It’s been…what? 72 hours or so I guess, since I was with the Man. Some bruises are blooming in shades of indigo and puce. (Silly aside here, did you know puce is a brilliant pink? I always thought it was green but it isn’t.) So some parts are pink-red, some are blue, some are blackish and some are green. I’m a rainbow! And depending on how I move, I feel some of the things He did to me. The bites on my right shoulder are especially tender today.
It’s funny how the pain comes in waves like that, isn’t it? It can take days before the full brunt of our playtime registers on the pain scale (she says as she shifts her sitting position to alleviate the ache on her right butt cheek.)It helps me remember, and keeps me in that spaced out zone too. There was a moment, there, when I was chanting “the road to bliss is filled with pain..” and He heard me.
I repeated it.
I couldn’t see Him, face buried on the wall, but I could *feel* Him grinning, like a little kid who sees the bike under the tree on Christmas morning.
He nailed my back with the rubber threaded whip from Wolf and made me cry…and I totally forgot the chant then.
I did, however, find my bliss. Took some time to get there since up until that point He’d been slow and steady and methodical in giving pain…enough to keep my attention, to keep me turned on, but to not push me over the edge, you know? It’s a delightful balancing act…too much and the slut goes into blissland too fast and HE doesn’t get to enjoy the delivery. I’m not sure how He judges it, really.
He and I wanted pictures of my new “fuck me brainless” shoes, and we took a series. It was hard getting good light as the sky was pewter gray outside the window, and the soft yellow glow of the room lights didn’t make for optimal photo’s. We took this one:
Later we took a few pictures of the shoes with me on my belly, feet kicked up in the air behind me. I heard the little snap that the camera makes, another.
There was a long pause.
The Man moves with an amazing amount of stealth, have I mentioned that? He can move *silently*.
Which He did.
Fetching a little surprise for me. A series of whacks with some fucking thing or other on my ass.
“Thought you were issuing an invitation there,” He says, His tone innocent.
Rubbing my now red and aching butt with one gloved hand, I gave Him a glare.
“I thought we were taking pictures.”
I flop back over onto my belly, muttering.
“I wasn’t ready for that.”
“Oh well,” He says cheerfully.
“Your ass is *almost* the same color as the shoes,” He says, His voice, amused, comes from right beside me.
He whacks me again as I yelp.