Some may find this weird or strange – at times I feel that way myself. For much of my life the only outlet for my masochistic kink was self punishment. I started early, very early and progressed through a clothes brush, a riding crop, a switch cut from a willow tree and lengths of electric flex. It was always a sexual release ending in orgasm. Over the years, pain became a friend, offering stimulation, eroticism and release.
I have a bit of a fantasy for the idea of kidnapping. It plays to those parts of my kink that are about loss of control and non-consent and I very much enjoyed writing a kidnap story early in the life of my blog. This new story plays with the same dynamics.
Warning: This story contains scenes of sexual violence that will not be for everyone.
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Oh, Katie. How wonderful that you should give me your submission, accept my bondage, take my pain. How wonderful that you love these things as I do; that, throughout our session, you communicated your pleasure to me as well as your pain, giving me the confidence to push you as you like to be pushed; to push you as I like to be pushed.
I think of myself as a switch and for quite a few years my regular session was with a submissive – though the poor girl was expected wield a cane from time to time. Despite the best efforts of Mistress Elita and others to beat it out of me, my switchy side is still strong and I love to let it out. Which is how I came to find myself in the Blue Door Dungeon on a wet mid-week afternoon waiting for lovely American submissive, Katie.
Yes, I want to struggle.
I want to feel each strap as you wrap it over my body and fasten the buckle. As you tighten each one I want to pull against it, feel its answering pressure then relax; relaxing a little deeper each time, as strap by strap you transpose my focus from the cares of the working day to the simplicity of the here and now: this room; this bench; you.