One of my favorite smells is fresh cut lumber. I love it. I love walking into a home improvement store -I just breath deeply..I find that scent intoxicating. I am not sure why that particular smell is a favorite of mine. I love to work outside in the garden…digging and planting and getting muddy. One of the best parts of this for me is having a load of freshly cut wood chips delivered. The scent can linger for days.
I have no past association with this scent, I mean there is no poignant girlhood memory that draws me towards this smell, I just like it. It’s fresh and woodsy and makes me feel good.
I like it a lot more now. I told you earlier that Richard built me a cross. It smelled heavenly and it was almost enough of an incentive for me to look forward to being strapped to it. You know, like what he does to me when I am tied there isn’t incentive enough. 🙂 Everytime I am restrained to the cross that smell calms me.
Richard is many things. He is brilliant and handsome and such a good person…..he is the type of person that just draws me in with his personality. The focus of this blog may hide the fact of just how loving and playful he can be. His sadism is just one part of a complex man that I completely adore. Another one of his qualities is that he has this twisted little kinky creative side to him. He made this uh….thing, I hesistate because I am not quite sure what to call it. Kinda, sorta like a whip….but I am getting ahead of myself.
I hated it.
I was already tied to the cross. I had hot cane marks criss- crossing my bottom and the back of my damp legs. Sometimes the intensity of his touch varies. There is always pain but given in different doses. On this day I could feel a real intent to hurt me behind the swings of his cane. They fell harder and faster and there was less recovery time between swings. Sometimes I think he can mentally detach himself from his emotions…that way it is easier to ignore my begging, my pain. I really want to explore this idea one day…we learn early in life not to hurt others…you know play nice..happy hands….all that. And we also learn it especially applies to those we love. I wonder if it is esier for a sadist to hurt one he cares about or to hurt a stranger. Maybe it doesn’t matter…? Oh well, thats another post.
I will remember this as being one of the most intense canings ever.
So I was a little shocked when he took a step closer to me and did not move to unbuckle my restraints. I was already trembly and needing held. His hands traveled the length of my body and came to rest on my shoulders. “I love hurting you.” he said. I knew that. I didn’t say anything, he didn’t expect for me to. One of his hands encircled my neck and pressed in just enough to start restricting my breathing. I love this. I love this so much that when he releases me I search for his hand as if to nuzzle against it asking him to do it again. One day I will cum from having his hand wrapped around my throat.
His other hand traced the cane marks on my back. I was so wet and he was standing so close to me I could feel the fabric of his pants against my sore bottom. I pressed myself against him the best I could as I was tied tightly. I wanted him, no I needed him inside me and shamelessly whimpered my need. I think he likes when I whimper, such an interesting sound even to my own ears. Not a voice, not begging…just a primal need that bubbles out of me.
He told me what I slut I was, how wet I was…and it was all true. I love feeling like that, feeling that need when it is so deep you ache all over with the want of it. I heard him remove his pants and soon felt the head of his cock press against my bottom. At that point I could think of nothing better, nothing more perfect than having him take me hard from behind as I hung from the cross. I was dripping wet and I felt it on the tops of my legs. I only got wetter when I felt his fingers cool and slick with lubricant press inside my bottom. I could have fainted from the pleasure of it. I was wrong, there IS something more perfect than being taken hard from behind hanging on a cross….being taken hard from behind ‘there’!
This still hurts me at first and I still feel my body stretch to accomodate him. Yet it is a fierce need driven pain that I can get lost in. It opens me up to everything secret and hidden about myself and I offer it without shame to him. I like that he wants to use me in this way.
And after that…after all that… I thought it was over. Of course it was not. I felt him pull out of me and I felt sore and swollen down there and my back ached from the cane and my legs and arms were strained from being stretched out on the cross. I felt my sweat mix with his and our juices ran together down my body. I was in pure subbie heaven. My head rested on the wood of the cross and I tried to breath so I couldn’t hear it. I wanted to regain some sense of composure but he wouldn’t let me. He kept talking, telling me what he was going to do to me. That he could do anything he wanted to me, I was his submissive cunt and that he owned me. Didn’t he, didn’t he? He made me answer…again and again. As he spoke he began to whip me with these long leather ties..almost like leather boot laces. They were stiff and hard, not at all like the soft doeskin of my cherished flogger. He doubled them up in his hand like a bouquet of belts and was using them to lay stinging snappy bites across my already tormented skin.
