I feel like I should really try to maintain this blog* and write in it at least once a week. However, I am exhausted, so I am going to post something I put on Fetlife last week, one of the reasons I decided to start this. So here goes.
I get frustrated with the written word and my inability to bend it and shape it the way I would like. The thoughts flow so smoothly through my brain until I try to get them out on to paper or computer screen and they end up so bulky and awkward. Tonight though, I want to get these thoughts down without anyone interrupting me, so I guess this will have to do.
When I first started doing scenes with Amaraxis, before I ever thought of being his sub, we had a long talk about the things we did and didn't want in our scenes, our hard and soft lines, and all the other important things that need to be discussed before you allow another person to engage in physical assault upon your body. We also discussed my reactions to things, and how he should respond. If I yelled, he should keep going, if I tried to arch away, he should keep going, and punish me for moving, and if I started to cry, of course he should keep gong. He asked me several times about the crying, was I SURE I wanted him to keep going if I cried, and of course, I said yes. Because I am a crier. I cry all the time. I cry over commercials, over TV shows, when I get sad, angry, happy, sometimes just from boredom. After several months of beatings, my ass and more recently my breasts, and now the addition of a new D/s relationship between us, I didn't think he would ever make me cry. If the welts didn't make me cry, and the unfortunate nail accident didn't make me cry, and the broken skin from the belt didnt make me cry, then what could? I figured maybe someday, if we moved on to canes or switches, I might cry, but that was about it. I had gotten teary eyed before, a little damp, mostly from squeezing them shut though, but never actually cried, and I was beginning to think I never would. If I was taking almost all he could give me, then there was no way I would ever cry, right?
Wrong.
I had the most unexpectedly intense scene the other night, and I can't decide how I feel about it. We have always scened with at least one other person there, often more than that, and the scenes are always a little different depending on who is there. If its just us and his wife, then they tend to be a little bit quieter and more relaxed. If there are people who've never watched us before, he likes to show off a little, and I tend to talk to the people watching, when I'm not shouting or biting my lip to keep from crying out. On Saturday, it was just us though, and I should have known the dynamic would be different, but it just never occurred to me. Everything started out the same as usual, my music playing, toys laid out, all very normal and relaxed. He asked if there was anything I did or didn't want, and I said no, same as usual, nothing out of the ordinary.
Then the beating started, and I could tell right away that it was different. There was no gentle warm up, he went pretty quickly into solid spankings, not quite enough to make me make noise, but enough that I knew my ass was getting red. And he just kept going, and going, and going. I was totally blissed out, relaxed in a way that rarely happens, and even though I made some noise a few times, cried out once or twice, I was in the zone. I'm pretty sure he was too. There was no playful banter, no little jokes, no singing along to the music, there was just the scene. Usually when we hit a certain point, even if I CAN take more, I ask him to slow down, or take it down a notch, because no matter how much I enjoy the pain, it can be really difficult to voluntarily lay there and take it. My brain tells me that enough is enough, and I need to not go any further, but this time, I ignored myself, and let it go.
And suddenly, I burst into tears. Amaraxis stopped after a moment, and asked if I was okay, and I said yes, through my sobs, and asked him to continue, so he did, while I laid there and cried into my hands. He slowed down again, and again, I told him I was fine, and to keep going, so he did. He toned it down a bit, and I was able to get myself back under control, and I told him I hadn't thought he would ever be able to make me cry, which he promptly beat my ass for saying. Literally. We had a little laugh, and then continued, at which point I burst into tears again, for no good reason, and he kept up the beating for a while, then stopped. Once more I calmed down, and told him I was fine. But we took a minute to relax, and then out of nowhere, without him even beating me, I was crying again, hard, and it took me a while to stop, he finally held me and rubbed my back while I cried and cried and cried, before I was able to stop. He decided that if I was spontaneously bursting into tears we were done for the night. I was surprised to realize we had been going for over an hour and a half, so I agreed.
The rest of the night was pretty normal, no more crying jags, just a movie and some cocoa, then he brought me home.
Where I again started crying before I went to bed. As a nurse, and someone with common sense, I know that my body went through a pretty big trauma, and that its normal to have emotional reactions to physical things, but I was just so shocked that after several months, it happened. I don't regret pushing my limits that night, I actually got pretty excited that I bruised again for the first time in a while, and I don't regret letting him push me that far, but the crying still seems so bizarre and out of place. I guess because I simply associate beatings with happy adrenaline and dopamine rushes, that something I think of as negative, such as crying, seems so out of place there. Even when I've had pretty hard sub drops, I've been crabby, and moody, but I haven't cried.
I don't know what the point in writing this all down was, I don't have any negative feelings about it, I'm not upset that I cried, or upset with Amaraxis, or anything like that. It was probably the best beating I've ever had, I loved it all, even the crying, as confusing as it was. I guess I'm just trying to figure out how to assimilate all the different emotional aspects together, and its finally clicking how much the physical and emotional aspects of sceneing are linked together, in ways I never really thought about or understood until now.
I wonder if I'll cry next time, or if we'll have to push more limits for that to happen again?
*I really hate the word blog...like...HATE. In a deep and profound way. The only other related word I hate more is blogger. Gross.
