Teacher’s Pet


Cal and I have been dancing around each other for four years, on and off.

Until fairly recently, we’ve gone in cycles of being connected and falling out of contact, usually because a partner of his has blacklisted me yet again. I stopped being a threat to his partners a long time ago romantically. Nevertheless, until recently it’s been an ongoing thing that I’ve been aware of. Cal will come back. We will get in close contact again. He will disappear. Again.
Lately, and lately being the last few months, he hasn’t. It’s been nice having my old teacher around, and having him meet those that I consider my people and be part of my family as he considers me part of his. As I’ve grown and matured in the kink scene here in San Francisco, Cal has become something that I never thought he would be.
Safe.
We are aware that we are on each other’s radar, and have been forever. We are also much more aware now of each other’s limits than we were when we first started this little dance of ours. Neither of us is any sort of ‘primary’ material for the other. However, Cal has become a trusted confidant for myself and he has always respected the weird, complicated relationships I have with the people (cough cough James) I have in my life. He lets me figure things out in my own time, though will give me a good mental thump when I need it and I’m stuck in my own way. He’s honest with me, sometimes brutally, and I’m grateful for that.
I had a hard weekend ahead of me a couple weekends ago. James had asked me to trek him up and back to a campsite two hours north of him, and I was the stupid ass that agreed. It ate up my weekend, except for Saturday evening, which Ryan was busy for. I was frustrated, frazzled, and in desperate need of a good beating. Cal had offered to ‘break me’ if I needed it weeks before. And so, I finally took him up on it and asked him to a party I don’t normally go to, with both James away and Daddy busy and my brain fairly safe from squirrels.
It was Meet Market, an auction not unlike Master’s Den, however anyone is allowed to auction themselves off. Top. Bottom. It doesn’t matter. It’s a bonkers party with many of the people showing up that don’t like the hetoronormative spin that Master’s Den has. I can understand that, however I also enjoy the vetting system of the Master’s Den parties, and the talk about proper behavior that they have before. I trust the people at the Master’s Den parties more.
I was a dittering mess before the party, texting Ryan (whose playdate ended up having to cancel đŸ˜¦ ) about what I should wear, all the nerves of finally having a scene after four years of sexual tension. I ended up getting to the party late, having to park blocks away and fight catcalls along the way to the citadel door. Cal was kind enough to pay my entry once my frazzled self got inside, and together we watched the Meet Market auction.
I tried to bid on a couple pretty things to beat, to no avail. All of those that I would enjoy playing with went for extremely high prices, and even with Cal’s and mine’s money envelopes combined we didn’t have that much. He and I both rolled our eyes, chuckled and winced at all the ‘this is my first time’ers.. Those whose first kinky event it was. First play. First auction. We were two jaded kinksters in a sea of noobs; him because of the amount of time he’s been involved in kink and me because of frequency in the time I had been involved. I learned fast, especially with him as my jumping off point.
After the auction and its follies we searched for a place to play. “Cross or bench?” He asked. I’ve always preferred crosses, to brace myself against hard impact.
We ended up at the predicament chair, a piece of equipment that essentially looks like a shorter, fatter cross with a chair attachment for when you decide to flip the brat around and beat the crap out of their front. The shorter worked to my advantage. Normally I’m too short to be shackled to crosses with just simple clips. His cuffs managed it without problem. I braced myself, the edge of the chair only slightly touching my stomach, prepared to show off and show him just how tough I had become. That I was far from the little one that he had found so long ago.
“How hard do you want me to go?” he asked. After four years of waiting, I asked him not to be nice
BAM. Holy crap. I saw stars. The wind left me in one foul swoop as his palm slammed into my ass. To my shock I realized he could actually PALM my ass (no small thing…as my ass is no small thing…). I had always considered Cal’s hand to be rather small. His fingers are short. Turns out, his palms are massive. And hurt like a sonofabitch.
Bam bam bam. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as he hit me full force, with no warm up. I felt disappointed in myself. I thought I could take more.
There is something about Cal, probably because he is where I started and because of how we started, that always feels like I’m letting him down. That I’m sub par. That I fall flat at what he expected me to be. Logically, this is not the case. But logic and emotion are two radically different things.
He checked in with me after a few of the harder blows and in a shaky voice I tried to express how I was feeling; that I felt like I wasn’t good enough all over again and that I was letting him down.
“Oh no!” he said with a grin. “You’re not disappointing me at all. I told you I hit hard. I’m just happy that this is finally happening!” And to tell you the truth, I was too.
I registered the noises that came out of my mouth as he laid in to me with hands, with a wooden paddle, and with his flogger as well as mine. They were screams that only one other person had managed to wretch out of me since I had stared playing.
He hit harder than James.
It was a startling revelation, but also rather freeing. If I had started with a warm up (as any smart submissive not hell bent on showing off to her former teacher would have) I would have lasted longer, but even with the length of our scene being rather short I felt the catharsis that came with especially hard blows. There were points that he hit me so hard that my feet curled up under me and I hung from the cuffs. I screamed bloody murder. I shook. I cried. I wanted more, and was bound and determined not to be the one that called for the end of the scene.
I wore him out. I have various stages to hard scenes; transitions that my mind does. When I’m adjusting to the pain I scream and shake. When I’m more used to it I start cursing. When I’m flying I become much more silent. I was cursing, playful, and jumping when he leaned in close to my ear and said, “Okay, the mean man is warn out. I’m done.” And I giggled.
He set my wrists free and let me drop to my knees for a moment to recover before I cleaned off the chair and we went to cuddle. It was..easy…and yes, I very much felt safe and protected. That big bear of a man wouldn’t let anything hurt me, and knowing that..is an immense blessing. He’s a good man, at least to me. The cuddles were nice, the chatter our normal dialogue..and I found myself looking forward to the next time he beat the crap out of me.
The only thing I would change is with Cal I would actually climb up on a spanking bench. He’s not used to small people…I am tiny. I think he’s gotten so used to my tiny that he forgets sometimes… When he tried to flog me the falls either hit my tail bone or my neck, and that made me sad as this little leather slut loves a good flogging.. But that was discussed. Lessons were learned, and I was gifted with another safe outlet to find catharsis. He can make me fly just as easily as James could, without the emotional baggage attached… I can keep up with him and let him play heavy when his partners tend to be..fluffier, newer, and not quite used to a thorough beating. The balance is nice, and easy.
I suppose this four year dance is finally paying off. We are finding balance with one another..and I look forward to discovering more.
yours, most certainly a pain slut at times
-Rene
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