Sometimes I wonder why I am wired the way I am.
We were alone this past weekend, from Friday afternoon through Sunday evening. He took me in the bedroom on Friday and used and abused me. Nothing new or surprising about that, but it was...different. Perhaps that's why it's taken me three days to write about it.
Our Friday encounter was simple. No ropes or restraints, just me bent over the end of the bed, His hand planted firmly in the small of my back to keep me in place. He used three different implements: a belt, the long-handled shoe horn, and the cane. He alternated between beating my ass and fucking me. The beating was hard and fast, and He apparently felt no warm-up was needed.
A few minutes in, when I realized my ass was not going to catch up to speed, and I was literally reminding myself to breath, something changed for me. I felt disconnected from Him. He seemed so very focused on causing pain, it was as though I wasn't there.
Objectified, that's the word I want. I felt objectified. And it turned me on to be used like that.
Yes, yes, I ended up sobbing, because that's what He wanted, and He beat me until He got my tears. And yes, He fucked me hard while I was sobbing, which turned me on even more. It didn't take long for Him to make me cum, either.
Sitting here now, looking back on it, thinking about it, reflecting on the events of Friday evening, I find myself...incredibly aroused. Aroused and excited at the thought of being beaten, used, and fucked while crying.
So do you see why I sometimes wonder why I am wired the way I am?