tagBDSMLife as a Pain Slut

Life as a Pain Slut

bysdbnnc©

Like all other sensations experienced by humans, pain is intrinsically personal, inherently variable, and incredibly motivating. Although pain is defined as an "unpleasant sensation in varying degrees of severity" and "suffering or distress," one person's debilitating, dehumanizing pain may be the means by which another person reaches sexual fulfillment. Like beauty, pain is in the eye of the beholder. Pain may be the sole means by which a submissive - either new or experienced - can truly offer up the submissive's best service and submission to the Dominant the submissive wishes to serve, desires to serve, yearns to serve, and is desperate to serve, and, by that service, to excite, entertain, and satisfy. Pain may enflame the Dominant as surely as it heats up the body of the submissive who receives it.

One of the revelations of my submission and service to the Dominant I am honored and privileged to serve was learning that I am a pain slut. Acceptance of that fact has been slow and the process has been very painful, both physically and emotionally. I easily understood that Sir might enjoy providing me with pain - an understanding that Sir confirmed, by stating that Sir not only enjoyed deciding what instruments to use to inflict pain, but also the actual provision of the pain, and observing the marks left by my acceptance of the pain. It was easy for me to grasp that my acceptance and endurance of Sir's pain is a means by which I may demonstration my submission and service to Sir. My desire for pain was disguised as solely a means of service. My need for pain hid behind my yearning to offer up everything in me in service to Sir. My addiction to pain pretended that the bruises and welts that signified its experience were the goal, instead of mere reminders of the strokes Sir laid on and the sensations those strokes evoked that resonated through all parts of my being - my emotions, my intellect and my physical body.

Years before I had any understanding of submission or my submissive nature, I flirted with pain. I found that, when I was spanked by a partner's hand or with a paddle, my sexual excitement increased and my sexual release intensified. I also found that self-inflicted pain did not move me. I proved to myself that, despite repeated efforts that elicited great excitement on the part of my partner, my infliction of pain on him had a negative impact on my sexual excitement. The main thing all those lessons taught me was that my partner at that time, despite his earlier assurances, was NOT a Dominant. In fact, that former partner - to whom I was engaged - finally went so far as to admit he had visited a professional Dominatrix before our relationship began. Looking back now, I realize that learning he was submissive was the beginning of the end for our relationship. Not only was it impossible for me to dominate him, I had no desire to do so. When I realized he had lied about his fundamental nature, it opened my eyes to the plethora of other lies upon which I had mistakenly built our relationship. This was the first fissure in the foundation of our relationship since I was beginning to realize that it was composed almost completely of lies. This man was not and never could be a Dominant. Therefore, I could never be my true self in a relationship with him. With that realization, my sub-conscious began planning my escape.

Yet, even with that prior experience, it was somewhat of a shock to me to realize, even through the fog of anxiety and fear that enveloped me when I was first alone with Sir in his hotel room (after our first public meeting a few nights before), that Sir's quick slaps to my ass barely registered as painful but started a torrent of sexual juices from my cunt down my thighs. The insertion of syringe points into my nipples and areolas barely registered as pain because my attention was riveted on the rivulet of cunt juice making its inexorable way to both my knees.

Each additional encounter with Sir in person added to my knowledge and understanding of my desire, lust, and yearning for pain as part of my sexual experience. And even when Sir was not physically present, but directed me by telephone to strike my cunt with my open hands in the rhythm and manner in which Sir instructed, pain was the vehicle that transported me further into sexual excitement and release than I had traveled before. Pain moved me beyond the realm of sexual and physical excitement into sub space, where pain was present but not deeply felt, known but not overwhelming, and experienced but at a distance that mitigated its impact.

When Sir positioned me bent over the side of Sir's in-room Jacuzzi and applied the greatest number of strokes I had ever received to that point to my ass, the tears that filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks were nothing compared to the cunt juice that filled Sir's hand when he examined my cunt after laying on those strokes. That experience made it clear, even to me, that I am a devout pain slut. Yes, tears accompany the pain sometimes; yes, sometimes the pain seems more than I can bear. These things are transient. The unrelenting fact, however, is that pain enhances my sexual excitement; pain provides another avenue of service; and pain is part of who and what I am, now that Sir has admitted me into the honor and privilege of submitting to and serving Sir.

