amazing the memories that float to the surface weeks and weeks after a play time with Master…
He called me to kneel between His legs as He sat in one of the stuffed chairs. I was there a long, long time, longest ever for kneeling that way. He pulled my head to His chest with my hair, then held me close. I could hear His heart beating steadily under my ear as His hands moved over my head, down my neck, over my shoulders. It was a gentling thing, then the solid whack of His palm on my shoulder, or my upper arm. There was no rhyme or reason to it, a long series of strokes, then a period of hard solid slaps.
Time stood still for me. Occasionally He would pick up one of the implements that He’d placed along the flat arm of the chair. A dog grooming brush (the kind with the metal teeth). A small hairbrush. Sir Wolf’s cake spreader (covered with tape to protect skin from cuts).
Sometimes He would take one of them, and sitting up, would deliver a series of strikes down my back or arms or both. It was painful and soothing, like being fed steadily yet slowly. I need pain. Okay, I don’t need it to live, but I crave it. I guess I’ve always played a bit with pain. Even as a kid I’d poke and prod at scabs (my mom was forever telling me to stop picking at them! But the pain gave me a curious thrill even at 9 or 10) and I had no idea. NONE of my friends did it, just me. So the craving for pain runs very deep. This pain, His pain, was all at His whim, and balanced with the gentle strokings, the occasional tugs on my hair, I remember it all braided into one sensual experience though there was no “sexual” touching.
Sometimes I’d just lay there, cradled to His chest, and we’d stay just like that. Time didn’t move for me, it was one of those rare, almost meditative moments where I was simply existing in wholeness. It was one of the most peaceful times I have ever had as an adult.
Then He’d shift and I’d feel the steady thwap against my back, His fingers buried in my hair holding me there, even when I squirmed, as the implement hammered at my back. It was soothing and magical and painful–and just when I thought I couldn’t bear it–He would stop.
The crescendo came when He tugged me up from my kneel (as I creakily rose) and up over His knees. I told you in a prior post about that, the long, long intense session of spanking, over His knees, like none we’ve had before. I confess, my ass hurt for several days after that, a delicious throb whenever I sat. It is a good memory, this one.
My vanilla life has been near to overwhelming me, so that sometimes I forget I’m a slut, I’m a submissive, that I’ve got another side of me. The pendulum will swing back the other way, I know it will. Life is ever working to balance itself, after all. It will be a long while before we get another play session, so for now, I let the memories of that other time rise.