#suffering for your pleasure

I’m having to pull an all-nighter for work because I’m doing a training all week, but someone still insisted that it was very important for me to do something for them, so that sucks.

On the other hand, I just had a very lovely evening with The Violinist where he came to my apartment (instead of me having to drive). When he first arrived, we talked about our days and he did some rope with me. Throughout the evening, I tried to be good about responding with his chosen honorific-type address, his name. Of course, I failed to do it consistently enough, and each time, he’d smack me hard on the sternum. I like to think I improved after the corrections. I know that I definitely felt more natural saying, “Yes, [The Violinist]” and “I’m glad, [The Violinist],” and such as the evening progressed. After he put on a chest harness that made taking deep breaths very difficult, he started hurting me, eliciting gasps and whimpers and yelps that made him grin.

Turned on by my suffering and the d/s-y use of his name, the obvious next step was for him to fuck me hard. He pushed in, clearly loving it, and told me, “I missed my cunt.” Then, when he flipped me over to fuck me from behind, he told me, “I missed your cunt.” I responded in kind, that I’d missed his cock. I loved hearing both of those things from him. It makes a girl feel good to know that her cunt is satisfying enough to miss. And it makes me happy to have someone say that it belongs to him, not to mention the second meaning of cunt that tells me he missed me. (Which he also said outright in a super adorable way, “I missed you. Like, way more than I thought I would.”)

He thrust deep, hurting me even more (better) in that position. He went hard and fast, and I pushed back into him, his cock slamming into me. He sped up, his breathing changed, and then he came, sliding in and out of me several more times as he did. He pulled out and we cuddled as he basked in his post-orgasm glow.

When he came out of it, we kept playing. He teased me and grabbed me and drew out some lovely pain noises as we kissed and touched each other. Eventually, he pushed my legs up and started slapping the backs of my thighs rapidly and hard. I gritted my teeth and groaned from the sting. When he stopped, he smiled at me and said, “What’s a warm up?” in a laughing tone of voice. I smiled back and said, “That is a warm up.” The way his eyes lit up almost made me regret saying that.

He repeated the treatment, and when he paused, I dropped my legs and rolled over onto my stomach, whimpering. He asked, “What?” and I pouted and said, “That hurt.” He laughed a little and replied, “I know. That’s why I did it.” Then he knelt on my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. I began to wince in anticipation, gasping when he moved. When he resumed smacking my thighs, I gripped the sheet and cried out. I was relieved when he started punching instead. He started pretty light, but as he got more comfortable with the position and my ability to take what he was doling out, he hit harder, alternating between the two legs.

Of course, he’d intersperse this delightful thuddy pain with more smacking, which made me thrash. To no avail, of course, since he was on top of me, keeping me where he wanted me. When he finally stopped, I turned over, laying on my back and looking at him. I said I’d enjoyed it, and he said, “Well, at least the punching.” I did like the punching more, but told him that I liked the slapping as well, since “I like bruises and slapping breaks things” (clearly coherent after that bit of impact play). I also said I liked the fact that he was on top of me, since it made it easier to take the pain. He lifted my legs to admire his handiwork and, after seeing that the right was more red than the left, asked me, “Should they be even?”

I cringed, not answering at first, but knowing full well that I would throw myself under the bus. I hemmed and hawed for a moment until he made me answer. I looked down and said in a small voice, “Yes, they should be even.” He was pleased, and lifted my leg back up. Instead of slapping it, he punched it, not starting soft this time. He punched repeatedly, hard enough that I could tell I wouldn’t be able to take it for very long, even though I like and can handle thuddy better. He was beating the shit out of me now, and clearly super into it. I teared up a bit from the pain and feeling bad about wanting to make him stop. I resisted safewording for a little, but as I turned onto my side and he held my leg in place, the pain and (totally unnecessary) guilty feelings about wanting to put an end to the impact made me start actually crying. I managed to whimper out, “Red, red!”

Without hesitation, The Violinist stopped immediately and lay behind me, holding me as I cried. I apologized for safewording, to which he responded, “No.” I know it’s not something to feel bad about or apologize for, but I did. I communicated that to him and told him that I was okay, I just needed it to stop. He was entirely understanding and reassured me repeatedly that it was fine and good for me to tap out when I need to. That’s obviously the response I should expect, but it’s nice to have it happen.

We cuddled, kissed, and played a little, and then he asked me if getting off would help me get work done. I said, “Whatever you want, [The Violinist],” and he told me to give him a real answer. “Well, it couldn’t hurt?” I responded. He laughed and told me I could masturbate. I caught the wording and asked if I could come.

