9/29/2020 Erotica

This is an actual scene completed on 9/28/2020 to start to deal with childhood trauma. 

“Go get me the paddle,” he says rather abruptly mid-conversation. My heart sinks immediately. I knew we were tackling a scene that day where I'd be facing a particular trigger, I had no clue he'd be throwing another trigger on top of it. I go and get a paddle regardless and feel my fingers tighten around it as I approach him. I loosen my death grip just in time as he takes the paddle from me. I had expected I might not actually let go of the damn thing. He leads me to the bathroom and I'm tensing up.

“I'm probably going to use 'Yellow' to pause, I don't want to end the scene,” I tell him as we walk into the bathroom, “I need to face this.”

He looks down at me then silently pulls my shirt over my head. He places the paddle on the cold tile floor. I keep my eyes on him and ignore the paddle completely. He can feel my apprehension as he slips behind me and slides his hands down my waist pulling off my pants. “I don't think you'll need the word yellow,” he says.

I suck in my breath. I'm starting to shake and when I try to talk, I can't. I'm screaming inside of my head that he has no idea. I want to tell him, but I just stay still and quiet. I'm half-praying to just face this and not call any colors at all be it yellow, red, fucking purple. I've got two traumas at play here, maybe it counts as more; a bundle? This is starting out exactly like my dream the night before but I decide not to tell him until afterward. I don't want to somehow negatively affect the scene. I briefly think about the notes for the dream on my phone and have a ridiculous thought that he somehow saw. I hate my paranoia and how my brain is another sadist working in complement with him.

My eyes drift down towards the paddle on the floor. Memories of my past start clicking on and off in my mind like some sort of seizure and I quickly look back to the tub drain. He pushes me down by my shoulders until I'm on my knees. He reaches over and turns on the faucet. I stare at the water, but it's not even the scary thing now. I'm trying to make friends with it like it'll save me from memories and drown them out. Jesus, I think, I make no fucking sense. Does he know I'm starting to lose my mind already in the anticipation?

He drops on a knee and turns off the water. Lifting me up, my belly is pressed against the ledge of the tub. “I'm going to start slow. I want you to plug your nose and willingly go under the water for me,” he says, “I will drop the paddle once. It's your cue to lift your head out of the water.”

I look at him in confusion but nod. So, he's just using the paddle for noise, as a signal? Relief washes over me realizing he's not going to beat my ass with it. I grab my nose still looking at him and shut my eyes. I was going crazy for nothing, this is just about the water. I lower my face about halfway to the bottom of the tub when I realize I may not hear the paddle hit the floor. It's okay, I know he'll yank me up if I don't hear it. The water surrounds my face and I'm just focusing on listening for the paddle to drop against the tile. Suddenly, the paddle lands against my bottom and I freeze.

He reaches in and lifts my head out of the water because I couldn't even move. I sputter out the word yellow and some incoherent apology. Then when I catch my breath add, “I'm okay. I'm okay. I can do this, I promise, please continue, I'm sorry.” Swiftly, he dunks my head under the water without warning. I didn't have time to grab my nose so I'm trying to be careful of that. The water, though, is calming like a dream. Anything is better than the paddle right now and I'm praying he doesn't take a second swing. He lands a few harder swats.

I cry out and suck in a huge gulp of bathwater. I yank upwards coughing. Fuck, fuck, I'm thinking as I lower myself back under, holding my nose this time. I'm again calming down in the water, holding back the memories though they keep trying to roll through my mind. It feels like I've been under a bit too long and I'm almost unable to hold my breath any longer. I start to slowly resurface when he cracks my ass again. I yank up coughing up more water.

“Jesus, can you stop the paddle?” I blurt out then my face turns red. I start to lower my face in and then add, “I'm calling Yellow I need a moment or my little is gonna pop out.” He merely reaches over me and dips the paddle into the water and stares at me. I worry he hadn't heard me. “I still need a-” I begin but then he starts to rub my bottom while looking into my eyes. I lose my thoughts so entranced with him. I relax into the water once more, forgetting to hold my nose. I don't even care.

He cracks my bottom with the wet paddle at lightning speed three times then stops. I scream as I emerge from the water. Images of my mother breaking a cutting board across my ass when I was nine years old floods my head. “I'm sorry!!” I start crying and go to dunk myself under but he catches my shoulder.

“What are you sorry for, baby?” He asks. I don't look at him, I stare ahead to the water.

