The First Time

Dungeon

Pain is different for me. In some ways its massaging. Others its a fleeting feeling that I accept and use to make me stronger. I can't honestly call myself a masochist. It doesn't arouse me but the bruises and the pain I feel later make me happy. I feel accomplished. They are trophies that make me wince but smile in the following days. Because of this, I can't say that I will take intense pain from just anyone. This isn't meant to sound conceited. I have to feel something. I have to want to please you and make you happy. I will willingly and lovingly suffer because it pleases the person topping me. My desire to please will be worth the discomfort. Every hand on the back of my neck isn't welcome. I have to recognize and feel the dominance in you before you even open your mouth to speak.

Nervous. That's all I felt before it happened. I'd seen him play before with dear friends and it was always so very serious. I knew there was no such thing as a "warm-up" when it came to his deliverance. My hands were bound tightly with rope and attached to a  wooden beam above. His gentleness became roughness in seconds. The softness of his voice was now hard and commanding. It was in the moment that I knew it wasn't the pain he would soon deliver that scared me. The idea of me displeasing him did. I was ever so slightly terrified that I would not make him happy. That was why I was here after-all.  Because he was doing this and I was all too willing to offer my body to do with as he liked. The first blow from the flogger was enough to warm my back. The following blows were even harder. Each set was delivered with brute force as he used my hair and neck to jerk and pull me into his desired positions. When I tried to move to lessen the weight of the blows, I was punished for it. Brief moments of tenderness and contact relaxed me and kept me going. I would take more from that flogger, paddle and riding crop if it meant he would kiss me, bite me or even slide his cheek next to mine. In those seconds I felt encouraged. Twice, I made the mistake of flinching too hard and butting him in the head. Those moments my anxiety went soared and I began to despair. Would he dislike me? Because I couldn't seem to control my head, he held my hair while his blows rained down on my body. He asked me a question and my answer wasn't all that truthful. The mind-fuck question game began. I didn't know what to say. I told him so.  There came a point when I did something he deemed wrong and he wrapped his hand around my throat and pushed me into the wall. My feet were dangling off the floor. I had never been so terrified..but thrilled. He exuded so much power and force and it was a privilege to be a participant. When my feet reconnected with the floor more pain was delivered. A short while later I began to cry. Sobbing. This was new. He looked me in the eyes and searched. Grey. That's what flooded my vision. I was okay. Just emotional. I was breaking physically and emotionally but mentally I was fine. He saw that. He told me I made him, "So fucking proud.". No he growled it at me. The most beautiful thing I had heard all day. My crying continued because his words made me happy. I felt validated. That despite my mess ups everything was okay and that he was happy. The pain resumed. A few moments into it I found myself saying something that has always been a source of strength...

Out of the night that covers me

Black as the Pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade

And yet....

I stopped because he pulled me upright. I looked up and saw my hands which were still tied to the beam above. They were beginning to shake. He looked at me with a small smirk and slowly reached up to untie them. I was reminded of what he told me before we had begun, "The tightness of the rope around your hands will be the least of your problems tonight.". He told me don't look at the rope as he did so. So I looked at his eyes. He slowly unwrapped the ropes from my wrists until the larks head on my right was all that remained. My arm outstretched in between us, he removed the last of the rope and let it fall. Then I was enveloped in his warmth. No more tears. Just fatigue and quiet. We didn't speak at first but then I whispered my thanks and he said,"No, thank you.". He helped me to the floor and I let my head fall in the space between us. His hand was underneath my head cupping my cheek. Comforting. I shook as I turned my head slightly and kissed his fingertips and then his palm. Thrice. Why? I'm not sure. I felt compelled to do so. He whispered about a next time. The joy and pride I felt was ineffable. His beautiful lover brought me a blanket and water along with a smile. Describing what I felt is impossible. She is a superb mix of beauty, intelligence and grace. Together they awe me.

That night held a lot of firsts for me. That was my first intense (my idea of intense) impact scene. That was the first time I had ever called anyone Sir. That was the first time I cried. I had never come even close to shedding tears before. And he is the first person to ever leave black and purple bruises and welts on my ass that are still visible two days after. My neck has a mark from his fingers and my breasts hurt to touch. My body was racked with so much pain the following morning at work but all I could do was prance around with the biggest smile.