#taking pain

Not A Tumblr Dom just left after a fantastic date. We got pizza, watched Zoo, and then, while we were still cuddling on the couch, he started punching the fronts of my thighs.

He hit both of them at first, and then switched to primarily focusing on the right thigh, which was at a better angle for him. He punched me hard and really pushed me. At one point he told me, “I’m not holding back.” He wasn’t using his whole body, of course, since we were sitting, but he was hitting me with a lot of force.

He had me tense my muscle and punched that, which was even more painful, and then he had me stand up while he punched, which meant my leg couldn’t be relaxed. I had to hold onto his shoulder while he hit me, since there were several times I definitely would have fallen over from the impact if I hadn’t been supported by him.

We moved to the bed and he hit my thigh with the bike tire jack I have, and then said he could hit me win the sweet spot. So I flipped over and he started hitting right where my ass and thighs meet. With a good rhythm and the right angle and strength, that jiggles all the right bits and it’s super sexy and it’s the sort of thing that I could maybe cum from, if I got my mind and the sensations all lined up right (and maybe with a little clit action, too).

I asked if he wanted to hit my cunt from the front, and he did, so I hopped on the bed and turned over. He started hitting, and told me I could tell him if he should hit harder or softer, so I did. I think sometime maybe I could cum from that, too.

He switched back to hitting my thigh, and also used the knife straightening steel I bought for that purpose. It’s thuddy! He hit me with that, switched to the jack, and then went to punching again. The impact on the already reddened and raised area was a lot to handle, but I held out and took more than I thought I could.

We cuddled for a while after I couldn’t take any more, and then he headed home. My right thigh is super messed up. Where he was punching is red and really raised and engorged with blood. It hurts quite a bit to move my leg, and it’s even more painful to bend my knee or walk on it. I’m really pleased with that, especially since I’ll be doing quite a bit of walking over the next few days. He’s so much fun!

Also! During the really intense punching on the couch, Not A Tumblr Dom told me he was proud of me for taking so much for him! That made me grin and do a happy little butt wiggle. I’m proud of me, too. I took a lot of pain and I was such a fucking champ about it!

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.

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.

Part 2

“And none of that is even remotely true.” Reaction Junkie said this moments after whispering the final, devastating lines of the story into my ear. I sat there, letting the sadness sink in. Then I turned towards him and buried my head in his chest. I hadn’t cried while he was telling me the story, but now the tears started. I was getting into my head, thinking about how it would feel if he actually did that, imagining those emotions. He’d come incredibly close to some of my real fears and insecurities. In fact, he’d hit upon them. Being unwanted, unimportant, replaceable, second best. Having someone I care about pull away from me. Being left alone, with no social support network. Those are some of my biggest fears, the things that would destroy me most readily.

When I stopped crying enough to talk, I looked up at Reaction Junkie and said, “You’re so fucked up.” We both smiled and started talking about what he’d just done to me. I told him how close it was to my real anxieties and how it reminded me of things that had happened to me in the past. I wasn’t mad at him, exactly, but as we talked, I decided to take my upset feelings and use them against him. I put on what I’m sure was a half angry, half pouty face, and said, “Give me your shirt.” Without hesitating, he removed it and gave it to me. I put it on and then licked his face, which he hates. I was grinning now, and when he wiped off where I’d licked him, I told him not to. He told me I’d better cuff him if I was going to do that. I did so, and then held his hands down while I licked him. He struggled a bit, and managed to wipe his face on me. I grabbed his hair in response, and held his head still while I licked his face.

Eventually, I let him get up, and he wandered off, still cuffed. I went over to Mort and told her about what Reaction Junkie had done. She and I talked for a little while, and then parted ways. I figured I should go uncuff Reaction Junkie. When I found him, however, he was already out. I was entirely unsurprised. I joined in the conversation he was having. I mentioned to him that in addition to giving me the emotional bruises with his story, he should touch up the physical bruises he’d given me previously. I was, once again, literally asking for it. And I got it.

Reaction Junkie handcuffed me, brought me to the ground, and started hitting me. He focused his attention on my left thigh, where he’d beat me the day before. He hit me with his open hand, then his fist. He threw in a few elbows for good measure. I was on the floor, half curled up. Because of the cuffs, I couldn’t even do anything with my hands to help me endure the blows. “Please stop,” I whimpered. That had the expected effect of not causing him to stop. I tried to take more, but I was about at my limit. “Yellow!” He didn’t change what he was doing in the slightest. Then, quietly, “Red.” Reaction Junkie still didn’t stop.