“I don't know, whatever I did,” I mumble and go under. I let my tears float into the tub. He lifts me back out of the water by my hair and holds me there.

“Poor baby,” he says while landing another three swats turning my bottom to the shade of red he likes. I murmur what was meant to be the word yellow but I'm not sure what exactly came out of my mouth. He looks at me. “Did you say something to me?”

“Yellow,” I say again more distinctly. He rubs my bottom again letting go of my hair. My memories are still rolling in my head but the longer he touches me, the more they are soothed away.

“Do you want to crawl into the tub for aftercare?” He asks, “If so, I might have to put a collar on you and attach a leash so you don't drown.” He grins down at me. My mind feels a charge coming off of his words and I shake it off.

“No more paddle? I made it through?” I ask.

“You made it,” he confirms and smiles at me.

“I'd like that, yes, very much,” I say bewildered that the scene is over. I actually survived a paddling.

“It's your first experience with this and I want to slowly climb to your threshold at some point,” He says helping me into the tub. He takes a fistful of my hair. “I'm going to hold you since I didn't bring a collar or a leash into the bathroom.”

“I adore you,” I murmur in a daze, "Yanno, I had a dream just like this last night only ... I didn't make it through."

9-27-2020 Erotica

 The Unholy Masochist

I paced the floor scrambling sentences and fumbling words in my head. I must have briefly contemplated learning a different language several hundred times just so words would sound more glorious. I glanced into the mirror as I passed it for the tenth time in five minutes. My eyes met their reflection. I looked crazy. I was crazy in that moment. I stopped pacing and stared hard, narrowing my eyes trying to ascertain that was indeed me in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself, but not because I looked different; I felt so different that I expected my appearance would have changed somehow. He walked into the room.

He took my dizzy head under his palm and held me gently as I swayed from side to side instantly drunk from his presence. Then, he pushed me under his words until I was on my knees before him. My eyes were closed because I was so woozy I feared I'd become sick with the intoxication. Words shattered inside my mind and I wasn't sure if I still swayed while kneeling. I felt as if I vibrated no matter what I did. His hand was still on top of my head, probably keeping me from falling over in a stupor.

“What do you long to say to me?” He asked quietly. His voice was so soft I wouldn't have heard him had there been any other noise. Maybe there was noise but I filtered it out and just heard him. I can't know. His fingertips dug into my scalp just a bit as if attempting to get my attention though he had it completely already.

“I don't know,” I whispered. Silence hung in the tiny space of air between us. I questioned if he had heard my answer, but then I heard him chuckle under his breath. I was in quite a state, I was aware. How hard I wished to find the right words in that moment I'd have expected them to pop out of my head in a bubble like in the comics. The thought made me chuckle and I opened my eyes. I began to lift my head up to see him but he forced my head to stay in position.

“You can look up when you've answered my question,” he said. Instant tears. I just knew I'd never figure out these words I was so desperate to say. I couldn't even speak to plead my case because my throat went numb with pain. I shifted my eyes down to look at my fingernails digging into the rounds of my knees. How hard was he baring down on my head? I then realized he was pushing me down further and I couldn't sustain my position much longer. “Down you go, girl,” he said.

I felt him step back as my upper body lowered to the floor. His hand disappeared and was replaced with his knee in my upper back. He applied enough weight to make breathing a chore but not to pass me out. I laid there on the cold floor as he gently turned my head away from him, facing the far wall. I felt him run his fingers through my hair petting me, trying to coax these words out from my mind.

“How long can you cut yourself off from me like this?” He asked.

“I'm not trying to,” I whispered, “I don't have the words I need. You said I'd find them in time.” I hoped that reminder would encourage him to allow me reprieve from his demand. I heard the most vulgar laugh in response.

“Time's up,” he said increasing the pressure on my back and grinding his knee a bit.

If I could have moved, he'd have felt me tremble underneath him. Perhaps he did as my muscles involuntarily cascaded in spasm; invisible to the eye but likely felt radiating up into his body from mine. I knew nothing could be hidden from him. I stammered out some gibberish in response that he didn't bother to acknowledge.

“You're either an unholy masochist here or you really don't know what you want to say,” he muttered after a few minutes, “How is it that I know what you want to say but you've no clue?” He lifted his knee up from my back and grabbed me by the hair to yank me off of the floor.

