Clarity in insanity

Sweetie can you pass me the remote please?

Ummm, sweetie….do I have rings in my cunt?

No.

Do I have a slave tattoo on my ass?

No.

Do I have a collar around my neck?

No.

So all those things make you a….?

Slave.

And that makes me your….?

Master.

Well, there’s your answer then.


Even something as simple as asking for the remote can turn into an interrogation session! Shesh!

———————————————————————————

Master tried out two of his birthday present canes today and can I just say, Why oh why on occasions such as this, can’t my beating window be open??? I’d spent the two previous hours in the cage in wrist and leg cuffs so it was a lot more of a ‘warm up’ than what usually precedes a caning i.e. nothing…lol…but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to get me into the ‘indestructo- ass’ zone.

I bought Master a thicker rattan cane (13mm) and a polyethylene ”drumstick” (half-size) in an attempt to find something that was more thuddy than stingy, and while the polyethylene gives you a nice afterburn, I think Master summed it up quite nicely when he described the new canes as “exactly the bloody same as the old one” ! Too funny.

Nothing annoys me more than when he’s given me a beating that results in tears flowing and anger seething and then he asks that question:

“Who do you love?”

I’m not sure whether it’s his interpretation of aftercare or whether it’s the D/s equivalent of not going to bed angry, but I find it really, really difficult to answer that question at those particular moments. I can’t honestly say I love him for hurting me. I can’t smile and think that he’s doing it for his pleasure. At that exact moment when my bum’s afire and tears are pooling on the sheets, there’s nobody I hate more.
It’s only much later when the burning subsides and the cuffs are off, when I revel in the fact that I’ve just been used and have just given pleasure.

What’s worse is he lays there looking at me, smiling at me, almost challenging me to say, ‘Go fuck yourself!’ but he knows that I won’t. He lays there smiling, secure in the knowledge that no matter what he does to me, I’ll keep crawling back for more because I do love him and and I know where my place is. 

I squirmed around on the bed while he caned me. Twisting my ass this way and that, attempting to get the strokes to land just a little bit apart. It’s always the right cheek that cops the brunt of any beating (*makes mental note again to find an ambidextrous owner in future) and I swear they seem to fall in exactly the same spot over and over again. He had a dangerous note in his voice as he warned me that moving would only make it longer and harder.

But move I did and then he decided to grab my hair, pull me into position and hold me down with a hand. With head mashed into the mattress and my ass almost seeming to extend itself towards its fate, more strokes fell until apparently my squeals and crying reaching an acceptable level of ‘in pain-ness’ and he was satiated.

While it hurt like a mother-fucker, it was also incredibly hot. I love being held down, being pulled into position or made immobile in bondage. Some might say that having to hold position of your own accord by standing/kneeling/groveling there patiently while he does his things shows somehow a deeper level of submission, but all I feel like is a dumb fuck for actually holding myself there in such a situation! I mean you want to present your naked ass to someone with a big mother stick in their handwhen they say, ‘Come’??? Are you insane?

But insane I apparently am most of the time. He’s the Master and I’m the slave. When he clicks his fingers I come running….and not too often in the opposite direction to the pain toys 😉

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