I gained weight.
He beat me.
Which was no surprise.
Neither the weight gain
nor the beating.
It was a very bad SAD week. I probably would have gained weight just from my body slowing down. My body and my brain. To lose weight, I would have needed to eat even less. Instead, the SAD made me crave things I really had no appetite for.
Overly sweet, carb-filled Danish pastries.
are quite unlike the pastries you'd get in Denmark
where they're called wienerbrød.
It's always good to blame someone else for your temptations.
I didn't indulge too much.
But it was enough.
Enough to make a difference.
Still, it could have been a lot worse. He had told me: "Every time you're going to put something in your mouth, think of me." And you know what? It worked! Most of the time, anyway...
He beat me.
He caned me.
He whacked away up and down my butt.
It hurt a lot.
Especially because he did it early in the visit,
so I wasn't being protected by endorphins.
It hurt a lot.
It hurts now.
There are welts.
I had a long nap after he left,
and woke up cold.
That, too, was probably from the beating.
He said he wasn't surprised, as it was the most serious caning he'd ever given me. There'd been a worse one, though, which he seemed to have forgotten.
So he caned me. As punishment. And I screamed and writhed and sobbed and took these breaths that always arouse him and my butt turned red and hot and my shameless pussy was absolutely dripping. It was red and hot and swollen and dripping.
He needed to hurt me.
We both needed him to hurt me.
After his illness,
after those weeks of existing
in a different room of our relationship,
we needed him to hurt me.
Before his arrival, he instructed me to lay out the chain and the cane and the flogger. The chain he clipped very snuggly around my neck. The cane... well, you've heard. And the flogger?
He ordered me up on the bed, on my back, legs spread and... I think flat at first and up later? It's a blur now... And oh, I tried so very hard and mostly succeeded in keeping my legs open as he flogged the inside of my thighs and my pussy.
It was wonderful watching him.
I'd never seen him wield the flogger that way before.
This lower arm wind-up and then a flip of the wrist.
And it's such a beautiful flogger.
Made for me by his masochist slave to his specifications.
Designed so he could whip me heartily
without injuring me.
Without hurting me too much.
Pussies are very sensitive...
Being whipped made mine very wet.
and my - no, HIS - pussy...
He doesn't do things for my pleasure unless they are for his pleasure, and at first this time I thought it was all just for his pleasure but then... he knew exactly what he was doing... he reads my responses... and he knew I was oh so close to cumming... but I was good and stopped myself because he hadn't told me to cum... hadn't given permission... and I hadn't asked... I wasn't going to ask... this needed to be all about him.
Because I am his slave.
And being a slave
means I live
to his pleasure.
he came in my mouth.
Which for him is a very special treat.
He came in my mouth
with his eyes on my untamed curls
and my hot red beaten butt.
And then we talked.
We usually talk now, afterwards.
Another kind of intimacy,
and a recognition of that intimacy.
Our growing intimacy.
I shouldn't love him this much.
And I should eat more carrots,
and no cookies,
so there will be less of the stick,
unless it's purely for his pleasure.
It's the first night of Chanukah*,
and I'm being allowed a treat of potato latkes,
which was postponed from tonight,
but will be later this week,
and I was a very good girl,
and took a walk after my nap,
beaten butt and all.
Happy Chanukah from me and the kitties.
* yes, I know there's a different transliteration these days, but this is the one I grew up with and I'm stubborn that way. Until the sadist orders me to change with threats of a caning, I'll stick with what I know.