“Thwack, as the tears stream down your face.
Thwack, as the leather caresses your skin.
Thwack, as you lose count, & we start anew.”
Sir tweeted this Friday morning. He was going shopping in San Francisco at Mr. S Leather later that day with evil on his mind. The shopping trip mindfuck had started even before he left on his business trip. Apparently there was a need to prevent me from trying to ‘claw’ myself away the next time I would be beaten.
I anticipated more mindfucking while he was traveling. He did not disappoint. After three hot dates over the next few days though, his count for infractions was up to 1600 cane strikes. That is an awful lot.
The first week flew. Then life threw a few rocks at me. I stopped tweeting. I was doing other things that needed to be done.
I even turned down COCK.
I was grouchy. I wasn’t eating right. I got mad at twitter. I was subdropping and didn’t even recognize it. Times 3. And the cherry on top of this was PMS.
Sir was poking at me on Twitter and Facebook. I blew up. I sent a DM to him flatly stating that I did NOT want my beating. Then I ‘hung up’ on him, and everyone. I went offline.
Sir’s immediate voicemail kindly pointed out I was in a classic drop with bonus points. His reassuringly sexy, purring British voice on the phone wasn’t enough though. He sent firmer DMs, knowing I was lurking, saying while of course I didn’t want it, he believed I really needed it. Even if he WAS completely right, I was still mad at everyone and everything. I went offline again and went straight to bed.
A good night’s sleep and a good talk with Sir helped a lot, but on this day, by the time I’d dragged my ass through Seattle rush hour traffic, in the rain, to go to some stupid class that I really did not need to attend, I was back in a fairly crappy mood. And I’d arrived an hour early. That tweet completely changed my mood, as did the rest of the conversation before class. But then it was time to go in. I was thinking about leather.
After class, I received a text from Sir’s assistant. She had been in the store with him while he selected ways to hurt me.
“You should be scared.”
“NOW I am…”
That was actually a lie. With Sir, I am always scared. He can make the harshest tool feel like gentle kisses, or he can completely destroy me in five strikes or less. I just never know which it will be. That is up to his desires and that is scary. I can never predict it. But that’s part of the game, isn’t it? Either way I should still be alive and in his arms at the end, grinning like an idiot.
Then he started tweeting.
“The good news is you no longer have to worry about the cane.”
What could be worse than the cane?
“The bad news is that I bought a particularly evil 4′ Latigo.”
Oh. Holy. Fucking. Hell.
I am going to die. Bleeding.
“And a very nasty 4′ Quirt.”
FOUR FEET?!?! Sir does not need the ability for that big of a backswing with something that looks this evil. Ever! *sighs* Yup. I’m dead.
“Some things to stop you squirming.”
“Those I knew about.”
Now I understand the need for these. Perhaps way too vividly already in my overactive imagination. These will keep me from being able to reach safety latches, or knots. He is taking away my escape route should I really feel the need to get away. He brings me there often enough it seems.
This photo is the scariest of them all.
“More good news. It’s not all about pain and suffering. I bought some very comfy cock and ball slings.”
Yes, I can be terrified and still laugh. I know I will slip my hands into those cuffs. I know I will feel pain. I will scream. I will cry. I know I will hate parts with a full fury that turns on Sir. I will beg, plead, and bargain for him to stop. I may safeword. Unless he gags me. It doesn’t matter though. It will still happen.
I can picture the evil gleam in Sir’s eyes while he fondles the leather and plays with them in his sleeper compartment. He will have plenty of time to plot evil while riding back home to use them on me. His assistant will probably help. And the tweets will continue.
In the meantime, I am grinning. And soaked. I am also really, really fucking scared. (Seriously. He’s already had to ‘talk me down’ more than once offline.) That’s a good thing, though. I do love a good scare, and it takes a damned good Dom to scare me.
Now I keep hearing the sound “Thwack” in my mind…