Posts tagged ‘pain’

July 13th, 2014


I promise there will be some more smut in the near future, rather than all this rambling on about my feelings and stuff but sometimes I feel this is a good place for me to talk about what is going on in my head as I know people can often relate.

I recently wrote about inadequacy and how I end up comparing myself with people when I top and not feeling good enough.  I talked about my feelings as a bottom and how it’s rare for me to do that same kind of comparison but I found myself thinking like that on Saturday night and it got me thinking about pain during play quite a lot, including talking to E about how I’m needing to play a little differently at the moment.

It started out on Friday.  At Lash, a couple were playing really hard, harder than I think I’ve seen anyone play for quite a while and for quite a long scene too.  I remarked that it was making me wince, feeling that there was no way I could take what the bottom was taking.  The thing is, I have done.  I did two videos that I am taking a lot in and I have taken some violent canings in my time too.  I can still take a good kicking (as I proved on Friday but that’s another story) even.  Thinking of those videos, of some scenes from about a year ago, I look back and don’t see the same person.  I can’t even believe that I could do those scenes and enjoy them as much as I know I did.  I went through a period for being a heavy masochist; probably more that than submissive at the time.

I didn’t think much of it until we played a little on Saturday night.  It was a flogging scene and I’d talked about needing a good warm up.  I ended up crying my eyes out, my tears getting worse at the fact that I was crying (silly, I know).   I actually don’t always have a problem crying during play but this didn’t feel like release or the kind of time that I wanted to be crying because of the pain.    I was struggling a lot more than I wanted to be, than I felt I should be, than I know I normally do.  I felt silly, less like a masochist than ever and frustrated as hell at myself for not taking the pain well.  E is so used to me warming up so much quicker that it caught him off guard and he started again, easing me in better.  It doesn’t help that he is a dacryphiliac either! It was a good scene and let me talk about my pain thing that’s going on right now, plus I got my own back later!

I do find it interesting that my pain threshold, especially for certain types of pain, has changed so much.  Or at least my perception of it has.  E insists (with witnesses) that he actually hits really damn hard anyway and that it’s not that I have no pain threshold.  There is a definite shift in my tolerance right now, though, and it still surprises me everytime it happens.  Currently, I feel my identity as a masochist is slipping away a bit and I’m actually quite sad at that.  Maybe it’s just because of the type of play I’ve been doing recently, maybe it’s because, much as I see myself as mainly a bottom, I have actually rarely bottomed to anyone other than E in the last year and we now have such a strong D/s dynamic that I can’t always remove that frame of mind from my subconscious.  I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s the time of the month, a change in my medications, something else entirely or a combination of any of them.  I know that I will learn to love pain again and I will stop feeling like a whimp.  And, in the meantime, I can play around at see how to ease this.  Or let E enjoy making me cry from the physical pain for once!

November 24th, 2013

The Hunt

All that you’ve told me is to wear my running shoes; now I’m sat in the back of the car, blindfolded, no idea where we’re heading to.  The car is oddly quiet; no music, no talking, no laughter.  You were weirdly expressionless when you knocked on my door to pick me up.  We’ve stopped since then but you didn’t let me see, didn’t let me out.  Someone else got into the car but they’ve not said a word.  I know what you have planning but the anticipation is getting to me.  There;s an excited knot in my stomach and I’m getting impatient waiting to find out what’s going on.

The road surface changes and I wonder how much longer this journey will last.  Through the fabric of my blindfold, I can tell it’s getting darker, even though it’s still early in the day.  We slow and stop.  Door open and slam closed and still I wait.  Bang, slam, rustle, slam.  The cool air hits me as the closest door is opened.  Pulled out of the car and pushed slightly along a crackling path.  Then my trousers are pulled down, my hoodie pulled over my head, the suddenness of air on my bare skin covers me in goosebumps.  Stood there in nothing but my trainers and blindfold, my arms crossed across my body as much to hide my shame as keep myself warm.

I wait, time seeming impossibly slow, movement around me; footsteps, car pulling up, doors slamming, metallic clicks, faint murmurings of the other people obviously here too.  I take the time to gather my thoughts , my feelings.  I can smell earth, musty, damp, the freshness of foliage.  The cracking of wood beneath people’s feet place me in a wood of some kind, explaining the coolness and lack of bright sunlight.  I start to wonder what you have in store for me.  There seems to be too many people around to just be tying me to the trees and beating me.  My nakedness so early on into this suggests you mean to let everyone get a good look at me so I doubt it’s a photoshoot.

I’m about to call out and ask what’s going on when I am grabbed by my hair and something cold is pressed under my chin, keeping my head up long after my hair is released.  My breath quickens and I feel my heart pounding with the initial shock.  I know the feel of your pistol against my skin; you’ve used it to scare me before.  I feel and hear your breath at my ear.

“You’d better run fast if you don’t want us to hunt you down.  You have three minutes.” and with that, my blindfold is ripped off.

It takes my eyes precious moments to adjust.  Two others are there, naked, confused, disorientated.  We’re at the edge of a wood with eight or so air gun wielding individuals just behind us.  I can feel the fight building up in me but I know that my only chance is to run.  Ignoring the others, I sprint off down what looks like a path grateful of my trainers.  I weave through trees, duck under branches and try to get as far away as I can.  I pause for a moment, catching my breath whilst deciding where to go next.  A loud pop and a stinging sensation on my arse.  I jump and look around.  I can’t see anyone but the tiny area on my bottom is roaring with pain now.  Another pop but this one misses, skimming past me.  I don’t waste another moment and break into a run again.  So much for a head start!

