Why

A few weeks ago, we got me to a 10 on the pain scale.  It’s only happened a few times, which is pretty impressive considering the intensity of our play. We stopped, he comforted me, we moved on to other things.  

But the 10 kept rattling around in my head.  A war ensued between my lower brain, the brain of emotion and instinct, and my upper brain, the rational, logical part of me.  My gut, my emotion, and my instinct LOVE playing with Sir.  But my upper brain kept asking me – why?  Why do you do this when it causes you pain?  Why did you agree to this when you knew it would hurt like hell?  What is WRONG with  you, anyway? What kind of sick person allows themselves to be hurt like that?

Hey, anyone who’s cruised Tumblr at all has had that thought cross their mind – why would anyone DO that?

The reasons are varied and complex.  For one thing, I will admit that I enjoy thinking of myself as tough.  Child of an alcoholic.  High pain tolerance.  I can take it.  I ain’t no woosy girl.  

I enjoy the marks he leaves on me – I see them as his claim to ownership. 

I very much enjoy pleasing him.  I am a consummate submissive – I get my pleasure from seeing how much pleasure I give him.  The worst kinds of punishment, for me, are the withholding kinds.  The worst kind of hell for me was in marrying someone who did not enjoy accepting pleasure from me.  Ah, but that is a blog for another time…

But it’s more than that.  I do it because of that amazing combination of pain and pleasure that takes me places I’ve never been before.  We accidentally recorded the audio from a titty torture session, and I got to listen to myself, and what I sounded like as I sat on my Hitachi and he slapped my tits with his paddle.  No way that sounded like me.  It had to be another person – no, some wild animal.  Not me – not Miss Responsible, Miss In Control.  That woman was completely out of control.  She didn’t know where she was, or even who she was.  And she didn’t give a damn about who heard her having orgasm after orgasm, shouting and moaning out her passion.  And after it was done, after she finally cried “Mercy”, if she could even remember the word, she was hoarse and limp, unable to form words.  Completely relaxed, mind blank.

And THAT is why I do it – to become that woman