They snapped and bit and it felt as if it pulled skin away with every second of contact. In my pain crazed mind I imagined pieces of my skin flying off the whip and hitting Richard in the face. It would block his vision and he would have to stop…only this thought made me think of giggling and although I was never officially taught this lesson it makes sense to even a masochist like myself it isn’t wise to giggle when being whipped on a cross. Still…it was funny.
But back to the regularly scheduled torure of pixie….
I felt like he was standing a foot or two from me and firing off a rapid succession of stiff rubber bands off of one of those handmade wooden guns I was never allowed to play with when I was a kid.
The bites stopped finally and I rejoiced in the fact I hadn’t lost it. I was so ready for him to let me down. It seemed like my pain tolerance was fading and I began to feel quite vulnerable…almost like something inside me had switched over. The pain was now really only pain and my body wanted it to stop. I made noises that I hadn’t ever heard come from my body..I felt itchy from the raised sharp welts that the laces pulled up from my skin and I longed to have him bring me down and hold me close.
He picked the cane back up and I almost lost it. I felt choked like I wanted to say No…I can’t do this anymore. Only he wasn’t planning on caning me again. He tied the strands of leather to the tip of the cane. I heard him swish it around behind me, I swear I heard him chuckle so delighted he was with what he had made. My words were lost on him as I told him I couldn’t take anymore…please, please stop I asked him.
He stood behind me again and held the leather against my face telling me to breath in its scent. It mixed so nicely with the wood smell of the cross, with his very own scent. As he spoke he ran his hand open palm down up and down my back. He would stop every second or so and point out a welt or a mark that he found especially attractive, usually pinching it or pressing his finger down into the red skin. But always back to the soft calm comforting touch up and down my back, this is the two sides of Richard coming together. I love to linger inside of that touch.
He stepped back and began to whip me with his new toy. The leather tore into my skin like a fire. He alternated small tappy stingy bites with full fledged blows of the leather that caused me to cry out. I pressed myself as deep into the cross as I possible could only I couldn’t get away. With every blow I felt myself buckle and I could hardly stand, only I had to stand because not only did I have my wrists and ankles tied tightly to the cross he had looped a rope through my collar and secured it high above my head. I was more at his mercy than I have ever been.
I felt sweat pour down my back causing the leather to bite deeper and sting more ferociously. It was one of the hardest pains ever and on top of that emotionally I was spent even before he began. I heard my voice begging him to stop only he did not. My legs, my hips, my bottom, my back and shoulders all felt the bite of the whip until I was sure I was one giant blister. I felt him press against me again, he rubbed his body cruelly over mine knowing the feel of him caused further agony to my abused skin.
He spoke to me…at first comfortingly, telling me how well I was doing, what a good girl I was. “I am asking so much of you aren’t I” his voice was almost parental, loving and soft. I pleaded with him to please let me down that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Even as I spoke I knew he was not finished with me yet. “I know you want me to stop. It is your choice. I will continue doing what I am doing or you can turn around and take them on your breasts. Which do you prefer?” I couldn’t answer the pain was too real in my throat and I couldn’t swallow it down and move past it. He took my silence as a telling answer and stepped back to lift the whip again. He brought it down on my body again and again. He paid special attention to the soft skin at the small of my back…the tight skin stretched across my taunt shoulder blades…the sensitive backs of my legs.
I felt tears on my face and was startled at my tears. I never ever cry. I marveled that he had brought tears to my eyes, tears that I wasn’t able to hold inside of myslef. I let them fall unabashedly down my face. I was crying, he had made me cry. I felt…not quite broken but wounded somehow. I imagined a very old dish…the kind you see in an antique store with the thousands of little cracks and breaks in it yet somehow it is still in one piece. I was still in one piece, I was still held together even though I cried.
I felt him unbuckle me from everything and catch me as I fell back against him off of the cross. My legs wobbled and he held me tightly to him, tighter than he ever had before. I was wet all over and he felt cool against me. He let me cry…told me to wrap my arms around him as he held me before carrying me to the bed.
He found a limit of mine today and brazenly walked past it. He knew I would want that. I learned that I could cry and that he would let me, that crying was OK and if anything drew us closer. As if my tears were just another gift of submission that I place at his feet…like my body…like my heart. I learned that he wants to hurt me more than I can take, more than I want to be hurt. I like how that takes even more control from me and gives it to him.
With every limit broken I grow stronger in my submission.