“Wake up” he said this even as he pulled the covers off of me. I opened one eye and peered up at him still in the disconnected state of half sleep. Groggily, I asked him what was wrong, it was still so early. I really didn’t want to get up yet and said as much and rolled over trying to snuggle back into the warm spot he had only recently vacated. The blanket around me still smelled like him, like us and I snuggled down into it’s warmth preparing to entice him back to bed. Morning came quickly as his hand snaked around my wrist and pulled me out of the bed where he roughly pressed me down to my knees in front of him. Conscious immediately of my nudity I reached for the safety of the white sheet to pull over my body.
“Oh no…” he frowned tugging the sheet out from beneath me and tossing it to the side. “You know better than that.” And I did. He flipped me back over onto my tummy on the bed and gave me a series of hard smacks on my bottom. He stopped just when they started to hurt and he told me how red my bottom looked. For a second I felt frustrated because a little spanking always makes me want more but when he yanked me back up onto my feet I knew it wasn’t over. He watched me for a minute and his eyes made me feel young, like I had really misbehaved somehow and I found myself looking down at the floor. I studied my toes as he stepped away. He told me to look at him and when I did he smiled at me and I felt brave again. I remembered that whatever he would ask of me I already knew I could do.
I stood naked about two feet from him. He had yet to touch me again. It was coming. I knew it was and I knew that when it did it was going to be bad. There was a look in his eyes that warned me of what was to come. So I stood in front of him and waited. Warm fingers reached out and caught my nipples. He pulled them twisting them painfully causing me to take a step towards him or maybe it was a step away from him. Either way it was instinctive. From his pocket came two stainless steel vices. They were small, not even the size of a matchbook.
“You know where these are going little pet, don’t you?” he didn’t wait for my answer he just smiled at me and continued to speak. “I am in the mood to hurt you this morning, I do like hurting you.”
He held up the clamps so that I could see them and then he held my wrist and dropped them into my hand so I could feel how heavy they were. As he took them back from me he told me they were really going to hurt, he said that he wanted them to hurt me. I stepped from one foot to the other in my nervousness. He sounded and acted so intense, times like this I always question my ability to take what he demands. He widened their bite before roughly pulling my nipple through it and then slowly twisting the small metal rod so the base pressed into and finally flattened my nipple. It hurt. He did it to my other nipple and then tightened them both again. I felt my body grow hotter and I clenched my hands together to keep from pulling of the biting metal. I was literally breathing through the pain. His large hands looked even larger as they cupped my small breasts. He shook them both causing the weight of the metal to feel even heavier on my nipples. He leaned into me and bit the pink nipple tips that peeked through the vices. I cried out and my hands met his chest and I tried to push him away. It was a momentary lapse in my submission to him. His palm found my cheek, once and then again he slapped my face his other hand holding under my chin holding my face still for the stinging blows. I am more accustomed to him hitting me in the face than I was before. The first few times he did it I found it it more demeaning than erotic, more shameful than sexual. Now it can not be un-eroticized in my head. I like the snapping blows and how having his hand come down across my face makes me feel. It is similar in my mind to the whip on my back or having his hand covering my mouth. Primitive almost. Brutal.
It is a powerful Dominance that leaves me breathless. It is moments like this that show me the difference between having R as my Dominant and being Owned by him. I looked back down at my pedicured toes and felt tears gather in my eyes. I felt terrible for having fought him, I felt appreciative that he quickly offers discipline if I slip though I have to admit that it is rare that I require it. The pain he gives me is for his pleasure as well as my own and what I take for him in pleasure is considerably multiplied in intensity. Yet it is the intent behind it that hurts. If he hurts me and it is meant to chastise or shame I find it almost too painful to take yet I can take uncountable cane strokes because I know he is pleased with me. I wonder why that is…how it all works out in my head. When I think of any other person on earth raising their hand to me I feel anger or a sense of that being wrong somehow.
I wonder if it is just me…just the nature of the submissive inside of me. I question at times why my need to please him is so strong. I am not even a people-pleaser in my everyday life…in fact I kinda walk to my own tune caring little what others think. In my relationship with Richard I have noticed shifts in my submission. I feel more submissive to him that ever before, I feel more owned by him that I have ever felt before. He says we feed off the other. The more submissive I feel the more he grows in his Dominance. I am at the point where I trust him enough that I would do anything he asked. He knows my sighs and my whimpers and what they mean. It reminds me of a new mother …..how she learns her newborns cries and what they mean. That is how he knows me. He knows what I need and what I have inside of myself to offer to him. He knows how to take it. It is truly an amazing relationship that we have and when I think back to how it started I have to really just shake my head. I remember conversations where I begged Mark to please not make me meet Richard…that Ms. Anna would be enough, that I didn’t need the Richard experience. How wrong I was. I think that is why I am at the point where it doesn’t matter to me if Richard and I last another week or another year. I know that whatever pain I feel at the end is nothing, nothing compared to the joy he has brought to my life.