I hear distant bands and shrieks but I can’t worry about the others.  I twist and turn through the trees until I have no idea of my whereabouts.  Then suddenly, a burst of sound, a burst of pain, the semi-automatic firing rounds into me.  The pain flows through me, adrenaline and endorphins.  I hear rustling leaves, snapping twigs and off I go again, running fast, branches hitting my face, nettles stinging my legs, thorns cutting into me.  I hear pops, bangs, shouts, screams but all in the distance, all a little isolated.  I turn around a tree, nearly running into someone.  I stop dead, realise that it’s you and run, fast.  I hear you pounding after me, shots hitting me, your feet heavy on the ground behind me.  You’re catching up, I can tell.  I try to run faster, try to put more ground between us.

My thigh explodes with pain.  A stream of shots catch me in almost the same place and I stumble.  The pain gets worse, stinging, burning, the afterglow worse than the initial shot.  I’ve stopped dead, the pain catching me unawares.  You’re upon me, grabbing my arms, dragging me to the nearest tree.  Your full weight pushing me into it, rough bark against my breasts, my arms grabbed by someone else, pulled around the trunk and handcuffed.  The coolness of the air skims over my sweaty body and makes me shiver, goosebumps appearing all over my arms.  Time seems to have stopped for there is silence, calm, nothing.  Then the shots come, calculated, precise, my arse the target, close enough together that I don’t have time to process each one.  Burning, stinging, hot.  My body can’t take this.  I can’t help but shout out after a little while, expletives littering my gasps and moans.  For this, you move your aim to my thighs, which causes almost unbearable pain.  Tears are running down my face now, I can’t hold them back.

I don’t even notice that your onslaught has ended until your pistol is under my chin again, the stark coldness of the metal both calming and scaring me.  You don’t say a word but I hear the zip of your fly then the prodding of your strapon at my arse.  You grab my hips and pull me back onto you.  Your hand between my legs, slipping easily over my cunt, to my arsehole.  Your hand on your cock, using my wetness to lube it up.

I gasp as you thrust into me, the suddenness causing pain, mingled with the burning from my bruised arse as your weight presses against it. You chuckle at my gasp and continue to fuck me, getting harder and faster as I moan and push myself towards you.  I’m getting louder, closer to the edge, desperate to come when you grab me by my hair, jerking my head back, covering my gasping mouth with your leather gloved hand.  The pain, the ecstasy and smell combined with you still being deep inside my ass cause me to come immediately, convulsing, unable to hold back, my come running down my legs.

You pull out, tidy yourself up and uncuff me.  I collapse at your feet and kiss your boots in gratitude.  After a moment, you grab my hair at the nape of my neck and yank me to my feet.  You drag me; I’m barely able to keep up.

“Time to show off my prize from the hunt…”

April 24th, 2011

New Experiences

Sometimes a good scene is all you need to make your troubles melt away!

I’m one of those people who carry a lot of tension and stress around with them all of the time. I’m a worry-wort. Sure, I have anxiety problems, but I’m also just quite a stressed person. Little things make me worry and will wind me up for days. I’m highly strung and I know it. A tend to feel most of this tension in my upper back and shoulders, with various people commenting on it. It hinders my dancing (I’m learning how to lindy hop and really need to loosen up at times) and it can make it hard for me to relax.

Read more…

December 11th, 2010

Battered and Bruised…

…and loving it!

I’ve always been kinky but over the last few years, I have become more regressed and vanilla due to many changes in my life. Now that I’ve gone back to the dark side, I’m having to learn who I am and what I actually do like kink-wise. Some things have been hard to accept, others I’ve been surprised at and some things have gone full circle from like to dislike to loving! A further prompt to really do some kink-searching was getting together with my new lover. The first serious mention of actual BDSM had me freaking out, quite irrationally, but then, I became excited with the idea and really had to think hard about my limits, likes and ideas. Or course, this has led to some actual experimenting and playing.

My first major set of bruises came from a session where I really pushed my pain threshold and really fought with that part of my brain saying that it was all wrong. I had floods of emotions, including being entirely overwhelmed with how I felt when I realised that, yes, pain does make me very turned on! I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel about the marks, bruises and pain for several days but it was novel and quite pretty looking so I hadn’t ruled it out again.

Then there has been the first session with S. A week of nerves building up, knowing it would be the first time I was going to be caned, some level of fear of changing what we already had together. But it was an amazing release and a wonderful level of pain. It didn’t feel like I had to push myself in the same way because I already knew I could handle it and I wasn’t worrying about the marks. A new experience with toys that now don’t scare me. But the most interesting thing is how I’m realising I feel about the marks, the pain, the bruising; I’m proud of it. I like being reminded of it. I admit, it was a little weird having B examining the bruise with S pointing out what made which mark and both of them taking advantage of the situation but it was a good weird.

I thought I was just going to be going back to the old me but I have found a new person; someone with more maturity. It’s hard to let go of the old little secure idea of who I was but the new person I’m forming is happier, realer and definitely more adventurous…and loves the fact that she has two people trying to make those marks last!

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