He let go of my bunched up hair and just stared at me. Disheveled, I merely fidgeted in front of him attempting to 'feel right' thinking if my clothing and hair were in their places, somehow things would click and I'd be able to speak again. I looked at him questioning what he said. If he knew what I wanted to say, why didn't he just tell me? Did he understand how not knowing what I felt so compelled to say was driving me insane?

“Help?” I asked meekly. Afraid to say any more lest my voice falter and crack, I fell silent before him. He sighed and reached out to brush a tuft of hair away from my right eye. His finger traced down against my cheek to my chin which he gripped between his finger and thumb. He physically shook my head from left to right. He grinned at me- that was his answer, telling me 'no' with my own movements. I scowled for a second as he walked away from me.

“Perhaps you need more time indeed,” he called back at me and laughed. He was going to let me sit in my craziness a bit longer. I wondered if he knew what he had done that he had further confused my mind and I'd struggle even more with finding these words now. I smiled just then. Oh, he knew. He knew.

9-27-2020 Journal

 I can understand a vanilla person thinking the rules of my Dynamic are oppressive, but fellow kinksters? What the hell? The pathetic thing is I really only have two so far. I need permission to play with others which is honestly rather standard for the lifestyle and I have a bedtime. Bedtime seems to be the one everyone takes issue with, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. It seems it's because I'm adult and they interpret having a bedtime as being treated like a child. So? What if I'm into that, yanno, being a little as well and all. It's kind of amusing.

What I can't tell them is I'd let my Sadist choose everything if he wanted. He doesn't, I don't think, because goodness that's time-consuming and exhausting. But the opportunity is there for him in just about any area he'd desire. What is wrong with that? They don't want me to be treated like a child but at the same time are treating me as if I have no agency to be consenting to these rules, whatever they may be. The ironic thing is my Sadist isn't power/control hungry as past Dominants have been in my life. Like, he's actually reasonable and he's probably aware he doesn't HAVE to be reasonable with me. 

I also can't tell them I'd follow this man off a fucking cliff because how insane does that sound, right? It's because I know if I leap I will find him there catching me. The cliff is an illusion, a metaphor, a symbol- my Sadist isn't crazy for fuck's sake ;) There are just so many things I wish I could share with my friends but I know they'd never understand how in his web, trapped, I finally feel free.

9-26-2020 Journal

 Home

She kept the place dark. All of her life she thought she did that to avoid being seen. Maybe she had, but now, she kept it dark because he came alive in the shadows. He ate her secrets alive without making a sound, but when he spoke- god, when he spoke- it was the sound of her walls falling down with tremendous thunder. There was harmony in the sound of this chaos that she learned to cling to; tightly wrapping her arms around each memory he created with her.

He'd flick each switch on, illuminating and exposing her, then turn them off one by one to calm her mind afterward. A back and forth slow whiplash of emotion, pain, and peace all tied together with a string of his words. She couldn't comprehend her reactions. She couldn't comprehend belonging anywhere, even in her own home. Yet, he made a place for her to be because he saw her in the darkness, yearning for him.

And she'd follow him to the edge of the shadow only to realize she'd follow into the light as well.

9-25-2020 Erotica

Bloody Hands 

"Good morning," he says casually. I'm in shock that he's in my room and I'm half awake staring up at him bleary-eyed. The clock reads 5:00 am.

He grabs my jaw, curling his fingers behind my teeth, and tugs me out of bed. Reluctantly and still stunned, I have no choice but to follow as he pulls me through my room, downstairs, and into the bathroom. He says nothing until he opens the bathroom door and points at the toilet.

"Sit," he commands and I do so. He lets go of my jaw and teeth. I am still fully clothed in my fall pajamas, now, sitting on the toilet looking up at him in confusion. My tongue instinctively flicks over the back of my teeth where he had been. I taste copper. That's when I finally notice he has blood all over his hands.

Without a word, he begins washing the blood off in my sink as he hums. He doesn't look at me but I see him glance up into the mirror. He moves his head side to side, probably checking for any visible blood splatter as his eyes are keenly looking himself over. Then, he looks over his shoulder down at me.

"How did you sleep?" He asks casually. Too casually. My mind is reeling. How did he get into my house. How did he even know where I lived. Why the fuck did he have blood on his hands. So many questions circling my brain, and yet, I am stuck on the fact he asked me a question. I'm so thrown off by trying to answer when my mind is screaming its own questions at me.

"Um, okay I guess," I stammer out and he nods his head in response. Silence takes over for a moment. I'm trying to sort through all the questions to figure out what's vital to ask first and decide it's the bloody hands. "Why was there blood all over your hands?"