No matter how many times he responds that way to my safewords, I’m always surprised, and I always have a moment of panic. That turns into uncertainty and fear, which combine with feeling pleased and excited to create a delicious rush. This time was no different. I didn’t want to say it too loudly, since people are supposed to stop at “red” in most playspaces. I told this to Reaction Junkie later and he laughed and said, “You could be shouting ‘RED!’ and no one would do a thing about it.” Because I’m his. I’m his property. And he can do whatever he wants to me.

Reaction Junkie did uncuff me, but afterwards, he just went back to hitting me again. I pushed away from him at one point, scooting back. Anderson Cooper came up behind me and I sat against him. At first, I used him to help me deal with the pain by squeezing his legs. Then, when I tried to to push back even more, he blocked me. I couldn’t get away as Reaction Junkie slammed his elbows into me. It hurt so much, so deeply. I just couldn’t take it anymore. In the moment between two impacts, I practically pounced on Reaction Junkie, hugging him tightly. The pain stopped, and the tears that I’d started crying during the beating started to slow.

I finally turned to Anderson Cooper and gave him a dirty look. He just grinned at me, having enjoyed his role in my distress. I kicked at him weakly, which he immediately reported to Reaction Junkie. Reaction Junkie said he’d help. Of course, he didn’t help me. As I lay on my side on the ground, he placed his heel on my bruised and sensitive outer left thigh. The pressure was bad enough, but then he kicked down, his heel slamming into my flesh. The pain went through me like a shock, and I curled up around Reaction Junkie’s feet. I stayed there, sobbing and shaking, until I was finally able to stand up.

Reaction Junkie hugged me and put his mouth next to my ear, “You’re mine. Body, mind, and soul.” He continued speaking low into my ear, reinforcing his ownership and reminding me that I belong to him forever. These words contradicted the awful story he’d told me earlier in the night. They turned me on, made my cunt clench. I shivered in response, and Anderson Cooper noticed my reaction. He told me, “I don’t know what he said to you, but I imagine it was fucked up and something only [Reaction Junkie] could think of.” I smiled and told him what Reaction Junkie had said to me earlier, about making me dependent on him and then withdrawing from me. Anderson Cooper looked over at Reaction Junkie and said, “That’s so fucked up…I kinda want to tie him down and pull out each of his chest hairs one by one.” Anderson Cooper is such a sweet guy.

The rest of the night was great as well. Reaction Junkie got on the pole and danced for a group of us, which resulted in laughter and clapping and glee from everyone. I got on the bed with Anderson Cooper and a group of friends and acquaintances. We all cuddled and talked, and people pressed on my bruises. After the party was over, a group of us went to IHOP and sat at a big table of fifteen plus people. It felt like a big family dinner. I was surrounded by fun and friends and affection.

The party went from social anxiety to minor jealousy to fun conversation to emotional anguish to physical pain, and all the way to feeling like I was part of something, a community. Like I fit. It was a wonderful night.

I had an awesome scene with The Violinist at happy hour last night. He tied me in a position that was uncomfortable and challenging, but not unsustainable. That meant I stayed in it for the entire time, which was fantastic, since that doesn’t happen all the time.

Once his rope was on me, he started moving me around. I was laying over his lap, and he pushed me and pulled me, even scaring me by making me think I was going to fall off the couch by allllmost letting me go over the edge.

He grabbed my right leg, which was tied to my bent left leg and my right arm, and pulled it up, pushing me on my back and causing the pressure on the ropes to increase. He smacked my ass a few times, and then started punching. All of a sudden he spun me around so I was facing the other direction, and resumed hitting me.

The punches were landing not on the soft fleshy/muscley part of my ass, but a little to the side, on a more boney section. That meant they hurt more. He punched me a few more times, and then pushed my leg up further to get even better access. That’s when he started using things other than his fists.

First he threw in a few elbows, and then he started kneeing me. I was already making some pretty good pain sounds, but when his knee hit my ass, I got even louder. After a couple more times, I started gulping back sobs and holding in tears. The Violinist noticed and asked, “Are you going to cry?” I nodded and he told me that was fine, I could cry, and kept going.

