Facing Fear

a.k.a. “One of the many ways Sir fucked my mind this weekend.”

I am always talking about how turned on I am by fear. I write about it a lot. It confuses me sometimes and makes me question my sanity at others.

Last night while talking with a friend about one of Sir’s well played mindfucks this weekend, he asked my opinion on one of Mollena’s recent posts named Fear Factors. (It is well worth a read, as well as everything else she has ever written.) Once again, she wrote what I feel better than I ever could.

I am deeply moved by the person who is capable of truly evil wickedness yet chooses to control that impulse. More so than the person who “simply couldn’t do it.” I’m not going to be afraid of that person. And being afraid is something I value. It feeds my masochism. And is part of my submission. Submitting to someone capable of cruel and terrible acts, who I know in my heart absolutely could commit them, but chooses not to, is fascinating to me. That is a profound demonstration of control. And it turns me on. Someone looking at me with a gleaming ferocity that says “I could easily do shit to you from which you would not easily recover, and love it. Every moment of it. But I won’t. Because I choose not to. Not today, at least…” speaks to the me who needs to walk that oblivion edge, the part that wants to bleed. The prey. The victim.

Sir is capable of this. Very capable. He knows it, and it scares him sometimes.

I know it. It makes me shiver. It makes me wet.

This past Friday Sir and I had a chance to be completely alone together for the first time in a long time. Pet had taken the kids out but after packing, working, loading up the kids, and the long trip there, my head was still in a ‘top space’. I was unwinding fast, but not fast enough for him.

It was time to shut me up and put me in my place.

He put his hand around my throat and pinned me to the wall. That effectively stopped the babble. His hands caressing me, hurting me, penetrating me, owning me quickly had me moaning and writhing, still held up by my throat.

That alone was perfect. That alone was enough. And that’s all he had planned.

Until I opened my eyes.

His face was right in front of mine. The cigarette in his mouth was very near. I could feel the heat. My eyes showed a flicker of fear. He saw it and smiled. “I wasn’t planning on burning you.”

Now, a smarter person than myself would have left it just at that. Of course I couldn’t.

Sir and I communicate and shit. He tells me what in in his head, including his darker sadistic thoughts. Including his fear of his own desire to burn someone solely for his pleasure.

And I freely disclose what I am thinking. Withholding information about what space my head is in is wrong. Without it, he can not learn me. How can he keep me safe? How can he hurt me?

“I probably wouldn’t mind right this minute Sir.” That was the absolute truth for me in that space in time.

His eyes changed, became unreadable. He grabbed my breast. I waited, perfectly still. He smiled again, but it wasn’t the reassuring smile this time. It was an evil smile. He took the ciggarette out of his mouth. He waited. He watched me.

I was very quickly dropping into a deep sub zone. Did I want him to burn me? No. Would I let him? Yes. A burn on my breast would heal. It would not kill me. It was for Him. My breathing slowed. My eyes lost focus. Deep submission… complete surrender… is a very trance-like state.

He was still watching me. He took a couple of drags off the cigarette and flicked the ash off. Now it was glowing red hot and ready. He held up my breast. I took a deep breath. I was ready. Apparently it was not good enough. He pinched my nipple and pulled it out, stroking his finger across it. He waited for that sensation to sink in.

As the feeling worked its way into my mind, so did the realization of what he was telling me. He was going to burn me. That was fine. But he was going to burn my nipple. That was not so fine. I groaned. I struggled, both in my mind with myself, and in my body against him. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around my throat again, holding me against the wall. He watched the tormet work its way through me.

I stilled after a moment, resolved to my fate. My breaths were coming quicker though and my heart was pounding. I was trembling. I was soaked. I opened my eyes and met his. He looked into my eyes as he took another drag of the cigarette. His eyes narrowed. Some remnant of my logical mind screamed at me to safeword. Instead I took a shuddering deep breath and closed my eyes.

He put out the cigarette and dragged me by my collar to the bed…

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7 Responses
  1. Tantrachick says:

    wow, I held my breath the whole time I was reading pleading with sir not to burn you, even though I know this story is quite obviously past tense…whoosh! I cannot imagine desiring to go into the kind of trance you describe, but must give you kudos for expressing your own perception and desires so incredibly well! I think I might even kinda get it…not into it, but you explained the need to submit better than most! Thank you for sharing the darkest aspects of your being! With respect and admiration, from my heart to yours, Joy

  2. God, your so fucking amazing! Wonderful work, beautifully written. 🙂
    My recent post Only Time Will Tell

  3. @QuietDaemon says:

    Intense is not even the word for this. That fine line of control, viewing it another capable of such acts….fascinating and arousing.