i find it so curious to watch someone being beaten... i always wonder what it looks like when i am being caned or spanked or, now, flogged... both what the sadist looks like doing it - his movements, the expression on his face - and what it looks like when the instrument or his hand lands...It's true. Sometimes I feel the child inside me. The child who wants to know everything, understand everything. The child who is always asking "Why?" The child who is so curious about the fire that she sticks her hands in and gets burned.
I wasn't like that then. I don't think I ever stuck my fingers in the fire. I was such a good girl. I'm a good girl now, too. But the phrase means something much different to me today... Oh, the things I have to do to be a good girl today...
So I want to know. I used to always ask "What does it feel like? What does it feel like when you raise your arm to strike? What does it feel like at the moment of impact?" I even posted the question to craigslist as well as here, and eventually shared my favorite response.
[Pause for tears. Damn. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have looked back at that post. It wasn't working, I know it wasn't working, I knew it wasn't working, I can't handle the long silences and he can't handle anything at all. Certainly not right now. Why can't I stop grieving?]
We return to our regularly scheduled programming. If I can remember what it was...
Oh yes. Me being caned. Spanked. Flogged. Wondering what it looks like from the sadist's perspective and wondering what he looks like when he's doing it. And wondering now how I would feel watching... it would be different from watching a film of someone else. I would be remembering what it felt like... I would be remembering my screams. And I would be remembering the pain as, each time, he scratched his initial into my flesh.
In some ways, that is always my favorite part. There are still traces of the two times he cut his initial into my belly last fall. I would want it shot with 2 cameras, so you could cut between the look on his face and the tip of the implement, the jagged end of the wood strip, the sharp protruding nail top of the upholstery tack that holds the trim to the flogger, as it scratches my skin and leaves behind small traces of blood that seep up to the surface.
I have told him I wondered how I sounded. He's not sure he wants to record it for me. He's afraid it would make me self-conscious in the future. I respect his judgment. He is almost always right. And since the point of hurting me is to feed his hunger, and his hunger is fed by my reactions to the pain, I wouldn't want anything to spoil that reaction for him.
I'm tired now. Crying makes me tired. Plus I have a bedtime of 11:15, with a very special assignment to complete beforehand.
[Damn. it snuck up on me again. i was going to write "kitten gets to cum tonight." but i'm not kitten with my demon muse. i am still kitten, i will never stop being kitten, deep inside i will always be kitten. but not with him. i am his pet, i am his angel, i am his poet, i am his slave, i am all sorts of creative names. but not kitten. i am the philosopher's kitten. now and forever.]
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5 comments:
first, hugs to you, darling. you have merely begun grieving. do not diminish the power or necessity. and do not take away your right and your need to fully grieve the loss. I don't know how long you were involved, but it takes a year or so of recovery for each 4 years of a relationship.
second, although I'm definitely an exhibitionist, and a voyeur, I can't watch someone getting beat. It's painful to watch, and I want it to stop. Going to a public play is difficult for me, because it's difficult for my brain to comprehend and correlate the pleasure and pain that I watch to that which I personally experience.
perhaps it is because I enjoy the end result, not the means utilized to reach the ends. I HATE pain but I love the end result. and with Daddy's ability to help me reach the pleasure without a all-out beating, my need for pain is decreasing as well (just as Daddy predicted).
but, I love, love, LOVE watching sex acts between others, as well as being the sex act for others! I prefer the live version rather than pure porn because I like the complete interaction between the individuals rather than the just the focus on the "friction" created between body parts.
but, to watch me? nah. I'd point out all my imperfections and become a quivering, sobbing, blathering mess of self-denigration, and it would take Daddy hours to bring me back to any seemingly acceptable level of self-appreciation.
so, if this is what we're watching during the pj party, then I'll be in the kitchen painting my toenails! *grins*
keep up the good writing sweetie! You're awesome!
I think the sadist is right ... listening to yourself would probably inhibit you in future sessions ... and I wonder why it is we lvoe our marks so much. I guess becuase it is a concrete reminder of something profound that happened to us.
Sorry too about your grieving ... I feel and sympathize with you as I am in the process of grieving myself ...
just curiosu- under what category woudl you post a question like that? I'm fascinated by the whole concept of doign something like that - a brilliant idea I think - and I bet you had some fascinating replies ....
I'm only ever on the "pets" at craigslist - so have never checked out other categories!
(((HUGS)))
I'm intrigued as to whether I'd find watching sex good, never mind flogging or the like... porn never really does it for me - no real characters or relationships or connections... sex scenes in regular films are better, because there is usually some if not all those things...
I don't know about spanking... it's such a personal pleasure for me, to do with the sensation and the intimacy between hubby and me that I don't know what watching someone else would be like... not like my idea of at all I suspect!
I know the first stroke I make sometimes is somewhat tentative. I see the welt starting to form, and something takes over. I don't know whether its like a shark getting a taste of blood, or probably more like the old TV show the hulk. I start out as a intelligent (at least I like to think so) sorta mild mannered gent, until I am overcome with that green monster, flailing the helpless creature below me until she cries or at least cries for mercy.
James
PS, how can I get on married's blog I used to read it, but now its restricted.
thanks for the hugs, cutesy pah, my wonderful new friend. it was a 2 year relationship, but only sort of, as the last 1/2 year was highly disrupted. and we didn't see each other all that often. but the connection... for me at least the connection was stronger than anything I'd ever had with anyone else.
i don't like heavy pain, not at all, although even just saying that is phenomenally arousing. the real power is in the submission. it always amazed me that i do my best to hold position and never think of saying no. i may automatically move away or try to protect myself, but then will obediently go back to position on my own, or readily obey when he orders me to open my legs again, spread my arms again, after he flogged my breasts.
i don't go to public events, and have no interest. as for programming for the pyjama party, i suppose we'll have to decide by consensus.
exactly, selkie. we love our marks as reminders, as souvenirs, as proof of what we will readily accept for their pleasure. i would run my finger over the scab and then the scar of his marks until, one by one, they faded away, tracing his initial on my belly and my butt.
the spanking poem was posted to w4m. i received a mix of stupid, dense, and stubborn ads, with only a few really getting the point. and then that response from the Scaramouche, who sounded so much like the philosopher, who was of course the philosopher, who recognized me as i recognized him.
mamacrow - i think spanking is rather like Morris dancing. it's much more fun to do than to watch.
James - i so love getting comments from you! it's the rare dom(me) who shines a light into what he/she is feeling. thank you so much.
for both the philosopher and the sadist, it was a triumph to beat me until i cried. i never cried for mercy, though.
as for toy's blog, e-mail me about it.
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