"Good question," he states flatly, "Do you ask because you're concerned I am injured or for other reasons?" He turns completely and smirks at me.

"I'm uh not even sure right now." I answer honestly then think to find a reason, "Both?"

He quietly shows me his one hand and I see a gash that has started to bleed again. He shows the other. It is also beginning to bleed. He takes my face in his hands and holds me tightly. Smearing his fresh blood on both of my cheeks, he pulls me up by my face off from the toilet.

"Look," he says and pushes me almost into the mirror. I step back a bit to focus on my reflection. His blood looks like a bad makeup job and I blush under the crimson all over my cheeks. I'm not even sure why I feel embarrassed. Actually, I'm starting to feel ashamed. Deeply ashamed, I hang my head. "What's wrong, girl?" He prods.

I can't answer because I don't know. I stare helplessly into the mirror, afraid to turn away or close my eyes yet not even seeing my reflection anymore. I'm looking right past my own face until it's invisible to me. He turns me around after a few minutes of silence. Now I shut my eyes. I can't look into his. I still don't even know why or what's going on right now. He reaches down and painfully physically opens my eyelids.

"Do my hands not mold you? Does my sacrifice not make you worthy?" He continues to prod. He points at the toilet and I sit down again. He softens his gaze but keeps staring at me waiting for an answer.

And I think. And think. I'm fully awake but my brain still can't wrap around his questions ... or my unasked questions. I realize I still haven't been taking care of myself quite the way I should. Was he telling me that I'm wasting his time with my lack of effort? Is that why I feel ashamed? He's telling me that my self-hatred is getting in the way of his work.

I look up at him and he can see it's dawned on me. He crouches down to look straight into my eyes. He takes a finger and moves a bit of his blood from my cheek to my bottom lip and kisses me; soft and quick. Then abruptly bites my lower lip hard.

"This is your only friendly reminder, girl," he whispers.

9-23-2020 Erotica

He pulled her close to his chest, not for an embrace as much as it was to siphon the fear radiating from her. Her heartbeat grew faster and faster the longer he held her, then abruptly he let go giving her a shove. Confused and hurt, she stared at him meeting his eyes for a solid three secrets before she cast her eyes down. She couldn't bear to look any longer.

"You don't know me enough to fear as intensely as you need to," he said quietly. The words stung her because she knew they were possibly true. She told herself 'possibly' but also understood that he never hurt her with lies only the truth. She didn't dare look up at him. She didn't nod. She didn't acknowledge that he had spoken in any way ... other than the tears that started to run down.

He cupped her chin and lifted her face towards him, forcing her to see him. Her eyes, wide, stared at him with only pain and confusion. Her neck tensed wanting to turn away from his gaze but her mind fought with her body. His eyes looked a bit kinder now, she noticed. He grinned at her but the gesture just made her more uneasy.

"You'll know enough in time," he whispered, "Just follow me." With that, he turned and walked into the shadows of the dimly lit room; into the darkness where she couldn't see him and didn't know what he had waiting for her. She hesitated. Then, she followed.

9-21-2020 Journal

I just realized I'm in love. In all its forms. It was right in front of my face all along but I didn't want to see it for reasons. But now I've run face first into this fact n can't unsee it. N I don't know what to do. 

I said it once because I thought it was true. Maybe indeed it was n I knew it. Or maybe I wasn't but was being psychic. Something inside of me knew where I belonged n the rest of me fought it like hell. Maybe it's different now because I don't have any fight in me left. Maybe I do, I am stubborn. I wish I could know for sure. I'm sure I'll continue to fight n put up walls, I always do, that's who I am. But I fear something is different and my usual reactions aren't going to rise to the occasion.

What if I can't fight? What if I can't build a wall quick enough? What if that ends up being a good thing? What if he disappears? What if I don't say anything, is that technically hiding if I just simply don't offer the information? Yeah. He'd see it like that. Fuck. I literally have no way out of this box. I belong here though why am I looking for an exit? Wtf am I this afraid of?

I should just go back to sleep. I can force myself to be tired this morning, wouldn't take much. 

Why does love feel like the best n worst pain right in my chest? He's gonna disappear. That's why. But I promised to stop hiding. Like an idiot. How the hell did he get me to say that? Was i drunk of his presence that much?? Yeah I am. Heh. I really fucked myself here.

