I walked in the dungeon party and saw him sauntering behind a wild-haired girl who was restrained by wrists and ankles to a wood frame. She was lovely, with a curvy figure and a retro pin-up girl look. He studied his target and snapped a leather strap at her back and thighs with well-placed strikes. She yelped, tossed her head around and squirmed around gracefully like a jazz dancer, trying to avoid his blows.
He wore a black jacket with the letters P A I N splashed across the front, and a slouchy leather cap pulled down over his brow.
Sir M was playing with a new play partner, W. Although W has a lower pain tolerance, Sir M seemed to be striking her with hard, stingy snaps. But she smiled as he released her from the restraints and she came down.
He ordered her to straddle a chair backward and had me rub arnica gel on all the red marks on her back. She marks easily and arnica helps heal bruises and welts faster. Sir M is training me to assist in his scenes, and part of assisting him means providing after-care to the person he has just played with.
“Clean the toys!”
He pointed to the items on the floor by his suitcase — a few floggers, a blindfold, the leather strap. As I was cleaning W walked over and kissed me with full soft lips to thank me for caring for her. Then the two of us sat at Sir M’s feet while he lounged in a leather and carved wood armchair.
After she was OK to drive, he dismissed her to go home. Then he turned to me.
“OK! Time to take your clothes off and get over there!”
He pointed to the frame.
I must have slightly grimaced; I’d been at a memorial service for a dear friend’s mom that day and was feeling distracted and melancholy.
“Well don’t look so excited about it!”
I stripped and got into position, Sir M put my wrists into the restraints and then put on the blindfold. He started with a light spanking and then beat my back with his fists.
It hurt and I tried to breathe through it to manage the pain. As the intensity of his blows increased, I froze in terror and wasn’t able to breathe through the pain.
He flogged my back with strong whacks that felt like hard thuds. My body clenched up and that probably made the pain worse. I held my breath – another bad move because it concentrates the pain.
Tears for fears
I sobbed softly at first. I felt like a failure because I can’t take much pain. I reminded myself that in order to serve Sir M properly, I have to be able to withstand pain.
I felt despondent. I sobbed harder as he beat me.
Then my despondent thoughts turned to my father, who is in very poor health. I cried more intensely. Soon I was weeping so hard my ribs heaved and I was almost choked by the sobs that rose from my gut.
Sir M beat me harder and harder. He was relentless. Usually he will give me breaks to catch my breath, absorb the pain, but not this evening. I thought he was being particularly brutal, and I cried even harder.
He switched to hitting me with a heavy, thuddy toy that felt like a rubber baseball bat. I screamed and howled, feeling grief for my dad sweep through my body. I realized Sir M was hitting me much harder than usual but I was completely engulfed in anguish. I felt the pain sharply but the sadness was more overwhelming.
I’m not sure at what point, but he eventually stopped. I was bawling, feeling embarrassed at shedding tears publicly but unable to do anything about it. He shoved me into a chair and wrapped his PAIN jacket over my shoulders.
I shook and wept and fell limp.
Humiliated and exposed
I barely managed to spit out a few words to ask Sir M for permission to sit on the floor. He nodded. I plopped down like a little puddle, pulling the jacket over me.
I understood that in leaving me alone like that he was giving me some space. I knew Sir M was letting me finish my crying jag and would be keeping an eye on me.
I felt humiliated and exposed but was too upset to really focus on that. Eventually, the cries turned into quiet sobs. I’d exhausted myself.
I was still wearing the blindfold but became aware of Sir M’s presence next to me. His energy is so strong, it changes the way the air moves near him.
“Get dressed and clean the toys.”
I did so as he watched from the armchair. He pointed at the floor front of him. I sat down on the floor where he wanted me.
“Hug me. You did good.”
I leaned forward and hugged him. My fatigue was stronger than my embarrassment about crying in public. But my heart was beating intently in my chest and I felt adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“I’m sorry, Sir, for all the crying.”
“I knew when it started that you had some issue going on and I decided to make the session about getting you to cry.”
I didn’t answer. I squeezed him tighter.
Why not cry for me?
I was feeling unusually emotional and needy, like I just wanted to hug someone closely.
He went on to explain that he realized I must have some repressed grief and he wanted to work it out of my system through tears. He has said to me before, “Why wouldn’t you want to cry for me? Isn’t it cathartic? Don’t you feel better afterwards?”
Once I had calmed down a bit he brought me outside to sit around the fire pit with some of his Dom friends. There were one or two other subs but they were nearly non-existent in the conversation. The men lit up cigars and it occurred to me he’d be there a good long while.
I asked permission to go back inside and hang out with a few other subs. Granted.
I went in and cuddled with them, rested my head on one girl’s shoulder. I felt happy to be part of such a loving and supportive community.
Sir M poked his head in from time to time to check on me. I gradually started to feel a bit more grounded and ready to drive home. He walked me to my car and gave me a tight hug and made sure I was okay.
The next morning I felt much lighter. The crying therapy had been successful.
Also, my ass was riddled with black and blue marks. I had a hard time sitting all day, but that was a small trade-off for Sir M’s excellent pain therapy.