BDSM is Love

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Yesterday was a battle of pig-headedness. Neither of us was communicating well and neither of us got what we wanted because of it. There were so many times I wished we could just rewind the day and start over.

A bit of back story… Master asked for a blow job. He asked for a specific blow job. He wanted a spontaneous hot slut type of blow job. Now, anyone who knows me can attest that I’m not a spontaneous person. I have to plan. So, I began planning the blow job. Each day he would ask if he was getting it, and each day that he asked killed the spontaneity that I wanted from it, so I put it off. Ridiculous, yes, but that was my logic. This went on for 3 days and every day that I put it off was a day that Master got more angry that he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

Now in my planning I had decided that it wasn’t just going to be a blow job but an experience in serving him. I want to bathe him, and trim his pubic hair, I want to massage his aching shoulders and neck and relax him. Then I want to give him a blow job that he’ll remember. This type of service from me is rare and having him badger me with his desires ruined it everyday.

The culmination of all this was yesterday. I got up early and bathed, shaved and prepared to please him. When he woke I noticed something involuntarily about his demeanor. It wasn’t very dominant. It was… boyfriend like. That kind of threw me off. I needed his dominance to feel that service submissive urge.

So all day there was pressure to do the blow job and then I really wanted dominant sex (tie me up and fuck me). We butted heads several times. At one point it capped off with me being extremely horrible, disrespectful and rude. I actually demanded that if he wasn’t going to be dominant then I was going to have to to get what he and I both want. I disobeyed a direct order to stop what I was doing and got really angry with him. He of course instantly chastised me and after some fuming on my part I did something I never ever thought I’d do.

I got up, walked into the bedroom and retrieved the punishment cane. I brought it to him and handed it to him. He asked what this was for and I began to fidget. The words were formed in my head but I knew that if I voiced them they would result in me asking to be punished for my behavior. He allowed the fidgeting for awhile until I began to voice it.

“This girl would like to be punished Master for her behavior.”

“It’s not Sunday.” (I get punishments dolled out on Sundays.)

“I know Master, but a girl gets in trouble everyday.”

I could tell he was trying to decide if he was calm enough to do this; I know he will not punish me when he’s angry.

“You know, if I do this, there will be a lot.”

“Yes Master,” by now I’m starting to cry and the ache in my chest is one of hurt and frustration. I knew inside that I needed this.

“Ok, I will do this. Go into the bedroom and lie on the bed.”

In the end I got 20 hard strokes with the cane. I’ve never been past 10 before during a punishment. He requested I count them. At 7 I knew I was going to be in a lot of pain. The tears came, the sobs came and I still counted. Sixteen through 20 were a blur of pain, trembling and atonement. When he was done he held me and asked me if this has helped my attitude, which at the time I didn’t know. He held me until I stopped crying.

I really did feel subdued the rest of the afternoon, but moreso was the issue with the blow job, which came back twice after the punishment. I still wasn’t in the mood for even a decent blow job and that caused use to mop around, laying in bed doing nothing. Sitting on the couch doing nothing. We just weren’t communicating at all. It was so oppressive.

Three hours later I had just had enough and announced that I was going to bed and that hopefully we can start over tomorrow. This isn’t how I had fantasized this weekend at all. Well, I was concentrating on putting my braces on my wrists when I saw a dark shadow storm into the bedroom and push me onto the bed and was on top of me.

Something in me triggered a dark childhood memory and I started fighting back, completely confused as to what was happening and terrified at the same time. I could hear him saying, “stop fighting” but there was the little girl trying to get away and the grown woman knowing that she should be safe. Something wasn’t overridding the other. I cried and trembled. He was fucking me, taking what he owned and I couldn’t tell him what was going on in my head. I tried to put the block back up. He asked several times if I was okay, that I should be enjoying this and I really was trying. The sexual response just was not there. The little child was still crying and trembling with fear.

He rolled me over and ordered me to masturbate for him. I couldn’t. I admitted it to him, and started crying again. I told him about the trigger and everything just broke down. He started crying and apologizing for doing that to me. I kept explaining that it was something he didn’t know and I didn’t know I would respond that way. It was just the aire of the entire day that helped this along. We cried and held each other and I tried to put the block back up. I am truly safe with my Master and he knows what my triggers are when I’ve been able to identify them. Now there is another.

(My father’s favorite tactic was to wait until I had been sent to my room and I am obediently sitting on the bed waiting for my grounding or something for him to storm in and start swinging. In my younger years 9-11, I would curl up in the fetal position and just scream; in older years 12-16 I began fighting back. Laying a few good punches here and there myself.)

It took a lot to recover from the trigger but we got up and decided we needed to get out of the house (at 10pm that’s a rare sight). Master needed coffee and we were both hungry. The trip to the store and then to an all night restaurant was healing. We began talking. Talking about anything and everything and it worked us back into what we are used to. The comfort of each other. It was a long road but we had returned to being each other and us.

–luna

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