Last night

That's what I want to tell you about, but I find myself unsure and wondering where to begin. At the beginning, duh...

Okay. It was a rough day. I'm coming off a nasty cold, the kind the clog your sinuses with green snots and give you a raw throat and chapped skin. I spent almost 17 hours in bed on Sunday, and while I was feeling better, there's nothing like running with the kids to wear you out. On top of that, Girl is teething and screamed for about 4 hours straight while I tried to get the house picked up, make dinner, etc., and Boy had refused to take a nap. Beloved ended up working late, so I was a little frazzled by 7:30pm when we did finally sit down to eat.

Our roommate cleaned up, Beloved took the kids upstairs to get ready for bed, and I vegged for a few minutes before going up to help with bedtime routines and say goodnight. Afterwards, Beloved and I passed each other, but there weren't any sparks...just seemed like we were tired and in our own little worlds. We went up to the bedroom and I started to undress. Beloved reached over and rubbed my lymphs and neck (heaven!) and then flopped me on the bed, face down, and went deeper, pinching the muscles. It brought to mind a Fet photo of a suspension that Beloved had found. I shivered.

What was that?
Just my thinking about how I can sort of see how the hooks would work with my ropey muscles.
You mean, like this?

He grabbed my flesh and muscle, pulling up, making me cry out. It fricken HURT! He worked down my back, and then returned to my neck. He commented that I seemed more relaxed now. I wonder... And repeated the grab-pull ouchies. I was already begging him to stop.

He rubbed it out a little more and then stepped away, starting to undress himself. I looked up at him as he pulled his belt through the loops. Seeing me looking, he snapped the belt.

Would you like to feel the belt?
I don't know.
That's not a yes or a no. Would you like to feel the belt?
Part of me is curious, part of me is terrified.
That's still not a yes or no. Would you like to feel it or not?
Grinning, because I thought he was playing with me, I answered snidely, "If it would please you, Sir."

That's THREE non-answers!

The belt landed across my ass, making me squawk and jump up in surprise and hurt. His hand pushed me down, and I got a cold pit in my stomach. As if to confirm my fears, Beloved said softly, I'm not done yet.

The belt landed two more times, each with me bolting up and whimpering.

That's THREE, I stammered.

The girl can count! Why yes, yes it is. But who said I was done?

I started crying. My safeword floated through my head and I weighed it. I wasn't in trouble, I wasn't "damaged"...I was just OUCH, goddamnsonofabitch. Instead, I tried begging. Beloved did after a few more swats. I think I prefer something more...personal. His bare hand landed. I screamed into the mattress. I felt like the front of my face was going to pull off from the pressure in my sinuses, my eyes were tear-filled, my blue hair sticking to my face.

Beloved pulled me up and told me to preen. PREEN?!? As in model my beauty and pride for him? Like this??? I did...grasping at straws for the calm smile he likes. You are so beautiful. You're such a lier, I thought, but I didn't SAY it. I was feeling...well, not beautiful! At last I begged to blow my nose. He consented. I wiped my face, winced as I touched the welts. He got up on the bed, patting the spot next to him. I crawled under the blankets, snuggling.

I don't know if it was my comment or his...but we were talking about the welts. How did you like the cane when Sir used it on you?

I was so out of my head by the time Sir had used the cane on me that I barely registered it. I couldn't honestly say I had an opinion about the cane. I didn't like Beloved's reactions to the marks, though.

What if I marked you? So you like wearing the marks I give you? Hickies, welts?

I don't like being teased about them or having to explain them to others. I don't like the look of disgust Beloved's given me in the past when I had marks left from playing.

Do you still have the dowel rod from your project?

Cold was creeping back into my stomach. Yes.

Where are they?
In the kitchen, by the cookbooks.

Would you like to feel the cane?

My eyes were wide. I don't know. I don't know what the right answer is.

Beloved told me it wasn't a trap. There was no "right" answer. He appreciated my thoughts, that I talked to him, talked back to him. That he would sometimes ignore what I said in favor of what he wanted to do.

But sometimes the answer really IS I don't know. I was quivery, but I didn't quite believe Beloved would pick the scene back up. It was getting late, we'd both had long days, blah blah blah.

Tell you what. If you are still in the bedroom when I return, you will feel the cane. But if you would rather go shower, that is fine with me.

I danced in place, biting my lip. He wasn't serious!...was he?!? He wouldn't dare... He hates marks... I...I...

I peeked out the door, down the stairs Beloved was ascending, his eyes catching mine. He reached the top stair, staring at me. He walked the eight feet from the landing to the door. The thought of slamming the door crossed my mind, and then he was there.

Well, look who's still here...

He swooshed the rod, and I whimpered. I asked if we could please light the body candle...our aftercare treatment. Beloved smiled and told me to fetch it. He directed me to stand, hands above my head. I yelped when it landed, the begging began, this time to please let me lower my arms. He tsked, tapping my breasts and nipples. I held very very still...afraid of harder blows. Eventually, he had me lay face down on the mattress, and he marked me. He caned my back, my ass, my thighs, me feet. He made me snot-nosed and screaming into the mattress again. My safeword dangled in my foremind, taunting me because using it would end it all, but it wouldn't have been honest.

Then he laid the cane aside and danced his fingers over the welts. Tiger stripes, he said. There were other comments, but most were lost in my sobbing.
Thank you for sharing your pain. I remember he said that a few times. When he poured the melted oil on me, it didn't hurt the way I expected it too...but his rubbing it in was sweet agony. I finally had enough voice to ask him why. There is a line in Fight Club..."Because I needed to break something beautiful." The starkness...the rightness...I understood without understanding.

He showed me the marks in the mirror. Part of me wanted the camera, and he laughed. Playing comparison games always gets me in trouble. Besides, he'd have to give me fresh ones that would show up on film. THAT settled me quickly. Instead he asked if we should shower.

WE? He smiled. I could scrub your back. Sadistic man! He followed me anyway. It wasn't until I was under the hot water and washing that I realized how sexually excited I was. I spun away, pressing my face against the wall. Please...please tell me I'm okay?! What's wrong, kitten? Please...I...

I took his hand and showed him, unable to verbally admit the truth. Only one tease left his lips. His touch was terrible, and I was fast approaching shut-down. He kissed me gently then. Would you like me to love you?

I didn't answer outloud. Instead, I turned away from him, bending at the waist, the heat of the water and the noise of the shower covering me. Beloved took me, slowly, deeply, his hands cupping my breasts, groaning his appreciation. Then he was gone, allowing me to wash my hair and clean up.

When I did finally cuddle against him in bed, he asked what I thought of the cane now.

Even though the lights were off and the house was quiet, I had to lean over to whisper into his hair. I'm confused, I hurt...but I wonder when we can do it again.