Third Time - What a Sub Believes

I pressed my face into the bed to keep from crying out as the leather strands licked across my left hip. It was only a little harder than he'd whipped me before, but something was different. My leg felt hyper-sensitive, and every lash felt amplified. It felt like fire, and not in a good way. Suddenly he stopped, the handcuffs clicked as the key turned, and my hands were free. I was struggling early, already deep inside my head, and arguing with myself against the pain. He said, "Turn over!" I tried to comply, but the rope binding me to the headboard pulled me up short.

I was dead, damn stuck.

My free hand pulled at the rope, triggering him to growl, "Did I say you could touch the rope? I said turn over!" I mumbled into the gag, "I can't," and fell still. He would stop if he realized my leg was in too much pain. I didn't want him to stop. We'd barely begun. He spoke more gently this time. "Turn over if you can." He had realized I was having trouble. My lower leg, the only part I could control, was tied To the rail at the knee, and I simply couldn't move. He gently placed his hand under my left hip to help me turn, but my head was still pulled against the rope looping through my collar. So I just lay a little breathless on my back from the effort to turn. I wasn't ashamed, just disappointed. The responsible thing to do was to let him know I needed to stop, but my brain was already down the rabbit hole.

Oh, I knew I could get his attention, that if he knew it was really hurting me, he would want to stop. But that took my subby little thoughts to the end of us. "sorry, it's not going to work, I can't take this, you need this, and our parting is inevitable. Delayed perhaps, but still unavoidable." I wished for the hundredth time I could cry from such things. I wished my tears could testify for me. Tears are hard to label as lies, and I rarely felt believed. Not by anyone. This is some Shakespearean-level fucked-up shit playing out here. You've waited for him your whole life, wasting time with lesser men. Yea, I didn't even know you were waiting! Now here we are - You know what he needs, what you both need, but you just can't do it. Not to be overly dramatic, but this is tragically ironic. I wish I'd met him when I was younger.

My inner pain-slut rallied. I grasped for traction against the bed. I remembered what he'd told me he would do to me, his voice hoarse as he got closer to cumming - how beautiful I looked on my knees, hips spread, knees wide, long hair tumbling down my back - all what I naturally do and he naturally likes. I could almost feel my lips and tongue milking his balls with my mouth, his hand pumping that coke-can of a cock, pulling me up by my hair so I could take him in my mouth right before comes like a river down my throat, menace edging his voice: "You'll be tied up, bound and gagged. You'll be mortified ... and there'll be nothing you can do about it. "The "I-told-you-so" voice in my head chided, "Well, there is certainly nothing I can do about it, is there? How do ya like me now?"

I told myself to shut-the-fuck-up. Or maybe I just knew he'd say it ... Nope! I was not going down like that. It was ridiculous to be afraid, But I couldn't help it. I wasn't afraid he'd harm me. I was scared if he figured out I was hurting, and not in a good way, he would stop. Maybe for good. And I didn't want it to end. Not this scene, not any of it. "... and there'll be nothing you can do about it." My hips were on fire. I struggled to maneuver into a position where pleasure would eclipse pain. I was not giving up. In one fluid movement, I pushed both feet and curled my toes around the head rail, pushing the lower part of my body straight up toward him. Even in that blaze of pain, I heard my detached voice in my head intone, "I'll bet you didn't know I could do that." With my feet over my head, I thrust my hips up to him. I think The wonton-ness of it surprised us both.

He'd always turned me on ... but this was primal. My body was begging him without my permission but also without my restraint. I spread my legs far apart, stretching my lips tight, my swollen tip aching to be touched and touched hard. I wanted him inside me, to wrap my legs around his hips, pull him deep inside me and never let him go. He grabbed a vibrator, plunged it deep inside me, turned it forward on the perfect spot he always found... and began to move it back and forth ... Unrelenting and intense. And I came. So hard the pain was swallowed up in a blinding climax. Shattering spasms wracked me from head to toe. I breathed in, sucking, dry sobs that I'm pretty sure scared him. I know they scared me. They came from somewhere really deep inside, practically guttural, and somehow mixed with laughing. I felt the dam break and tears slide down my cheeks, not from the pain, but for hurts and "happinesses" I hadn't cried over in years. And as they fell, they washed away fear, confusion, and self-doubt.

It was pure pleasure.

It was pure emotion. I

It was the first time in years I was completely present.

Unable to hold back, he untied me, bent me over, and plunged into me hard. I reached behind his legs and pulled him into me, writhing to take in more of his cock, my ass grinding into his hips. We groaned together, threw ourselves furiously against each other, over and over, faster and faster, uncaring that the bed jumped with every move, scarring the floor. It was an epic climax, reached together, leaving us drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. Shaking from exertion, we were either unable to move or unwilling to break the spell.

Finally, we collapsed on the bed. He pulled me to him and whispered that I was his good girl, Daddy's good girl. Still deep in subspace, I fumbled for the chocolate I had left for us beside the bed. I offered it to him, but he was already asleep. So I ate both pieces, and As the sweetness melted in my mouth, I thought he was beautiful. In amazement, I traced his jawline with my finger. He didn't stir. It's crazy that he had just had me bound and gagged, whipped me, paddled me, and fucked me with authority, but here he lay, as trusting and vulnerable as me. My hand trailed to his chest, and my head nestled between his neck and shoulder. He instinctively curled his hand around mine and pulled it to his chest, like he did every night, and with my hand on his heart, I found my redemption, and I fell deeply, dreamlessly asleep.

Epilogue: Some will read this with some derision. They tell me it's all for fun, hot and raw, but it doesn't mean anything real. But this isn't yours, gentle detractors. This is mine. I submit to no one, and this release of power is profound. It's emotional and spiritual and heals me in ways I can't explain. I don't even want to. It's my storm, my process, my surrender, and my peace. I don't write it for you. I write it for me and for him. I have no bravado or deception.

This is no act for me and is not entered into lightly. It is deep connection and profound trust. It both generates and resolves conflicts in my soul. It quiets and grounds a mind that is rarely either. Whatever this is, we both need it. I think it heals us both, but perhaps that's just what a sub believes or needs to believe.

This is my sacred offering, and I place it on the altar I build for him every time I place that collar around my neck.