Test of Wills

I have to take a break in the chronology and write about more recent events. Very recent events.

Something snapped in me last night when Jefferson was beating me. Feelings from earlier this week that I had thought I resolved, or at least deeply suppressed, came right to the surface. I had been so hurt about something with Jefferson, and angry that it seemed he hadn't thought about how what he did could have hurt someone. And I thought just telling someone how I felt would make me feel better; and it did, until the physical pain brought back the emotional pain.

Then it became a test of will for me. Not his against mine though. A battle for my will to not be hurt in this situation (I hesitate to say relationship). Because I do know what's what. I knew long before I started fucking Jefferson. But honestly, as hurt as I was, this one time, I really wouldn't trade it for anything.

In all my relationships with men I always wanted to feel important and to be a priority. More than just to be be loved. Because you can love someone without making them a priority. For example, I know my sisters love me, but I'm just not important enough for them to accept or return my calls. I never got that feeling of importance or priority in my past relationships, and I sure as hell don't expect it here. Well at least I don't expect to be Jefferson's only priority and really not even in the top 10. But I would have hoped I was in someway important enough to be above, say, a stranger, or perhaps "relationships" that started after me. I may be naive, but I'd like to think I'm at least slightly grounded. But I guess not.

But all this, and more was playing through my head as Jefferson spanked, whipped, and caned me. I wanted to say so many things (when no one was around) but couldn't because I didn't think I could control what I would say.

I was doubting his love too- either because of my own insecurities or perhaps very valid truth.

As he beat me, my body began to shake with tearless sobs. I wanted to just feel the anger and hurt and then let it go. I went from having a great time with him and everyone else to suddenly doing battle with Jefferson (unbeknownst to him though). I really didn't want to be so upset.

My breathing was controlled, my trembling lips didn't let much sound escape, and my body worked to fight the urges to flinch. I couldn't let it show the pain was getting to me. I not once ever entered subspace the whole time.

And then he stopped. He threw the cane down, turned me over and took me in his arms. And I was just limp. I could barely stand it; I couldn't even look at him. My lips were unresponsive when he tried to kiss me. My body still shook from still tearless cries. He tried to comfort me and soothe me the best way he knew how. But last night I needed something else. I needed it beaten out of me.

"I want more."
"More?"
"More."

I saw him look at me and contemplate it for a moment. Instead, he grabbed for a condom. He fucked me slowly, my body indifferent to it. My eyes were shut tight and I turned my head to the side so he wouldn't kiss me. I heard the room empty. I can't even imagine what it looked like to outsiders. Or even to Jefferson, a participant.

He turned my face up and his lips softly touched mine, but my lips stayed lifeless. I wanted to pound his chest and scream how I felt. I wanted to cry. I really wanted to let let it go and not let it bother me anymore. I wanted more damn it.

"Are you Ok?"
I nod my head. "I want more."
"More what?"
"Beating."
"You can't take any more."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't."
"How would you know?" I said defiantly.
"Alright."

I turned back around and waited. I took most of it silently. I barely let out a peep through the cane strikes.

"Why aren't you making more noise?"
"Is that what you want?" I retorted back.

But it wasn't about him. I needed him to inflict what I couldn't inflict upon myself. I needed him to be the cause of the pain for me to let go of the hurt and anger.

It started working. I started joking with him again. Commenting how I have to wear shorts home as he flogged the backs of my thighs.

I debated in my head when it would be enough. Because it was entirely up to me at the moment. Yet, at the same time, I knew he wouldn't let me go too far. And I didn't. I took one last stroke from the cane and just knew that was the last one. I moved forward onto my stomach to signal the end.


And I had won my battle.

He layed down next to me and held me. I squirmed closer, needing to feel his gentle touch again. Though death threats were issued for any contact on my ass harder than a slight brush.

Writing this was the last piece necessary for a more complete resolution. Now I can get back and finish writing about more tender times between me and Jefferson to post for you all.