Unbeaten

He didn't beat me today.
He didn't spank me.
He didn't whip me with his belt.

He didn't use on my pale skin the beautiful brown and turquoise leather flogger that many years ago he had his masochist slave make for me. The slave knew whom it was for; the sadist we share has many ways to inflict pain. This flogger is the second model. The first one came apart in use, and the Sadist judged its knotted ends too harsh for me. It's not that he spares me, although I know he protects me. It's more that he can achieve the same effects with less extreme methods, and he doesn't want to risk losing me by going too far. I'm grateful to his masochist slave for giving him the extreme suffering that I cannot.

But not today.
The previous two weeks were hard.
Hard on my flesh and hard on my emotions.
Butt, tits, belly, pussy, all suffered horribly beneath his belt and hands.
I'm still puzzled that my bruises weren't worse.

But today?
Today's training session was different.
Training.
Retraining.
Retraining in some of the
techniques that he
desires
requires
demands
when I serve his pleasure.

So no belt.
No flogger.
Only the lightest of nipple torture,
Which always takes me to
That Place
where I disappear
and all that remains is His.

And then, because I knew, because I saw the signs, the invisible signal, I spread my thighs apart. I spread my thighs and offered those most tender, sensitive tissues to what turned out to be a very gentle spanking. It did fell gentle, yet when he pushed his way into me, when he thrust again and again, it hurt - and I was grateful for the pain because it made me cry out each time he pushed into me and I know that my pain and my cries please him and excite him and it reminded me how my body is his and it's all about his pleasure and what the hell kind of feminist thinks things like this?

But that's who we are.
That's who he is.
That's who I am
and he makes me feel so
strong
and so
safe
and who are any of you to dare question?

I have never been so happy