Tuesday, December 22, 2009

The sadist plays with his prey

The sadist is having a grand time.
He is playing with us.
He is playing with us all.

Not that it isn't very serious play.

I think of Ketzel when she has the supreme good fortune of finding a hapless mouse in the house. She could kill it quite readily if she wanted. But she enjoys the sport. She enjoys chasing it, cornering it, swatting at it, taking it in her jaws, and then "accidentally" letting it go. I am convinced that in the end the poor little creatures die of exhaustion more than of injuries. Her first prey looked like it had been licked to death. Or perhaps licked quite thoroughly after death, in hopes that it would revive and return to the game.

(I do rescue them when I can, but it's not always possible.)

I don't know why I wanted to write what I did in the last post.
It was I who asked to share what he had written about the knife.
I wanted to share the power of it.
The beauty of it.
The hypnotic effect.
He wouldn't let me give you his exact words.
I think they are much too naked and revealing.
So he said I could paraphrase
and give my own reactions.
And he wanted to hear your comments.

A sadist - or at least this sadist - doesn't just get off on inflicting pain. He - or at least this one - gets off on the power, the control, and - especially this one - on the reactions of the victim.

But only partially a victim.
Because to my Master the most important thing is the offering.
He wants the words.
He wants the plea.
"Hurt me, my Master."

I'm wandering off course.

He wanted your reactions.

And after the first three, in which Angharad (welcome to the community of those who speak, Angharad!) said she understood, and meg said she was so concerned she didn't think she could read here any more (which upset me greatly), and then Florida Dom said: "My take was that the danger was part of the turnon but you really don't have to worry about your safety" and Paul offered his own voice of concern - after all that, my Master wrote back:
They are all right. Some contradict themselves though. [ . . .]
Still, you should listen to them.
So what, then, does he want me to take from those and the later comments? And how much concern should we all of us have about my safety?

I think that, like Ketzel with her mouse, he wouldn't really want to destroy me. I wouldn't dare try to guess what his feelings are for me. Whatever they are, he not only doesn't reveal them to me, he probably does his best not to reveal them to himself. But he treasures me. He values me. He wants me. I'm not the only one he has. There have been many before his current holdings, and certainly more to come. More to make him cum. But he has never had anyone like me, and never will again.

He has been doing his best to protect me.
From the beast.
And he has kept the beast at bay.
Or perhaps the creature was just sleeping.
Gathering strength.
But the monster is awake now.
It has burst out of its cage.
It - he - is hungry.
And he wants me.
He wants me.

My Master has a slave. A very masochistic slave, who had been serving him at least a year and a half before I came along. The slave craves pain, needs pain, like air and water. The slave is part of what protects me from the beast. My Master has been able to find release by torturing the slave, which takes the edge off before he gets to me. And with me he usually holds himself back. In general, he holds himself back. Or at most the beast just sticks his maw out, rakes me with his claws, and then retires with a warning.

That doesn't mean I'm not in danger. The beast has challenged the slave's tolerance for pain. The slave has suffered greatly. I don't... I won't... I can't talk about that any more. I respect my Master's privacy too much, and his trust in me. There is pain for all of us in this.

My Master isn't guaranteeing my safety. That is true. And probably wise. He wants me to come to him with open eyes. He knows he cannot always control the beast - although his very stern order not to call to that cruel hunger shows that he wants to protect both of us from what might happen should the thing get loose. He wants me to offer myself fully, nakedly, completely vulnerable. To lay myself naked on the seaside rocks, my belly exposed to the wind and the rain and the beaks of large birds, and wait for what is to come.

I tell him that I love him.
I tell him that I love all of him.
All that I have told you and more.
I will not turn my back on the parts that are different.
The parts that are scary.
We all have those.

Still, he is goading you.
He wants your reactions to his threats.
He wants your reactions to what he has made of me.

He drugs me.
With his words, he drugs me.
With some sort of hypnotic gas
that travels the Beltway
and the 45 minutes
that keep us apart.

He wants you to know what I sound like when I'm drugged.
He ordered me to share this,
the words that I wrote
after he said
he couldn't guarantee my safety.

My body is yours, my Master.
It exists for your pleasure.
For that and nothing more.

Use me, my Lord.
hurt me, my Lord.
Fuck me, my Lord.

I am yours

And this, too:

Scary as it may be, my Lord, I am beyond turning back. I want to serve you so badly that I block out the sensible warnings floating around in my head. They must be there, but I don't hear them. I am truly beyond being able to hear them.

