Last week I found myself at the hands of a Sadist.
That sentence was supposed to go on, but something about that statement just causes me pause. Perhaps because I've been waiting for it for a long time, to experience that first hand, in person. The laugh is what gets me, when he took the clothespins from my nipples and then pulled on them, me moaning a scream behind my panties in my mouth, then yes, he laughed, and that just turned me on more.... God, my thoughts of him are so sparatic, I can't even write about it properly, though I sure as hell want to try. I think of him in moments- him sitting in a chair with his foot over my hair, my hands tied behind my back with zipties, my ankles bound the same, and I'm damp from the water he threw on me and exasperated from spanking and being thrown about, my brain in a buzz and he smokes a cigarette, looking at me he smiles a bit sardonically saying, "don't you looks so pretty down there." And I felt pretty, and full and content...
Though surprisingly unfulfilled. I have this thought that perhaps I let myself think my pain threshold is shallower than it is, thus left wanting more... Through the couple days I had with him I kept looking at him, thinking I could do this every day.. I could do this every day... and he says, "it's a fantasy" and it's not, it's not a fantasy because he exists, and I exist, and other people like us exist. Sometimes I am so frustrated by my masochistic desires, and all of this BDSM shit running around in my head, that I would forget it all if I could... and then I meet someone like this Sadist and I'm reminded why it enriches my life. It is fun. It's the most fun! It's adult play in the most obvious sense of the words.
Ugh, but I can't figure out to rebel, not to rebel, to be cocky or sweet, it seems to change in me, all depending on who I'm dealing with or what I'm doing, and with him, I'm unsure. I am naturally sweet to him, yeilding... but I see in both of us this love of banter and fighting, yet I can't seem to get to that point with him. I fear I'm not interesting enough, I fear him being bored of me.
And there are better choices for me than the Sadist but I can't fucking get him out of my head. Not that I have to make a choice. It's easy math, I know, cater to this sort of thing, and bam, stuck right in my brain. He left me in a breeze, barely seemed to care and I was left on the sidewalk, his cab rolling away, and I cried, though I wasn't sure why I was crying. I wanted to scream. This emotional roller coaster is never ending with me, and it's like he opened my pandora's box, and I was left scrambling to shove it all back inside, left only with memories and two zip-ties around my right wrist, enough to keep my masochism awake and in the forefront of my mind, but with no outlet to get it out.
fuck I could talk about this shit for so long...
It's better than sex.
Hurt me. Beat me. Love me.