#hurt me
Meeting you will never be my regret, tolerating the ways you hurt me always will be.
I would love to be with you, but I don’t want to be with someone who’s hurt me so many times.
This is the result of the rope burn Legolas left on me, five days later. I’ve had to put a band-aid on the big one on my thigh, and I think that’s the first time I’ve had to actually bandage the results of kink.
I love the reminders of how I was treated. Like a toy to play with, practice on, and enjoy hurting.
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Just had a rough meeting at work. The founder/co-owner of the company was there, in addition to my immediate supervisor, and I had not done the right things/enough. I focused on getting the demographics, which was what we had spent the most time talking about at the last meeting. I admit that I probably could have done more on that part, such as writing text and having more organized charts, but I’d backburnered this project because other people kept pushing more “urgent” things on me. I could also have actually done some work on the response rates, which is what I thought the report was supposed to be about, but that section comes after the demographics and we hadn’t focused on it in the last meeting. Plus, this was an update, not even a meeting where I was supposed to have a draft.
Welp, apparently I should have done the response rates like I originally thought. The founder talked about “you’ve shown you can manipulate the data” (which sounds like a compliment but kind of isn’t) and said that we needed more text. Then focused in on the response rates and commented that we needed those, that the report is about that. I felt so frustrated because I spent tons of time and effort on this stuff, and it felt like I had almost nothing to show for it because I was under/improperly prepared.
Of course now my jerkbrain has convinced me that my boss thinks I’m a mess and hates me now, and I’m anxious about asking him if I can take a day off a couple weeks from now because clearly that will be the last straw and he’ll think I’m a total fuckup.
And none of this is helped by the fact that I’m having some kind of evil PMS where I’m extra sensitive (even beyond normal) and am full of all the negative feels.
I want to get hurt when I get home. Hurt as punishment for not doing a better job. Hurt to pull me out of my head and away from my anxiety. Hurt to get me wet and remind me of all the good things in life.
I’ve been feeling super shitty lately (see previous post). Happy hour is tonight, and I think I want to go.
But I don’t know if I want to be cuddled and complimented and comforted or intensely beaten and hurt for at least an hour until I’m sobbing and shaking and terrified, even if I beg and sad cry and ask sincerely for it to stop.
Maybe both.
He’s either hurting her enough or saying mean enough things to make her cry and I really wish I had that more regularly these days
they think you’re like a piece of cake that you can just discard when completely full.
Two of the sexiest words a Sir can hear
Here’s two cute pictures since I’ve been pretty lazy about posting pictures of myself!
