Peace, Be Still

Night Owl asked why Sir Raven doesn’t outsource the s/m needs i have to a secondary party.  It’s a valid question, and there are a few reasons why:

1. She is a control freak but would not really want to watch another person be that intimate with me, so she couldn’t maintain total control by being there.

2. She says she isn’t, but i have plenty of anecdotal evidence to suggest that she is, in fact, highly possessive over me.  Thankfully, i interpret that as a part of love.

3.  If you want to know how i feel, one would have to read my blog.  If you want to have any influence over how i feel, one would have to beat me.  Sir Raven and i both don’t want any other person to have more weight, or influence over my feelings than she does.

4. It’s her responsibility.  It’s one of the things she signed up for by choosing me.  The inconsistency has always been a problem but going into year four, i’ve run out of my ability to endure it silently and patiently.

5. It fosters feelings of dependence, interdependence, our way of “in love”, and increases my feelings of respect.

6.  Respect is nearly a zero-sum game for me.  i can’t stay and serve if i don’t respect a person or their character.  i can fall out of love and still stay and serve.  i can not like a person and still stay and serve.  Respect, though, needs to be as close to absolute as is possible.  S/m is incredibly important to that, as is good discipline and punishment.  It’s a muscle memory thing for me.

Yesterday, i had cleaned up the house and went on errands.  When i came back home, i asked if i could sit by her and she agreed.  i was comfortable on the floor pillows, in between her knees, beading.  She rubbed my shoulders for awhile, tight knots giving way beneath her strong hands.  i love her hands on me in any capacity-i think her hands are perfection.

She was working on editing a podcast and wanted me to do an intro.  Apparently, i sounded frustrated because she said she was going to take care of my sassy attitude.  In reply, i frowned at her, which was not too bright, because she growled, “Fix your face, girl and get in the bedroom.”

The strap came singing down, and i’m always surprised as it’s always more painful than i remember.  i focus on breathing, and try to not scream or kick her.  She tells me to lift my skirt, and my hands make slow work of what should be a simple task.  It’s a summer dress, a thin material, but it offers some small bit of protection.  i try and make my mind focus on counting, but the numbers come out weird in my head, mixed up with colors and growls.  She expects me to stay still for this, and i somehow do it.  i know i do, because i’m not being dragged across the bed or hearing threats to tie me down.

She leaves then, telling me she is coming back in half an hour.  i wonder how long she has been gone, since my ass and thighs are still on fire when she returns.

This time, she beats me with the short rubber whip, the tarse, and whip.  i am near tears but we aren’t quite ready to go over the edge together.  i notice the stress leaving her body, she chooses each tool with care and precision.  Time stands still until i hear myself intoning, “please, please, please, please, please” as if it’s the only word i’ve ever known.

i don’t know if i was begging her to stop, or to fuck me, or to never stop.  It doesn’t matter, not really.

When she is done, she makes a satisfied sound, and covers me up with my nap blanket.  It’s not a tuck in, she just sort of dumps it over my body and leaves.

i make use of the pain and force, which combined to make me ready to come.  Several orgasms later, i drift in and out, peace restored.

The most wonderful thing was the hours and hours where my body wasn’t eating me alive in pain.  Everything surrendered to the whip marks on my ass and thighs.  My hip stopped feeling like bone rubbing bone.  My middle back stopped feeling like it was going to slide out of place, leaving me immobile.

i got permission to stay in bed and watch Netflix.  i saw a great documentary called, “Sex Baby” following three women through their lives and changes.  A thirteen year old girl navigates sexuality in a world that surrounds her with imagery, even more so since she lives in New York.  A twenty-something gets labia surgery.  A former porn star talks about the difference between animal fucking and making love.  Based on her description of making love, i felt grossed out, unable to imagine who would want to have sex “so beautiful it makes you cry.”  Apparently, i’d make a better stage fucker than a “normal” woman.

i fixed hot ham and cheese sandwiches and popcorn, and we settled in the livingroom to watch the ever sexy Queen Latifah shine as “Bessie.”  i got to enjoy the entire movie undistracted by pain or fever.

When we went to bed last night, i thanked her for taking care of me.  i had already thanked her and pointed out how my body wasn’t racked with pain because of her efforts.  i felt safe, taken care of, loved, and the burden of holding in all of my tension was eased as i fell asleep last night.

Thank you, Master.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “Peace, Be Still

  1. night owl says:

    I am so happy you two found your blissful hours together.

    I love your post in so many ways: for increasing my understanding of M/s relationships, for the opportunity to have a small window into your life, and for the pure joy in seeing you achieve a few pain free hours and Sir Raven achieve a release of her own.

    Thank you for sharing.

  2. night owl says:

    By the way, I encourage you to let go the idea of “normal” as anything but a statistical term for being within a narrow window of variance. “Normal” is certainly not embodied in the “real” world.

  3. This is – amazing. *hugs you tightly* SO happy for you darling. And by the way – normal is a fallacy. You are beautiful just as you are. I love your writing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s