Sunday, October 13, 2013

Objectified

I thought I made it obvious, but just to say it again, the previous blog was entirely fiction.  Out of my own head.   Made up fantasy.

Anyway, it has been wonderful having Master home this weekend.  There has been sex, and beatings, and more sex, and last night a very long, hard caning that he was just sure should have left some marks, but there were just a few little ones.  

About last night, I have a hard time sometimes, emotionally, with his multitasking.  I'm pretty much an attention whore, really.  He was in the middle of reading a book when I came to bed and curled up next to him.  After a short cuddle he said "You need to go get the cane".

I hopped up and went and fetched it. 

Then he proceeded to beat me almost absent-mindedly, while still reading the book, for a long, long time.   

At first I had all kinds of thoughts going through my head, like "Is he really interested in me at all? Or am I just something to occupy his hands while he reads?" and so on.  I was even a bit angry.  Briefly, the image flashed across my mind of getting up, grabbing the book and the cane from him and throwing them across the room.  

However, from past experience (heh) I have learned that that sort of thing will definitely not be tolerated, and I'd be in hella big trouble for even making the smallest objection to what he chose to do.  So I lay quietly and accepted it as his wishes.  I put myself into a place of acceptance.  Submission.

 It ended up being the ultimate objectification.   By the middle of it I wasn't even sure I was present mentally any more.  I felt like a thing.  Just a thing and nothing else.  I didn't react to any of the cane strokes with a noise or a jump or anything more than a slight twitch no matter how hard they got.  

And it was getting harder and harder, possibly in an effort to make me react.  He didn't talk to me the way he usually does, which made it all the easier for my mind to slip away.  By the end I could tell the book was pretty much sidelined, but by then I was quite gone, just a piece of rug lying on the bed to be pounded.  I still reacted automatically every time he told me to orgasm, and then after that for a few minutes the pain of the cane would be intensified and I'd moan or whimper a little bit, but then I'd go back to not reacting, to slipping off somewhere...

Afterward,  he cuddled up to me and told me how he loved me and what a good slave I was.  I felt so deeply my status as his property, his slave, but a much loved property, that I was nestled in a cocoon of  peace and comfort.  I could feel the welts on my butt, like a lumpy cartographic map, full of mountains and valleys, and they reassured me.  I drifted off perfectly happy,  wishing for nothing else but to be his in exactly this way. 

Postscript:  he just read this blog before I published it and said that was exactly the effect on my mind that he was going for.

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