So Sir messaged me from work with a realization I had been chewing on for a few days.
Sir: You are not a masochist because you “like pain.” You are a masochist because you like it when I get off on your pain.
Rye: I agree. Is that bad?
Sir: Not even a little bit. It’s good!
Rye: I was planning to write about it later this week
Sir: I just was worried you might be having a minor identity crisis.
So here it is folks, it’s finally time I admit it to myself and to you. I am a masochist. An emotional masochist for myself and a physical masochist for him. Just a pain slut all around I guess. And the trippy part is that I’m really okay with it. Actually even a bit excited. Because now that he knows it too he may be willing to play a bit harder. I think him having the realization the same time as me may help him feel less guilty about enjoying it.
I’m not sure why I fought it for so long. Afraid of what it might mean for us. Maybe I am just scared that that is what our play will become. Sir has admitted that it has become difficult for him to orgasm during sex if I’m not at least whimpering a bit. And I think I’m just worried that I’ll soon be destined for that with degradation. If he’s not calling me names or beating me I won’t be able to find release either. As a fan of the occasional afternoon Doxy ride, it would be a shame to lose that. Maybe I could record him calling me a worthless slut that I could play when I’m alone.
No matter my fears, it doesn’t change the truth. I take pain for him because he likes it. It makes him hard and it makes our rough sex rougher. I only wish my marks would stay longer for him to enjoy and me to appreciate. We are both realizing how much we like them.
So happy Friday from your friendly neighborhood masochist! Hoping to have a weekend full of fun and now gooey pain as well.