The persistence of bruises

spank?

That was the subject line.
The message said only

Hi. :)

It came from the Irishman. This afternoon. I hadn't heard from him in months. My cunt turned a little somersault. There's a cold focus to him that I love. The way his face changes as he comes up the walk, or after he gives me a hug in greeting, or else I feel the change in mid-embrace... and sometimes he arrives as I am in bed, letting himself in through the unlocked door. He arrives at the foot of my bed, and with barely a word orders me out and into whatever position he requires to fulfill his suddenly very urgent needs.

He is hard and focused and I give him what he needs. A blow job, perhaps. Or I bend over the end of the bed and he takes me in one hole or another. It is very deliberate, and I feel rather like a whore. Yet generous.

I never realized that until the words traveled from my fingers to the keys, without, it seems, any contribution from my conscious brain. Generous. He needs something I can give him, and I am happy to do it. I know he is using me, and that very fact makes me happy. He is cold and deliberate, and yet I feel this kind, intelligent man that also dwells within him. I don't think that one or the other is the façade. They are both real, they are both who he is, and it's just unfortunate that there are very few people with whom we can be our full selves. So, for safety, he hides his other self from me, but I know it is there. He tries to hide his vulnerability, but I know it is there, I can feel it, and I embrace it, and I open my door and give myself to him and he does what he must and takes what he needs and I smile as he fucks me and then he's gone.

It's nearly 4 months now since I last saw him. The time he fucked my ass. He e-mailed me a few days later about something else, which I couldn't help him with. After that - silence. I haven't known if his own beast has been sleeping, or if he's had preferred outlets for his needs, other asses to spank or impale. I rather didn't expect to hear from him again.

So I was surprised, and happy, and loved the sparseness of his request. He's a man of words, so almost perversely grants me very few of them.

I was suprised and happy and charmed... and had to say no.

Wednesday morning I see the dermatologist for a full body exam. As a melanoma survivor, I need one every year. Just in case. It's been over 20 years now, and the doctor thinks I'm safe, but you never can tell, you should never ease your vigilance, so Wednesday morning I'll go to the doctor and he'll study my body and look at my spots and hopefully not ask about one particular black and blue and yellowing bruise which can convincingly be explained away as one of the many I get from walking into things because I don't have depth perception.

So I had to say no to the Irishman. Because I didn't want to risk having any more marks to dismiss.

And now, of course, I'm squirmy and disappointed... sorry that I won't see him, won't hear his voice, won't see the change in his face, won't have him take another stab at fucking my ass... I like having his cock up my ass, and was sorry that he came so soon. I wanted to feel him buried deep inside me, I wanted to push my butt back against him, to take him deeper inside, to help him hurt me, to make him want to spank me as he sodomized me...

I have a new friend. We haven't met yet. A young dom, younger even than the philosopher. He answered one of my ads from last January. He wrote again the other day, and I dropped one of my veils and told him about this blog. I'd rather like to meet and chat. Not sure why, but he feels as if he could be a friend within this strange, secret world of ours. Anyway, as I was writing to him, and telling him about not letting the Irishman come because of my doctor's appointment, this fantasy came to me...

Nothing all that creative, really... we all have these doctor fantasies of one sort or another... of lying on the examining table... naked on the table... without the nurse he usually has with him which male doctors often have to protect them or us... especially when we reveal our nakedness and they go poring over our bodies looking for unusual marks...

Unusual marks. There is this bruise... I won't tell you where it is or what its shape... you do know who is responsible for it. He hurt me in a way he likes to, in a place that has special meaning for him... a personal symbolism that I suspect he uses over and over, which is why I may not speak of it....

So there I am in my mental masturbatory fantasy, as I may not masturbate without permission but am cursed with a rather twitchy twat after turning down the Irishman and teasing my new friend and an IM session with my Master...

I am lying on the examining table, and the doctor notices this bruise... black and blue with a yellowing center... and I evade telling him how I got it by saying that I bruise easily... and he says "How easily? It's important to know these things."

And he orders me to turn over, pulling off the modesty sheet so I am lying completely naked. And he says "Let's see how easily you bruise." He pumps the table down so he is standing over me. I hear him unbuckle his belt, I hear the unmistakable sound of leather passing through loops of cloth, and then...

I scream as the leather strip lands on my right cheek. And gasp as he brings it down again. I feel my lips swelling, I am leaking onto the sheet below me, I'm in pain and aroused and never think of standing up or calling for help... he stops for a moment and tucks the pillow under my hips and then brings down the belt again, but this time it strikes those already sensitive lips of my cunt and now I scream loudly... the room is soundproofed. Just this room. He was planning this all along... my screams make him hard, and now he pulls me towards him so my legs are hanging over the end of the table, and he pushes himself into me and gathers up my moisture as he drives himself in again and again and I'm moaning from the pain and moaning from the pleasure, until he pulls himself out and positions himself against my tight little butt hole which resists almost all attackers and unmans those who do eventually make it in.

But he's a doctor. He's done this before. And he always gets what he wants. Steadily, he pushes. Stubbornly, he batters at the door. No preparing the way with his fingers. Not for this man. Using only my own cuntal lubricant, he eases his way up to the sphincter and then shoves as if breaking down the door of a burning house.

It must be awfully effective soundproofing to keep the people in the waiting room from being alarmed. My scream rattles the walls, but only within the room. And then he fucks me, forcefully, frightfully, in and in, again and again, until I think he will break through the back wall.

He has learned over the years to silence his cumming.

He cums, and stands there for a minute, no more, as his cock continues to pump out the last drops of specialist's sperm. He gives my butt a good, hard smack and then... I don't know what it is, or where it was in the office, but something that feels awfully like a cane lands twice, hard, once on each cheek.

"Good girl," he says. "Please take pictures of the welts every day and send them to me. The receptionist will give you my e-mail address. And make an appointment to return in a week."

With that he walks out.

And I'm back a week later. The bruises are fading. It's time to get some more.