the guy know when enough is enough?!

nancy said...

Somehow I don't feel that worried about you .. hope I'm right~
The peas.. no, I don't think you need them.
I don't think you will want them.. I have a feeling you will enjoy every second of whatever he doles out.
Although..I DO hope you are safe.. hmmm he DOES know when enough is enough , right?

Orlando C. said...

Gods, Oats, if you have a two-year-old bag of peas in your freezer, the last thing you need is to buy more peas. Unless you throw out the goddamn old peas. Jeezum. Sorry, you're all Jewish.... Oy. Fuck.

I'm sorry I haven't been commenting lately. I know that such an inveterate stats-slut as yourself is aware that isn't becaue I haven't been reading.

Also......I hear two things from you. One is that you didn't realize you were a submissive until you were in your late fifties which seems (as our dear Oscar Wilde says) like carelessness. The other is that you've been eroticizing torture since you were a wee small little redhead.

I'm in my hour of need and all. Break it down for me.

Love, Orlando C

Paul said...

OG, so this may be the culmination of a lifetimes dreams.
I do hope that your sadist has some control over his inner beast.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.

oatmeal girl said...

You are all very sweet to worry about me, and I'm sure it's appropriate. but this is what I want.

Does he KNOW when enough is enough?
Yes.

Will he be able to stop?
It depends on who is charge - he or the Beast.

He has held back all this time to protect me. I am precious to him, he has plans for me, her certainly doesn't want to kill me.

Beyond that... we'll see. he is fond of me. He allows himself to say that much. And this will bring us an intimacy that... well, we'll just have to find out how it goes.

And when I can sit, I'll let you know. (Still no date.)

nancy - I do suspect I should restock the peas, just in case. I'm sure I'll still have plenty of bruises as souvenirs.

Orlando, silly boy, you have so much to deal with these days that either you didn't read carefully or I didn't make myself clear. The peas are (or were, since I finally threw them out a week or two ago) used ONLY as ice bags. But yeah, I'm Jewish. We open gifts very very carefully so we can reuse the wrapping paper year after year. Probably as much from having parents who grew up during the Depression as from their being Jewish.

And yes, dear, I do know you're reading. You are excused from commenting though always welcome. And I've been quiet over your way - but thinking about you two a lot.

OK, it's way past my bedtime. And thanks again to you all for your protectiveness.

Orlando C. said...

Oh, I'm not referring to your pea-hoarding ways as Jewish, I was just questioning the appropriateness of "Jeezum."


I don't know, though. Old freezer stuff squicks me out, even if you aren't planning to eat it. Ggghhhg.

mamacrow said...

I'm not worried particularly, just... this isn't going to be squeezed into a lunch break, is it?

also, I know He 'dosn't do' after care, but I think in this case, a little would be good, hmmm? Even if it's just untieing you and telling you well done...

Oh and handing you the frozen peas. Might be an idea to stock up again, yes.

oatmeal girl said...

Orlando, you are frightfully funny. You don't need to censor yourself in front of me as far as expletives go. First of all, I'm not all that religious in any standard sort of way. Secondly, any word based on "Jesus" is not taking the name of MY god in vain, so why should i care outside of a general sensitivity and anyway who knows who's right on this deity thing anyway?

And third... well really, as perverts we want others do let our live our lives as it suits us so I'd have a lot of chutzpah to complain about how you express intensity.

So there.

mamacrow - no, it is definitely NOT going to be squeezed in during a lunch break. He says he wants to take his time with me. This pleases me because the last thing I want to do after such abuse is to run back to work as if nothing has happened.

I think I'll write a separate post about the lack of after care.

sephanipaige said...

mmmm torture, that fine line for a slave when willingly accepting pain becomes a willfulness to endure more for the pleasure of our Master's desire. Knowing our tears, agony and defeat is as sweet as any desert, a mead on which they thrive and get drunk on. My internal pain slut is holding her metaphorical breath, sitting on the edge of begging, waiting for Master to tie me down, tie me up and beat me to His hearts desire!

oatmeal girl said...

sephanipaige - it's interesting to hear about this from the perspective of a pain slut. I used to think I was since I do crave pain to some extent. It excites me and obviously arouses me. But I've learned more about real masochists and have realized that I don't qualify. Besides, EVERYTHING in my relationship is for my master's pleasure. He's not one of those doms who focuses on or even cares about my erotic pleasure. When he grants me an orgasm, it is purely for HIS pleasure - the sounds of my cumming I leave on his voice mail, or the descriptions I write of my masturbation, rising arousal, and releasing sobs. It is all for him.

Just as any pain I endure is for him as well. What enabled him to hold back his extreme sadistic urges was the rich response he could elicit from me with a relatively small application of pain.

(PS - Thank you for commenting here.)