The pain Sir delivers excites me - emotionally, physically, and sexually. It opens my emotional self to a greater understanding of the demands of submission and my ability to meet those demands. The pain heats my skin, bruises my muscles, and brings each stroked area into focus, subject to the laws of physics and affected by the exchange of energy. Sexually, my cunt lubricates whilst my body is receiving pain to an extent that never occurs without pain being present. Whilst my physical self endures, my sexual self celebrates. The slash of a cat-o-nine-tails against my ass, the slam of a paddle against my clamped breasts, the strike of a belt across my thighs, the slash of a switch across my back - or just the remembrance of those experiences - makes my clitoris twitch, my cunt lubricate, and my nipples tighten and elongate, making them even better targets for strokes. I love that presenting my body to Sir for his enjoyment - even when what he chooses to enjoy is inflicting pain - is a means of service. I love feeling submissive, small, inconsequential, and subordinate as the implement announces its movement through the air before making contact. I love the way each blow multiplies itself, spreading pain and heat out from the point of impact to the farthest reaches of my body, and concentrating the heat in the wet cavern of my cunt. As the pain continues, juices flow down my thighs from my cunt so profusely that additional strokes send juices splashing across the room! They coat Sir's fingers, which I hopefully later will be granted permission to clean from Sir's hand and fingers with my mouth and tongue, something I recognize as an honor and privilege of my service and submission to Sir.

As Sir begins to layer pain on top of pain, as my body warms, then heats, and then glows with the force it receives and the pain it endures, my ego shrinks and my submission grows. Feeling the pain, knowing I need and desire it, brings me into contact with the reality of my submissive nature. Yet enduring the pain, transmuting it from an ache in my ass or back, or a fire in my thighs or heat in my breasts to increase the wetness of my cunt and my overall sexual excitement makes me feel powerful and complete, for I have learned that there is no power greater than total and complete submission. The power of release that comes from enduring pain, the loss of ego that willing acceptance of pain brings, is submission, and submission is my power. It is the power that abnegates itself. It is the power of being less than, whilst knowing that the price of that lessening is one that only real submissives can freely and fully offer up in service to their Dominants.

When pain goes on long enough and is harsh enough, it transports me outside the physical agony into sub space. In sub space, I am protected from the aches, cramps, and even punctures of Sir's attentions. I watch my body wracked with pain, marked with Sir's toys, and leaking juice from a cunt that spasms in orgasm as the blows rain down. Even pain sluts have limits of physical endurance, and my limits vary, given that often the only pain available is pain I inflict on myself.

In accordance with Sir's instructions, pain that Sir provides for discipline or punishment when my service and submission fall short may NOT be used as an entrée into sub space and the surcease of physical pain that provides me. Part of the discipline and punishment is the requirement that I remain present in the moment, accepting the physical pain and emotional debilitation that Sir's strokes require as an acknowledgement of my failure and my desire to improve.

Pain comes in many ways; Sir is a creative master of pain and its instruments. Even when I am absent from Sir, my body remains in his service, and, as he prefers, I flog myself with Sir's cat-o-nine-tails; I decorate my nipples, breasts, labia and clitoris with Sir's wooden clothespins or Sir's black metal binder clips. I stuff my cunt with Sir's ben-wa balls and a vibrator on low speed, whilst being denied Sir's permission to slide over into orgasm for hours, enduring the torment of the knife-edge of sensation. My ass is plugged for hours, if not days. My breasts and nipples are decorated with Sir's syringe needle ends and the drops of blood those points release. My hands perform these acts willingly and deliberately, summoning pain from my body and submission from my soul as an offering to Sir. Each act is imbued with my devotion, my submission, and my deep love. Every ache and pain is directed at enhancing my ability to serve Sir. Nothing is done that is not done in Sir's name, in Sir's service, and in the hope of pleasing Sir.

