Tied into Submission

I –for all that I want it–haven’t been very submissive. We talk like friends, he and I, with laughter and teasing. We’re not in a rut, but both of us realize that the tasking and rules of times gone by don’t seem to be a part of our current dynamic.

It’s fine, really. I’m busy. He’s busy.

But it leaves me feeling nervous for playtime. Can I submit? Do I want to submit? Do I want the pain? Can I take it? This, after 8 1/2 years. *wry grin* Yeah. Still to question if I can.

But he is wise in the ways of nilla, and circumvents all that. He physically overpowers me, first off. He uses that tone of voice, and there is nothing I can do but obey. (And yes, he’s not asking me to kill someone in the next room…I’m talking playime here, not falling into the throws of Stockholm syndrome!) He touches me, sometimes softly, sometimes harshly and I hold my breath waiting for which it will be.

He cuffs my wrists to my thighs, then later rigs this system where I am further secured to crossed lines in the middle of the bed. I literally can. Not. Move. My legs won’t fully close, my hands are useless, and I’m existing only for his pleasure.

When he notes this he is quite pleased with himself, and sets to pinching my ass and swatting it. He uses his hands and that blasted olive wood spoon I gave him. It hurts and I’m whimpering and humping my ass up and down the 2 inches it’ll move…and he laughs.

I can’t get away.

I *must* submit to him, to whatever he’s got planned in his devious mind. I come a million times. He finger fucks me, and torments with my Hitachi. (OMFG, OMFG). I whimper and cry and beg.

He ignores me.

(Maybe he laughs, too. I can’t remember huge chunks of that time, other than the Hitachi and orgasms and trying to breathe.)

And I realize, as I lay there unable to defend myself, unable to stop him, that while he forced my submission, I am now wholeheartedly giving it up to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Use me.

Hurt me.

Until I’m floating, I’m happy, I’m hurting.

By taking my body, he has freed my mind.

 

 

Craving

Her hands drew tight around the metal bar as she lifted to her toes. Biting back the cry of pain, she bit hard into the rubber ball lodged behind her teeth.

The faint cut of an instrument passing through air was all the warning she got before another blow landed close enough to where the first one did. There was no relief in that near-miss.

Pain exploded over the curve of her hip. Shoulders hunched, it looked like she was trying to cover her ears, to block out sound with her raised arms.  She panted through the raw hurt of it, short staccato explosions of breath through her nose. Tears fell unnoticed, sweat slid through her hair, plastering it to her scalp.

Another lash, harder than the others brought the first squeal. Her toes curled, her knuckles whitened as her body quaked with the fast hard pops. It was white-hot, it was molten.

She shivered as the sweat ran freely, twisted and turned to free herself. The bonds held true. She grunted, gurgled, drooled. He changed the rhythm of the blows now, slowing. Deep hard thuds against her thighs, ass, and back. Eyes closed, she absorbed them all.

Falling under the spell of the pain, the craving for it ignited the rocket that sent her spiraling away, out into the nether regions of her mind. She felt the connection between them-Him, the belt, and her- all joined in a unique meeting of mutual cravings. She let the stars take her sailing, feeling yet not caring, the sudden rush in the tempo of the pain-dance.

Breaking through the throbbing was the cool touch of His hand, soothing over her welted flesh, pulling her back to Him with just that simple stroke. Her burning flesh calmed under His hand, the heartbeat in her assaulted backside the twin to the rushing love she felt for this Man, who could hurt her so deliciously. That He understood her craving for His need to draw the hurt to the surface was nothing short of a miracle. Her fingers tightened and relaxed upon the bar He had tied her to.

The rustling from behind her assured. He was sorting through His Black Magic Bag.

The whistle through the air was her only warning as He struck her upper arm. Her hands drew tight around the metal bar as she lifted to her toes. Biting back the cry of pain, she bit hard into the rubber ball lodged behind her teeth.

Inside, she smiled.