Part Two

Know thyself, they say. I thought I did. I think I do. Who doesn't, right, aren't you the expert on you?

I realized this morning that I only have one strong burning need. Everything else is just a mere want. And unfortunately, this should have been obvious. I mean, maybe the suspicion was there but I couldn't fathom it fully enough to see clearly.

I think I know what I need to do n what I need to concentrate on now. As much as I fought it unknowingly. Yeah .. I fought hard n still will because stubborn. But  ... Okay I'm still very confused, bear with me here.  Maybe I fought because it wasn't ideal. I kept searching out there looking for what was in front of my face all along just like everyone else seems to do. That part is amusing in a way, how I can see so clearly when someone else does that all the while I'm guilty myself.

I know I still want to fight because so much just doesn't make sense to me about the situation. But I belong. It's home, calling to me. A siren song that I've been dancing to all this time while pretending I can't hear the music. Foolish. Oh, I hear it now. I hear nothing else.

9-20-2020 Journal, Addm

 Have you ever gotten high just from interacting with someone? What I mean is, not as part of any scene (at least nothing in the traditional context, perhaps lines are a bit blurred in certain interactions). And well maybe it wasn't simply interacting. Maybe it was watching them encroach. Not quite a predator versus prey takedown but not dissimilar either. An odd area of interaction and banter and beautiful struggle, only oddly enough, lacking the struggle?

Has giving consent to something made you dizzy as if in sub space? I'm not talking about consent warriors (not saying it's not important but some people go overboard beyond reason, and I'm referring to those people alone with that term. If you're not crazy with it, I'm not talking about you), the types who are specifically aroused by consent in ways that render the actual activity to background noise. But, yanno, average kinskters- has agreeing to something ever literally altered your brain chemistry like that? What the ever-loving fuck IS that?

It just felt right. And then I got high, then I got high - that fucking song, why is it still stuck in my head. Back to being serious now...

It seriously just feels right. I felt this wave of what I initially took as "relief" wash over me, like maybe relief I made the right choice giving this consent. I dunno. First time I've ever had this kind of reaction to something like this. I get high easily, granted; voice, submitting, etc but like normal things. This was kinda a negotiation..? I just can't figure out what's going on with me here. But I'm going to enjoy. And ... probably look up that stupid song on youtube now ... because I got high, because I got high, because I got hiiiigh.

9-20-2020 Journal

I'm sure everyone has been told at least once that someone finds them "interesting". It's a common compliment (or insult depending on the inflection). What I find interesting (ha) about the word is how often it's flung around by people who typically lose interest fairly quickly. The average is about two weeks, in my personal experience. This is without my "gray rocking" or doing anything deliberate to sabotage the interaction. Two weeks but they found me OH so interesting.

As with anything that I've become desensitized to, there's one person who emerges that will say it. I feel guilty for my reluctance to accept what they say. I feel as if my hesitance is basically punishing them for the behavior of others. It takes a lot of mindfulness to sidestep my usual thought process and undo the general lack of emotion I feel; practice to allow myself to react with my true self, unhindered with the debris of broken interactions. I don't always have this mindfulness.

In this case, I have to acknowledge that this person has been in my life for years, not weeks. It's easy to not even look at that fact when responding and I'm not sure why I'm so quick to overlook the evidence. Perhaps, I feel safer in being forgotten, ghosted, unseen, and unheard. I think there's less responsibility in a series of ultimately meaningless interactions than when I find someone who means something. Someone of value who thinks I have value. Now, I'm suddenly accountable. I don't feel obligated, no, that's different. I feel that not upping my standards is a disservice to this person be it standards of how I behave towards others or how I treat myself (especially how I treat myself).

And that's a rather scary place to be, no?

This person I care about cares about me, so now I have to care about me. I've been getting better with that over time, yeah, but it's finally dawning on me how far behind the progress bar I really am. And that's not where he'd hope for me to be. It's not even about pleasing or making him proud. It's about honoring the care and effort he invests with an equal amount of mine. I'm not sure if I'm phrasing this the best, but I'm trying. And, the extra layer of scary is that I'm uncomfortable with putting care or effort into me. Partly because I was raised that healthy self-care is somehow selfish and therefore I can't even distinguish between healthy self-care and true selfishness. I have no line. Partly because there's still a lot more self-hatred than I care to recognize. I'm sure I have other reasons but those ones came to the surface the quickest.

