The evening started off with as it usually does with some discussion and me removing my clothing. Kneeling in the middle of the room, He inserted a gag; Ropes were tied around my ankles and wrists and He brought out his two favourite toys of the moment - the bright red Dragon Tail and the piece of 1.5" thick rattan. I will admit, I've got a love - hate relationship with the Dragon Tail. I *hate* sting and that mofo hurts like you wouldn't believe (just ignore how wet I get despite that). The rattan... I like much more - it's much more thuddy and turns me on more. He then gave me too hand weights and made me hold my arms straight out... and continued to beat me. As my arms began to ache, I struggled to keep them held out and my thoughts turned to needing to do more upper body training on my Wii Fit. Eventually Sir let me rest my arms and told me I had an important lesson to learn (my upper body strength is crap? Endurance anyways... I'm perfectly capable of lifting and carrying all sorts of crazy heavy stuff in the kitchen, I just don't have to hold it straight out while kneeling for forever and a day) and had me raise my arms again. More agony and a brief hysterical thought of His personal trainer doing this with Him and just as I am starting to call red, He lets me set down the weights. I'm sure that the lesson is to not be afraid/ashamed to call yellow/red if I'm unable to complete a task to his specifications... it's a lesson that I preach with regularity to the n00bs. Once again though, easier said than done. I will always hold out until the very last moment to call out. It feels like failure. It IS failure (in a black and white world). I *hate* failure.
Gag out, I get to suck His cock (yummai) and have my patience tried by being ordered to hold still. I can't remember the last blow job that I didn't control... vanilla boys are just so pleased to be getting oral at all that even when they pretend to take control they're really not. Make a mental note to work on my gag reflex, it's a little out of practice. Gag back in and I'm bent in half over a table, my wrists and ankles practically bound together. Those of you who know me in person may have noticed that I've been in a foul mood for most of the last couple of weeks. As a result of that I haven't been feeling much like jerking off and it had been 2 weeks since my last orgasm. Sir promised me that I would cum for Him, whether I enjoyed it or not. Plugged, Gagged, Dildo in my cunt and bent over a table being beaten... ridiculously wet but somehow just unable to cum. Then Sir decides... if He can't make his piggy cum, He'll make her squeal.
He starts beating me. No harder than He normally does, but somehow it hurts that much more - I couldn't cum for my Sir and the failure and betrayal of my body hurts far worse than any of the blows landing on my body. At some point the toys come out and Sir starts fucking my ass while He beats me. If I can't cum and He wants me to cry, then I will cry. I let myself feel the pain of the rattan, of the failure in cumming for Him, of all the little and big things that have had me in a funk the past couple of weeks, of all of my fears and insecurities holding me back from committing to Him... and slowly but surely, I start sobbing. Great big body wracking sobs, as I'm bent in half being fucked up the ass; my backside warm and scattered with welts. Through the fog of tears I hear Him praising me. He pulls out gently and unties me, pulling me upright and into His arms. I cling to Him, sniffling and wiping the still falling tears on his shirt as He helps me to bed.
Was it more of a gift that I deliberately cried for Him and laid myself bare, as opposed to Him making me cry involuntarily? Would forcing me to cry, despite my attempts not to, be more meaningful? I don't think that I've ever cried due to pain, so I'm not sure He could beat me to the point of tears (ok, I take that back, I'm sure it's possible). Psychologically, I'm sure He could humiliate me and berate me in to crying. In fact, I will bet you that the first time I disappoint Him and have to be punished, I will weep for my failure.
Cocooning me in blankets and pillows, He cuddles me and keeps me warm... soothing me as my sniffles abate... praising me as the tears dry. We talk a little and I'm ordered on to my back. I want to say that we fuck, but it was more than that... tender and gentle, as if He were trying to erase all of those negative thoughts that brought on the tears. As usual, my body reacts to Him and I reach down to touch myself. Things get a little hazy here Dear Readers.. was it 5? 6? I scream myself hoarse and wear myself out, thrashing and convulsing in clitoral orgasm ecstasy. Thinking back over the evening, as hazy as my recollection is... the only time I truly had NO OTHER thoughts in my head, were the moments I was orgasming...
Eventually it's time to pack up and head home. I don't want to leave - I'm still feeling vulnerable. He is only the second person to see me cry like that and I feel laid bare - like a biology specimen pinned to a board, flayed open. Even today, I feel clingy and vulnerable... I miss Him. Which isn't to say that I don't miss Him normally, but today it is like an ache. I am distracted and Logical!Rubenesque is categorizing and pointing out the symptoms of sub drop, while Emotional!Rubenesque is quietly whimpering and waiting for the day to end so she can cocoon herself back in bed and sleep it off.
As we were leaving, He reminded me that something changes when I walk out that door, and that the ball is in my court. "No pressure piggy", He says... "I'm a patient man", He says... "I'm not going anywhere", He says.... and yet I can't help but feel the pressure, mostly from myself, to get over whatever insecurities and fears that I have and just give myself over to Him.
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