Fucking Hell, but that was fun

AKA, Now No One Can Hear You Scream.

All around the land, in many a home or dungeon, or home-dungeon, there were many wonderful sex/S/M sessions but I think none to compare with our night.

At least none that I've had in recent memory.  

He scratched his initials into my breasts.  With a knife!   Eeeee, it was so freaking hot too.  He did a lot of other things with the knife.  Not hard enough for blood or permanent marks (he said maybe after he sharpens it) but enough to leave scratches that lasted.   Swwoooon.   

I got tied by the wrist cuffs to the ceiling beam and hit with the belt.  A lot.  Then when I was good and warmed up (!)  he started in with the birthday caning.   Oh, and there was the whole thing with the jar of wasps!  But, maybe that can be left for another time.... I'm not really fond of wasps, I'll have you know.  I told him that repeatedly, which was the wrong answer.  

He untied me and positioned me kneeling on the floor, head down.  After a few corrections/adjustments of my position:

"How old are you going to be?" he asked.

"Forty three", I reluctantly admitted, after considering in my head if he would believe "26".  Probably not.

"Count them off beforehand" he ordered.

"One" I said confidently.  I can take one cane blow, yes I can.  Why think ahead?  I'm in the moment.

There was one hard whack on my upturned rear.

"Two, Master" I said, almost as confidently.  He hit me twice.

"Three, Master?" I asked.   He hit me three times.  

"Four, Master?  quavering.   And four strikes followed.  I jumped around a bit and had to resume my position.
 
And so on, with the number of strikes matching the number I said.

When I got to number ten I was moaning and wiggling, falling over, having to be propped back up.  These were no gentle taps.  He had to prompt me to say the next number.

After 11 or so he rolled me over and told me to raise my legs and grip them.  Twelve hard strikes on my tender thighs as I held my legs straight up in the air.  He knows that hurts the worst.  Then thirteen on my cunt, but not nearly as hard.  This seemed a relief.
My legs were flopping around too much, so he tied them to an overhead beam.   

Fourteen hurt soooo bad.   And then 15 more on top of those sore places made me think I might not last.  I kept fighting down the thought of not even being halfway to 43. 

At sixteen he switched to regular counting, one blow per number, because he decided I'd almost had enough.  Right on up to 43.  And then one more "to grow on".  Number 44 was a hard one too.  Most of them were hard ones, come to think.  I'm quite bruised up today, from that and the belt.  

There was more beating after he untied me, flogged me and took me to the bed.   The strigil and the crop made a very loud impression on my backside.  

And then there was the buttplug. And the knife. He carved on my back, and my ass (ow, that was already sore), and then did his initials on my breasts.  Fucked me with the knife to my throat.

He fucked me, I sucked his cock.  Ass sex.  Having the buttplug in first did make it a lot more pleasurable.  You can call me a full convert to the buttplug experience.   I came a bunch.   The ass sex lasted a lonnnnnng ass (heh) time.  I was in and out of waves of pain and pleasure throughout.

Altogether we spend over 2 hours playing, and oh fuck, it was so good.  We took a small nap and then got up and ate dinner (bread and jelly) at 10:00.   The child free life!