I'm not going to get into what it feels for me to be cared about, that would be a very long writing that, in the end, would make absolutely no sense to anyone. I'm not even sure if this writing will make sense to anyone. A lot of us go through life yearning to be cared for and a lot of those same people don't want the things that go alongside of being cared for, the accountability. I'm no different, I guess, but I'm aware of the other side of the coin and I know I can't choose one without its counterpart. I don't get to invent terms as I go along as much as I'd like to think I do. Some things in life are the way they are and no spinning truly changes it, it only fogs up your perception.

All of this from a word. Interesting. Signs and other words echoing in my head now all pool into place on the bigger picture due to one word. Hrm. I wasn't blind to things, I was neglectful. I refused to see because it felt like pressure upon me. And it is. And it's a pressure I need to also place on myself. And it's scary. And I don't enjoy it.

But I somehow know it's worth facing.

9/19/2020 Journal

 I've had non-sadists ask me "How do you punish a masochist?" Bewildering question. My answer has always been that because I hate to disappoint, punishment doesn't feel the same as a scene. And that's absolutely true. When I got into emotional masochism, part of me did wonder, would punishment still feel different or be effective? Well, in the respect of feeling miserable for disappointing, yes, it still hurts in a way that's far from erotic, and it probably still pretty effective in its own right. However, I was punished last night in a way beyond preemptive comprehension.

And thinking about it, being miserable for disappointing- that actually comes from me, it's my own punishment I am dealing out to myself. Again, has it's own appropriate purposes, but how does a Sadist make the punishment his own if relying on that flavor? He can't, he needs to actually not rely on it at all. He doles out his own flavor, regardless of what I'm doing to myself. They can complement each other or be two very separate things, I'm not sure if it matters, but having a Sadist who is cognizant of who is the creator of the feelings I'm experiencing is just amazing on so many levels I can't even articulate.

I believe it makes me grow in ways I can't really orchestrate by kicking my own ass. It certainly exhausted me. I felt like he broke me, for a while. I've never experienced this- a punch to the heart that went through any possible shield I could ever have. This pain went kinda beyond pain if that makes sense. It cut bone, into the marrow of my identity and I bled out. I got angry (normal reaction). I wanted to lash out despite the fact I was the one who had done wrong (normal again). But then, I had to look at the truth. I had no wiggle room to delude myself and justify my anger, I had to peel the anger off and look at the fear underneath and I certainly feared that what he said was true. It was an identity crisis.

I learned that I cherry-pick the criteria for something I was so proud of that I staked my identity to it most of my life. It's not a semantics issue, I actually cherry-pick and reject any definitions that I feel I cannot meet easily. I then fell down a rabbit hole of pain as if the initial blow wasn't painful enough. It made me physically ill which when combined from the adrenaline the whole ordeal already sprung a leak of, I couldn't stomach it. That was new for me as well, to be physically overwhelmed and sickened by ... emotion. And to learn a few things on top of that. 

It feels odd to be impressed when I was being punished, but I can't dismiss the idea that damn, this was an impressive feat. Not because I'm some bad ass (far from), but it's just been so rare to find someone who thinks like my Sadist. He demands to be the reason I am feeling pain in any scene, punishment or not, the pain is on his terms and he won't rest on his laurels letting me do some half-ass job at making myself miserable. It's ... he takes responsibility of it. He makes sure I learn the lesson correctly, too. It's ... fuck if I had a stronger command of language, it'd be nice to describe this fully.

The kicker is, I'm not surprised necessarily. I didn't expect anything basic to start with, but I guess I couldn't even fathom quite what actually went down. And to be clear, I didn't enjoy any element of this, I'm only appreciating the craftsmanship and it took me a bit to even be able to look at that. I don't think I've ever respected someone else this much and I feel bad saying that because there's a lot of people in my life I *should* respect more than I do. Respect, unfortunately, is a struggle for me, but it's coming so naturally for this man that I can't just gloss over that. I'm suddenly glad certain people don't know this blog exists. :/

I dunno, I'm still trying to describe something that happened and I feel I can't do it justice. At all. And it's been easy for me to look at or experience an erotic scene and see its beauty, but to find beauty and intimacy and vulnerability in punishment is rare for me. Actually, to be honest I've never felt vulnerable in a true sense in punishment before. I've been through a lot, but true vulnerability? Not a frequent flyer. Damn, I feel more connected to my real self (that thing I keep searching for) now. I think he's led me to finding an authentic piece of myself and that, of course, brings me closer under his arm. Things are still clicking as I jot this, sorry if so disjointed. Damn.

