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The Reluctant Masochist Okay, I admit it. I need pain. I need to suffer for him—to push myself to take more for him, to suppress my instincts to block his blows. I need to cry for him until the tears flow into their own tiny rivers. I need to feel his hunger as he licks them from my cheeks. And after, I need to feel his hands digging into the bruises he created. And yet, I’ve said so many times that I am not a masochist. I don’t enjoy pain in itself. And during the long period when I was single, I didn’t often crave pain. For me, pain is just a pathway to a deeper connection—one of many. I accept pain as a form of submission or use it as a way to make myself let go. But this doesn’t exactly feel like masochism to me. I always say I’m a wimp. I need pain, but I don’t enjoy pain. Now he’s teaching me what a masochist I really am. And he’s actually doing it by not hurting me—not too much, anyhow. He’s showing me what kind of pain I really need. Last Sunday, he stripped me and laid me over his lap. He started slowly and built up gradually, switching to an implement once I was warmed up. He gave me only what I could take while keeping my body relaxed—a nice sub-spacey spanking that left me feeling more relaxed than a massage. He curled around me and kissed my forehead. He knows I need this sometimes, and he has worked hard to learn to give it to me. But after, looking into his soft green eyes, I still felt restlessness. I still needed him to hurt me. But he did hurt me. He spent the better part of an hour hurting me, in exactly the way I usually need. What was this feeling? I only had one word for it: suffering. I needed to suffer for him. And not just for him. Yes, he’s a sadist, and yes, he craves my tears. And I do want to serve him in that way. But this was for me, too. This was masochism. The next night, he allowed me to suffer for him. He slapped my face until I was on the verge of throwing my hands up. Then he took my favorite “nice” implement and reminded me how cruel it could really be in the hands of my sadist. He hit me hard, and too fast for me to process. He paused for me to catch my breath but never long enough for me to relax into the pain. It didn’t take long before tears flowed continuously down my cheeks. He kissed and licked them from my cheeks. He told me how beautiful I am when I suffer for him. And then he hit me again. And again and again. And through the pain, I felt the restlessness begin to subside. I felt myself become part of him. No thoughts clouding my mind. No space between us. There was only the electric intensity of being his. With tears and snot running down my face and his hand around my neck, I was exactly where I needed to be. Fully immersed in the feelings he chose to give me, utterly consumed by him and still giving him more. Always more. So am I a masochist? I’m still not sure. But I am definitely his masochist. I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not. I don’t just need him to spank me; I need to suffer for him. I need to look into his eyes and know that he will make my body cry out in pain. Just as he needs to see my trembling and know that I will take it all. Whatever he chooses. I’m so grateful for my sadist and so grateful to be his masochist. @cherished-property  "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.” |
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11/21/2021 12:51 am |
This is very insightful and a privilege to read. Thank you for sharing it. You explain the passion and the logic behind the passion. I see the true reciprocal nature of the sadist and masochist when the two are connected truthfully and intimately. The trust must be very special.
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Delivering what is needed to give that feeling to a submissive/bottom is very satisfying. "One Big Sky Covers Us All Equally"
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Wow, Absolutely my style of play
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I guess everyone would love to be in this place
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I see myself in this writing.....the connection with the Domme directly correlates to acceptable pain and pain levels.
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Love this piece
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ali I think is a wonderful insight into the mind of a "masochist" or submissive! A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. George Bernard Shaw Jenny
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as i sometimes wonder about my capacity to be "cruel" and my desire to make her suffer in ways that challenge her a bit, this was a great perspective thx for posting
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very nice have it the same way
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I love this piece so much because I can relate to it so much. From the writer's perspective, I can definitely feel what she's describing. "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.”
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