He wants me to speak of his pain

He suffers.
He wants you to know that he suffers.
He wants me to speak of his pain.

The beast was here today. Which surprised me. I had no warning. Though I should have realized something was up when the sadist preceded his visit by a warning against "moony-ness" and an order for strict focus on service to his cock. Now it's quite clear to me that when things become moony and emotional and all, it's not all my fault. He opens the door to that, he goes there, he radiates his feelings for me and his own softness and his joy at being with me along with gratitude that I am his. He can't fool me. Not any more.

[ . . . ]

Hours have passed.
I'm back on the sofa, sitting again between two very soft cats.
I had to stop before.
My mind strayed.
I lost focus.
Became very sleepy.

Delayed reaction.
Because yes.
The beast was here today.
And he took his belt to my ass.
He took his belt to my ass and
hours later
it finally hurt.

At first I didn't realize what was going on. I thought it was a punishment for missing my bedtime the other night by 2 minutes. I e-mail him before turning out the light, so he did know what time it was. But I'd had no inkling that he was pissed off about it so I was surprised and confused and he was bringing the belt down hard on my ass.

Harder even than I realized.

Which happens.
When he's been there for a while.
When I've been kneeling before him and he's been kissing me.
Arousing me.
Sending me into that place.
If he hurts me then, he can hurt me harder and it doesn't fully register.

But he hadn't been there that long.
At least I don't think so...
Certainly I wasn't deeply in that place.

It wasn't till he was on his way out that he let on that he'd swung the belt down quite hard on my ass - very satisfying, he said it was - and that he was surprised it hadn't hurt me more. I did cry when he beat me, but more from confusion, from distress at what I thought was anger, than from severe pain. I've felt pain that was much worse. Delivered by him.

The beast.
I realized the beast was there,
but thought he had arrived in anger.
But that wasn't it.
He was hungry.

He wanted to torture me.

Don't worry.
He didn't.
And except for very brief flashes, he has been absent for a long time.

This time, though...

The beating wasn't a punishment, Daddy said.
It was purely recreational.

He was very upset.
He struggles.
He suffers.
It hurts.

He was this close to the edge, he said. I've always thought of it as an increase by degrees. A little pain, a little more, a lot more, until it crosses a line and becomes more than I can handle.

Though, oh - how I wish I could handle it!
How I wish I could give that to him!
But I can't.
And we both know it.

It's dangerous to play with. Because what he explained today was that it's not like slowly turning up the heat. It's like going along and then suddenly - he's over the cliff. It could be that sudden. And the beast would be in control.

Though he doesn't like using that construct.
Splitting off that part of himself as if it were another man.
A man with his own name.
A man who has tried to seduce me and will do so again.
He has to own that part of himself.
The part that wants to torture me.
The part that wants to do things he will not describe.
The part that wants to hear the full range of what my voice can do
as he does the full range of unspeakable things to my body.
As he makes me suffer.

He wants you to understand.
To understand his suffering.
To know that this is real.
It is not a game.
It is not something he plays at.
It's not some kinky sex game.
It's not role play.

It's not "I'm a sadist - yuck, yuck, yuck..."

It's real.
And while he does get pleasure from inflicting pain,
he does not get pleasure from being battered by his urges.

He did not go too far.
He stopped himself.
He stepped back from the edge
and brought himself down
while saying things with his kisses which showed how he cares.
But he suffered.

Being in that state is a high.
So he was crashing.
Even as he was being gentle and loving
and saying all those things without words,
he was in pain.
Think of it as the pain of withdrawal.

Later, an hour or so later, when he finally came in my mouth - which he doesn't usually do because he likes to see my face - he talked about it. About the struggle. The pain. He was worried. Disturbed. He hadn't had an attack in quite a while. He worried about truly hurting me. About losing control. He spoke again about his concern that maybe he shouldn't see me again - though we both know it's too late for that. Who we are... how far we've come... what we are like together... we have a relationship. Not a very standard one. Not one that many would approve of. But we are mostly definitely we. He won't walk away.

He can't.

Me, I have faith.

I truly believe that his feelings for me are stronger than the beast. There may be times that he'll go a little too far. Every so often. But then he'll look at me in wonder and see both all those things that make the beast want to devour me and all the things that make him retract his claws and hide his fangs and then fold me in his arms and hold me tight, my nakedness close to his.

The curious thing is that what I was picking up all that time was not the beast's hunger. It was the stress underneath. When, later, he was wondering what triggered the return of his compulsion, I brought up the stress. We've seen it before - although he always seems to forget - that stress tends to break the bars of the cage that usually holds back the beast. And I do know he's under a lot of stress, although he has largely refused to talk about it. Not just to me but - it seems - to anyone. He feels he has to be strong. To be in charge of everything and not show how hard it is for him. He has told me that much directly.

Under all that stress, something has to crack.

So it was the distress of the stress I felt.
That concerned me.
That made me want to comfort and soothe him.

I do love him.
I do trust him.

And my heart aches for his suffering.

PS - He has made arrangements to visit someone who can willingly feed the beast's hunger. He hadn't realized until he arrived today that there was any danger. And there's a chance we can spend the night together, away, during one of the weekends in March. A very happy possibility. For us both.

Happy Lupercalia

Demanding worship

You are all invited to wish me a happy birthday.

Daddy's pet: a Pavlovian success story. I think...

It was horribly embarrassing.
Even though no one but me knew.

We were in a departmental staff meeting. The director said that after this week he wouldn't need to check my work on a particular process.

"You're doing really well," he said.

Praise.

Do I even have to tell you what happened next?

Wet.
I responded as I always respond when praised.
My pussy became warm and swollen and wet.


Thank goodness I didn't blush!

And I feel NO attraction to the man whatsoever!
Nor is there any trace of dominance about him.

It was a purely Pavlovian response.

Perhaps I've been trained too well?

Leather and heels; feminism and sucking cock

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