So many rooms. Most of them are empty. Home to the fictional and emotional, the real and the imagined, they're free as they can be. Too many characters in my head. I've written more of myself through Handcuff Bracelet and Switches than I have for any other story. Switches is on hold for the moment. I can't think about describing how pain is delivered, the intricacies of s/m. Not when it's been, what, two months since I've felt it? Jesus. Has it really been two months already? More than... but that should be rectified soon. A week or two and then I'll burn through another few chapters of Switches.
I've been thinking about starting a second Handcuff story. A continuation, revolving more around Edward's past. They'll be adults instead of minors. The freedom there is exciting. It'd be a good distraction. Most of my other stories have s/m in them. When I'm frustrated with explaining, and I want to live it and feel it more than anything... the plot twists in Handcuff keep me preoccupied.
And then midnight comes. One in the morning, two, the writing energy takes over. I have until five. Write another night away. The years I restricted myself to learning and waiting helped. I learned patience I didn't think I had. Application is the same, now. Recklessness and impulsivity war with my rational, slave side. I'm not sure what this feeling is, exactly. I associate this emotion with edge-play, but... I've really no idea what it is. Because by accepting physical pain, choosing to rescind control rather than trying to catch up- it makes life problems... nothing? That's one theory. Boredom is another. Only writing and s/m make me feel this alive.
Burning with jagged energy tonight. Listening to such great music! I'm all over the place and I really can't bring myself to care. Too much caffeine, that's the third theory. I'll be calmer soon. This is sub-frenzy. I know that much. Well, sub-frenzy that I'm trying to hold back. It leads to nights like tonight where words take over and... I wake up, mentally sound. Write it so the urge doesn't take over.
I could run out, find what I want... immerse myself in unsafe pain, given by whichever partial sadist I encounter first. It'd have to be a sane sadist. Blah, Checklist, blah- You want to see me bleed? It'll turn you on if I bleed for you? You know my limits, and you'll follow them because you don't want to deal with a broken submissive? Done deal. Dominant sadists are exciting. But I won't. Can't, really, because submission stays solid for my Master. I don't want pain from anyone else, though I do ache for pain and I won't see him for another few days. (Which is why my control is slipping away...)
The rooms in my head come into play. A long line of doors with plenty of space in between and around them. Then there's a sudden drop into darkness. More rooms on the lower levels. The outer steel doors come down, preventing anything from escaping. Things that need to be contained happen here. The heavy darkness is calming. I breathe a little easier, gasping when I feel someone grasp my hair. I'm dragged through one of the doorways. This is where my masochistic side takes my submissive side. Like being underground, the silence is deafening and the air feels heavy.
"I didn't tell you to get up." Anger rises when he callously pushes me back onto the floor. I close my eyes and keep my head lowered, breathing through indignation that makes me shake.
Wanting something and the reality of what I want dawns. I can sense light through my eyelids. Everything in me freezes when I see the whipping post. There are whips on a large table, paddles and slappers hang above it on the wall. A spanking bench and bondage table are revealed as the lights go from dim to soft white. He doesn't want me to get up? The decision is much easier now that the initial pain has faded. Fuck it. His energy is cold. Impersonal. It hurts on the first few levels, yet the darkness is stronger. He needs to be cruel. This deserves punishment. My knees ache against the floor, grating over the rough stone as he has me crawl over to the table. It feels good, the rocky indents digging into my legs.
"Get up here."
Okay. How? Does he want me to lay on my back, stay on my hands and knees-- Ow! What the-- That's what I got for being flippant. Chains clink as he fastens restraints over my wrists. Bolted into place underneath the table, the two silver chains are attached to the black leather cuffs. He slaps the side of my back until I arch down far enough that my forehead rests on the tabletop. It's not the most comfortable of positions, but it isn't supposed to be. I'll accept what he wants from me because that's his purpose.
My shoulders feel heavy so I relax, my breath settling deep in my lungs as I stare around the stone-gray room. Unforgiving and steady, it's a good backdrop for him. He pushes my head down until I can't breathe. I brace to fight him, but he's made it clear that I'm not going to die on his table. I bite my lip and go still underneath his hold. My dark submissive wakes and loosens the muscles in my body. Offering no resistance, I let go of the unnecessary outrage. I play by his rules, and the unspoken agreement we reached left no room for hesitation. Tense inside, yet appearing submissive... I see the masochistic amusement rise in his eyes, the look of a soon-to-be-satisfied sadist.
