Nestled beside him I thought it was over. It wasn’t.
I am always left wondering when a scene stops and when it begins again. I have wondered this so often lately I have come to realize there are no real scenes between Richard and I. I am not suggesting that he always has me tied to a cross or over his bed…though that does have its appeal! We do things together, we go out to dinner way too often…..we go to the movies or just hang out and eat ice cream in bed together watching tragic movies. Yet even when I am not face down on the bed begging him to stop hurting me there is always, always an underlying current that stresses my obvious submission to him. For example, he orders for me when we go to dinner….decides what wine I will have or if I will have any at all. He thinks nothing of reaching over from the driver’s seat and spreading my legs and flipping my skirt up- just because he can.
I never doubt that I am owned. Even when he is far away, I know. He make sure I know. He travels from time to time and it just so happens that this is one of those times…knowing I hate change and ambiguity he left me an email of things to remember while he is gone. I will share # 9 and #10 with you……..
“9. never forget, or get too far from the thought, that I own you, and you are my submissive cunt.
10. look forward to my return, and the chance to serve me – by which I mean keep yourself focused and positive so that you can be at your best for me when I return. Submissive, wet, anxious to please. That is the reason you need to keep yourself focused – so that you can be the best submissive you can be for me. “
So it is never far from my mind, with reminders like that how could it possibly stray?
The intensity of my submission fluctuates as does his expectations of me but the ‘scene’ is always there because it is not a role for us. It is who I have become. I like this because it allows me to live freely in my submission to him. There is no room for role confusion.
What is wonderful about Richard, and luckily I had the same thing with Mark, is he has an amazing intuitive and nurturing side to him. I think that even if I wasn’t a masochist, even if I had a clear idea able to cut through the ribbon separating pain from pleasure I would still submit to him. I bask in it. He can take me through the most intense experience and leave me barely able to think on my own and then nurture me back to where he needs me to be.
That is what he was doing the other day. I was curled against him, our faces almost touching. My eyes were closed and my head was busy clearing away the submissive fog that covers me even after the pain fades. I was in that peaceful place that mimics sub space, the darkened room of quiet noise that I linger in after the pain sneaks away. It is these times that truly make me his…the way he can not take his hands off of me and the steady way he strokes me and caresses my skin, the way he kisses me over and over until I can barely breath. This is the deluxe version of aftercare… :).
I may have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. I often do when he holds me this way. He makes me feel safe and cared for even after the most intense pain laced scenario.
I felt his hand climb up my back and he rested his hand against the back of my neck. I felt him press his fingers into my skin. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt me and choking me was not his intention. Ye his grip was hard enough to get my attention and it told me he was not drifting off for a nap. He obviously had need of me again.
“Get your mouth down there and suck my cock.” His words were hard in my ear. That is how fast he can switch over from Richard to RICHARD.
The pressure of his hand never let up and it guided me down his body until his cock filled my mouth. I felt him grow in my mouth and ignored that unsettling feeling that comes when I recognize my own power over him. I don’t like that and when it rushes through me I remind myself that I only have the power that he allows me. I tell myself how lucky I am that he allows me the privilege of serving him in this intimate way.
He pulled my head away and replaced his cock with his thumb exploring my mouth with his finger. His now wet finger brushed my own drool across my lips.
“My cocksucker.” He said watching me, his grip still hard on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes as his words wound around that soft place inside of myself that waits to be hurt. I shook my head slightly, I didn’t like this word and I didn’t like when he used it to describe me. It’s a hard word full of negative connotations and not something that I have been able to eroticize at all. I am his ‘cunt’, his ‘slut’….both of these can come right out of my mouth on demand but even that was a difficult process.
He pressed my head down into the bed and pushed me roughly over on my side. He got off the bed and walked to the other side of the room. I was glad he hadn’t made me say it, I am not sure I could have said it. I have struggled in the past with using words like that even at his request. He gets so much pleasure out of it when I do I try hard to do as he asks…just sometimes I can’t make myself say the words. I turned my head and watched him wondering what he was going to do.I saw the thin wood in his hand….my first thought was of how thankful I was that he had not picked up the heavy green lexan cane. I swear it has spikes. He sat on the bed beside me and placed a hand on my hip pulling me over towards where he sat. I waited for him to tell me to roll over onto my tummy or to get up on all fours but he didn’t. He smoothed his hand over my hip and slid it back down almost to my knee.
