Owning Me

My legs spread wide, my spilling over cunt drenching the sheets, Master above me looks into my eyes and whispers, "In my mind I'm raping you, girl", and he was.   It is clear that I want it (now) while I didn't (before) but something about him taking what he owns makes me want that and everything more, insatiably more.

"It's not just in your mind" I said lustfully, not trying to be insolent, because he knew everything, what I wanted and how I didn't want it, as my hips strained upward to meet him.  I can feel a cut still on my lip where my face felt his hand then.  Three times.  Then I came, again.

Earlier I had to give him many confessions of things I had not done, or done wrong, or thoughts I had which were the wrong ones, the thoughts which led to me avoiding him and pouting last night.  I know I should not do this and I do it anyway.   There were so many confessions to make that every time I thought I'd finished I'd think of one more.  I'd had a hard couple of days, and frankly everything was finally catching up to me, things that I didn't want to admit or even think about.   

Punishment is still an option, but one that he doesn't use this time.   He has many reasons to punish me; he says I should be punished, he even asks if I need to be punished.  I have a hard time squeaking out a yes, finally, and yet he doesn't, because I guess he doesn't want to. 
I don't feel it as a grace though.  It would be nice if I did feel that way, or even felt a little grateful, but I don't.  I do feel grateful that he has torn all these confessions out of me, even though it makes me cry in agony.  This is how he owns me, even the bad parts, the parts I wish were not me.

  He still uses the paddle on me, reminding that it is only for his pleasure, not because I want it or don't want it or deserve it or don't deserve it. I finally give a right answer, surprising him, when he asks if I want to be beaten more.  "It doesn't matter what I want".  

Punishment or not, it still hurts like the devil, and I cry.  I fight with my own hands to keep them from rising up in self protection when he works on my chest with the small wood paddle. 

Finally I am wrung out limp.   He's struck out all my pain, absolved me and we can sleep.