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Illness and S&M

March 18th, 2008 No comments

I’m sick. It figures. Five days off and I’m sick for four of them. Isn’t that always the way?

And I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. That hangy-ball thing in the back of my throat (Yes, I’m aware it has a name. No, I don’t know what it is.) is swollen and red and sore. So are my tonsils and I’m guessing my sinuses since I can’t breathe through my nose to save my life. My throat was sore when I went to bed but not like this. And the hangy-ball thing wasn’t swollen last night either. I didn’t sleep much because I would forget while asleep that I had to put effort into holding my throat open and it would close and I’d lose the ability to breathe completely. I tried sleeping sitting up, lying on my side, lying on my stomach… it just didn’t work.

Somehow I managed to choke down an egg sandwich for breakfast. Despite the heat being excruciating even after it cooled somewhat, I drank a few cups of coffee, too. But now, as much as I want to finish the pot, swallowing is triggering my barely-there gag reflex because of how swollen my throat is. And I’m nauseous. Diagnose me! No… I’m kidding.

But this brings up an interesting topic of discussion. We’ve concluded that the M/s should continue regardless the situation. But what about the S&M? I guess it really depends on the couple and the activity.

Yesterday, Master wanted to play. Being the slave, I have no choice but to comply. And, hey! I’ll take my beatings where I can get them! Positive ones, that is. But yesterday I just seriously was not in the right frame of mind.

My throat hurt. I was tired. I was cranky. I was whining to EVERYONE. Master. The bird. The fish. An old friend I haven’t talked to in ages – Hi, rayna! Smile

When Master pulled the flogger out, I thought, “Something good to focus on!” But the more He hit me with it, the more I wanted to snatch it away and flush it down the toilet. That’d be one hell of a clog!

Even the light strokes felt like He was skinning me alive and I was getting mad. Which was bizarre. Cause I rarely ever get mad during any sort of play. But I wasn’t mad at Master. I was mad at me. I was mad at my inability to get into it. I was mad at my reaction to the flogger, my favorite toy. And I was cursing my illness.

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