Begging For Mercy

The first (and only previous) time Perrin used ginger on me was a long while ago. My hands were tied, and I remember a sense of fear as it was inserted into my ass. That in itself was a new experience for me too. I felt it begin to burn and struggled against it. Before it grew unbearable though the sensation was augmented with an overwhelming desire to have my cunt filled. I begged desperately to be fucked. The burning faded away, and the desire remained.

Return to the present day. I had little fear as I was bent over the bed, and Perrin began to insert something into my bottom. It was so cold that for a few moments I wondered if it was ice, but then the burning sensation began.

Quickly it began to hurt. After an unmeasurable time, though doubtless only a minute or two, I was ordered onto the bed, and I struggled to make my limbs obey me.

I ended up curled into a ball unable to find a place in my mind away from the pain. I begged desperately for it to stop. Curling my hands convulsively against the sheets, struggling not to attempt to remove the cause of my agony. Dimly aware of feeling completely unsexy and nonsexual. There was only pain, and a desperate hope for mercy.

My relief when Perrin removed it was intense, the burn faded instantly to a level I could endure. Perrin then proceeded to distract me further, a very welcome relief.

A part of me wonders though, how long could I have endured. Even in the pain, I struggled to submit, despite my genuine pleading. Is that a submissive win or a fail I wonder?

Puppy Treats

It’s been a while since I’ve got to play the puppy. It’s an unusual kink for me, because it’s largely asexual, and almost entirely role play.

Perrin started the evening, putting me in my pink collar. He then ordered me to stand on tiptoes, which I did, albeit with a fair quantity of wobbling. Then he asked me to take off my jumper.

It sounds simple enough, but I failed to manage both at once. I tried to excuse my failure, but saw trouble ahead instantly.

“Go upstairs and take all your clothes off” he ordered, “when you come back I’m going to punish you”. I went, with a sense of trepidation, and did as I was commanded.

As I returned, his hand reached out to grab me.

“Not a word” he warned.

“You probably expect I’m going to beat you” he said coldly. I trembled, that was exactly what I’d expected.

“But you don’t hit bad puppies, you ignore them” he continued, as he sat me on the floor and fastened my leash to my collar, tying me to the table leg. I curled up slightly, absorbing my role while he pottered around me.

Perrin began to do the washing up, and I watched him with sad puppy dog eyes. Still, I knew attempting to escape or otherwise seeking attention would just earn me further disapproval.

I puzzled over my own acceptance, naked, chained and silent. Recognising the puppy equivalent of corner time, I sat patiently waiting for his attention.

Finally he turned and came over to me.

“Good, quiet puppy” he told me, and I nuzzled against his leg with delight, as he patted my head gently.

He fetched me a treat then; a morsel of smoked ham, and fed it to me.

He continued washing up and making dinner, and I sat, an adoring puppy as he began to tell me about his day. I nodded vigorously with delight as he shared his thoughts with me. I was unable to join in or comment, instead I listened, and smiled. I was rewarded with another delicious treat, and pats of approval.

Until dinner time I was his puppy. Obedient, joyful, and loved. I certainly enjoyed the treats he fed me, but the biggest treat of all was to sit at his feet and listen to him talk.

Hotel Room

I love hotel rooms. The space is so neutral, not filled with the everyday baggage that pervades your own home.

The room we stayed in for my birthday was all of this; and also spacious and luxurious, a place to stretch out and enjoy. We were meant to be packing up, but we ended up side by side on the sofa. Me stretched out on my stomach along the chaise longue, Perrin sitting alongside me on the rest of the sofa. We talked, about what we’d done during our short break and what we’d not had time for. We were relaxed, happy.

I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes as we talked.

“I’m going to go to sleep” I admitted. I listened to Perrin move around the room,

“No you’re not”.

Whack. The riding crop fell sharply. I gasped. There were four measured strokes. I opened my eyes, no longer feeling in the least sleepy. He ordered me to roll over, and he dealt out the same punishment on the other side. Only then did he order me to undress and kneel over the end of the chaise longue.

I knelt on the floor, eyes closed, body resting comfortably on the sofa, as he prepared my butt plug. I heard him running water and wondered. I didn’t have to wait long, he brought it over, and I felt him press it against me, so warm I was startled. I relaxed, letting him push it into me, revelling in the feeling of it nestling inside me. Then he began to beat me again, I remained in position while he cropped me. Concentrating on remaining still.

