I’ve been obsessing. This won’t surprise You. It’s always something with me, I know.

I keep going back to round three. I only wanted one mark. Your mark. You called me on it. You pushed me. Challenged me in the presence of others. I reminded myself that I don’t want easy. I hesitated and agreed. I was nearly done in when I got back on the stage with You. I was not at all sure I would be able to handle whatever it was you had in mind. I was already exhausted and raw.

The first impact from the crop and I knew this time would be different. I felt the intensity of the blow and I was scared. It was clear You had every intention of making this count. Bent at the waist, I fought with nausea, not sure I was going to be able to keep it at bay. You waited. I collected myself as best I could and stood back up, making my body language as strong as I could manage.

You struck again. I was sure I was going to vomit. I don’t quit reverberated in my head over and over. I didn’t know how I was going to stand back up. I reminded myself that I wanted this. I asked for this. (I don’t quit I don’t quit I don’t quit) I wanted these marks, these temporary tattoos. I need them in Your absence, keeping you with me. (I don’t quit!)

I stood, less strong. The crop slashed again, more than once in succession this time, nearly driving me to my knees. (I don’t quit Idon’tquitIdon’tquit) I did not know how much more You planned on pushing me. For the first time ever, Red flashed into my consciousness, I screamed at it silently I DO NOT QUIT and it was gone… until the next series of blows.

My hand flashed Red, seemingly of it’s own accord. I was stunned. Where the hell had that come from? I was in an enormous amount of pain. I knew I was done but I had not made a conscious choice to flash Red. I wanted You to make the choice, to see I could not take anymore. Awash in pain and still working through confusion, I felt the crop over and over. Turned away from you, nearly broken, I heard You shouting. I couldn’t make out what You were saying. All I could think was that I had quit. I said I don’t but apparently I do. I fucking quit. I still couldn’t figure out how it happened.

You were still shouting. I came out of myself enough to realize You were asking a question. You were asking if I blocked You. I thought No. I didn’t block You. I quit and that’s so much worse. I managed to say “No, Sir.” while all I could think was Jesus christ, I quit? What the fuck? I quit? What happened? You were shouting again. I could barely hear You through my confusion and pain. I focused. I heard SUBMIT and dropped to my knees. I kissed Your boot before resting my head on the toe in supplication.

After a time You commanded me to get up. You again asked if I blocked you. My internal war continued. I really didn’t think I had but You clearly believed I did. I thought that I was so confused anything could have happened. I said “Yes, Sir” and You moved to stand before me.

You told me to put my arms around You. I heard You but I couldn’t make my body work. All I could do was stand there. I was distraught. I had quit. I called Red. I couldn’t think of anything but this. I quit. I was a quitter. You again directed me to wrap my arms around You. I wanted to. Desperately. I needed to be held but I was not the person I thought I was. I had quit. I was sure You would see this. I was sure this embrace would be good bye. I didn’t want to touch You if it was the last time.

I finally did. I stepped into Your arms. I held You. I was so ashamed, and touching You, thinking You would soon dismiss me, I began to sob and couldn’t stop. I don’t know how long we stood there. I was devastated. I had quit. It was all I could think about. You stepped back and told me to pull myself together and somehow I did. The night was not over. I could not take time to process what had happened. I wrenched the realization that I was a quitter from the forefront of my mind and locked it in The Room of Things I Don’t Think About.

It is more than a week later and I still cannot get past this. I keep hearing You say that once someone learns to quit they always will.** I cannot believe this is who I am now. I can no longer say that I don’t quit because I do. If pushed far enough, my body betrays me, I will quit without even being aware that I’m doing it. I cannot undo this. I cannot take it back. I have become a quitter and I don’t know what to do about it.

** On re-reading this I have realized this statement may be misinterpreted. Master was NOT making this comment about this incident. This is something that had been said in the past regarding situations that have nothing to do with BDSM.

Today I am grateful for: Washing machines
Today’s funny moment: I’m sure something Sheldon said tonight was amusing but I cannot recall smiling/laughing about anything today.


8 thoughts on “Red

  1. I am so sad for you…I don’t see it as you quitting. I see it as you having a limit and I don’t think that there is anything wrong with having limits. I may be wrong but on that aspect I disagree with you.

    • Starshine,

      You are right to disagree. Master has told me over and over that even He would have called red. He insists that no one could have withstood what I did and NOT called red. He has stated repeatedly that I did not quit.

      I still struggle with it. I still feel that I quit. Knowing that my Master does not feel this way helps a great deal. I hope I reach a point that red does not feel like wimping out, failing in my service, or quitting. Someday I hope to get there. That day is not today.


  2. I “Like” because I am not indifferent to your post. It makes me feel so much. Agony, torment, I cannot even sit still in my seat while I read. My back is continually relaxing and tensing. I hang on your every word. I reread words. I think…omg…but I can’t quite find the words. Maybe I don’t want to find them. I think I need to choose not to think about this. But I’m glad you are still writing and I will never stop reading. ♥

    • You feel. That is the objective. I do not expect everyone (or even most) to be able to do (or want to do, for that matter) what I do for my One. He and I are simply meant to be together. We fit. I honor him this way. As I said, it’s not for everyone.

      Thank you for reading and for taking the time to “chat”.

  3. Pingback: Perceived failure | I'm Not Anastasia

  4. Pingback: 10 Difficult Things | I'm Not Anastasia

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