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Master said it would happen Sunday.
I knew it would happen while the boys were away and we were alone. I wanted this and needed this as much as Master did, yet knowing that did not stop the sick, taut, gnawing feeling   in the pit of my stomach being there from the moment of waking though. That didn’t go till Master said “it’s time” mid afternoon.

How is it possible to feel calm yet so damn nervous and flighty at the same time?
Like two conflicting emotions competing inside me for dominance. My body was nervous and flighty, yet my head calm and accepting?

Master took his time and great pains to ensure I was fully restrained for our safety. We knew at some point I would try to fight back and he did not want to inadvertently hurt me with a misplaced blow or for me to hurt him by kicking out.

Sounds silly.
Prepare to accept the first and probably the worst beating of your life… By the way, I don’t want to hurt you. 

Hmm… Poor joke, I know.

I was glad Master restrained me, it made it easier; easier to let go, to fight and struggle and know that I couldn’t hurt him; know that I was free to kick and swear and scream as much as I needed to and it wouldn’t matter at all – that it was safe to do so.

Master put wrist to thigh restraints on me, which made it impossible for me to flatten myself, so as he had me laid face down on the bed, not only could I not move my hands and arms to shield the blows, but it put me in such a position that my ass was raised. He put a spreader bar between my ankles so my legs were spread apart. He used this during the beating as a means to stop me wriggling away, he kept it chained to the thigh restraints so I couldn’t kick out and he could grab hold of it whenever he needed to.

The bit that made a huge difference, was the first thing Master put on me.. a blindfold. He covered my sight to calm me and left me just able to hear and feel, heightening those senses inadvertently. The blindfold had a huge impact on me. I was very reluctant afterwards for it to be removed. As Master cradled me on his lap, my head buried into his groin as he stroked my hair and spoke softly to me, I really did not want it removing whatsoever. He did of course, but it took a long while and Master lifting my chin upwards before I could look him in the eye afterwards. It acted like a safety blanket to me. Why I was frightened to look Master in the eyes afterwards I do not know. I do know that when I did all I saw was deep love and happiness in his eyes and I felt the love I feel for him swell yet again.

Master used his leather paddle, his leather whip (an evil little thing, but the blade are half cm square in thickness and bite like hell) and his hand. It hurt. expected really, an obvious statement, but it surprised me at how much I could take before that overwhelming urge to fight back kicked in.

That was roughly when Master asked me “Who makes the decisions for us and our family?”….  The answer spat back to him of “Depends on if you are here or not” may have been incorrect…

When Master told me – “Wrong answer” and then belted my ass harder for it, I really don’t think me saying “Like Fuck” on the odd times I lost the fight to silence was an appropriate response either!

I can say with all honesty, the whip and the paddle just hurt me, I would have caved eventually to them, but Master said after that he thought my skin was at its limit which is why he swapped to his hand.

Now that was the killer. Pain wise, it didn’t hurt any more than the whip or paddle. It may have hurt less. It was HIS hand though, his flesh touching mine and him personally smacking me. That hurt a lot, mentally. I couldn’t take much of that and with every smack I felt the fight leave me until I felt hollow. I was grateful when Master asked me the question again and I was able to answer that he did. Even though he pretended to not hear me the first time around and made me state it very clearly again.

I felt raw inside, my ass burned like hell but it was nothing to how raw I felt inside yet as he told me those words I long to hear “good girl” he finger fucked my ass and I have never felt as exposed or as used or as owned as I did at that moment in time.

To lift my ass towards his finger was instinctual.

What surprises me more than anything, mainly because I cannot wrap my head around it yet, is why I begged that night to feel his hand again on my very tender ass as I lay across his lap. Or why I begged yet again on our last night together and when pressed,  although embarrassed, felt it deep enough to beg very clearly for exactly what I needed.

One thing I do know is that it wasn’t in a sexual way.

Three days later

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