Thursday, December 27, 2012

P is for Pain; so are peas.

Except I'm out of peas.
Frozen peas.
A big bag of frozen peas
to ease the pain
after the big beating Daddy gave his baby girl.

A welcome beating.
A desired beating.
A belt beating.

It's not that I like the pain exactly. But if I'm going to be beaten, I do... here I'm not sure what word to use. Like it more? Resist it less? Something about the sensation of that leather belt coming down on my ass...

He steadied me with his hand on the small of my back. He steadied me and swung the leather down. He went up and down my butt and onto the very top of my thighs. He knew I wanted it. Even though it was hard to take. He knows. Daddy almost always knows. He knows there is something about being whipped with his belt that his baby girl can almost say she likes.

She certainly wants it.

And she likes that word.
Not beaten.
The other one.


She likes to think about how he whipped her.
About he hurt her.
About how she screamed
and her screaming made him hot.
He always wants to hear her pain.
To hear her scream that he's hurting her.
He wants her to beg him to stop.
and he wants her to beg him for more.

It was not an act.

And now she's the one getting hot.
Remembering how he steadied her.
Remembering how he beat her.
Remembering how he hurt her.
Remembering how she lay there.
Holding still (more or less).

There's an amazing intimacy to the exchange of pain.
The giving and receiving,
the inflicting and accepting.

She becomes soft.
She becomes wet, of course,
and also soft.
Very soft.

He whipped me early on, and then again later, while I was on my hands and knees between his legs sucking his cock, he took up the belt and brought it down again and again on my already stinging butt. He was whipping me very hard, he said, harder than before. But it didn't feel as bad because I was floating on cradling clouds of endorphins. They numb me. He spanked me on my reddened butt, he whipped me having already whipped me, and it just didn't hurt as much as it should have.

And then he touched me.
Caressed my skin.
Kissed my mouth.
And everything felt softer.
My mouth, my skin,
everything was softer,
Another piece of the magic.

And then he raped his baby girl's tight little butt hole.
Which also hurt.
And which I also wanted.

And he came in my ass.
And I felt his pulsing.
And when it was over
and we lay close together
I looked in his face
and I saw it was good.

As for the peas... well yes, a nice cold compress would probably have been a good idea, as I realized later when I used the toilet at Starbuck's and it was cold and it felt ever so good. But I'm out of peas. Except for half a small bag. Which are peas destined to be eaten. And besides, I like the pain. In a way, the after-pain is part of my aftercare. I fondle it. Admire it. Sing to it. Float on it until the endorphins start to wear off and the analgesic wine I had for dinner starts to wear off, and you know... maybe a couple of Tylenol would be a good idea right around now...


sin said...

This is lovely. It's an ode. No wait. Not an ode. It's a paen.

It's a paen to pain and the sweetness of it with the right person at the right time.

Lucky you.

I want to borrow a bit right out of the middle. It's just so perfect for what I feel. I'll credit you of course. i hope that's ok.


oatmeal girl said...

Thank you, sin. How kind of you. And of course you can borrow some with attribution!

FYI, it's the next morning and I'm still floating. Is that normal?