Hard Times

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We played. And we played hard. I was pushed to my limits, and finally learnt how much I could take, and more importantly, that there is such a thing as too much.

I shook and trembled as the last couple of blows hit. I didn’t want to safeword; I wanted to take everything he inflicted on me. By the end of the night, it was a beautiful, brutal, controlled violence that hugely turned me on. But there was a line that got crossed; it stopped being pleasure and became punishment. And thankfully, he read my body language exactly right, and stopped.

He lifted me up and hugged me tight and told me how well I’d taken it. And all the while I felt safe and protected, happy to be in such good hands.

I took time out the next day to think about the implications of playing so much closer to the edge, and had a great reminder when I looked in the mirror:

Sinful Sunday: Hard Times

26 thoughts on “Hard Times

    1. It was very hot, very awesome, and very intense, and considering I don’t normally bruise, you can tell how close to the edge we were playing at. The last few hits were pretty brutal!

    1. Thank you. It took three separate sessions over the night to get me to bruise. Normally, I can feel it but there’s no visible marks.

    1. It was a fun night. Painful, but in a way that appealed to my inner masochist. And infinitely more enjoyable because he knew when to stop, so I could relax.

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