I want to prove to you how deeply you own me, how thoroughly I am yours

You can see how he drugs me.
Just with his words, he drugs me.
If you leave me,
if you don't keep issuing warnings,
who will keep me from floating away?

There was one more thing... he said "you may relate the story"... which I suppose is a couched order. But I think this is already too much for one night. It has to do with the reason our relationship came apart last December. What he did and how I reacted and how I am still trying to understand...

I'm not sure what I've accomplished with this post. I'm very tired and very aroused and because the voice mail I left him when I was cumming last night was so extraordinary he is allowing me to phone him tonight and leave him a different sort of message.

So I'm not sure what you will get from this. I don't know... in many ways, I've lived a very cautious life. A very lonely life. And now? I tremble, I glow, I sing... I don't drink, I don't do illegal drugs, I don't text and drive. Instead I burn and I serve, and have a union that is in a million ways very unconventional but that eclipses all the emptiness of the last 60 years.

He is dangerous.
He is glorious.
And he has taught me to value myself.

The damage he might do me nowhere approaches the damage my ex-husband did to my soul.


Anonymous said...

... and that is precisely what i meant to get to, but got sidetracked and forgot to say.

i would not lose you and your glorious writings for the world... and i do not sincerely believe you and he will indulge in that fantasy... but the beauty of it, the appeal of it, that is another thing altogether.

when i first met my sir, i was putting myself into a dangerous situation. and i knew it. i crossed the country alone, went somewhere that i knew no one, and put myself in his hands for ten days. foolish? maybe. but if i can't really live this life, then why bother?

(and i had safeguards in place; had anything gone wrong, i had a small legion of avenging angels waiting in the wings, with all the necessary identifying information...)

were anything to happen to you, i am sure a small army would rise up from amongst the contingent of your readers (and don't hush me with nonsense about not knowing where you are; the ways of the internets are strong with us!) and see to it that justice, at the very least, was done.

but, the instinct to protect you notwithstanding, we cannot - cannot - keep you from living. nor should we.

my family wounded my soul, almost unto death. my sir is gradually bringing me to life again. knowing that, and understanding that, how could i possibly presume to stop you? how could i even desire to stop you? you have been careful - careful enough for a lifetime, i think. now it is your time to fly.

- angharad

Anonymous said...

P.S. - we love you. you know that. every voice crying "be careful!", every call of "be cautious!", and even the odd whisper of "i understand..." - they are all just little synonyms for that fact. we love you. forgive us our all-too-human frailties... and remember that we love you.

- Angharad

Paul said...

OG,I cannot put it better than Angharad.
To me you sound like a worshipper at the Altar of a powerful and carnivorous god, perhaps aware of the danger you are in and half inviting it.
My problem is, is that you do it with such beauty.
Love and warm hugs,

Anonymous said...

Yes you are loved and well respected.

Your Master's Beast doesn't worry me so much as your Master himself.

Let me as so bold to say a Master who Can Not Control His Beast is no Master. I can hear "the Jeers Now". If you allow a Beast off it's leash and out of it's cage you better damn well be able to control it there is no excuse.
There is a very fine line between a sadist and serial killer a line that most sadists don't cross..

Perhaps I don't have a right to say such things to you but as survivor from the attack of a serial killer and a faithful reader of yours . This one could never live with herself if she didn't speak up..

With much love from FL

littlegirl said...

"Let me as so bold to say a Master who Can Not Control His Beast is no Master. ... If you allow a Beast off it's leash and out of it's cage you better damn well be able to control it there is no excuse."

Thanks FL, that's what I think, too. There are seriously dangerous sadists out there. Sadists that won't stop, and aren't safe to play with. If OG's sadist is one of them, I could not, in good conscience, sit here and cheer her "submission" to it.

Anonymous said...

It is hard knowing that there is a real person out there who entertains the idea of gifting her life, her breath, to another over devotion. If that outlet was known to be just a fantasy with 100% certainty, than relief would be found among many.

If the balance of that outlet was shifted over shared concerns with a fellow blogger—that balance being ripped out from under one's feet causing a fall—and that outlet was just a fantasy, than apologies are warranted.

But if it goes beyond the rhelm of fantasy, into reality, a disappearing reality to be snuffed out by a blade, than yes, worries are warranted.

Because what was written is frightful on many levels.