#condescension

I’ve always wanted to do a couples costume with someone, and this year I get to do two!

For the parties tonight, I’m going to be a feminist and he’s going to be an MRA. I have to admit I find it hot when he acts like a pretentious, condescending, sexist douche. I’m looking forward to having our usual switching back and forth plus the added feminist vs. MRA dynamic.

For the parties tomorrow, I’m going to be a Catholic schoolgirl and he’s going to be a teacher. I’m eagerly and evilly anticipating acting like a high schooler and making him just a bit uncomfortable. And of course, retaliatory spankings.

This is going to be the best Halloween I’ve had in a good while. I’m so excited!

I managed to wake up before The Super Sadist on Sunday. I laid there for a little while, trying to decide if it was late enough to try to wake him up with a blow job. I determined that it was, in large part because I didn’t feel like waiting any longer to get my mouth on him again. I pulled down the blanket and was just starting take him into my mouth when he pushed at me and rolled away from me onto his side. I giggled a little at his sleep-rejection and considered trying again. I decided not to, because, although I knew he had very enthusiastically consented to getting a blow job to wake up, I’m still not comfortable pushing that on someone who is actively rejecting it.

I tried to go back to sleep, but he was being a huge bed hog. Which, obviously, is his right as a man. I was lucky he allowed me to sleep in the bed, considering sleeping on the floor would be perfectly fitting for a little bitch like me. Eventually, I went to the couch and half-slept there for a little while until he woke up and came out. I told him what had happened, with him rejecting the oral sex alarm clock, and his reaction was basically, “Damnit!” Looking back, I feel bad that I didn’t immediately drop to my knees and suck him off then and there. We had breakfast and talked about what we were going to do that day. The Super Sadist described our plans by saying, “I was thinking I’ll beat you and then we go get vegan food.” Seriously, y'all, I get used by the best men.

Before the beating began, we talked for a little. At some point, I admitted in an embarrassed voice to liking something I feel like I shouldn’t like. I think it might have been that I enjoy when he calls me dumb. He responded, “I know.” He says those words with this tone…I can’t explain it very well. It’s a combination of understanding, condescension, and amusement. I love it. It makes me feel like he gets where I’m coming from, and, at the same time, it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, knowing that he can read me so well. All of me is open to him, available for his use, even my inner thoughts and reactions. And of course, when I told him I like it when he says that, he looked at me and said, “I know.”

We finished talking, and The Super Sadist cleared space so we could settle in for a long beating session. He had me hands and knees on the floor, ass in the air. I closed my eyes and listened to him move around, trembling slightly in anticipation. He started beating me, warming me up at first, and then hitting me harder. He struck at my ass and thighs. He beat my shoulders. Hands and fists and feet, elbows and knees. Implements. A dowel, a metal rod, a broken off mop handle. A riding crop. His belt. Whipping me with rope. Next, I bent over the couch and he continued the pounding, focusing on my ass and thighs. As he started punching them, I started to moan. There were a couple times his fist hit the back of my upper thighs, I almost felt like I could have cum. Hands are my favorite things to get beaten with. It’s personal and intimate and degrading and insulting. I love it.

When he was finished (for the moment) with my ass and the backs of my thighs, The Super Sadist told me to turn around so he could start in on my tits. Before he began, I said to him, “You know how I don’t normally lube much?” He said yes, and I told him he should feel my cunt, that I really enjoy having someone hurt me, feel how wet I am, and then make fun of me for it. Most of the time, even when I’m very turned on, I don’t get very wet. This time, however, when he put his hand between my legs, he could feel my sopping wet cunt. I think he was prepared to make a mean or teasing remark about how wet I was for my benefit, since I’d said I enjoyed it, but instead he said, “This is actually pretty ridiculous.” I blushed and looked down.

Before I recovered from being identified as a painslut, he started hitting my tits. He slapped them, punched them, smacked them. I tried to keep my hands behind my back and give him the access that is his right. At one point, it got to be so much that I leaned into him and pressed myself against him, hoping to escape the beating. Instead, I got even harder punches in the tits, and a couple times in the ribs. I thoroughly deserved those. I shouldn’t have moved. Eventually, though, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him and shaking, and begged him for a break, to stop. He didn’t have to agree, but he kindly did.

I had some water and watched him prop a window open and light a cigarette. Before this point, he had been smoking outside, like he always does. This change let me know I was in for a treat. We’d talked about me serving as an ashtray for him, which is a bit of play I’ve wanted to try for a while now. He had me kneel before him, mouth open, as he started smoking his cigarette. When he was ready to tap the ash into my mouth, I stayed as still as possible and closed my eyes, afraid of being burned. I felt the heat of the cigarette near my mouth, then tasted and felt the ash fall onto my tongue. He smoked the whole cigarette using me as his ashtray. He paused to take a few pictures, each one meaning the lit cigarette was near my mouth longer. He finally finished, but waited a little while before giving me permission to go spit it out and wash out my mouth, extending the experience. Finally, he let me rinse out and start to get ready for my next use.