Sunday, December 2


I can't take the pain. It's too much. Too severe. I want it to stop. He holds me, saying nothing, listening to me scream.

 "Please, it's too much, I can't cope, I just can't cope"

I'd never imagined anything could hurt so much. I thought I was tough, I thought I was brave, I thought I was invincible.

I fought the tears of course. Tried not to give in. I've learned that if you build the walls high enough you can fight off most onslaughts. But he knew what he was doing. They all do. Expertly find the chinks in my armour with their weapons of choice: kind words, sincere hugs and unexpected presents; sometimes they even cry with me.  

His weapon was putting me over his knee, spanking me hard until the walls loosened, gently then so the tears started and finally a short firm burst, until I was sobbing.

Afterwards, when I've cried myself out I lie quietly, feeling better for now: beautifully, emotionally numb. My mind wanders to other times I've cried like this with him. The levels of physical pain he has caused me; the dark places he has taken me to and how much I loved the pain and misery that accompanied those times. I used to think I knew what severe pain was: I was wrong. 

In real life there are no safe-words. There is only time and love, and eventually the faint stirrings of hope.