There is a satisfaction that comes when I have endured Sir's pain, when I have incorporated Sir's pain into my sexual excitement, and when I have transmuted Sir's pain into my orgasms, when Sir is generous enough to grant orgasms to me. In the manner of Rumpelstiltskin, who spun straw into gold, I spin Sir's pain in my ass, in my thighs, and/or in my breasts into my total and complete sexual excitement, and, if Sir permits, Sir's orgasms in me. The act of submitting to physical pain lifts me up - it enhances my pride in my submission to Sir, for giving up the basic human instinct of pain avoidance signals to Sir the extent and dedication of my submission to and love for Sir. The impact of a cat-o-nine-tails or a belt on my ass or thighs heats my body and my sex; the force with which Sir strikes is taken into my body and coils in my cunt, waiting its release when Sir permits me to orgasm.

So, even as I weep or moan or cower physically under Sir's blows, my submissive nature stands erect, proud to offer up this body in service to Sir, humbled by Sir's attention and belief in what Sir's submissive's body and spirit can willingly endure in submission to Sir. Through it all, from first stroke to last, my heart feels more connected to Sir, my sexuality more open to Sir, and my mind empty of all but my desire to offer the best possible service to Sir. I do not struggle to understand why this should be so, I embrace the knowing that it is so, since that allows me to employ my yearning in serving Sir, the one who directs my life in all its aspects, including its pain.

Most people will do nearly anything to avoid pain. They hide in a bottle of booze or drugs; they overeat or over-exercise; they shop, or talk, or read, or employ some other sleight-of-hand to misdirect their attention from the pain that accompanies life. Yet every escape route one chooses brings its own pain. There's a wonderful line from The Princess Bride: "Life is pain. Anyone who tells you anything else is selling something."

As an admitted pain slut, I know that life is pain, and I embrace that knowledge. My acceptance of my need for pain enhances its gifts to me -- sexual excitement, fulfillment, and a sense of pride and accomplishment in my service to Sir. Pain energizes and enflames; pain focuses my attention perfectly on the part of me that is enduring it, even as the pain opens my mind to the reaches of sub space I have yet to visit. Pain is more than something I endure in order to show Sir the lengths to which my love for Sir and my service to Sir will take me. In order to fully express myself, to fulfill needs in many different areas of my life and my submission, pain is required.

Pain is not a static experience. The number of strokes of Sir's cat-o-nine-tails that I happily endure whilst sucking Sir's cock is far greater now than the number I could take just a few short months ago. The blows of Sir's belt that left my cunt bruised and aching, my abdomen streaked with black and blue marks for weeks to remind me of Sir's attention, were far more liberally applied, with much greater force, than the initial strikes he made when we first entered this relationship. The strokes I yearn for, the strokes Sir skillfully and carefully applies, would qualify as physical abuse if the dynamic of our relationship were different. If I did not need pain to feed the part of my submissive self starved for years, and if Sir did not desire watching the effects of the pain I receive on my psyche and my physical being, the pain would lose the dimension that elevates it from abuse.

Even as I weep and ache under the punishment of pain as Sir expresses his long-distance preferences or demonstrates his will in person, a part of me knows that every tear and every twinge creates a new threshold that exists only to be crossed over and exceeded when I next have the opportunity to enjoy the pain my service to Sir brings. Each crossing creates yet another threshold. Each threshold calls out to be crossed, drawing me further and further into the realm of submission, where my service can be better and more worthy to offer to Sir, the one for whom I endure the physical pain of Sir's strokes to my physical body, and the striving of my emotional self as I grow and mature in my submission.

It has taken a lot of soul-searching to accept that pain is necessary. The physical pain that is part and parcel of my submission is a mutual gift. My acceptance of the physical aches and pain Sir's strokes bring my body is an expression of my submissive self and a gift to the Dominant I serve. Sir's thoughtful selection of implements, considered delivery of strokes and appreciation of the marks left behind are some of Sir's many gifts to me. The exchange of these gifts not only enhances Sir's dominance and my submission, it centers my existence. It calls forth my most elemental nature - the animal part of me, like all animals, which tries to avoid being hurt. It makes that part of me understand that, without pain, I can pretend to be something other than an animal. Pain strips down the pretensions of culture, the airs of sophistication, and even the insulation of education. The bitch, the cunt, the fuck toy, the slut, the whore who are left when all the professional and public personas flee the intensity and agony of pain are the animal foundation on which all else is built.