“Ask again later,” came the obvious response. I lay back and pulled out my bullet, pressing it to my clit. The Violinist sat next to me and watched, slapping and punching my inner thigh occasionally, which both turned me on and distracted me. I settled into a groove and he got on top of me, pressing me into the bed, his thigh between my legs. I moaned and started fantasizing hard. My orgasm snuck up on me, and I almost forgot to ask permission. Almost.

I opened my eyes and asked, “May I please cum?” He responded, “Ask again later.” I tried again, with what I thought was a good enough correction, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]?” but he repeated his previous response. My eyes widened and I worried my orgasm would be ruined. I said, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]? [The Violinist], may I please cum? Please, [The Violinist], may I cum?].” It was some of the most genuine begging I’ve ever engaged in. I was frantic and heartfelt and incredibly desperate. [The Violinist] finally granted me permission and I got back into it. I started to cum and he wrapped his hand around my neck, squeezing. I felt it in my head as my orgasm continued, and rode that lovely combination of sensations as long as I possibly could.

When I opened my eyes, [The Violinist] was looking at me. He looked pleased and said, “Your face when I told you to ask again…” he trailed off, closed his eyes, and made a pleased noise, like he was savoring the memory. Hearing him say that was a big turn on. I really enjoy how much pleasure he took from my reaction to him playing games with my head. Sadists are fun.

What a lovely evening. The fucking and the beating were quite satisfying, and I’m even optimistic that I’ll get bruises out of it. I’m so glad he came over. It was something that both of us needed, even outside of the fact that it was incredibly fun. It was a lovely preward (pre-reward?) for staying up all night doing work.

Yesterday I saw The Violinist. I went over to his place with the invitation to come over and “talk about things.” I correctly interpreted that as a desire to DTR, which I wanted to do, as well. When I got there, I stripped, per his rules for me, and we lay in bed for a while. Before we could talk, however, we needed to do a few things. He’d been out of town for a couple weeks, so we had to give each other a proper hello.

He hit me, bit me, scratched me and hurt me. I yelped, whimpered, squeaked, and made other delightful pain noises. He’s totally a sadist, which makes me eager to suffer for his pleasure. When he pushed his cock into me, the pain didn’t stop. He continued to hurt me as he fucked me hard. He pushed his fingers hard into my armpits, and the uncomfortable and painful sensation eventually caused me to struggle away. I took a few breaths and turned over onto my knees, which is a position I know he enjoys. He fucked me from behind until he came, slamming into my cunt and making me wince.

He collapsed onto my back, and I collapsed onto the bed. When we recovered enough to cuddle, I asked him if I could get off. He agreed, and I rubbed my clit and fantasized while he hurt and choked me. I came, shuddering and gasping, and lay back, spent. He instructed me that the next time, I was to ask permission right before I got off, and I smiled at the addition of another rule. We showered and headed back to bed to cuddle.

We talked about what our relationship is and what words we’re comfortable using (we’re dating and “partners” works). We made plans to spend more time together outside of kink events and happy hours and talked about what kind of kink relationship we want to develop. Both of us love d/s, and I’m excited to see where that dynamic goes. I asked about honorifics, and he had an interesting response. He likes having his name used. I was somewhat put out at first (I really like the term “Sir”), but when he explained his reasoning, I got into the idea. It’s something you can use in any context and around any people. Besides that, using someone’s name lets them know that you are thinking specifically about them. We also talked about jealousy and discussed how very important we both consider communication to be.

I left his place feeling de-stressed, happy, and ready for bed. Today I had to wear a high necked shirt and put makeup on my neck because he left a bite mark there. I also can’t take off my sweatshirt at work because he darkened the bruises that were there already and left me new scratch marks. DTRing can be fun!

The Saturday before last, I slept over at Reaction Junkie’s place, and I had a wonderful waking up experience. We both woke up too early a couple of times and during one such awakening, he was the big spoon. I came out of my sleep, and cuddled into him. He grabbed me and started playing with my cunt, then choked me a little before covering my nose and mouth so that I couldn’t breathe. I struggled, unable to take in oxygen, and when he did let go, I trembled and gasped for air. Somehow we both fell asleep again after that.

When we finally woke up for real a few hours later, he reached back and grabbed my tits, playing with them. Eventually, he turned over, but before I could say anything, he was on top of me, punching me in the tits. I made a couple feeble attempts to stop him and then grabbed a pillow behind me with both hands to avoid putting them in harm’s way.

