Last spring, in what was a different WordPress world, at least for me, I got chastised for commenting something like “A Daddy Dom will beat the shit out of you, then comfort you in his arms as you cry.” I apparently offended a fellow blogger with my language and I, of course the ever civil LSAM, publicly apologized, modified my lexicon and explained my meaning.
But not today.
Today, I want to be beat. Hard. I don’t want a love pat. I don’t want a play spanking. I want to be beat, in every connotation you can imagine.
I want to be put over His knee and held in place. I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt bad. I want it to make me moan and gasp in pain. I want it to make me cry, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I want bruises and welts, dare I say, blisters and broken skin. I want it to hurt to sit down for days afterwards, a constant reminder of His assault on my skin.
I want to fight Him until He has to hold me down. I want to fight until I am exhausted, collapsing onto Him, the fight beaten from my body.
I want to make Him work for it, fight me back. I want to make Him sweat, see it glistening on His forehead, giving me the knowledge that He, too, wants the fight, the struggle, the beating; that it’s worth the effort.
And when the beating subsides, when I am left beaten and bruised, exhausted from strain and swimming in endorphins, He will pull me off His knee and into His lap, hold me and whisper sweet words into my hair as I sob against His chest.
And after the tears have dried, He will make love to me, gentle and caring, bringing my body to an apex of sensation, where I teeter, trying to catch my balance, before I fall again, this time into a sea of pleasure.
This is what I want. I want to be beat.