You wouldn’t know He is a sadist if you met Him casually somewhere. The first time I had met Him, we had chatted and laughed, I had seen his face light up from the naughty twinkles in his big, beautiful eyes (Oh, those gorgeous eyes…Sigh). But then that was before. Much much before I decided to submit to Him.
I am sort of proud and kinda little bit tough to break. Mostly because I know my strength, I find being overpowered very interesting. No, scratch that. I find being overpowered by Him very interesting. Someone else tries to overpower me, I’d either wipe the floor with that person or I’d leave the situation some way or the other. I give Him the opportunity and the power to overpower me. I’m tempted to use the word “defeat” but that just doesn’t seem to fit. The word defeat implies the other person wins – even when I’m overpowered, I still win, since that is what I do want.
Make no mistake, since I do wish to be overpowered, I’d put up a resistance strong enough to push Him to use His strength. I know, the more I resist, the more He would have to use His strengths to overpower me. At the same time, I don’t want to seem unwilling to be overpowered. Now that’s a bitch of a dilemma, isn’t it? Damn!
So of course, this time I told Him I was wondering about being made to cry from physical pain as well as being on the receiving end of emotional pain. And oh, isn’t He the sweetest and most obliging sadist ever!!! He DID make me cry!
I guess He felt He needed a reason to give me enough physical pain that I’d cry, so he did it as a punishment – for not being my usual obedient self (Meh, He could’ve done it just because He wants to and not as a punishment, I’d not at all have been bothered).
He started off so lovingly, being all nice and stuff!!! He even gave me nice little paws by wrapping up my fists in cling film. I loved the restrictions it put on my activities. Of course, I went straight into kitten mode. I mewed and purred.
Then when He ordered me to stay in the bed (“Stay right there, whore!” Mmmmmmmmmmmm) and went to the kitchen to get food, I crawled after Him and followed him into the kitchen, rubbed my head against His leg and had the great idea to stick my head between his legs (The calf muscles, you dirty mind!).
Like a nice and bratty Dom, He caught my head between His legs and didn’t let go until He was free to go grab some rope and tie my arms behind my back (With me putting up a nice struggle accompanied by giggling so He bent me forward and caught my head between His legs… again!). Then He lovingly tied me to the kitchen door (Can’t put me out of His sight, the big ol’ softy!). He also hunted up this mean instrument that kept my mouth open and me unable to talk.
But all of that and more was the build up… There came a point where He gagged me with a panty and took a crepe bandage and wrapped it around my head tightly – leaving me able to breath and hear but not see and talk! My hands tied above my head and secured well, leaving me absolutely vulnerable to His wishes. The soft and sensuous music playing in the background became one with the sound of the flogger hitting my bare breasts – the one spot in my body where I can take very little pain.
The restraints had left me free to twist and turn and twirl but not get away from the range of the flogger. So I wriggled, whimpered, protested through the gag and when that didn’t work, I tried to turn away from Him, inadvertently presenting my delectable ass to Him – and of course He flogged the bare ass until I turned back around.
What a precarious position to be in! Helpless in His hands, the fiery licks of the flogger making me wish for Him to stop and at the same time knowing that I can take much more – whimpering and whining, yes, but more. At a deeper level, I really don’t want Him to stop. I like being so Helpless and vulnerable to Him.
At other times, He stops when I whimper too much, this time, He didn’t. He continued flogging mercilessly until I started sobbing. Sobbing because I can’t get away, sobbing from the physical pain, sobbing because I have no control over the situation, sobbing because I know I want this, sobbing to see if that would make Him stop, sobbing because I didn’t obey Him, sobbing because I still don’t really want Him to stop, sobbing because that’s what my body decided to do, sobbing because I like the feel of the tears rolling down my cheeks, sobbing because I can feel the wetness between my thighs!
He stopped and brought down my tied arms and hugged me close – softly murmuring, not to soothe me, but to tell me what more He can do to me. That He can put on the clothespins on my tender and sensitive nipples and flog them off. He asked if I was ready for that. I nodded. I was ready. He paused, and asked again. This time, I thought about it.
It didn’t seem He really believed I was ready, so He was giving me another opportunity to say no. Was I ready? Yes, I was. If He gave it to me, I’d take it until I knew I can’t anymore. Did I want it? Futile question – one part of me doesn’t, another part is eager for it. Do I say “Yes, I am ready”? Er, may be something to be saved for later! I shake my head. My breasts have taken enough pain, now they are craving for some loving attention. I can’t keep subjecting them to such pain – it’s just not fair to those beautiful boobies that make me look so sexy!
He picks me up and carries the softly sobbing me to the bed and unwraps the crepe bandage. I look up at Him tearfully before attempting to hide my face in the bedsheets. Of course, that wasn’t the end of the night, but that was the end of my sobbing.
All the while He was flogging me I knew it was a punishment, because I had neglected to follow His orders. I knew I could use the safeword gesture He had taught me, but I didn’t feel the necessity to use it. It was later I had wondered why I hadn’t, and realized that the answer is a mix of reasons.
Whatever He was doing, I had consented to it and hadn’t felt the need to withdraw the consent. I did have the trust in Him to give Him the power to do this to me – knowing I was safe with Him. While my body wasn’t enjoying the physical sensations from my tortured breasts, I still didn’t exactly want Him to stop. Lastly, I don’t know what to call this tendency of mine where I’d take whatever He decided to do to me (with protests as and when needed), because I love the way He breaks me.
He made me cry, not only because I had asked for it, but because He had a reason to. And I loved being able to cry from physical pain after so many years. I loved crying itself – I have no idea why! You made me cry and I loved it. Thank you Master.
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