I know, it should be “The Power Of Words.”
And they are powerful. Physical wounds will mend, but the ones caused by verbal cutting? They linger, cripple, haunt. The scar that never quite heals.
I thought of this last night as I wrote the climatic ending (pun intended) to Act V of Seek And Go Hyde:
“You may come.”
And with that Leigh exploded in a primal grunt all over me, her hands practically tearing her nipples loose in the process. They were almost cartoonish in how far their delicate skin stretched from being pulled so violently. But nowhere near as violent as the drenching orgasm that consumed us both.
With a massive gush Leigh screamed “I’M A PAIN SLUT I’M A PAIN SLUT FUCK I’M A PAIN SLUT.” She was practically hysterical with lust, the waves of each multiple crashing into her repeatedly, their damage measured in how badly her swollen cunt leapt out to suck in my cock.
The spray from her ejaculate hit me in the face. I licked my lips at the shock.
Told you it was sweet.
All the while she kept repeating her kinky mantra over and over, each time more guttural, deeper from within her, until out of nowhere she literally screamed at the top of her lungs:
“I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!”
And with that collapsed into a seething, panting heap on the bed.
Yes, she actually screamed that. And I can assure you that was Leigh as about as raw as I have ever seen her. The physical duress she was enduring via being forced to countless squirting multiple orgasms was brutal. But it was my insistence that she verbalize what she hates to admit that, I feel, pushed her to a point where she screamed what she did with the conviction of an executioner.
This is part of the beauty of D/s, especially when heated to a melting point in the forge of BDSM. I experience it as well. For everything Leigh and I share behind that closed bedroom door, for all the perversions, sadistic pleasures, sweet pain, there is one thing that I crave more than her vaginal fluids soaking through multiple layers of bedding all the way to the mattress.
I am addicted to hearing her beg permission to orgasm. And that pales in comparison to when she thanks me after each one.
Now, don’t get me wrong. The physical is amazing. Ironically in a post about the power for words I am at a loss for the best ones to attempt to describe how fucking intense all of this is. Which I guess speaks to the strength of our D/s dynamic. It’s more powerful than words, which is really saying something that can’t be said with words!
I need more coffee. Un memento, por favor.
And my favorite part of when we share each other’s dark side? The aftercare. When she is so far gone inside herself that it’s my turn to drown her in sweet nothings. And often all she can say is a meek “Thank you Sir” through a doll’s eyes before she goes away to the land of floaty floaty.
Right there. Looking in those empty pools of blue, when she says three words to me. That’s when I start to soar, my wings full on the wind of her beautiful submission. And I fucking fly into Topspace.
But that night, when she threw that one raw statement at me like a dagger, that was different.
Sitting here, right now, coffee within reach, it just occurred to me that when Leigh screamed “I. LOVE. WHEN. YOU. FUCKING. BEAT. ME!!!!” that Hyde had an orgasm.
(For you virginal Peekers™ a little history about Hyde)
Of course he can’t actually come. I do that. But in his own sadistic, perverted manner, forcing Leigh to that admission at the height of a brutal squirting orgasm was his own release. Whatever the chemical biology of satisfaction and its counterparts are, imagine that multiplied 100x. Now detonate that inside your soul like a kinky roadside bomb.
I came without coming. And it stopped me fucking cold. After that it was my turn. You’ll read about that later this week. But the fucker wouldn’t let me come until he did. All over both of us. Inside my head, soul and spirit, and out of Leigh’s mouth. The saturated mess around us both was just icing on his cake.
And, sadly, there are also the way in which certain words will forever be raw, open wounds to some. A few Peekers™ know this too well, including a special one that is near and dear to a number of us who blog in the darkest corner of the WordPress basement. For them, Leigh’s statement yelled at the height of consensual arousal conjures up bad memories, feelings and emotions. Very bad. Not consensual. Or asked for.
I pondered sharing what Leigh said, but ultimately decided to allow you all to react as you will. I did feel strongly about adding the * disclaimer at the end.
BDSM has been long thought of in a similar manner. And given the phenomenon of that certain neutral hued book series interest in WIITWD is likely at an all-time high. It’s important that those who have been here all the while be careful with how we present what can easily be misunderstood as sexual assault, or worse. They need to know that the key is communication.
Or, in other words, words. Just like the written ones above.