I want to feel your flogger on my body, marking time and flesh in perfect unison. I want you to push me. To know you are causing me pain. To know I don’t want the pain. To know that I adore the challenge the pain creates. I want to consider and reject the use of my safe words over and over and over. To know you know me better than I know myself. To know you will push me until I think I will have to quit … only to have you back off for a moment and then … start the push anew.
I want to feel the breath of the buggy whip. Knowing the breath is but a warning of the slicing pain that will come, when you’ve had enough of tormenting me. Tormenting me, knowing just the idea of that searing pain has me on the edge of tolerance. I want to forget about the observers. I want to be your instrument.
I want to be strapped immobile to a spanking bench. I want to be there exposed to you, for you. I want your hands on my ass. Slapping, warming it, carefully, every inch, preparing it for the onslaught that is to come. Every once in while stopping for a handful of cheek because you simply can’t stop yourself, because it’s yours for the taking. I want to be spanked until I am separate from the pain. Until I am beyond it. Until I am there but not there. My body moving with the force of each blow yet unaware.
I want your teeth in the bend of my shoulder. I need your marks on my body. I desire to be your canvas.
Please, let me be your muse.
Today I am grateful for: Stamina
Today’s funny moment: Check under his mattress. He might have a copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince under there.
Sad moment: sex life discussions
Water: 4 liters 12 ounces
Corset: 23″ am, 23″ pm