princesssparklecunt: As a masochist and a perfectionist, I always tell myself after a scene that I c

princesssparklecunt: As a masochist and a perfectionist, I always tell myself after a scene that I could’ve taken more, that I didn’t push myself far enough. Pain is a funny thing, and it’s so easy to forget how bad something hurt in the moment. When I’m in the middle of a beating, I hate it, it hurts like hell, and the logical part of my brain is wondering why I do this to myself. The thing is though, it’s not really about the pain. Being strung up and punched, caned, flogged, paddled, and violently throw around puts me in a headspace where it’s impossible to think about anything else. It takes all those other thoughts running laps in my head and stores them somewhere where I have no access to them. Pain is the only thing that makes my mind quiet. It’s the strangest feeling, standing up there naked and helpless, crying your heart out, with the acknowledgement that you asked for it. You asked to be degraded. You asked to be hurt. It’s not pretty. It’s not like the depictions you read about in books. There are no graceful tears; no beautiful screams. I ugly cry, and I shake, and I debate with myself in my head about whether or not I can do it. It’s not easy, even when you’re with someone that knows exactly where your limits are. It makes you lose your sense of reality, and that’s what pain is about for me. Not only do the incessant thoughts chattering in my head quiet down, but I get an emotional release that is unparalleled by anything else. When you’re up there being beaten like that, you can’t really help the noises you make, and you don’t particularly care, either. The only way it gets any easier is for you to let go, which is something I still struggle with. Fighting against the pain and trying to hold back the tears and the screams makes it so much worse. The second those walls come down, nothing else in the world matters but you, him, and the feeling of each of those horrifying implements. Time becomes incomprehensible, and your surroundings become irrelevant. The pain becomes calm. And then it’s over. It’s over but the tears keep coming, your body keeps shaking, and there’s not much else you can think about. His demeanor changes, he takes off the rope that held me captive, and lays me down. That’s when the rest of my emotional blockades crumble. Talking is impossible, and he lets me lay there on his chest and cry until there’s nothing left. They’re tears of sadness, happiness, stress, anxiety, anger, and the feeling of being overwhelmed. It all comes out, and there’s no way to stop it. I may always think that I could have taken more, but in reality, I get what I need out of it, I try my best to hold on, and that’s what really matters. I stood up there and trusted him enough to hurt me, I pushed myself past my breaking point, and there’s nothing more cathatic than crying your whole heart out with someone you trust so inexplicably. In the end, all I really need to hear him say is, “you made me proud”. -- source link
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