He kneed me again and the tears started to form. The Violinist looked at me and said, “Oh, I guess you need more to cry.” He did it again, hard, and the tears started to fall. “Need another?” he asked. I considered for a split second and decided I could take a little more for him, so I shakily held up one finger and said, “One more?” He kneed me one final time, really hard.

We calmed down for a bit after that. I asked if I could have some water and The Violinist of course said yes. He handed it to me and I drank some. When I was done, he started easing back into things, laying on top of me, messing with the position of my limbs to make the tension in the ropes increase and decrease, hurting me more and less.

Then he hauled me up so that I was kneeling on the couch. He moved around me and started hitting my back, which is a surefire way to send me on the path to subspace. He smacked me a few times across the middle of my back, increasing the strength as he went. Then he punched me on the back of my shoulder and I fell forward against the back of the couch.

He continued punching me in the back, towards the bottoms of my shoulder blades. My hair fell over my face, which was pressed into the back of the couch as I gritted my teeth and started to cry again. Being hit in the back, especially where he was hitting me, does me a frighten, even though I’m quite confident in The Violinist’s abilities and experience. That, plus the fact that I get a little light-headed with repeated strikes to the upper back, is part of what puts me in a subby headspace, so I love it, but it does also mean that I can’t take too much of that kind of impact.

The Violinist knows this, and did a very good job of reading me and figuring out when I was done without me feeling the need to even think “Yellow,” He finished with a particularly hard punch that made me gasp. Then he moved around to the front of me and pushed my hair back so he could see my face. He smiled at me and said, “There you are.” I gave him as shaky smile back.

He helped me back into a kneeling position. As I looked at him he moved my hair around, placing it where he wanted it and then sat back and said, “You look pretty.” Now, a while ago when I was closer with him and kinda doing a d/s-y thing with him, I learned that The Violinist’s preferred honorific is his name. So something like, “Yes, [The Violinist].” I hear my roommate, Sunny, use it all the time since they do have a dynamic. Through much of the scene last night, I’d been thinking about using it, although I wasn’t sure if I should, so I hadn’t yet. However, after the beating and the lovely headspace it produced, I was in such a subby place that almost without thinking, I replied, “Thank you, [The Violinist]” and looked up at him. He seemed pleased and I felt happy with my choice.

The rest of the scene was spent with The Violinist and I making out and him being rough with me. He grabbed me and scratched me and threw me around a bit. As with the beating, he did a really good job of pushing me up to a limit and then backing off before it got to be too much. At one point, he was grabbing my tits and squeezing them, which is something that is difficult for me to take much of. He was getting really into it and was going hard enough that I started to consider saying something when I saw him realize he was pushing my limits. He visibly took control of himself and eased off. The fact that he was able to keep my needs in mind while getting so into his sadism made me feel confident in him as a play partner and eager to bottom for him again.

Aftercare was him slowly undoing the rope while we cuddled and kissed and talked. We made plans to hang out the weekend after this one. Just as it had been while we were playing, during aftercare I thought very little, if at all, about anything outside of our interaction. The whole scene was amazing and got me out of my head and into a happy mental state perfectly.

Part 1

I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to post these next two parts, since there are feelings about things some of my friends did, and at least one of them read my tumblr. But I decided to share them anyway. Not to make anyone feel bad, especially since I’m not upset or mad or hurt or deeply wounded, but because I like how open I can be on here. No one did anything wrong. These were just my initial visceral reactions to things that happened.

A little while after I’d gotten those lovely compliments, I saw Anderson Cooper and Reaction Junkie standing with Radical Girl. I went over and Reaction Junkie was giving head scratches to Radical Girl. He told me he was petting the puppy and said, “Look at the puppy!” I had a negative reaction (a combination of jealousy, sadness, hurt, and envy) to that, and, honestly, picturing this part of the night still makes me feel kind of shitty. I think I had that response partially because hey, I’m his puppy, partially because I feel like I haven’t been getting to be in any sort of headspaces much lately, partially because I haven’t been playing with pretty much anyone besides Reaction Junkie recently, and partially because I wanted to be doing something like that with her.

