I hate pain. But in that moment, when I see that gleam in his eye, it’s ok. When I know he wants just a little bit more. I can take it. I can take one more hit, for him. It’s hard, and I usually cry. But he is there, urging me on, and even though I don’t get turned on by it, I do get turned on watching his arousal. The pleasure is all over his face and nothing makes me want to take another hit more.
Last weekend he strung me up in the basement and beat my breasts. It was the first time he had really gone after them, but he didn’t hold back. I don’t think I was prepared for how emotionally taxing it was. When he gets into full Dom mode he gets so serious and quiet. And after several minutes and some pretty red marks I was close to safewording. He knew and asked me if I could take one more hit, for him. As much as I hurt and I was tired, I wanted to take another. It felt so good to make him happy.
And I thought I was making real progress with the pain. His pleasure was really helping to get me through those difficult impact scenes. So this week Sir assigned me with several tasks to complete while the kids were out. Lots of fun naked chores and mindfulness challenges. One of them was some time in our closet with the door closed. I had to string myself up by the nipple clamps and repeat a mantra for twenty minutes.
It was hard. Too hard. I was crying after only a few minutes. When he’s there I can handle the clamps without a problem, but by myself I was blubbering. I was shocked at how little pain I could take when I was alone. I didn’t want the pain, it hurt. There was no distraction from his pleasure or his voice telling me I was doing a good job. I couldn’t have lasted another minute if he had asked.
I just felt so lonely. It was dark and cramped. I was hot and even trying to focus on the words I had to say didn’t help. He wasn’t there to see my submission, and it’s not like he could feel it at his office across town. I just felt like some crazy person who had put herself in a closet and was talking to herself while torturing her breasts. It didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel submissive. And that bothered me. The point of the exercise was to focus on him, to feel him there pushing me to take the pain. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t get past all the physical obstacles around me.
I obviously have a lot way to go before I can take pain when he isn’t there to push me. More proof that I am not the masochist that I think he wishes for. That bothers me too; the thought that I’m not what he wants. But he’s been patient at adding things slowly. And I’m trying to make small steps toward making the pain work for me, so I’m not just suffering through it.
Maybe more sessions together will help, as much as I fear them. Next he’ll be bringing an audience to keep me from feeling alone.