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I want to see you cry

May 7, 2013 by Heather Cole

My head wasn’t in our game, and I didn’t have a lot to say. I felt like I was waiting for something, perhaps an idea that would set free the heavy weight of emotion that sat in my chest. Or a word from sir that would unlock the chains I had wrapped around the unfamiliar sadness. I was grappling to understand the source of my upset, and even though I knew that I needed to concentrate on our game, I was stuck.

We began on my bed, missionary position, and I suggested that he take off his button down shirt. The shirt was stiff, a barrier, and I needed skin on skin. I lay on top of the quilt, my naked body sprawled over the precise squares of blue and red, waiting for him to disrobe. When he returned, though, the tone of the game had changed. His expression was serious, the smile gone from his eyes. Resolute was the word that came to my mind, and I knew we would be exploring new territory between us. The thought made me nervous.

He grabbed my left breast first, one large hand forming it into a fleshy mound. His other hand drew back and slapped my nipple. The pain made me gasp. It was sharp and immediate, and I barely had time to prepare for the next slap. I struggled to cope with the pain and maintain my position. My nipples were on fire as the edge of his hand dragged forward and backward over my sensitive skin. Breast torture wasn’t new to me, but sir’s intense focus on hurting me was.

I intuited that he was thinking about slapping my face, but I hadn’t convinced myself that he would actually do it. I assumed he played like this with his other partner, but we had never specifically discussed it. Part of me was still shocked that he would want to slap me. It’s an ingrained premise that we don’t hit the ones we love which was why my brain stumbled over the thought. I had always wondered what a face slap would feel like but never had the experience.

I almost didn’t see it coming, his open palm hitting the fleshy part of my left cheek and the backhand catching my right cheekbone and nose. It hurt more than I had imagined, the pain bright and stinging, and I saw stars for a moment. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I wouldn’t meet sir’s gaze as I tried to marshall my breathing.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked as his cock plunged into me.

“Yes, sir.”

For the first time I was. Not in a way that made me fear for my well-being, because I could always say “red.” I could use my safeword and the scene would halt, and I would be swept into sir’s arms for comfort. But I wasn’t ready for comfort. I loved the feeling of anticipation of the next slap while fearing it at the same time. I winced instinctively as he drew back his hand, but there was no way I wanted our scene to end prematurely. Whatever was happening in this moment between us was working loose the vice-like grip I had on my emotions, and I wanted to ride this out for the fulfillment of us both.

When I could meet his eyes again, our game had shifted but it was because of me this time. My engaging, willful self went into the background to be replaced by my slave self. My slave self is calm like the eye of a storm, watchful and enduring. She welcomes suffering and submits over and over again. I wouldn’t describe myself as passive when I’m in this place of deep submission, but I’m less verbal and more watchful.

Sir grabbed my face, keeping eye contact. “I want to see you cry.” He slapped me again, and I did exactly as he commanded. “Now you feel like my slave.”

I remained silent until I asked permission to come, but even my orgasm was a quiet one. Finally sir pronounced himself finished even though he was still hard. I let him roll me onto my side, and his arms came around me.

It took me awhile to come back to myself. Sir held me and murmured soothing words. He described the change in me when I mentally stopped struggling to comprehend the fact that he wanted to slap me and merely endured his attentions instead. Through our conversation I gradually resumed my usual persona. I agreed that our experience had been amazing, and I reassured him that the slapping had been a great experience. Because believe it or not, even sadists need reassurance that they’re not terrible people for wanting to hurt you. The intensity of our interactions had ushered me into the deepest part of my submission, and even though I enjoyed playing in the deep waters, it took me awhile to disentangle myself from the murky depths.

Something emotional had shaken loose during our scene. The sadness that I had felt before was now in full bloom. Its exact definition and cause were still vague, but I could now embrace it. It rapidly became clear to me that the chains I had weighing down my emotional morass were now in pieces, and I was feeling it. ALL of it.

“You seem so sad,” he said when he kissed me goodbye.

“I am, but I don’t know why yet.”

“Please tell me when you do. I want to talk about it,” he said.

“We will,” I promised.

I always try to keep my promises.

 


9 Comments »

  1. Devasha says:

    Wow, that was an intense read…..hmmmmm. i guess my only comment is that a slap in the face is a very different than a slap else where. I think a slap in the face is a more intimate and says ” i am hitting you in the face to to obliterate who you are. To disfigure that which I do not like or hate” . I cannot imagine that being sexy, fun or even a turn on. I guess having been in a “bad” relationship i would equate a slap in the face to being spit in my face, again, an action not born of love, desire or lust. I am sorry that you are feeling unsure of your emotions and i hope you eventually find the words to explain how you feel as communication is key to all and any relationship.

    • Heather Cole says:

      Devasha – I knew this post would prove alarming to many people for the very reason you describe: slapping someone’s face is regarded as abuse in many instances. My consent here is what makes it acceptable for our play space. However, many people like yourself and Nikki find that it triggers feelings from past abuse. My mother is a rape survivor, and much of what I find fun in BDSM, she can’t stand to read because of the feelings it brings up for her. I thought long and hard about sharing my account. It was intense but a good intense. Thanks for your comment!

  2. Molly says:

    I recently wrote about face slapping (last week) on my blog as it was the Kink of the Week topic. It is was and is a tricky one for me and after some exploration on our parts has made itself at home on my hard limits list.

    As for sadness, and the vice like grip on your emotions. I completely get that and sometimes I just need it beaten from me. The flogger works well for that, helps me find that place of release, where the tears can flow and nothing else matters. It is a hugely cathartic and relaxing experience for me

    Mollyxxx

    • Heather Cole says:

      Molly – Like you, I love floggers. They feel like security blankets for me, but they’re not cathartic for me. I have a tendency to drop into meditative space from the steady impact. I need sharper pain to reach catharsis–something that jolts me out of my head. Which is why I think the face slapping worked well for me in this scene. After I got over the WTF part.

  3. says:

    Heather! It’s too early for you to make me blink back tears! (I’m still trying to, dammit!)

    Saying this was intense seems like an understatement. Even just reading it was powerful, impactful. It’s so amazing to see the growth of this relationship, and the depths it’s starting to go. And truly, it’s beautiful to see how you can deal with your emotions through play like this. I know face slapping is a bit of a tense subject, but here you not only wanted it, but seemed like you needed it. Your slave self needed it.

    I can go on and on. You’re simply amazing, love, and deserve all the hugs in the world. *HUGS*!

  4. Spanknutt says:

    “Because believe it or not, even sadists need reassurance that they’re not terrible people for wanting to hurt you.”

    Believe it or not, Sadists, Tops, Doms, etc. absolutely need reassurance that they are “doing it right.” For most of us, it is all about the reaction. Big points for you on this one.

  5. [...] The blow placed me firmly at the edge of the deepest part of my submission, a place where we had played before with wonderful results. I eagerly waited for the next thing that would push me into the abyss and [...]

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