Even before he told me it hit me what he was planning and I turned my head and whimpered into the pillow. I have often fantasized about having one part of my body isolated and savagely caned. He’s done this a bit. For example he has caned my breast in the same place over and over until I was sure the skin would break. It never did. Yet the pressure he would be willing to put behind a swing of the cane landing on my hip was certainly going to be different than what he would do on my small breast. He began to tap the cane on my hip and down my outer thigh..tap..tap..tap. Over and over it made contact, not hurting but causing redness and a slight hot sensation. The taps began to get harder and it seemed as if he was caning me in a series of eight hits up and down the top part of my outer leg. Every time he would go down towards my knee he would come back up and increase the pain of the cane. It really started to hurt and soon I was clutching at the pillow trying as hard as I could to not roll over or push the hateful cane away. This was hard and it seemed to go on for such a long time. I am as much terrified as I am calmed by the sense that he holds little back now when he beats me. My leg felt swollen and hot and with every blow of the cane the pain increased. He kept his other hand on the bony part of my hip pressing me into the bed not letting me squirm around too much. Just when I thought he had finished he would start another journey down and then back up my leg. I was headed away from the pain when he stopped.
I held the large pillow against me and bit into it hoping the cotton would absorb some of the cane’s torment. It didn’t. I heard him toss the cane down beside me and I looked up at him to see if he was truly finished and when I did I felt his cock once again press against my lips. He thrust into my mouth with an almost angry stroke filling my mouth and making me want to take in as much of him as I could. I had no control this time, no power. I liked it more this time. I love his cock in my mouth when my body is still wracked with pain. He held the back of my head and used my mouth as if he would my cunt. When he does this I am always reminded that I am his to do with as he pleases. This is a feeling that meets that ‘please humiliate me’ part of my submission. He pulled out of my mouth and gripped the back of my head tightly forcing me to look up at him.
“Tell me what you are.” His voice was soft but almost menacing as it played around near my ear not quite sinking in. I struggled against his hand holding my head as his other hand drowned itself between my legs.
I shook my head…”I don’t know what you want me to say.” And I truly didn’t. My mind was on myself and on the building pain enhanced orgasm brewing deep within me. I was right on the cusp of release. “Tell me you are a cocksucker.”
Oh, God! Anything but that I thought. I can’t say that. I love when he throws filthy and vile words and names my way but it takes something from me to have to say them myself. It is hard enough for me to use the word ‘cunt’. Even in my writing up until Richard I never really had a name for it….I called it ‘down there’ or ‘you know…that’. He forced me to choose a word for it and then made me use it. So I picked ‘cunt’ because ‘pussy’ to me is just awful. Now he insists even in my writing that I use a real word.“No” I mumbled slightly not really as a refusal but more as a denial that I could possibly say that.
“Say it. Say you are a cocksucker.”
I whispered “No” again trying so hard to figure out why I couldn’t say it….wanting so badly to say it for him. It was such an easy way to bring him pleasure. I longed for that look he gets that tells me he is pleased with me…I wanted him to tell me I was a good girl, his good submissive cunt. Yet I couldn’t make myself obey him. My own voice was too loud in my head and I struggled to break free of that tight sticky wrong feeling and revel once more in my complete submission to him.
He dropped his hand from the back of my head and pulled his body completely away from mine. I was left alone there in the middle of his bed curled on my side struggling to say what he wanted me to. Inside I cursed my weakness, the way I was letting him down.
“So it’s all about you…your orgasm? As long as you cum you can do or not do whatever you would like, is that the way it is?” He said all this as he reclined back against the pillows, he said all of this with hard, disappointed eyes taking in my faults. I shook my head but didn’t speak, I couldn’t. What could I say?
“I have had two ‘no’s and a refusal to answer me. Do I need to get the cane back out?”
(That last line may live forever in my top five of the hottest things he has ever said to me.)
As he questioned me his fingers bit cruelly into the sharp throbbing welts of the cane left on my leg and I moaned into the pillow. His voice was cold and there was more than a hint of warning and impatience.For once the idea of that cane touching my skin again made me sink a little inside myself. I looked at him and knew that I was pressing my luck. Why did I have to be such a silly little girl….they were only words and less painful than what would happen if my now semi-angry Dom picked up the cane again. (and don’t say anything Ron…Richard would NEVER touch me in anger..:) ).
So I said it. “I am a cocksucker.” “Your cocksucker.” I added for emphasis.
And I survived.
And later that night, he caned me again anyway.
I am such a lucky little cocksucker. J