Here I am again for the third time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Four days until D-Day: I'm resting today and my mind is wandering, finally thinking about Monday. For some time now, the idea of playing with candles has been nagging at me. It's not a huge desire, but it's true that it's something I've been wanting to try for a while. I already did a minimalist experiment three years ago. I don't remember it fondly, but I'm sure that technically I should like it, so it's time to change that. Then I tell myself that it's still a practice that needs to be talked about first, so I write a little e-mail because I don't remember writing it in the questionnaire the first time, it was never a mad desire, just curiosity. So I send...<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On D-Day, the stress mounts as I arrive in Paris, and I ask myself again why I'm doing this to myself? - because it's good for you...<\/em>– Yeah, I don't know! I'm really thinking about making an appointment with a fellow shrink, since mine doesn't seem to know enough about my condition. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n 15 minutes before, in front of the building, I think to myself that this is the worst moment of all, this waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 14h57: A one-legged man on crutches accosts me! <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Hello! I promise I'm not naughty, ma'am!\" he must have seen the look of fear on my face and thought it was from him. No it's not you, there's just a lady waiting for me with a whip on the top floor of the building; she's the one who scares me!<\/em> \"I'm starving, don't you have something to eat?\" I give him the meager change I have on me. He thanks me, leaves, I call, and go up to the last one. I feel much less stressed than the last two times. I've got a little lump in my stomach and my legs are a bit flabby, but apart from that, I feel fine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Madame welcomes me and we talk about my first experience with wax. When I think back on it now that I've been through it, it was a real mess! <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Do I have bad news?\" she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course it's good news! I'm the craziest spanko on earth! Yes, I'm convinced I can win this prize! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n (...) <\/p>\n\n\n\n In answer to her question about the emotion I'd like to feel during the session, I reply: \"I want to be scared...\". The look she gives me says it all. Oh la la...I should have said: I want kindness!<\/em> That said, it's true! I'm addicted to fear! <\/p>\n\n\n\n I've arrived in the bathroom, when Madame gives me a lesson on finding toothbrushes. \"\u00a0ok shut up and apologize!\" <\/em>That's what Justine thought, she's scared!\u00a0 Yeah, what does it prove to me that it was there the last time! I looked and there was nothing there! <\/em>That's Justine being wrong and wanting to be right! And the one who wins is the one who makes excuses! \"Yes, well, I was stressed too! - \"ah because now you're less stressed!\" \"Ouch!\" My breast is in battle with one hand! - but we haven't started yet, it's not fair!<\/em> – I told you to apologize! <\/em>My brain is more present than usual. I saw them in two seconds, although I promise I'd been looking... yeah, okay, I hadn't seen anything, but I remember that I'd been on the wrong floor that day, so... a toothbrush next door was far too small.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n (...) <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now that I'm there, I'm more excited than scared, so I knock on the door and get down on my knees. Madame arrives... she starts as always by attacking my breasts, and I'm already squealing. Maybe she's right and they were more sensitive today, even though I'm neither ovulating nor post-menstruating... I don't know, my body surprises me sometimes. She puts the necklace on me: I appreciate its symbolism more and more. Then I'm pulled by the hair to get up... Ouch! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I follow her to the dungeon, half amused, half mute, half worried... Madame takes a thin rope and starts whipping me with it. The next thing I know, I'm being squeezed in the ribs. I love ropes, but I don't know, I'm just not feeling it. What's she going to do to me?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n She asks me to get on the stool, and holds out her arm to help me because I'M CLUMSY! <\/em>In fact, I don't need the reminder, I think she knows it very well and that's why she's playing with it! She ties me to the ceiling and then suddenly I see her putting on gloves... First thought: okay I'm a punching bag<\/em> ! 2nd thought: is she going to punch me?...<\/em> ah no, she puts them on me... <\/em>I'm still a punching bag... I suddenly lose my sight. My mind is focused on not falling over, but she's preventing me from concentrating enough because she keeps bugging me with all sorts of things. Her Wartenberg roulette wheel makes me want to fidget. Justine, concentrate, don't wiggle too much, you'll fall!<\/em> Just as I'm thinking that, she tells me that if I fall, I might break my ribs. I hate her.... And I like her at the same time, but now I hate her! <\/em>she makes me laugh too but I can't laugh... not too much, it seems too risky! I'm getting hot! I think I'm actually scared! I'm sweating profusely... Wooh Bravo I'm scared! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"EARTHQUAKE!\" She shakes the stool. Okay, she wants me dead soon.<\/em>. I hesitate between crying and laughing. I laugh, it's easier! She's having so much fun, you can hear it, she's like a little girl playing. I have to admit I like it. Sometimes she comes right out of the dungeon or makes noises. All my senses are on alert! But on the bright side, at least she doesn't have much access to my breasts because of the gloves....until she changes my position...<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now she's telling me that when a dreadful alarm sounds, something will happen, but she won't tell me what. Well... she's probably going to hit me, I'm a punching bag so it would be amazing if it was something else, now it remains to be seen with what, how, and where? I can't see her using a whip right from the start - she does use cold canes, though, so that'd be possible! or maybe she'll make the stool move, which makes no sense, she's already doing it without :<\/em> EARTHQUAKE!! Aaaaaahhh help, she's at it again! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The bell rings! SHLAK<\/em> : PUT*** !!!! That was not a nice shot! <\/em>I squeal, she laughs! What was it? It's too heavy to be a belt, not heavy enough to be a Paddle... a Tawse? <\/em>After 3 rings of the bell... Madame confirms... \"I'm not being nice, I'm beating you with the Tawse cold like that, but you understand, you told me that last time you were at a level 4 with the Cane\" - \"but that wasn't even a provocation, it was true!