Losing My Nerve

Feb 16, 2010 • Daisy, Diary • Daisy

One recent late night at the dungeon party I’d been flogged pretty hard. The blows started pleasurably as delicious thuds, reminding me with each stroke who I am in service to. But as Sir M got more enthusiastic, his lashes increased in intensity so my pain level reached a treacherously biting sting.

I’m not able to absorb that much pain and I screamed and cursed and sobbed, hoping he’d stop. I yelled at Sir M to not hit me so hard but he ridiculed me and went harder. Something in me snapped. It put me over the edge — and in an unhappy place.

Afterward, as I recovered, I tried to compose myself but just couldn’t. I finally decided that I’d had enough, so I defiantly bolted out of the room without requesting permission from Sir M.

I knew this act was tantamount to going on strike. If I stuck around with Sir M after this I might be punished severely but at that moment I was demonstrating that I was fed up and DONE with this training. I darted into the restroom, bolted the door and sat down to gather my thoughts.

Losing it

What kind of submissive am I? What are my goals with this training? I’m not a masochist. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy pain that’s at my threshold of tolerance so why try to go there all the time? What am I doing here?! I quit!

Sir M is renown as a particularly cruel sadist and he hits hard. He’s used to playing with partners who can handle much more pain than I can. But he’s also a benevolent and reasonable Dom and takes a paternal approach for the “after-care” that follows such a torture session.

When I returned to the room Sir M sensed that my attitude had shifted. I was upset and freaked out and seriously considering reverting back to my old vanilla lifestyle.

He hugged me and stroked my hair and helped calm me down so I could describe my conflicted feelings.

“Your pleas of ‘STOP!’ or ‘NO!’ or ‘TOO MUCH’ mean nothing in this context, nor does crying,” he explained. “Anyway, crying can be cathartic — you feel really good afterward.”

That is true, although crying in public feels to me even more humiliating than public nudity.

Sir M pointed out that I hadn’t followed the protocols he gave me — I’d never used the safe word “yellow” when the pain got to be unreasonable. I realized that in my attempts to submit to him and please him, I was letting him go too hard on me because I didn’t want to disappoint him. I was building up anger and resentment that could have been avoided.

Sex heals all

I was relieved but Sir M could see I needed a little more TLC.  He knew intrinsically how to fix me. He strolled over to the next room where another Dom was just packing up a scene and his submissive was cleaning all the toys he’d used. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but soon they came over to me. “Position 6!” commanded Sir M. I lay on my back with knees pressed against my body almost under my armpits and my hands sandwiched inside my folded legs – the position for Pussy Inspection. The other submissive, a petite brunette dressed in a schoolgirl micro-mini skirt, knelt down in front of me and pushed up the bottom of my very short leather skirt.

She delicately started flicking her tongue around my clit and the outer lips of my pussy. She stuck one, then two fingers inside me, then pulled them out abruptly. That left me wanting more and I begged her to put them back in. She sucked on my clit and pushed her bent fingers back into my wet pussy while both Doms looked on.

Sir M called out to me in his commanding voice, “show us what a cum slut you are!”

The sound of his voice and this luxurious sex play lulled me back into proper submissive form and soon I was riding waves of bliss, smiling and panting. The girl got more enthusiastic when she saw how responsive I was, and she thrust three, then four fingers in and out of me with a twisting motion. A handful of people were now sitting in chairs watching — girl on girl action can always draw a crowd!

Her hand plunged into me again and quickly worked me up to a moaning, heated crescendo. As I was on the verge of cumming Sir M said “not yet!” — reminding me that I’m not allowed to cum until he gives permission.

The girl slowed down but continued rubbing the Gspot area, then leaned forward to suck my left nipple. She tugged on the piercing a bit with her teeth so the jewelry would clank against her teeth, then she’d roll her tongue around the nipple. She picked up the pace with the finger banging and I rolled my hips around, beaming a big smile.

Sir M said “OK, cum for me bitch!” and she picked up the pace. My non-stop moan grew louder and higher in pitch until I was shaking and writhing. I came hard and wet. She continued to play with that and coax more orgasms and juices out of me. At last I was dazed and exhilarated. I wobbled up and went home happy.

After care

The next day Sir M asked me to write down my impressions in a private journal that only he has access to. He checked in with me later via webcam to make sure I was OK with everything and said he would cut back on the amount of pain he is giving me. I told him, “I’m glad I didn’t quit.”

He responded, “you are responsible for bringing this to my attention at the time. Now I can choose to ignore it and keep going if I feel that’s what you need, but at least I have the information to make that decision.”

This is the delicate balance of power and control that is part of the BDSM equation.

Sir M left me with a beautiful quote he’d stumbled across many years ago in some forgotten chat group that seemed particularly applicable:

Why is it that a naughty girl resists the refuge a Dom’s paddle offers, and chooses instead to hold the hurt inside? Tears are the gift of a submissive’s spirit… she should offer them freely to the one who tends to her soul.

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.