I would hate to write a huge post about how I can't handle a certain type of humiliation scene without crying when it was really just I was sad about something else and then happened to let my brain go into over-drive on humiliation and so I could finally cry.
I was internet-chatting with a friend last night (thanks, love!) trying to get some clarity on an issue I had Saturday night. I couldn't really understand why I was crying over something that had been ok in previous sessions.
I have to start back a little ways, maybe.
My Master likes to spin out humiliating stories for me while we are fucking. This is really hot to both of us. Being humiliated, even in story form, turns me on. There are some things that I have a harder time with than others. Being placed in competition or being compared with other girls is one of things that often strikes me wrong, but normally I can just deal with those feelings and not actually break down in tears, which is not my Master's goal with the humiliation. I guess it's not his goal, but sometimes that is the result.
Saturday he started with a story about him and someone much hotter than me, and I found myself building an internal wall against feeling it. Building, building. "That doesn't affect me. I refuse to feel upset." Then the story turned to me and he was fucking me and I was winning the competition.
That is when I broke down. My walls fell down. My defenses broken. Open to the hurt. That is when I cried.
Once something is set up as a competitive event, there is the possibility of losing, right? Even if I won this time, next time I might not be so lucky? Maybe he would not like me as much anymore? Anyway, that is where my brain went, sensible and true or not.
I prefer to think of it as a cooperative effort. If Master had two girls, either sequentially or one at a time, how could we work together to make him the most pleased? However, that does take all the humiliation aspect out of the story, doesn't it?
I believe I mentioned that Saturday was also the remembrance event for our friend who passed. I didn't cry then, or before, or after.
But Saturday night I cried while my Master fucked me.
I couldn't say for sure whether those two things relate, but I wouldn't be surprised.
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