Posted by caprycorn on Sat 6 Oct 07, 11:48 AM to caprycorn's blog.
A boring meeting earlier this week, enlivened by a combination of sitting on a hard leather chair and discreetly adjusting my position to find the sorest spots. If I'd have been able to, it would have been even more of a pleasure to lift my skirt and sit on bare and bruised cheeks, burning skin cooled initially by chilly black leather. As it was I had to live with a thin layer of silk jersey between the two.
Bliss.
Welts and bruises, bruises and welts. Ridged flesh, scarlet and black. Buttocks, thighs and even the backs of my knees. Breasts too, tender and bruised by clips and clamps, so sensitive that the gentle abrasion of lace was enough to have me dripping. Nipples hard and peaked, so so sore from mauling and twisting the night before. Sensually stinging and hurting to touch and bloody hell but it feels good which made them so hard - thank fuck for padded bras. Needless to say I was finding it ever so slightly difficult to concentrate.
Chained the night before which I hate. Fight or flight kicks in and it laces what can be difficult enough at the time with an unavoidable edge of panic. Cuffed and chained to the wall, face down on the bed, ankles cuffed together and pillows under my pelvis. In he went with the paddles and I couldn't get away, and believe me I tried. In the end he pinned me down by my waist to keep my backside still until it was crimson enough to satisfy him that I was properly warmed up. Except it apparently wasn't QUITE red enough so back in again with the plexiglass paddle. Christ alive, it hurts so much that I ripped the catch off one of the chains in my panic to get away. That didn't stop him for long - both wrists cuffed together to the one chain and a threat that it would get much much worse if I didn't keep STILL. He meant every word too.
It's strange how the thought of bondage both thrills me and also terrifies me. Lucky finds pain much easier to take when the element of choice is removed, when she is immobilised. Me, I hate hate hate it. Horny thought but the reality is enough to have me spiralling out of control so much faster. Take the chains away and tell me to stay still and I'll barely move. Contrary to the last.
He wasn't giving me an easy time of it. Canes - hard. Whip - hard. Crop - hard. Backs of knees. Thighs. Arse. Then onto my back so he could adorn me with clips, circles of them around my nipples and lines on labia. They burn after a while, redhot pain in lines and in slices which peaked when he twisted them off. He took them off my labia but not my tits, slapping my tits to make them bounce and hurt all the more as he fucked me hard and told me what I was, who I was to him and for him.
Clips off and then face down again. Cropped again and time to count apparently. Except I wasn't counting and so he didn't stop until I did, with extras thrown in for good measure. Then pinned down to the bed, taken again hard and fast until I didn't know which way was up and which was down. Held safe in a dark red haze, feeling his heart against my back and sweat damp skin against sweat damp skin.
So wriggling discreetly on my chair the next day opened a whole pandoras box of memory. Dark vistas under a respectable surface just like the bare flesh and hold up stockings under the softly draped skirt. Scratch the surface and who knows what is underneath? Anything from being what one appears on the skin to a whole secret life. We don't live our lives in what others see - it's all in the richness of our minds, imaginations, memories, especially memories of such abandonment to the pleasures and pains that my Master chooses to give me.
I love my secret life. Long may it continue.