The first crack of pain puts me in touch with reality. As my skin grows more sensitive, going from pink to light red, darker red... I grit my teeth and re-learn how to breathe deeply. It hurts more than I can comprehend. The force rocks me forward onto my knees. I bring my elbows in and bury my head against my shoulder. It takes all of my self-control not to bite down around my arm. The added pain would make me cry out, but I'd find even ground. Pushing the pain past what he gave me, I would take control of what I felt. But I can't. Something holds me back. I start counting, stopping when I reach twenty. My flesh feels alive. Stinging, tingling, pain is a current that sparks underneath my skin whenever the slapper rebounds. Twenty equals forty, and I don't know how much more I can take.
When he reaches the crease to my thighs-- the pressure on my wrists brings me back. There's nowhere to go. I strain against the chains, but there's no give to them. The slapper falls harder than before. My teeth grind together as I hold back a scream. I need to unclench my jaw. It should be easy. Trying makes my body twist. I pull with my wrists so the chains grate over the table. Terrible behavior, yet I can't stop myself. That's what Dominant affection prevents. There's no inner calm from trust, only acceptance of the pain and fear that a intense taking intense pain brings. Unsafe safety, like safe self-destruction. Push the envelope, test the boundaries...
When the tails fall, my body reacts for me. My arms slam together as I pull down on the restraints. My back arches while the pain registers. How many of them are there? Five? Eight? I twitch when they flick underneath my shoulder. Some of the tails are knotted. They have to be. I feel for them, muting the reverberating pain while I wait for impact. Had that muffled scream come from me? Throbbing, sharp- did some of them hurt more because my skin was sensitive... or were they knots? There was no way to tell. Maybe he had raised welts. The sudden rush of pleasure made my eyes roll back. There it was. Pain that became pleasure. So much of it that my mind forced the changeover from hurt, to hurts good, I stopped caring about good behavior altogether.
Overwhelming and intense, I knew one way to make it stop. But... I can't say my safe-word unless I'm absolutely sure I need things to end. There are several moments of hesitation. Like this. The masochistic side brings a flash of clarity. 'Not yet,' is what I hear. And so I laugh, conquering another level of pain. The challenge is there. My submissive screams, 'Make me truly worried I'll break. I won't.' Will I? If I have to wonder- I love that type of fear. His sadist counters, 'Satisfy this part of me...' cruel laughter, 'I doubt you can.'
Really... my masochist smiles and drowns me in yearning. Like orgasm, the challenge rushes through me. There's no room for other thought. The whip moves harmlessly through the air. I felt myself brace and relax before the ends hit. Absorb, let the overflow release in gasps and moans, strangled yells... ride it out until it stops. And, somewhere along the way, the darkness took me under.
He takes hold of my wrists and drags me across the floor. His energy has grown stronger. This is punishment for the defiance he saw in my eyes. Whoops. My nails accidentally dig into his hand, reaction to my back scraping over a rough patch of stone. I feel him gathering his strength. Yanking me the last few inches, I nearly bite through my lip as my head falls back. I'm bleeding. He doesn't care. Do I care? I hear the viciously free laughter escaping, my masochist already accepting what could have made me fight. I see the small line of red on his hand. Blood for blood, I shudder as the pain blurs together.
I kneel low to the floor with my legs spread wide, not needing him to remind me. He roughly pulls my shoulders back against the whipping post. I wince, gasping with pleasure when his fingers dig into my lower arms. Rope, I feel him binding my arms together behind the post. The back of my body is a mass of pain. Focusing on it too closely makes me start shaking.
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Not sure where it goes from here. The dangerous energy has faded.
Someone like this, the sadist, I'd have to truly trust that... this sounds terrible in my head. Let's see if it looks better typed? I'd have to really trust that they learned to embrace sadism through learning Dominance, finding submissives and slaves as masochistic as they are sadistic. Fun as it is to write... This is why I write.
I don't truly want this. Er, I do, but only because it will hurt. Deep down, it would hurt a lot. It's something I wouldn't be able to take back. I'm not sure I want to actually descend down that far. It feels too much like addiction.
This site helps. http://www.albanypowerexchange.com/Lifestyle/sub_frenzies.htm
Common sense has continued to win out. My version of common sense, anyway. Writing saves the day. Me. Whichever. This line in particular...
"I believe that the Dominant should not allow the submissive to thrust their 'submissiveness' at them, instead they should require the submissive to respond to them in neutral or top space as an equal from one human to another ."
I know. 'Sigh. It's not 'gone,' but it has faded. So, I'm off to write the other story...
1 comment:
It's good to "hear" your voice again, Kim. I've loved every entry of this blog. Thank you for sharing this part of yourself.
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