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Masochism At Its Finest

May 15th, 2007


I like it most when I donâ??t like it at all. When Iâ??m crying
and on the verge of begging for it to stop and thrashing in my physical and/or
mental binds. When the sting is too much and the thud is too hard and the pinch
is too painful and the bite is too mind-blowing. When I canâ??t take anymore.
Thatâ??s when I canâ??t get enough.


Sometimes Heâ??s so gentle with me and it completely throws me
off. I forget, if only for a moment, that Heâ??s a sexual sadist and Iâ??m His
chosen masochist. And somehow I still manage to come off like a victim though I
am a willing participant. Though Iâ??m desperate for the torment He provides me.


There was talk, for a few fleeting moments, of a cottage in
the woods. Far from civilization. A place where He could make me scream without
fear of retribution. I long for that day. For the day that He can stop holding
back the things He fantasizes about and the things I crave and start doing them
to my body.


When He lets loose a little bit He pushes me almost to the
point of breaking. Almost to the point of begging. Just minutes away from
screaming. Pleas of mercy get stuck in my throat, the pain not quite enough to
make me swallow my pride and beg for reprieve. I want to be pushed beyond that.
So far beyond that.


I read a few blogs written by victims by societyâ??s law. True
victims. People who were abused most of their life. And I know they write their
stories to make people aware. And instead, Iâ??m locked in this disgusting
combination of awe and intrigue. What would it be like to be them? Would I
enjoy it? Would I hate it? Would I, at times, do both? And why am I so drawn to
sexual and physical abuse? Why does being raped turn me on so much. Why, every
time itâ??s happened, have I only been left with wanting more?


I like it most when I donâ??t like it at all. When Iâ??m crying
and on the verge of begging for it to stop and thrashing in my physical and/or
mental binds. When the sting is too much and the thud is too hard and the pinch
is too painful and the bite is too mind-blowing. When I canâ??t take anymore.
Thatâ??s when I canâ??t get enough.


And on the flipside, when Heâ??s so super gentle, I cry. Not
always, but sometimes. And when I donâ??t, I want to. With happiness and love and
enjoyment and fulfillment andâ?¦ the gentility fills a part of me the harshness
never could and the harshness fills a part of me the gentility empties.


Who is this person living inside my head? This person with
such opposing interests. Such flip-flopping draws. How is it such opposing
personality traits make such a whole person?


Yesterday, when going through His desk, He found some pages
of written rules in my hand. In going through them, He found sections in which
the handwriting was completely different. Wouldnâ??t that be funny? Wouldnâ??t it
make sense?


And now here I sit, hornier than hell, thinking about being
beaten to a mass of bloody flesh. Iâ??m pretty twisted, huh?

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