Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of constant breast flogging. Yowza. I wanted to give You a bit of information that I was too blissed out to share today.
Not long after You began the breast flogging, I was in a fair amount of pain. I was in a “Damn sam … I don’t quit but I may have to call yellow or that left nipple is going to come clean off my breast” state of mind. I hesitated. I thought Bah! The hell with it. It sucks but let’s see where this goes.
As You observed, where it went was to a place of no pain. I do not understand why this happened. I felt the flogger. I was breathing with the rhythm of Your impact. *smack*, drag, breathe in, *smack*, drag, breathe out I felt in tune with You. It was beyond spiritual. I felt that we were fused at the soul. That the flogger was taking energy from my skin and whipping it back to You with every stroke, in a constant, cyclical stream. I felt that I was feeding You my pain. You were both giving pain and taking it back. I wanted to stay in that place, dancing with You in a whole new way. (Wow. I just proof-read this paragraph and realized that it sounds like new-agey woo-woo. I’m leaving it though. We don’t shade. Even when we’re wierd-ish.)
All of this was odd enough by itself … but now … now I want that place again. WHAT?! (I know. I can’t believe it either.) I want to go there and figure out how I got there and how I can stay there longer. I’d like to believe I can get there without pain but I’m guessing that’s not an option. I’m surprisingly ok with periods of moderate pain to get there. (That single-tail nonsense is NOT moderate by the way, neither is the zipper. The zipper may have replaced the riding crop in the number one slot of The Hate Parade.) If moderate pain is the price of the ticket, I will pay it.
I have said this before, I am certain to say it again: What the heck are You doing to me?
Wanna do it some more?