The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one’s self to destiny. ~Napoleon Bonaparte
It is the deliberate pain that I enjoy the most. There is something inexplicably erotic about allowing someone to hurt you especially when the person hurting you knows what they are doing is close to or at your limit. I have pain so sexualized in my brain, so eroticized that it morphs into amazing pleasure as it absorbs into my body. I am amazedat times at my true desire to feel pain, to experience humiliation and to submit with everything inside of myself. I have stopped asking why. I’ll never know. I don’t even really care any more. People far smarter that I am can’t figure it out, I won’t try. It is what it is as Richard would say.
When I say ‘deliberate’ pain I am focusing on the type of pain that gives you two choices. The first is allowing yourself to sink blissfully away into deep subspace never to be heard from again….at least until it is over. Or pulling everything it takes from around you and inside of you to take the pain as it is given. To feel it raw. Both have drawbacks and advantages. The other day I was sitting on the floor in one of Richard’s spare bedrooms. This particular room has an amazing brass bed to which he had me tied to. Not tied across…but tied to. He had me sit on my bottom on the floor in front of the bed. I still had wrist and ankle restraints on from earlier in the day, leaving these on he spread my legs and looped rope through each restraint. Using the ropes he tied a leg to each leg of the bed and a wrist to each of the higher bedposts. It was an uncomfortable position but nothing I couldn’t tolerate. He sat beside me on the floor and toyed with me until I could barely stand it. He has these utility clips that are nothing short of nipple torture devices and when he removed them from the bag I felt dizzy knowing what was coming. As I watched him he ran a rope through the metal links attached to them and secured the rope to the brass bed in front of me. Pushing me forward a bit he pulled the tight skin right beside my nipple and attached the clamp to that skin. He did the same thing on the other breast. The pain was incredible. It was the hot type of pain that you almost need to wipe away or move away from. The kind that hurts you behind your eyes until your body adjusts to it. They were tight and felt as if they were clawing into my soft skin. They pulled and twisted harder than the cruelest hand ever could and I found I could not look away. He watched my reaction. He knew the agony I was in and he loved it. It was deliberate and methodical and amazing.
Subspace was not an option on this day. His words kept me in the here and now his touch kept me achingly on the brink of release and need. I felt a cool blade on my back and knew he had the knife. I felt it glide across my skin, heard the almost metallic sound of metal against flesh. He whispered that one day he was going to put it inside me. He sat behind me and ran the knife over each nipple…the pain of the clips punishing me as I instinctively drew away from the blade. Sitting up having to be aware of every shift of my body made drifting away impossible. He knew that. He touched the point of the blade to each of my nipples and I heard my own soft moans in my ears. As I watched him hurt me my body ached with desire and longing for it to continue. I am in love with the fact that he wants to hurt me, that he can. The fact there is danger and intense heat in every touch he offers me and in every look he gives me. There is a look a man gets when he is hurting you and loving it. I can’t explain it and probably wouldn’t even if I could. It is what it is.