"I am a fucking masochist...."
For a longggggggggggg time.... I've said "I'm an exhibitionist". Don't cover my eyes, don't restrict my hearing, don't tie me up. I wanted to be in the spanking bench. FACING THE DOOR. "I WANT TO SEE WHO IS WATCHING ME" ... or so I thought.
And then there was last night. I didn't even make it to the cross before he started wailing on me. I bent over to take the chain off, stood up, and it was off to the races. I don't know how long I was standing there, I don't know how long before I made it to the cross. I don't care. I don't know how long I was facing him or at what point I turned to face the mirror. I didn't care.
However long I was there, only once did I see who was watching me and that's because she was in the room when I came to. I started to cry a little bit. I tried to yellow on him, I don't know why. I thought .... I thought it was unbearable. I thought I would break. I could feel the wet between my legs and just ... fuck ..
"Why do I enjoy this so much?"
It didn't matter. I did and I do. I love it. He hit me hard. And fast. SAME DAMN FUCKING SPOT.
"How is he sooooooo fucking good at that?"
I tried to stay still. I did. I tried not to fall to the floor. I grabbed the fucking chains.
"FUCK. NOT MY LEGS."
I grabbed the cross. Nothing helped. My body wouldn't stay fucking still. It kept reacting the way it wanted to, not how I needed it to. He'd hit me, and I'd fall. I'd get yelled at. I'd straighten my body up again, and ... rinse and repeat. Every time I'd stand back up, more tears would fall. Not hard, but sobbing started. I don't really remember exactly how I got down.
I remember sobbing in the cross and then I remember sobbing in his chest. I remember thanking god I didn't have eye makeup on.
"Why is he laughing at me?"
But he had given me exactly what I didn't know I needed but that I'd asked for. That's what the laughs were for. My throat fucking hurt. I have no idea how loud I was, but I knew I was very loud.
I used to wonder if people thought I was putting on a show. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm not. I asked him, for that moment, to break me. To turn me into a shriveling, crying, pile of goo. And he did. I never thought I could do that in public. But he, Daddy ... makes it okay. He makes everything okay and makes it all safe. When I'm with him, nothing else matters.
Next time I think I need to be on a spanking bench or restrained somehow. I'm not sure I want to try to control my body like that again. It takes way too much concentration away from enjoying playing and way too much effort.
I was convinced today when he left for work I would cry, hard. Thinking about it now, I'm a little bit emotional but I'm not crying. When he left, I didn't cry. Without last night, That would have never happened. Seems I need to cry from a scene more often. Seems maybe I might even need to do impact more often. We shall see.
Finally, someone that can love me and beat the shit out of me too and won't treat me like a fragile fucking flower.
I love you, Daddy.
More than I'll ever be able to tell you. nbsp;
And then there was last night. I didn't even make it to the cross before he started wailing on me. I bent over to take the chain off, stood up, and it was off to the races. I don't know how long I was standing there, I don't know how long before I made it to the cross. I don't care. I don't know how long I was facing him or at what point I turned to face the mirror. I didn't care.
However long I was there, only once did I see who was watching me and that's because she was in the room when I came to. I started to cry a little bit. I tried to yellow on him, I don't know why. I thought .... I thought it was unbearable. I thought I would break. I could feel the wet between my legs and just ... fuck ..
"Why do I enjoy this so much?"
It didn't matter. I did and I do. I love it. He hit me hard. And fast. SAME DAMN FUCKING SPOT.
"How is he sooooooo fucking good at that?"
I tried to stay still. I did. I tried not to fall to the floor. I grabbed the fucking chains.
"FUCK. NOT MY LEGS."
I grabbed the cross. Nothing helped. My body wouldn't stay fucking still. It kept reacting the way it wanted to, not how I needed it to. He'd hit me, and I'd fall. I'd get yelled at. I'd straighten my body up again, and ... rinse and repeat. Every time I'd stand back up, more tears would fall. Not hard, but sobbing started. I don't really remember exactly how I got down.
I remember sobbing in the cross and then I remember sobbing in his chest. I remember thanking god I didn't have eye makeup on.
"Why is he laughing at me?"
But he had given me exactly what I didn't know I needed but that I'd asked for. That's what the laughs were for. My throat fucking hurt. I have no idea how loud I was, but I knew I was very loud.
I used to wonder if people thought I was putting on a show. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm not. I asked him, for that moment, to break me. To turn me into a shriveling, crying, pile of goo. And he did. I never thought I could do that in public. But he, Daddy ... makes it okay. He makes everything okay and makes it all safe. When I'm with him, nothing else matters.
Next time I think I need to be on a spanking bench or restrained somehow. I'm not sure I want to try to control my body like that again. It takes way too much concentration away from enjoying playing and way too much effort.
I was convinced today when he left for work I would cry, hard. Thinking about it now, I'm a little bit emotional but I'm not crying. When he left, I didn't cry. Without last night, That would have never happened. Seems I need to cry from a scene more often. Seems maybe I might even need to do impact more often. We shall see.
Finally, someone that can love me and beat the shit out of me too and won't treat me like a fragile fucking flower.
I love you, Daddy.
More than I'll ever be able to tell you. nbsp;