Anderson Cooper asked if he could join Reaction Junkie in petting her, and I saw that, because of the way we were standing, if he did so, I would be literally out of the circle, with his arm in front of me, physically excluding me. She said he could. Reaction Junkie tried to pet me at the same time, and asked Radical Girl if she wanted triple scratches. I felt uncomfortable because of my reactions, and because I didn’t want to pet her as much as I wanted to want to (I think that was at least somewhat because I’d had that initial negative response, and was trying to deal with it), and because of the unintended physical exclusion.

I hesitated a moment, and if I’d had more mental energy, or if I hadn’t used up a lot of my “dealing with people” energy, I might have gone for it and had fun. I was right on the cusp of being able to do that, and I really wish I had been able to go for it. But my emotional and social reserves were depleted, so instead I smiled and bounced and said, “I’m gonna go check my phone!” I didn’t want my feelings to be noticed, since I could have just dealt with them on my own. I wasn’t sure if Anderson Cooper or Radical Girl had noticed (I found out later that she had been able to tell that something was up), but of course Reaction Junkie did.

He followed me to the couch where I was checking my phone. I was embarrassed and frustrated by the feelings I’d had and the actions I’d taken in reaction to the situation. I told Reaction Junkie I was tired, and he asked if I wanted to go. I said I did, but then changed my mind. We decided to go upstairs and have him beat me. He asked if we should invite Radical Girl to watch, and I happily said yes. We invited her and Anderson Cooper. Her eyes got big and she looked at me. I grinned and said she should come watch, so the four of us headed upstairs. At first, while Reaction Junkie was tying me, we all chatted. Then the beating began.

It began with me face up in Reaction Junkie’s lap. He started hitting the fronts and sides of my thighs, alternating between smacks and punches. Then he did a long set of slaps. It was very stingy, which I usually hate. This time, however, as the initial bite faded, the afterburn felt amazing. He continued hitting me with his hands for a while. I savored the thuddy and stingy pain for their different effects. I knew that Radical Girl was watching, and that knowledge encouraged me to take more. It changed the experience, making more fun and more intense, which resulted in me groaning and moaning even more than usual.

I felt Reaction Junkie reach for something, and I could tell he was going to switch from his hands to an impact tool. I threw myself under the bus and said that I had my mean paddle in my purse. We sent Anderson Cooper downstairs to grab my bag. While we were waiting, I looked over at Radical Girl and was delighted to see that she had that big-eyed kid in a candy store look again. Anderson Cooper returned, bag in hand, and gave it to Reaction Junkie. As he did, he said, “I’m helping,” with one of his evil little assistant sadist grins on his face.

Reaction Junkie started in on me again, this time using the paddle. He brought it down on the front and sides of my thighs, hitting me over and over. I was starting to get done with that part of my body, so I told him, “I have a whole other side.” Reaction Junkie smiled at me and flipped me over so I was face down over his lap. He started hitting me again with the paddle and with his fists. I moaned and savored the mix of pain and pleasure. I grabbed a piece of his shirt in my mouth and bit down on it as the blows kept coming. The feeling of the impacts on my sensitized skin made me gasp. Reaction Junkie noticed and asked me, “Have you had enough?” Of course I responded, “No.”

Reaction Junkie had me stand up and bend over the couch. He started kneeing me in the ass and backs of my thighs, then added in some punching and slapping. All of a sudden, I felt a really hard paddle strike on my left ass cheek. Through the pain-buzzed headspace I was in, I heard talking. There was another paddle hit, this time on the right. I made out Reaction Junkie saying, “You can hit her as hard as you can.” He was letting someone else hit me.

I asked who it was and Reaction Junkie teasingly replied, “Don’t worry about it.” I thought it might be Radical Girl, and I knew it wouldn’t be anyone I wasn’t comfortable with, but I wanted to know. I picked up my head and repeated my question. Reaction Junkie could tell that I actually wanted to know, so he told me it was Radical Girl. “That’s okay, then!” I said happily before putting my head back down.

Radical Girl seemed timid about going full force at first, so I turned my head and told her, “You can hit me as hard as you can!” And boy, did she. It hurt so good, the hot, stingy pain radiating from where she’d struck me. I took a breath and said, “Okay,” before leaning forward, grabbing the paddle. I thought I was done. Then Reaction Junkie stopped me and took the paddle from me. He wanted to hit me as hard as he could, to show it off. His first couple of blows glanced off, although they still hurt. Then he changed sides and angles and brought the paddle down on my ass with a loud and painful *SMACK*