When he grew tired of just punching my tits, put his weight on me, placing his arms under my tits and pressing up, pushing my breast tissue away from my body. It hurt like hell. I can handle tit slaps pretty well, do okay with tit punching, but I hate compression and fucking with the tissue like that. I take it, but definitely in a “suffering for your pleasure” and taking pain for someone kind of way, not a painpleasure masochistic kind of way.

As he leaned on my chest, he started slapping me in the face. He hit me a bunch of times. The combination of the two made me whimper, and, eventually, those whimpers turned to tears. Reaction Junkie removed his weight from me, and I turned over onto my side to cry. As I did so, he whispered in my ear, “Good morning.” and I tearfully responded, “Good morning. Thank you.” It was the perfect way to wake up.

Last night I spent quite a while Skyping with The Super Sadist, a “nice” young man I met off tumblr. We talked for a long time, and he’s genuinely intelligent and interesting, which was fun. We talked about kink and sex and preferences and even feminism. Obviously we both think it’s stupid bullshit thought up by ridiculous cunts and I clearly need to work on wiping the last vestiges of it out of my system. I’m glad he’s on the same page as me on the feminism thing. I wouldn’t play with a man who wasn’t.

After a long conversation, I eventually asked “Do you want to play?” I guess he had enjoyed watching me get off on Friday night, when I first met him, and that he liked the look of me and was curious to see what I would look and sound like while suffering instead of cumming, because he said he did.

His first question was “What do you have around to stick in your butt?” I grabbed my bag of anal toys and showed him the four toys I have, which range from tiny buttplug to gigantic dildo I’ve only gotten in all the way one time. He seemed pleased to see the giant one and we decided I should clean up and call back.

When I came back, he told me I could work up to the big one if I wanted. I considered for a moment, since when I get fucked I don’t do much prep, but decided this time it would be a good life choice. It definitely was the right choice in this instance, because his nickname is The Super Sadist for a reason. I started putting lube on and then was a stupid, but properly behaved, bitch and threw myself under the bus by asking, “Can I use lube?” I didn’t have to say that. He gave no indication that he wasn’t going to let me use lube. There would have been nothing outwardly disobedient if I hadn’t asked. But I still did because I thought of it, and if I think of a clarification to ask for and the answer could make my life more difficult, I really should ask.

He thought for a bit as I sat there with fingers crossed. He told me that I could use lube on the smaller ones I was using to get myself ready for the big one. I sighed in relief because I’ve never actually had anything in my ass sans lube before. I used plenty of lube as I used my second biggest dildo to loosen myself up. When I felt ready, I grabbed the big one and, positioning myself so he could see what he wanted, I started to push it in. There was enough lube that it went in fairly easily, considering the fact that it has obnoxious ridges.

Finally, after a fair amount of groaning and grimacing, I’d pushed it in as far as it could go. It wasn’t entirely bottomed out, but it just wasn’t going anywhere. I told him it was in as far as it could go, and he said okay. I wanted to do my best, so I tried one last push and said “Yup. Definitely in as far as it can go.” and he told me “I believed you the first time.” I guess I don’t come across as a lazy sub who will lie to wiggle out of the last bit of dildo.

I looked at him to inquire what to do next and he said “Now take it out. Duh.” so I pulled the damn thing almost all the way out. He had me fuck my ass with it, pushing it in as far as I could, then pulling it almost out. After a little while he instructed me to pick up the pace, so I went faster. He seemed to be enjoying my expressions of pain and discomfort, and the trembling/shaking I was doing. It’s good to know that even at a distance I can still manage to provide entertainment via suffering.

Fucking my ass with the large dildo was difficult and uncomfortable, but eventually I got loose enough that it didn’t really hurt anymore. The Super Sadist noticed and asked if it hurt less. I was, of course, honest, and told him that it did. He told me to use a bigger dildo and I told him I was using the biggest one I have. He wanted me to use something else, but I said I didn’t have anything rated for anal penetration. Then I thought of a compromise that would achieve the goal of making it more difficult and painful, and I offered it right up to him. I said that I could wipe the thing off, since there was lube in my ass and on it from when I was loosening myself up with the smaller dildo. I knew it was going to be super unpleasant, but he wanted to watch me suffer more, so I also knew I had to do it.

After I wiped the dildo off, he had me push it back in. The first bit was still fairly easy since there was still lube in my ass, but after an inch or two, it was rough going. Still, I managed to get it in as far as it would go. I was wondering in what he’d have me do next, and I was worried he’d have me fuck myself with it more, now that they was little lube left. That’s not what he did. What he did sucked just as much, if not more.

