Friday, February 10, 2012

Enter Witty Blog Title Here

I can't stop thinking about you hurting me.  It's funny, because I hate it.  Just like I hate being called stupid, a cunt, or being told to shut up.  But yet, when you say such things, I get so wet thinking about it.  It's like you telling me you almost made me eat all of those candies, just because you knew I hated them.  In reality, I would've choked them down, not enjoying a single bite of it.  But right now, just thinking about it, I'm getting so fucking turned on.  Yes, the mere idea of you making me eat some sweet treats that I don't like so much I spit it out really makes me hot.
I also have been having foreplay with myself all night.  Knowing I can have a play is so freeing.  I let myself watch your videos, look at your pictures.  I crave hearing the noises you make when you're about to cum.  And knowing you're so good at the silent orgasms makes me want it even more.  Like sometimes you *let* me hear.  I told a friend tonight about how I play the game where I try to hear dirty things from you.  And that mostly you're amused.  I think my friend was a little frightened that I admitted you calling me a stupid bitch was hot.  Because really, call me fat, ugly, old, mean, whatever.  I've probably used similar or worse words about myself.  But calling me stupid usually is such a hot spot for me, a trigger right to my defense mechanism of having a snarky comeback.  But today, when you said it, I just wanted more more more.  I used to tread lightly when you were in a sadistic teasing mood.  Today, it just made me squirm around in my seat, soaking wet.
Which brings me round to what my friend and I were talking about.  The embarrassment of *hating* being hurt.  I had a bit of an epiphany. It's different than *playing at a scene* with someone who *enjoys dominating subs*.  You are a sadist. It's not about making me love getting spanked, or pinched or bit really fucking hard, or however you wish to entertain your whim. That's not the point. I just get to a breaking point and can't help but fight and struggle.  And then I feel so shy and embarrassed about it, like I was a bad slave, because I couldn't take all that you had to give.  I'm so lucky you like that I struggle. 
But the struggle starts long before I'm screaming into the mattress and trying (unsuccessfully) to crawl away.  The struggle starts at the beginning, when I can barely keep still, I'm so excited you're about to touch me.  And then the struggle to not just wiggle my ass and be a total whore while you're touching me.  And then, when it really starts to hurt and I'm struggling to be a good girl and take whatever you want to give me.  I totally got it. That crying, screaming (embarrassingly weak) place of taking it until you are done with me is just a part serving a sadistic Master. I still stand by my stance of not being a masochist.  I'm really so much more the opposite, craving pleasure.  But being a good slave, devoted adoringly to a sadist, it just comes with the territory.  I still feel a thrill that I can be that for you.  I love that you enjoy it and it's a pleasure I happily facilitate for you.  And because of that, I crave it.  The way you hurt me, breaking me open, then rewarding me with pleasure beyond measure.  That is the best drug I've ever taken.  And I'm a junkie.