Thursday, 19 June 2014

The games sadists play

So, let's talk some more about Luke.

Luke is a self-professed sadist, and I'm not contradicting that, at all. We have played a couple of times, and it's all about and for him: he wants to hurt me and see the evidence. He marks me and laughs at me as I cry, and then he marks me some more. He just loves to see me cry, which I do every time.

And yet, when I'm dancing to cope with the pain, when I need a breather, he's there: he holds me, hugs me, rubs the sore spots, helps me through it, encourages me to go on, and starts hitting me again. He also tells me to curse and shout, to do whatever helps me cope. So I shout "Fuck!" a lot, and sometimes I tell him how he's not a nice guy, he grins and carries on, happy he's got to me.

Afterwards he fucks me. We don't make love, we don't have sex: he fucks me, and since he prefers anal, it's never in my vagina. He tells me the lube is just to prevent the condom breaking, and not for me, he doesn't care whether or not it hurts me. He stops when he cums, I never cum, but then it's about him, not about me. And I don't care! I love every moment of it, I crave it as much as he does, I want it, and I don't need an orgasm, all I need is the feeling of being taken, and I love feeling the tears rolling down my cheeks as I cry out. The orgasms come later, usually when I'm sitting behind the computer, thinking back, nursing my new bruises. Then I cum, without even touching myself: one, two, three times.

He used a riding crop on my breasts the other day. A couple of days later, while I was still black and blue and hurting, he was giving me a lift to friends for a game night. In the car he pinched and twisted my nipples so hard I came up from the seat, fighting to cope with the pain. And when we arrived, before we got out, he did it again. Now there were tears of pain, so I needed a couple of minutes before I could get out of the car. When we were inside, he bumped me a couple of times, when nobody saw it, just to try and get a reaction out of me.
Last night, at the end of our game night, he gave me a lift home as always. He asked me about my breasts, I told him they were almost back to normal, apart from some bruising around my nipple, he said: "Gross!" That didn't stop him pinching and twisting some more before I got out of the car though. I held onto him, moaning, almost screaming, fighting not to bite him. He laughed.

We message back and forth in FetLife. We talk about our day, the games we play together in public, the games we play in private, other people: we talk about whatever comes up. And while we're talking, there are the questions he sneaks in. Questions that have made me agree to only getting anal sex from him, and to have him fuck me anytime he wants, and not because I want it (as well). Essentially, we're going down the route to CNC (Consensual Non-Consensuality: A mutual agreement that within defined limits, or subject to a safe word or other restrictions, and to common sense, consent to activities is given without foreknowledge of the exact actions planned), so I don't have any input into what happens or when, I can't refuse, all I can do is safe word.
This is terrifying and hot and an exercise in trust.
He asked me: "Do you give me permission to take what I want?"
And I answered him: "Damn, you always sneak in these kind of questions. In a way, I think I already have done that: I don't think I've ever told you No. I guess what it comes down to now is: do I trust you enough to believe you won't go too far, that you will stop when I need you to, that you will take care of me even when it seems to be all about you? Then the answer must be: Yes."
And there we are, I've given him permission.

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