Come to the dark side…

I can’t get it out of my mind. And you know I’m to much of a wimp to tell you in person (though I have told you some of it). But I dare not tell you I have a scenario in my head. That I want to do things to you, you have never even thought of. And I am ashamed of those things. You’ve got me confused.

Yes dear, I want to go to the bdsm-party with you. Yes, I’ll hit you, hurt you. Yes, I’d love that. But there is more. Way more. Here is next weekend in my mind:

Sitting at the bar, me meeting some people I’ve met last time (explaining why on earth I now have a sub-guy with me when last time I was here as a single-sub myself), you talking to someone working here whom you went to school with. You come stand next to me, and we chat. I love talking to you, you’re so smart, interesting. But after a while you will say something, something you are not honest about (I always know when you do that) because you are afraid to be honest. I grab a string of your hair, and pull you to your knees. I slap you in the face, as hard as I dare. Four times, until there is a red mark on your cheek. I smile at you, love you. Kiss you and caress your hurt face. Then slap you again. Inside I thank you for loving this, enjoying this, but I will not say it. I just kiss the red mark on your cheek.

I take you to the mirror-room. Remember last week, when you were dancing tango here with your sister? How different this night will be. I want you to think of me, of pain, whenever you are here again. We watch the whips laid out on the table here. You know as well as I do, I have no idea what I’m doing. “Which ones do you think you’ll like?” I’ll ask. The ones you choose, I will use. Much better, because now all the pain they cause will have been your own choice. Degrading, I like that.

I have you take off your shirt. We kiss, passionately, because anxiety creates more passion. I scratch my nails down your back. (I stopped biting my nails a while ago, just to do this. That is what should remind you, every time I hurt you, that I love you. Fuck, I love you.) I bite your chest and arms, hard. The bitemarks, which appear so easily on your skin, are beautiful. And deep. I leave you to yourself in a cage in this room. It is great to be able to trust you’ll enjoy yourself. Knowing you, you’ll probably strike up conversation with somebody while in that cage.

Going back to the other room, I approach the people making collars and handcuffs out of leather. I ask them if I can borrow a long piece of leather to tie someone up with. Of course they wonder why I don’t use some of the rope available. I explain that you are a vegan, and are against the use of leather. And that is why I want to tie you up with it. That works, I get a helpful smile and a string of leather. I go back and find you comfortably talking to a guy who, when I approach, steps back and keeps still. I don’t mind him watching, though I wouldn’t mind being alone with you right now. I get you out of the cage and on your feet. You hold out your hands and I tie your wrists together with the string. “You don’t mind me tying you up with leather, do you?” I ask. I can see you thinking about saying “No, I don’t at all”, but you hesitate because you don’t want to lie. I hope you hate it. Then I tie the string to a bolt in the ceiling. You can’t move anywhere, while I take the first whip in my hand.

Honestly, I have no idea whether I am going to like hitting you with these whips. I think I will, but who knows? I am sure you will like it though. I have seen you react to pain, quite a lot of pain, before. You love it. So much, that I might need to get you quiet somehow. Since there are no gags around, I take off my panties from under my skirt and stuff them in your mouth. (See, I told you I thought degrading you is hot… I was just afraid to tell you how) Then I hit you some more, seeing marks on your back I have never seen before. I know later tonight you will admire them in the mirror. I whisper in your ear, telling you how brave you are. Asking you whether it is to painful or if you can handle more, harder. You answer by nodding. I kiss you and caress your hair. Your gorgeous long hair, that I have pulled (pulled out!) so often.

After a while I untie your hands, ungag your mouth and cuddle you. I want to make you feel better after this beating, but somehow I feel guilty and need this cuddle more than you do. You take me in your arms, making me feel safe and okay. We talk a little, asking each other how we feel, and I tell you to leave your shirt off. We go back to the bar, and you order us drinks, secretly showing off the whipmarks, bitemarks and scratches on your body. The rest of the night we will simply talk and kiss. (That is, until we get home, where you will probably fuck my brains out for a hour, while giving me a fantastic orgasm with your hands. God, I love it when you do that.)

So there you are, here is what I’ve been thinking of doing to you for the last few days now. The pain, humiliation, submission, I want to make you feel all that. I hope you’ll like it. I hope some day I’ll have the guts to do it.