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Beyond the Pleasure Principle I don't know if I like him when we meet. He's strange. Attractive. Charismatic. But strange. I can't get a clear sense of him. It's possible that what he shows me of himself is entirely genuine. But it also feels possible that it's all a veneer, a surface coating designed to make him seem safe, palatable. That just under the surface there might be someone much more dangerous, much less caring than the impression he presents of himself. I want him to like me. Obviously. For a certain type of girl - of which clearly I am one - that uncertainty makes him more compelling. Flame-like even. I have this checklist I use with new partners, a spreadsheet I made myself, with a big list of kinky stuff on it. I made it to give to potential subs when I did that sort of thing, and then once I'd realised that that really wasn't the same thing at all, someone suggested that I should fill it out myself. Fair's fair I suppose. He is interested in what isn't on the list. I'd only included things I liked, which made sense for the purpose for which I'd made it, but all considered, doesn't make much sense as information for a potential dom. So he adds several things. Every one of them makes me feel a little haunted. I'd known he was a sadist. Or rather he had told me, very clearly, that he was a sadist, but I don't think I believed him really until I saw what he'd done to my list. Some of the things he adds: - Canes - Genital torture: heavy - needles, staples, cunt kicking (This goes next to 'Genital torture - sensation play, teasing, spanking' which he renames 'Gential torture: light' ) - Jennings gags (I don't know what this is, but assuming it is just another gag, I say yes, of course. When he realises I've agreed without knowing to what, his amusement is palpable) - Electricity: static and stimulation - Waterboarding All of these things will come into play at some point, but it is the first and last that stick out most clearly in my mind. Surprisingly, the waterboarding is the lesser of the two for me. I wouldn't have predicted that. It is, literally, torture. When he introduces it he tells me that it will be awful and that I will hate it and that very quickly afterwards I will forget how awful it was and then we will do it again. I don't know if I have forgotten, although perhaps that it looms slightly less horribly in my memory than the caning suggests that I have. Or that the caning really was horrific. But we'll come to that. Before we play, he cooks dinner, leaving me to explore his flat. It is intimidatingly impressive, but also has the look of a temporary space to it. Like he's just passing through, rather than intending on staying. On his desk, on top of a pile of papers I find an academic article about sociopathy. The authors describe a study intended to improve the methods used to determine if someone is sociopathic. They use sadism as a touchstone. I note to him that they don't acknowledge the existence of consensual sadism and that this seems an oversight. He agrees. I don't ask him if he has this paper because he thinks he may be a sociopath. We begin spending some time 'experimenting' with electricity. I have a kind of fear of it that borders on phobia. Rationally I know that it's really very safe. Not entirely of course, but enough. Well within the acceptable bracket of 'risk aware', but he has this bug zapper thing and each time the current flows it makes this loud crack at the same time and I jump, usually into its path. He, of course, finds this entertaining. He alternates between zapping me and thrusting his fingers into my cunt, expressing mock surprise that I am so wet while claiming to hate being shocked. His amusement is infectious and in the end even I have to admit that I must be getting something from it, as I grind myself against him almost unconsciously. He leads me by the hand into the bathroom. He tells me to kneel down next to the bath. This moment. This brief pause of kneeling in front of him comforts me, I feel safe at his feet. I probably shouldn't. He tilts my head back over the side of the bath and places a facecloth over my mouth and nose. I went to a workshop about waterboarding once. They described in detail what happens when the water begins to enter your nose. How it feels like you are drowning, really drowning, but in reality you're suffocating instead. This distinction seems insignficant as he turns on the shower and tests the water pressure on his hand. That it would be a cliche to say that I am entirely unprepared when the water hits me does nothing to make it less true. It is, in that moment, the worst thing that has ever happened to me. The water doesn't go inside me, not really. It really is incredibly hard to explain. It consumes me, envelops me. I could lift my head to stop it. I don't. I can't say why, other than that he put me here. Beyond the rush of the shower, I hear him laugh. It is somewhere between less than a minute and eternity before he turns off the water. He removes the cloth and grins down at me, evidently amused at my spluttering. 'There,' he says, 'was it awful?' He laughs when I nod miserably. 'Well then you've learnt something, haven't you? He says. 'It would be polite to say "thank you" for being given such a powerful new experience, wouldn't it?' Smug bastard. I murmur 'thank you' and he laughs at me again. I am grateful though. It's rare to be taken to the edge like this, in the ways he does. I love him a little for that. He leads me to the bedroom, drying off my hair. I am desperate for him now. That combination, juxtaposition between cruelty and kindness is everything to me. I stare at him in mute yearning. I don't even really know what I want to ask for. Please let me taste you? Please use me for your pleasure? I haven't even seen his cock at this point. He doesn't make me find the words. Another mercy for which I am genuinely grateful. He undresses, leaving me kneeling on the floor to wait. His cock is beautiful. I lick my lips unconsciously and he chuckles a little. 'I'm going to let you try to give me a blowjob.' He tells me. 