How the hell does being punished cause the most joy you've felt in weeks to just erupt like this? Am I losing my mind?? Why are my eyes leaking? Maybe it's too soon to post for public consumption, but eh, I needed to get my thoughts out while processing. This may end up having multiple parts or I may just stick with what I already have. I have a suspicion that this will be the most I can articulate because some magic just can't be illustrated by mere words.

9-18-2020 Journal

 I can post freely here. I really fucked up and didn't know I was making a huge mistake but he's pissed at me. It's the worst feeling in the world and I just need my thoughts out even though I'm crying it's hard to see what I'm typing.  I can't handle this. I seriously can't handle this. The punishment part, sure it'll be nasty but I can survive. I don't think he realizes how much it hurts to have him mad at me like this. I just wanna go to bed and wake up in a whole nother time period.

I can't really say much else cause I don't understand my thoughts.

9-6-2020 Journal

 Wanting

I feel you in my veins, your words whispering in between every pulse, driving me insane. If I could beg for you with words, I'd speak. The heat of lust is prickling down my entire body and I can't calm my breathing. The rest of my thoughts are just flashes of images I can't even comprehend.

You push me to my knees with only a look. Submission becomes effortless. I can't think of anything outside of this moment with you, please remind me to breathe.

Maybe it's not air I need, maybe don't tell me to breathe; I feel as if I can't catch my breath when I think of you anyway. I would suffocate just to feel your presence, I would suffocate without. I'm trapped in a web watching you stare me down like I'm prey. The pulsing of your words creep down from my beating heart and crawl between my legs and I squirm begging both for you to stop and to never stop. Never stop your words, your stares, my suffering in this dance we share.

I feel your fingertips caressing my mind, pulling strings this way and that. You yank on one and my back arches and I yelp in pain singing for you. You force me to feel, you allow me to feel you inside of me. You orchestrate pain in ways I can't counter and nullify and I wouldn't dare try, I want to feel.. for you. With you. I want to submit when it's uncomfortable, I want to fall into you, I want you to drain me of everything. You make hurting safe. You make crying safe. You make the darkness inside alive and erotic. I feel possessed by you, coming alive in ways I haven't known before meeting you. I will beg for you if there were words good enough. Please please please never stop hurting me.

9-5-2020 Journal

Cruel

The word probably brings up images of snarling sadists, in a kink community at least. There are many I've met in life and online that certainly fit the criteria and sometimes, I can get down with that. However, I've found in my personal experience that there's not much balance or even diversity with the real cruel ones. Then, I came to know of emotional sadomasochism which opened up a whole new world where, again, there was a lot of cruelty to sample as I wished. Again, it was very one flavor on the tongue in my experience until I stumbled upon my sadist. And … I can't say 'cruel' works, my desire for precision of language makes the word choice incorrect in my mind. (Oh, I totally fail to be precise with my words, by the way, don't want to give a false impression, it's just a goal I often never reach).

However, people who have witnessed our scenes or ones he's done with others would use the word 'cruel' to describe either the scene or the sadist himself. I've learned that you can't convince someone that any given person isn't cruel if they've already decided that the person is indeed. I describe it by getting them to imagine they've no comprehension of a doctor. There's no understanding of a doctor's skill or intent if you don't grasp what a doctor even is, right? Now, imagine you watch a doctor rebreaking a bone so it can heal properly. I'm sure it'd look barbaric. Cruel. Once you gain an understanding of what a doctor is, that ordeal you witnessed makes sense from an entirely new angle.

Are emotional sadists like doctors? Not all obviously, but mine has certainly healed parts of me I wasn't even aware were damaged. And it hurt like rebreaking a bone, on an emotional level. And the process looked barbaric to outsiders who don't understand this type of play, but also, to people who aren't privy to his purpose and intent. We often preach on here not to judge a book by its cover but we're all guilty of doing just that, myself included (ESPECIALLY). Whether it's a kink we don't get or someone doing our kink the wrong way, we're quite often as intolerable as the intolerable we point a finger at. Again, I'm no exception. I think it's human, to be honest, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't acknowledge our human nature while doing our best to reign it in and act better.

I feel I should add a disclosure of sorts. I myself am a sadist, too, not just a masochist. My style or flavor is laced thoroughly with cruelty. If someone called me cruel, I'd probably nod in agreement and go about my day. I don't necessarily like the fact that cruel is my niche is the world of sadism but I'm damn good at ruthless torture. It just bothers me when the word is flung around at people who really don't fit the definition. Things aren't always as they appear. For example, I'm sure I come across as harmless. Grins.