Then he fetched the heavy wooden paddle. “I’m going to give you four strokes with this” he told me sternly “and I want you to count them”.

The first blow was intense, I collapsed back down onto my heels, hands still resting on the sofa. I was surprised to realise I was sobbing. I heard his voice through the haze.

“Resume your position” I pushed myself up back over the sofa, still unable to speak. I remained there struggling for composure until I was able to form the required word. “One”.

The second blow was softer than the first. I held still, gasping for air until I uttered a broken “Two”.

The third stroke burned fiercely. I was determined not to test Sir’s patience too far, so I struggled to offer an unsteady “Three”.

The fourth stroke was harsh, I sobbed fiercely, but murmured with relief “Four”.

Perrin’s voice was gentle as he told me I was a good girl. Then he allowed me to recover, before joining him on the bed. I gathered myself, and went to him, and was snuggled in his arms before we made love. The butt plug heightened the sensations and we came together; a crashing wave of pleasure that washed away leaving us totally spent. We dozed then, nestled together, my head resting on his shoulder until we awoke enough to make love again.

I love hotels.

Good Girl, Bad Girl

If you can’t be good, be good at being bad.

My behaviour seems to have changed recently. I had been trying to be the perfect submissive, utterly obedient, well-behaved, that kind of thing. I wasn’t very good at it, of course, but I was working on it. Recently though, I thing I have stopped really trying to be a good girl, and have become rather a cheeky one.

Part of this is due I suspect to the fact that Perrin now has a ‘good girl’. She obeys without hesitation. She’s quiet and submissive when spanked where I start yelling and struggling. She doesn’t answer him back or argue when asked to do something.

I’m in awe really at how well-behaved she is.

I guess I don’t feel I can achieve that. So I find myself being the bad girl. Cheeky, disobedient, always pushing. Arguing, second guessing and complaining.

Part of it is my struggle to trust, to let go, to let Perrin take charge without opposition. Part of it is the need not to fail at anything. Better not to try, than to try and fail. It gets me attention too, which I guess is also what I’m after.

Indeed I wonder whether Perrin wants me to be good, or if he enjoys the challenges of having a ‘bad girl’. Perhaps if I was a good girl too it would be less fun for him (not that there’s any danger of me ever perfecting the role).

Am I a bad girl or a good one? I like being the good girl, I do, I love the praise that comes with it and the feeling of having given myself freely. But sometimes my doubts and insecurities push me into being bad, sometimes it’s a relief to rail against the inevitable submission.

I struggle to understand myself here, so I’m hoping that Perrin and I can find some time to try some role plays soon to help us explore these two sides of submission and understand a little better.

My Darkest Fantasy

The thing about feeling ill is that you end up spending a lot of time in bed, thinking; and the less capable you are of being kinky somehow the more you end up thinking kinky. My fantasies tend to range from things I’ve done, to things I’d like to do, to the totally unrealistic (but very hot). I suspect this comes somewhere between the last two categories.

It starts gently enough. We are together, my Master and I, with time ahead of us. We snuggle. He tells me he loves me. He tells me he wants to play with me.

“I want you to be a good girl”, he soothes, “I know you can do this”.

Then it begins.

There are no details here, because whatever occurs, is his desire, and even in fantasy, to seek to describe it, would make it my own, but there are possibilities…

He commands and expects obedience. I obey. His demands continue, and I become frightened. I am cheeky, seeking to lighten the mood, to draw softness from him, instead of this implacable hardness. Perhaps he gags me now, to silence me.

He continues to play with me. I hear myself beg for mercy, but there is no respite. I start to sob, unable to bear what he is doing, what he is asking of me. I expect him to stop now, surely he will feel I have taken enough. He does not stop. I cannot believe what he is doing, but I struggle to endure it.

He continues to an ending. It does not end with my orgasm, although he may have ripped them from me as part of his play. It may end with his, or simply when he has finished whatever he intended. Yet there is an ending. He walks away, and I am left alone, still sobbing. I feel used, empty of myself. I feel the pain of submission, the reality of his control.

Then suddenly his arms are around me. He comforts my tears, and I cling to him, my rescuer, as surely as he has just been my torturer. He holds me close, and tells me he loves me, that he is proud of me, that I have pleased him.

I know then that I would willingly endure it all again.