'I don't usually find it that interesting to let submissives do things themselves, but I'm going to let you try.' I silently resolve that this will be the best blowjob I have ever given in my life. 'If it isn't any good, I'll have to take over. Understand?' I nod and lean forward in hopeful anticipation. He is firm and smooth and a little salty in my mouth. I hum in contentment and his responding mmnnh at the vibration makes my nerves tingle at pleasing him. I lick and suck and slide his head down into the back of my throat. I use the saliva this brings up as lube to allow me to increase my pace, my tongue pointed and hard pressing against the vein to add to the sensations. He lets me continue for just long enough that his disappointed 'No, no, stop' is a shock, even though, of course it shouldn't be. Curling his fingers through my hair, he pushes his cock deep into my throat. As I gag and splutter I hear him murmur 'ah, better' and joy at being useful to him overtakes my previous sense of failure. Of course it's better if he's in control of it. Of course he knows how best to please himself. That he is using me to do so is my privilege. When he lets go of my hair and withdraws from my mouth, I am bereft. He gestures for me to climb onto the bed, and when I do, I see him taking a cane from the dresser. And now I am afraid. What little I have had to do with canes has already made me hate them, but the small indication I have had of his sadism so far means that I know this will be far worse than anything I have experienced before. He tells me to lie on my front and separate my legs. He strokes the tip of the cane along the crease between my arse and my legs, then up the inside of my thighs. I flinch and feel ashamed when he laughs. I have chosen to be here I remind myself. At this moment I cannot for the life of me remember why. He holds up his phone to take a picture that later on he will send to me labelled 'before'. The first few blows are sharp and make me gasp, but not so awful I can't bear them. I breathe. 'It's ok,' I tell myself, 'you can take this.' I can't. But by the time that is obvious, only a few strokes further on, I am incapable of thinking anyway. The cane is thin and long. It is very flexible, made of some kind of white polymer. When he rests it by my head while he talks to me later I will see that it is stained with a little of my blood. He varies the speed and intensity with which he hits me. Sometimes raining several blows so quickly I can't distinguish them. When he does this, I lose all semblance of self-control. I actually scream and curl myself tightly into a ball. A futile attempt at self-defense. I am sobbing uncontrollably throughout. There is no time for me anymore, but eventually he stops and sits next to me. He brushes the hair from my face and pets me gently. 'Oh, you're being such a good girl for me,' he says. I love him now. 'And I'm really beginning to enjoy myself. I know it's horrible for you, isn't it?' I move my head in a small nod. 'Well I don't want it to be too much for you. Not really. So perhaps we should stop now, hmm? Would you like me to stop?' Overwhelmed by everything that has happened, I am confused by this gentleness. I nod yes. 'I am really just beginning to have a good time, to enjoy myself hurting you, but we mustn't take you beyond being able to cope, must we?' I don't answer. 'You do want me to enjoy myself though, don't you?' I nod emphatically. I know what he's doing, of course. Even I can see that. But I feel entirely powerless to stop him from manipulating me. 'You seem much calmer now. Do you really need me to stop? It really is just beginning to be pleasurable for me now.' I shake my head miserably. 'So, I should continue?' he says, a note of what must be fake, but entirely genuine-sounding surprise in his voice. Against all my instincts, I nod. 'Oh, but I don't want to force you,' he says. 'I'm not a monster, after all. No matter how much I'm enjoying hurting you.' He pauses and seems to reflect on that for a moment, and then putting his face right next to mine he whispers, 'I won't do it unless you ask me to. Tell me you want me to continue, beg me to hurt you more, and I will.' I hate him, and I begin to beg. He laughs quietly and without listening to my words stands and picks up the cane. I can't tell you what happens next, or rather words can't really describe it. I pass in and out of consciousness and eventually I come to to find he has stopped beating me and has turned me over. The pain of the bedsheets against the raw cuts is a sharp sting, countered by the warmth and pressure of his naked body laying on top of mine. 'I'm going to fuck you now,' he tells me. I nod in acknowledgment, rather than consent, although I do consent. I need to feel his love and approval more than anything right now. His cock feels like both when it slides into my aching cunt. This ought to be a moment of relief from pain, of pleasure, of reward. Being fucked by him is something I have craved for so long. But with each thrust he slams hard into my cervix, and it hurts deep inside me. I don't know how to process this. No-one has fucked my like this before. There is still pleasure as he slides his cock outwards, pressing against all my sensitive nerve endings, but each inward stroke ends with this shock of pain. He is watching me closely. Clearly doing it on purpose. And I realise that this is what he will always offer me: there will never be pleasure for its own sake; it will always be mixed, confused with pain like this. I hold onto him tightly and am grateful, even as I feel my cervix bruising. His pace increases and as I feel him tense preparing to cum, he spits violently into my face. It does feel like a reward of sorts. |
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R, I hope
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lose yourself but don't lose yourself if you know what i mean : ) you are very brave.
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its good to read you were well used and your senses treated to different sensations doll. long may it continue PSUK " Its better to burn out than fade away "
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