Being a Brat Can Hurt

Or at least it should…

Today’s Wanton Wednesday post is a bit different. I do have the perfect picture for today. Unfortunately it is on Sir’s phone and I haven’t been able to see it yet, so I will have to make do.


If you know me at all, then you know every once in a while I can be a bit of a smart-ass. Yes, I know, it is shocking! I have been punished for it on occasion, but I am a masochist. I like being punished as long as it involves pain.

Sunday morning I got a surprise message from a Dom I had seen a long time ago. I was subdropping hard after Sir’s birthday, and the offer of the cane was irresistible. I was a junkie coming down off pain with another hit dangling right there. I got permission from Sir even as I was already driving to that Dom’s house.

The morning went quite well, and I got my pain and cock fix. (Thank you again by the way. I know you are reading this.) I was a *very* happy submissive, masochist slut as I was leaving. On the way out, though, I turned my head over my shoulder to say something smart-assy and slutty. I don’t even remember what it was, and I didn’t even get to finish it. Then next thing I knew I was on the ground. 

I wish I could say it was because he had grabbed me by the hair and threw me down for my brattiness. Mmm… I *so* wish I could. But I can’t. I was on the ground because I had walked right off a step I didn’t know was there. I twisted my ankle and landed hard on my other knee. 

We checked after very slowly removing my socks. In hindsight it may have been a good idea to have removed the slutty over-the-knee stockings when slipping my street clothes back on. My ankle hurt, but my knee felt fine. 

I did have to acknowledge though that it probably hurt much more than I was feeling at that moment. I was riding a pain high already, and that can be a *very* dangerous place. (Remember that sadists and masochists!!!) After being happily beaten to a point where pain doesn’t hurt anymore, other ‘pain’ is not perceived. I once carried a glass bowl of boiling soup to someone in my bare hands. He asked if it was hot. I said “No, but I think I need to put it down because it should be.” I take extra care now when I am in that place.

If my ankle hurt already while riding that high, I knew I had twisted it very badly. I drove straight home, wrapped it, and put it up with ice. I planned to get a brace and still go to work that night though. It still didn’t hurt enough for me to even call “yellow” when I woke up from my nap. It was a bit swollen & bruised, but only sprained. I took some Aleve to help with the swelling. As soon as my husband came home, he looked at it and sent me straight to the emergency room with crutches.

At the ER, I was asked what my pain level was. I had to think for a moment. I think about my pain levels a lot more than an average person. My personal pain scale is curvy, dipping down again as each level is reached before climbing again to the next dip. I am a masochist *because* of those dips. I didn’t know how to rate my pain for the nurse though. It hurt, but I couldn’t feel how much. I guessed 6 or 7 with a straight face and no flinching. I was chatty and joking about being a klutz. That raised her eyebrows. She asked how I had gotten there. I told her I had driven myself. I could see she thought I was faking. Apparently I should have looked more distressed

As soon as they unwrapped my bandage, though, I was rushed straight into xray and splinted for a “really badly” broken ankle. The xray chick and sexy splinting guy kept warning me certain movements would hurt. I could feel it, and flinched, but they kept remarking at how well I was taking it. I was happily tweeting throughout. 

The doctor wanted to give me a pain pill, but I declined. I still planned to drive myself home. She looked at me like I was crazy. Perhaps, but my body’s pain reaction was still working very well without the drowsy side effects. I didn’t even bother filling my prescription on the way home. The next day I did because I began to feel achy and have been enjoying the buzz since because I am a lightweight on pain meds. I don’t even take aspirin.

That might explain why this post is a lot longer than I thought it would be.

My masochist side is proud I endured breaking my ankle and walking on it so well. Good girl. The logical side of me though is using this as a reminder to myself (and a warning to others) of just how much care must be taken to protect the body when we play with the mind.


So how can I ramble on this long on my Wanton Wednesday post when I already said I didn’t have the picture? Because I already had one just like it. Same Dom, same cane, same lovely marks. Different day. And the click-through tells that story…

I do love the cane…




Do you feel like sometimes you want to be a little more than just half naked? A bit more than just slightly suggestive? For the weeks you want to play with the wicked & wanton crowd, feel free to join us on Wednesdays.

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