“Hit it,” he ordered. I was a little out of it, it realized he wanted me to hit the dildo in, so it would slam up against me inside. I did so, but not as hard as I should have he told me “Again.” and I repeated my efforts, not improving much. We continued this for a while, him chastising me for hesitation and saying be didn’t want any of this self-preservation instinct bullshit. He’s right, of course. Having those instincts is fine, but when they’re interfering with a man’s pleasure, then they become a problem.

I kept up with the hitting, feeling it smacking against my insides, making me twitch and moan. Eventually, he had me pull it out most of the way, which sucked, since most of the lube was no longer slick. I wasn’t sure what he was going to have me do next, but I was worried he was going to have me shove it back in. He didn’t. He told me to hit the bottom of the dildo and to hammer it in. I started doing that, still with my ridiculous hesitation. I did start improving, though, especially when he told me that the timer between strikes started when he said “Again,” not when I actually hit the dildo. That motivated me to do better, to go faster. He started leaving less time between strikes, just long enough for me to catch my breath. That also helped, because I had to focus on the next thing I was going to do, not think of worry about the pain I was going to experience.

Next, he told me to slap my cunt after each strike. I took a deep breath and spread my legs a little wider. After in did this a few times, I thought back to Friday night with Marxman, and how he’d made me hit my cunt with the mean rubber paddle. Then I just dove head first under the bus like the over eager cunt I am and told him about the paddle. I said that I would probably be able to hit myself harder, or at least cause more pain if I used the paddle. Then I proceeded to give him all of the information about the damn tool, including the fact that one side is meaner than the other. Luckily, he must have been feeling generous, because he allowed me to use the less harsh side. I told him that telling him about the paddle was one of the dumbest things I’d done in terms of offering up data that would result in suffering for me. He laughed at me and agreed.

I started using my closed fist to hit the dildo, since that allowed me to hit harder. Each time, I would hammer it in, then strike my cunt with the paddle. I curled up a little and groaned in pain each time, but each time returned back to position as soon as I was able. I wasn’t doing that great with the paddle, so I said I should hit multiple times, since that would get rid of hesitation and I’d hit harder, or else I’d at least be hitting multiple times. I did this for a while, and then he increased the number of times I had to hit the dildo, and had me hitting my hole with the edge of the paddle. After doing this for a little, and after a particularly hard hit to the dildo, I felt lightheaded, whether from the pain or not breathing right, I wasn’t sure. He allowed me a moment to start breathing correctly. Then I kept hitting the dildo and smacking my cunt for a decent while. We did interrupt to talk a little and tell offensive jokes about women, but other than that, I kept hurting myself while he watched.

Finally, he told me to pull it out more. When I did, I managed to pull it all the way out like a dumbass. He started to tell me to push it all the way back in, but allowed me to avoid doing that this time, since I needed to go to sleep soon. He had me shown him how stretched I was by pulling my asshole open for him with two fingers. It was a humiliating thing to do, so of course I liked it. He told me I’d done a good job, which made me smile. I’m a sucker for praise like that from doms and tops. It motivates me. Makes me want to be good and push myself to do anything told.

Playing with The Super Sadist was an interesting experience. He’s younger than I am, whereas pretty much every one else I’ve played with is a year or two, or, more frequently, four or more years older than I am. I wasn’t sure I’d have the same urge to please him as I have with those older people. That was not the case. Although I did laugh at myself once or twice, looking in at what I was doing, I wanted to do a good job, to please him. Part of that was likely the fact that I want to be good when men want to use me, because that’s what my owner wants me to do. But part of it was my desire to submit and his attitude. He has a casual domination style, making me feel like he was amused, disdainful, uncaring, entertained at my expense, and maybe even mildly bored, all at the same time. I wanted to behave, to please him, to hold his attention. I wanted to do what he was telling me to do. Especially when he was saying “Again” over and over, rapidly, and when he was clearly enjoying my pain.

I enjoyed being useful to him, despite the suffering. It was a new kind of pain and discomfort than other people have given me, especially with the added challenge of having to do everything to myself. He was unmoved (at least unmoved to sympathy) by any of the reactions I had, and he clearly enjoyed watching my struggle, pain, and discomfort on a number of different levels. He’s a mean fucker, and I like it.

On the way to my date with Legolas, I managed to take a turn too sharply and ran up on the cub. At first I was rattled, but thought everything was fine. Then my whole car started shaking. I completely shredded that tire. Women drivers, am I right?