Physical.

I scratched him. I violated one of the first limits he ever gave me, and I only have a vague recollection of it. I also bit him so hard that he’s still bruised three days later. And I beat his cock too viciously.

I feel like an asshole. Granted, I only have the vaguest, orgasm-hazed memory of digging my fingers into his back while he pounded me into sweet oblivion with a dildo. But I know better than to break his skin. And I knew how much the other stuff would hurt and that he wouldn’t like it.  But the scratching - that makes me a bad dom.  That makes me less trustworthy.  And that breaks my heart, because violating his trust and hurting him that way is the last thing I ever wanted to do.  And everything else is pointless if he doesn’t feel completely safe giving himself to me. 

…But I have a confession to make:  in my heart of hearts, I like that I scratched him. I don’t like that I did something I had promised I wouldn’t. That part, I hate. But there’s a possessive, primal something in me that loves the idea of clawing, ripping, making a boy bleed. It’s a form of penetration, I think. And the evil, rape-fantasy-having part of me liked the nonconsensuality, the power, his helplessness, the violation inherent in doing something he specifically said not to…

And the biting. And seeing the toothmarks on him. That - that was hot. That was exciting. Satisfying and frustrating at the same time, sensual and sexual and animalistic and physical. The whole encounter was more physical for me than anything I’ve done in a very long time. Physical in the sense of really being engaged, physically present, touching him with more than just my hands, getting closer than I’ve allowed myself to before. And it felt good. It felt so good, and fulfilling. Not to mention the fucking. Which is what I was talking about in the other post, being just what I wanted. But I’ll have to leave the details for later, if at all, as it’s far past time to turn off the computer for the night..

 

Pink might be my new favorite color..

Since MJ started her part-time job, Sunday has become play day. It is nice to have the house to myself one day of the week. And to be able to have boys come over and get naked for me.

Today was definitely the best interlude I’ve had with Derek. Even he said it seems like I’m getting more confident. It was also the first time he’s really needed after care. “Please hold me, I feel so vulnerable.” He curled up in my arms like a little child.

In several online conversations this week Derek had expressed interest in being hogtied and having his feet beaten, so that was what I started out with today. My knot-tying abilities aren’t top-notch by any means, but I thought the hogtie turned out pretty well. Just the right tightness too.

Hogties make me happy. There’s something so pleasing about the way it looks, and it’s such a quick and easy way to make someone almost completely immobile and helpless. And I love it when they’re really helpless.

I used the rubber stick on his feet, then decided that using it on other places would be a good idea. It left some beautiful marks. And today’s scene was all about leaving marks. My goal was for him to be able to look in the mirror at least two days from now and still have traces of me on his body.

This picture to the right is fast becoming my favorite. Something about the obvious helplessness of the bondage, the beautiful deep marks on that creamy expanse of skin… And I’m not generally a girly-pink kind of person, but I really like the look of the pink rope - it echoes the color of the welts rather nicely. There’s something lovely about that.

The rubber stick is always fun and it left some great welts, but they didn’t last very long… Not to mention it’s a little hard to get good hits in on someone who’s hogtied. So after a while, I moved him to a chair. Much better access….

I’m interested to see what his thighs will look like tomorrow. I beat them with several different implements with little visible effect aside from the usual pinkness, but when I started slapping him with my fingers, the blood came to the surface all in a rush. I have a feeling that’s going to turn all sorts of colors tomorrow.

Near the end, we did a little scene with the sjambok. He had to count, say thank you, and ask me for the next hit. Cliche can be be very fun sometimes.

I hit him hard with the sjambok. Very intense, for both of us. It is so amazing to really hit someone hard. Exhilarating. And to know that he’s taking that much pain for me..

This picture sadly does not do justice to the marks left by the sjambok. Some of those welts were beautifully raised, with blood blooming under the surface of one or two. The one where the tip caught his arm was particularly nasty. I’d like to leave marks like that one all over him… just a hair away from breaking the skin.

I intended to end the play session with the sjambok, but somehow standing behind him comforting him turned into my hands around his neck, which somehow led to my big scary knife pressed against his throat…

“It just was so hot with you behind me touching me knife running along my body choking me…”

Words that warm my heart. ^_^

 

Monday’s scene

I finally got to use my $1000 worth of floggers. (It’s amazing the toll frustrated desire has taken on my wallet..) The new boy (who will be referred to as Derek from now on) came to my house on Monday. I’ve been wanting to write about it ever since, but it is so very hard to find the words.

The only toys I used were the floggers. And I used every single one. I didn’t follow the “rules” - I definitely didn’t warm him up properly. It was so good. I love to see his suffering, hurt him until he yells through clenched teeth and doubles over from the pain. Hit him as hard as I can, with every ounce of savage fury that is caged within my heart. Claw his back just to see the scratches blossom. See the tiny angel wings take form on his shoulder blades, born of my cruel fingers.

And know that he loves it far more than he ever thought he would.

 

old diary: "making my mark"

another diary-x entry:

Monday, May 17, 2004

His face looks so angelic when he’s.. at my mercy. He was here last night, stretched out in my bed.. Leather cuffs linking his wrists above his head, my collar around his neck. I told him I loved the way he looked like that.. “You look like you’re mine.” In a small, little-boy voice, just above a whisper he replied, “I am.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The toy came over last night. I didn’t let him come for the first time in a long time.

I feel good about that. He was originally supposed to help me move furniture around, but when the time came, I just didn’t feel up to it. I wasn’t intending to do anything hot n’ heavy, but we of course started making out on the couch.. He was rather close to coming I believe, and in that adorable little-boy voice that gives me the warm-fuzzies he said, “Will you tie me up?” (This is supposition of course, since he never really talks to me, but) He wants that so bad. I think he really wants to be helpless, truly at my mercy. I think he wants to really be able to let go, to really be controlled and dominated..

He wants the intensity that I so often hold back.

Near the end of our time together last night, I pushed him over and bit the back of his shoulder (that fleshy part where the neck, shoulder, and back meet.. god, I love sinking my teeth into that part of a boy.). I was a little rough, and I bit him pretty hard. Mmm.. {I have to admit, thinking about that right now is more than a little arousing.} After I took off the cuffs and collar and he was pouting because he didn’t get to come or stay longer, he said, “I really liked when you pushed me and bit my back. Do it again?” Hooray, feedback! He said once before that he could feel that I was holding back, and he wanted me to be able to let go and really do what I want..

I like biting him, and boys in general, because it satisfies this very deep, almost feral part of me. It’s the same kind of feeling with leaving bruises or scratches.. marking him, in all senses of the word. It’s claiming and overpowering and devouring and owning.. It’s physical and primal and real on a deeper level than most people live in. That’s the beast in me, and she’s only had a little taste.

I’m getting rambly and somewhat obtuse here.. This is something that I want to ponder and need to put into words, to record. In leather&lace She talked about “the pull of the dark.” Thinking about that entry of hers and also slaveheart.. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.. It is nice though to read about others’ experiences of this sort of feeling. (Oh lord, if only I could have a soundproof room with adequate equipment, and a few hours with the toy.. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? :P)