Or perhaps settling in.
Or maybe it's just that I've found a more comfortable sitting position.
My mood has been mutating since the sadist's hour and a half visit yesterday. Sorting it out now, I suspect he spent about a third of that time beating me. I'm not really sure. After the first segment, during which he used various implements on my butt as I screamed and wriggled while keeping to my position facing the wall, the torture was interspersed with his enjoyment of my mouth and my attending to the needs of his cock using my hand and the aforementioned oral cavity.
Plus some other stuff.
Much of the last half hour was a period of re-emerging for both of us. We talked about the beast, and about how tempted I am by the beast, and about a new project he wanted to collaborate on. Plus he gave me a copy of a CD with one song he particularly wanted me to hear. Music he shares is always a very special gift. There were instructions on things he wanted me to write about, permission to write here about his visit and the torture, permission to masturbate if I wished (and I did), to be followed immediately by a report, and the gift of an order to sleep with the chain for the next few nights. I don't wear the chain in those cases. I sleep with it in the bed, held close to my body with love and respect. But he did order me to keep the chain around my neck for as long as I was alone in the house after he left.
I loved that.
You might classify all that as a form of aftercare. I think it did us both good, as the time had been very intense for him as well. And there was a short period after he came when I rested my head against his belly and felt owned and safe and drained.
But once he was gone, my mood kept mutating. The high subsided, the pain drowned out most everything else, the sobs that normally follow my masturbatory orgasm were cut short by a phlegm-producing cough, and I became downright crabby. I hurt and I was exhausted, even as I felt transformed and drawn very near to the one who had beaten me.
I thought my various moods made it into last night's post. But reading it over today, I can see they didn't. So I'm sorry for being so grumpy to the people who commented both publicly and privately, offering congratulations and the like for my having had such a satisfactory beating. I thought I had made it clear that I don't like pain!!! Or rather I like a little bit of pain. I love the way he squeezes my nipple and takes me to this special place where we are joined in a way that is more intimate than any sexual union. I like a mild spanking. I like the sensation of being flogged when it hurts a little bit. I like being hurt a little. I don't like being tortured. I found it very hard to tolerate, even though it obviously aroused me. I am not a masochist. I don't need pain.
There was nothing about this that was meant to serve my needs.
It was all about his needs.
A very intense need.
And surrounding it all was the fear that the beast would break loose and take over the action, which could spell disaster for both me and the sadist.
On the other hand, what I did love - what gave me a beautiful pleasure - was knowing that I had given myself willingly to something that is very hard for me. In fact, I wanted him to torture me, because I knew how badly he wanted to and needed to. And because I know how hard he struggles against the evil suggestions that the beast whispers in his ear to let go of his scruples and do to me all those really awful things he holds back from.
Anyway... since most of my readers don't look at the comments, I am posting below much of what I wrote in response to comments on yesterday's post. And please accept my apology for sounding so grumpy. It was my fault. I was in pain and I assumed I had probably only told the sadist. Thank you to those of you who did comment - and for you real masochists out there, I'm sure the level of pain I suffered would have been most inadequate for you.
I'm such a wimp!
_sub_girl called me lucky and said "How I miss the torment and pain a strong Sadist is capable of so lovingly applying." She then asked about the unknown implement with which I was whipped.
KellyRed said "Was it worth it? That is the question. Were you able to watch his face? or were you too absorbed in the pain? I would love to be able to watch his face..."
My reply, edited at my whim (mainly for typos), and presented with apologies as needed.
_sub_girl - I am lucky in general to have such a rich and challenging relationship. I don't know that I would think to call myself lucky to have been beaten. None of it was for me, and I wouldn't call anything about it loving. What does reflect the way he treasures me is how he fights off the urge to hurt me VERY badly. In fact, he doesn't usually allow himself to use me in this way, for fear the beast will take over and inflict such severe harm that it would destroy us both.
Here, too, I am lucky in that he has others whom he can torture most severely, including his masochist slave. I am NOT a masochist, but I am happy when he allows himself to beat me because of the pleasure it gives him and the relief from the pressure of his desires.
I did ask him what he whipped me with. It was nothing more than a pair of speaker cables for his computer. He specifically said I should point out that they were not coaxial cables, and then proceeded to discuss the efficacy of electric wire as an implement. He likes to use everyday objects, although he did have his slave make the flogger for using on me. Through trial and error, it was designed especially to suit my low level of pain tolerance.
Kelly - was it worth it? Oh yes. Except that between the pain and the wind and the cats being restless (probably due to the very high wind), I can't sleep tonight and thus am up replying to your comments.
It was worth it because I gave him what he needed. It was worth it because of the connection it creates. It was worth it because it was another way to show how fully I have given myself to him. And yes, although it hurt a lot (and I do NOT enjoy the pain) it results in an intensity that nothing else can achieve.
I cannot see his face. When he beats me I am standing facing the wall, or down on the ground on knees and forearms, or torso on the futon. Even when he flogged my breasts while I was bound to the chair, he was on standing to the side of me and I was looking straight forward.
I do get to see his face as he hurts me, though. Regularly. I kneel before him, my eyes linked with his, as he squeezes and twists my left nipple with his right thumb and forefinger. This happens every time we are together. He is looking deep inside me, to see how the pain is taking me to that place, and I see how he is seeing into me and how by hurting me he is pulling me to him, joining me with him... oh yes, I just remembered, it happened in another way this time. The chain was clipped tight around my neck the entire length of his visit and long after he left. I was kneeling before him, attending to his cock. He pulled the chain down my back, lodged it in the valley between my ass cheeks and settled it into my pussy, and then pulled up. Hard. This was the one pain I did like and it had an extraordinary effect on me. I had this intense sense of how he possesses me... the words don't do it justice... and it took me to an even deeper place than usual... he saw it in my eyes, and I saw the fierceness and satisfaction in his.
So yes, if for that alone, it was worth it. And it relates to what he has been teaching me since the first time he hurt me in the smallest way. The incredible intimacy between predator and prey.
Except that I am a willing victim, and therefore not a victim at all. I lay myself down on the altar and offer my throat to the knife. (Metaphor. That's a metaphor. The knife is no longer allowed in the house. For my safety.)