Lately I’ve been having a lot of sexual dreams. I think part of it is an attempt to alleviate the part of me that wants the sadistic attention I crave so badly and yet fear so much. While Master has had the flogger out quite a bit, there are other things I fantasize about. Scenes from long ago as well as figments of my imagination. And lately it’s all about nipple and pussy manipulation.

I have day dreams of Master tying my legs open at the thighs, knees and ankles with my arms secured out to my sides. Helpless. The blindfold goes on and the gag goes in and then the torment begins.

Clovers with weights find their way to my nipples as clothespins with sandpaper clamp snuggly on my pussy lips. The clothespins are placed close together and taped to my thighs leaving my wet pussy open and exposed.

There is no warm up. There never is. He starts with the crop working over every inch of my body and paying close attention to my clit. I cry and jump as this new sensation of clit whipping threatens to be too much.

He twists and tugs at the clovers before finally taking them off and then out comes the cane and a vibrator. After beating my clit, He situates the vibrator to sit on it and then attacks my nipples with the cane. And finally, when the desire to have something in my cunt is becoming too much and between sobs I’m begging Him to fuck me, the clothespins come off and He begins working a way-too-big dildo into my cunt.

Between the pain, the stretching and the vibrations, there is no couth left in me and I’m begging Him to fuck me with that big thing. Hard and long. I want to feel it for weeks.

Instead He props it there and comes at me with a knife. Parting section after section of supple flesh. Watching the small rivulets of crimson running down my breasts, stomach, thighs. I smell sulfur and realize He’s lit a match. Then suddenly my nipple is getting hot. I scream and try to twist away just as He blows out the match. Sulfur again and the same treatment to the other nipple and then the fucking I was begging for.

And all the while, the filthy names and taunting words.

And then His cock replaces the dildo and each thrust is absolute torture. With no other pain being administered to my body, the simple act of Him fucking me elicits screams of torment and pain.

And when it’s over, with a blush sweeping from cheeks to toes, I beg to manipulate my sore little button until I cum. And He denies me. And within a few moments, He starts again. And His fantasy… His hope of getting me so worked up I’m crying for release… He fulfills it by the end of the day.

I would hate most of it. And because I hated it, it would turn both of us on more. It seems the more I hate it the more I need of it. The harder I rage against it, the stronger I pull at the binds that hold me, the longer I fight the pain and torment the more it fulfills that ache in me. That desperate need.

Maybe masochism is a mental disorder after all * grin *