9-4-2020 Journal

Paper

As I'm staring up at the moon tonight, I think about what we're exploring. I'm trying to imagine the pain that is coming as well as how he's going to take my past experience and origami it into something beautiful and intimate. He has this way about him. The origami thought leads me to think of an adage that was a lyric in a song that holds meaning for me.

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

Yet ... he has a way of smoothing that paper out then caressing the ridges left behind until you actually feel proud of your scars. Not in a toxic victimhood type of way, but it's more in the way of "this is me and it's okay to not be perfect as long as I don't just give up". There's something about the hope it instills that is indescribable.

Then, my thoughts drift to other things- things spoken as if the whispers in my mind had been transmitting outward unbeknownst to me. I just blink rapidly in the darkness of my thoughts and the darkness outside tonight. Finding common threads stitching us up and being surprised when I ought not to be, I'm aware there are certain things I just knew without any confirmation. Maybe I'm shocked at actually being correct. I long since convinced myself certain inklings were a delusion- there's no way we'd have that in common because ... yanno, I never had a legitimate 'because'. It is a pattern to assume I'm wrong about a thought. He caresses another ridge in the paper and I fold

Then, the voyeur in me had risen up. He didn't seem to mind, actively encouraged it, it seemed to me. It felt he took much pride in his cherished property and I enjoyed participating in my own appreciation of what belongs to him. But that wasn't all I admired, it was their connection that made things more beautiful than superficiality could wave a wand at, and it was that beauty which made me writhe in lust. I use 'lust' but the word implies 'want' which would imply 'envy', but 'lust' is the best term I have; I'm not envious- quite the opposite which I also don't have the term to use. It's beyond a mere "happy for you" because what I feel isn't so flat. I feel something glorious, a joy of sorts. I dunno, I feel almost as I celebrate it..?

When I finally got back home, I sat on the porch. The streetlights are dim and the only light is from a few signs by the highway and a cell phone. I'm just here thinking, tapping away these words in a Note app. It's a clear mesh of poetic and bumpkin, this writing of mine. Kinda like me. It's authentic and raw just like my emotions; they're spilling all over the place right now yet I'm not worried about the mess at this moment. I don't always have to have my emotions under tight control, I can just feel them even if they're scattered and don't make much sense. I don't have to make sense. The places we're poking at, there's going to be a lot that doesn't make sense, I should get acquainted with that concept now. And I've got people in my life that don't make sense to me, perhaps I need to learn the difference between trying to understand someone and trying to make sense of them. He caresses another ridge, one I didn't expect

There's no real appropriate ending for this writing, at least, not one I'm satisfied with and I'm sure I'll struggle with the title the same.

My favorite line ever read

The sadist took what he wanted from you.

The intensity of this single sentence. Happy sigh.

9-3-2020 Fiction

“Does this hurt?” He asked as she laid before him on the table.

“No,” she said softly. His brows furrowed and he moved his hands to a new spot and simply looked towards her. He couldn't gauge her response from her expression so he repeated the question. Again, she told him that it didn't hurt, and again, he moved his hands and questioned her. Then, he put a hand up her gown and in between her bare legs and she jolted up from the table a little bit and caught her breath. He watched her breasts heave up and down for a moment under her thin hospital gown.

“Not what I hoped to see,” he said, mostly to himself rather than towards her. He hummed a tune to himself for a moment while drifting his fingertips up her thigh to her knee and patting it. He put his hands in a new spot and asked her the same tired question. Her answer remained the same though her tone still startled. He walked his fingers menacingly up to her left breast and placed his palm over her heart.

“Does this hurt?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said with a slight wince then coyly smiled up at him.

“Wonderful!” He exclaimed, “You'll be a good little patient and suffer nicely.” He put his other hand up her gown again then showed her his glistening fingers tips. “Now this is what I hoped to see.”

A physical medical torture scene with a hint of emotional sadomasochism. This was a dream I had the other day during a short nap that I never got to finish. Knowing me, the hint of emotional sadomasochism was a harbinger of what would become the focal point of the scene. I think the medical setup was going to end up more mental for me than physically intimidating. I imagine anxiety attacks, restraints, drugs, and padded walls were a guaranteed outcome. I hate that I'll never know now