None of those elemental personalities hides from the pain Sir delivers to them. Their existences are replete with Sir's pain; it defines and ennobles them. They know that Sir's pain brings sexual excitement and release beyond any experienced before I knew submission in its many aspects. Those elemental personalities know that, without Sir's pain, they are mere shadows of what they really are, and who those elemental personalities strive to become.

I do not understand my need for Sir's pain -- both for sexual excitement and to enhance my service and submission to Sir - but I know that understanding is not what I need. What I need is to be reduced to my essence, to strip away the subterfuge and posturing of daily life, and to enter fully into the physical, emotional, sexual, and submissive experience of Sir's pain. In service of that need, I offer up my body to the cat-o-nine-tails, paddle, belt, points, clips, the leather collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, and the chain and padlocks, and even the anal plugs. I stand naked in my need before the only man who has ever recognized and known, much less addressed, all of my needs. By revealing at last my naked, honest need for the pain only Sir provides, that need is finally, and fully, met.

My need for Sir's pain even may compliment Sir's enjoyment in inflicting and observing my need for and reaction to Sir's pain. Sir exerts himself to inflict my pain properly. That exertion allows Sir to observe and learn from my pain. Sir uses my pain to test my submission and my dedication in service to Sir. Sir watches my reaction to the pain he administers so as to determine and address my need for more or different pain. Whilst the pain Sir inflicts hones my dedication and satisfies my need, it enhances, improves, and expands Sir's dominance and command over me. Sir's pain is a place where my relationship with Sir comes into balance. My needs and Sir's dovetail; my desire and Sir's enjoyment compliment each other. Pain gives Sir another tool to shape and embellish my service and growth in submission. Pain provides me another avenue to travel as I seek ways to serve and please Sir.

Sir's pain supports my submission, and challenges me. Sir's pain satisfies part of me, yet it makes me ache physically and reach out emotionally and sexually for the completion that only Sir's pain can give. Sir's pain is life, abundant and outrageous. Sir's pain connects me to Sir and to the self I never could be without Sir's pain -- a self, known only to Sir and to myself, despite the badges of honor created by the pain that accompanies my submission and service to Sir.

As I previously stated, like beauty, pain is in the eye of the beholder, but the pain I crave, which Sir supplies, is not abuse. Yes, an abused woman takes blows on her body, she may be pierced with needles, or she may be burned, and all of those things are hateful and despised by me, despite my own yearning for Sir's pain. To me, abuse is so far removed from the service in pain that I offer that I cannot relate the two. I address this issue because I know that there are those who believe there is no difference between pain and abuse, and, as one who requires and seeks pain, I feel compelled to make the effort to explain why these two things bear no relation to each other as far as I am concerned.

The distinction between the two, though complex, is simple. My pain enhances my sexual excitement, but it also increases my pride in my submission and expresses the love that directs all my service to Sir.

My endurance of and response to pain not only serves my personal emotional, mental, and sexual needs, but it also hopefully makes Sir proud, and perhaps may even entertain and excite Sir. I have no higher calling than to please and engage Sir's interest. Sir does not give me strokes because Sir despises me, or because Sir is angry with me, or because Sir disrespects me. Sir recognizes that I have increased my physical and emotional endurance of pain, and Sir carefully gauges this development in me. I know that Sir lays on strokes with deliberation, talent, and skill rather than anger. I believe Sir respects my submission and service as expressed by my acceptance of physical pain. Sir does not use pain to express Sir's anger with my failings to serve appropriately or to submit totally. In fact, Sir has used the absence of pain, whilst I wait in position to receive it, to demonstrate Sir's disappointment and anger with me. Once Sir hopefully has control of any negative emotions my failings caused, Sir will administer the discipline and punishment pain I require to improve my submission and service to Sir.

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