Dysphemia

I have the body of a twenty-one year old, the mind of a jaded, middle-aged woman, and the sexual ineptitude of a young adolescent; a combination that gives rise to acute states of doubtful crises and made this weekend with Master exceedingly emotional.

On Friday, Master took me to the drive-in but we were early for the movie, so he took me to the parking lot of a grocery store. He parked far enough from other cars but close enough to potential human contact to keep me on edge when he started playing with me. I was wearing my collar and wrist cuffs, a skirt and no underwear. In the car, he pinned me down in various positions, while he played with me and fingered my cunt, continuously but unpredictably alternating from tender to rough. All was well until I slipped up and failed to address him properly when he asked me a question. His response was a series of hard, unfaltering slaps. He has slapped me before—firmly and precisely with his palm at the square of my jaw and his fingers extending towards my temple—however, these slaps were different and far more unnerving. This time his palm hit me higher cheekbone and his fingers whipped across my ear. I don’t know if the change of technique was intentional but the momentum of a swift rush of air bouncing against the eardrum is very painful—a deep, visceral pain that hurts differently from the comparatively superficial pain caused by stimulating the nerve endings in skin. Not only are these kinds of slap physically painful, but because they affect your ear they make you acutely dizzy. Worse than feeling very off balance, however, was the displeasure in Master's voice when he started lecturing me on the respect and obedience he demanded of me. I tried blinking back the tears that were forming in my eyes but they betrayed me and began to spill out.

Master understood immediately, without any verbal explanation, that I wasn’t crying because I was scared or seriously hurt. He recognized that I was crying because I wanted to please him and thought that he was dissapointed in me. He gently told me that he wasn’t upset and that he realized that learning new behaviours, like speaking properly, took time. He explained that these slaps were a correction—an indication of his unhappiness at the behavior—and not of his unhappiness with me. He told me that he enjoys slapping me, but that his motivations are not anger or hatred, rather because it is a demonstration of his ownership of me. An ownership that goes hand in hand with his care for me. He then brushed away the tears from the cheeks and kissed my eyelids before sucking away the tears from my eyes--which I thought was funny and which we ended up laughing about it. It’s such a rollercoaster with him...going from contentment, to uncertainty, to fear, back to smiles and laughter. I think it is the constant shifts in emotion that make this entire experience so rewarding, but similarly so emotionally draining.

So much happened this weekend but I think I need a good night's sleep to let my subconscious mind process the information, before my conscious mind can take over and write about it coherently.