\" yes... I've been caned to the point of my body shaking and crying, so it's true that in comparison, I was at a level 4. Then again, I'm a masochist, so I like cane strokes... well, I do! No, it's not true, I don't like it, but I like it anyway, it's too complicated. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Tawse is one of my favorite instruments: especially given in rhythm, which she decided to do a few minutes later. But in the cold, such straightforward strokes... ouille !!!!! <\/em>The conditioning is perfect: every time the alarm sounds, I catch myself getting scared and anticipating the pain of the blows to come, and of possibly falling too: bravo, successful bet! Now she wants to put clamps on my breasts. Ouille <\/em>it's painful but above all my mind is divided into too many different pieces of information to manage: knowing when she's going to hit me, what she's going to do to me, when she's going to create an earthquake, concentrating on not falling, especially as she's pulling me forward with it, I'm hot, the pain in my breast is information my mind can't manage at the same time as everything else. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She tells me we're going to play a game with dice and that depending on the numbers on the die and their order, chosen without seeing them, I'll get the corresponding number of moves. She tells me several times to trust her, that she never lies in a session. She can show me the dice afterwards. But I'm already confident!<\/em> And even if she decided not to respect what's on the die, what can I do? It's not even that bad. She rolls the die and tries to make me believe it's a big number. To tell the truth, I'm not afraid of tawse blows even if it's over 50... I know; even if it hurts and she hits pretty hard, I know I can take it, no what I'm afraid of is falling! So I pray to anyone who can hear me that I'll fall on a small number ... and I did: the smallest number possible: 11.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She doesn't seem to believe it! I can! It instantly reminds me of the first time MK played this type of game with me. She was using a deck of cards with a number of moves and instruments, and in all the pile, a few rare cards: stake! I drew all 4. If we listened to the cards, I'd stay at the stake for the rest of the session, with just a few taps on the buttocks. She said to me: well... we agree we're not going to do that and pretend we've never drawn those cards!? So I'm no more surprised than that to get a double 1. I'm lucky at the game when it's not about winning money! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Let's go! I can feel them coming, but I'm fine... plus I've had my little revenge: a Tawse rhinestone has disappeared... and no, it's not in my arse! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Madame is untying me...\" Oh that would have been an ideal position for the whip! Hmm... maybe we'll see later!\" an ideal position? tied to the ceiling? she's crazy! - Yes, but so are you! - Yes, but I've known it since I was born, she's just discovering it! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n We move on to the next step... Madame tells me that the first time we saw each other, she took care of one of my feet, but that we didn't agree on which foot it was. She thinks right, I think left. I'm sure it's the right one. The memory is still fresh in my mind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"no problem, we'll do both...\" Damn... make her say that just to scare me! Please !!!!!!! <\/em>Well... NO! Here I am, prone on her cage. She hands me a cushion and blurts out: \"How rude! You didn't even think to say thank you, Madame? oops...<\/em> \"Pardon Madame!\" then I could have said thank you... well okay I would have forgotten the Madame... but I would have said it if my mind wasn't so busy wondering what was going to happen to me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She adds: \"Do you really want me to punish you? You're such a masochist that this is what you're after!\" Damn... that kind of sentence kills me on the spot! <\/p>\n\n\n\n But...quick reminder: before I realized I was a masochist, I was into discipline games (I still am!) So of course I'm looking for punishment! It's not conscious 90% of the time, but yes, it's there! She ties me up all over the place: \"oh madam, I want to experience bondage\" she says, laughing at me... No, to tell the truth, right now I'd like to try out my plaid on my sofa, but I think it's too late!<\/em> She wedges my feet far too well... Well, I'm screwed... I remember how much it hurts and she seems determined to really go for it this time... At this moment: I hate her to bits!<\/p>\n\n\n\n \"How are your knees? - Yes... - Pardon? - Yes, ma'am! - Okay, let me know if you feel any pain... well, only in your knees!\". I can't even hate her quietly for too long!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Here, let's play some music....<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Queen's playlist came on, I wanted to insult her so badly, it took all the education of my entire family and my mother, who looks at me in my head with that crazy look in her eyes (yes, my mother is crazy, but... considering the state of her daughter, it shouldn't be surprising!) to hold me back! The fact that I'm tied to her mercy is a big deterrent too, I must admit! I thought she'd never stop....I screamed like crazy, tried several times to tell myself: That's enough Justine... let go!<\/em> But each time she changed rhythm! I couldn't do it because the alternation between strokes and tickling stopped me from concentrating on my breathing. I almost, and I do mean almost, preferred the strokes to the painful tickling! I fought like hell, screaming like a piglet! I began to hate the whole world and especially Queen for having made such long songs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And what's more, she sings while I scream! \" Mama, oooooooh Didn't mean to make you cry!\". <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n For my part, the Mamaaaaaa<\/em> it's more because I'm calling my mother for help! He doesn't want to make his mother cry, but she wants to make me cry, obviously! And at the end of each song: That's it she's going to stop! Thank you song is over !!! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The music changes, the unmistakable sound of Queen's most famous songs kicks in, and she's ecstatic at the idea of making me suffer through one more song. <\/p>\n\n\n\n What the hell!!! Break his speaker and his badine with ...!!!! <\/em>\ud83c\udfb6Don't stop me now! \ud83c\udfb6 - but shut up, Freddie! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Then comes a thought: tell him to stop! Beg her! If you must! But tell her! - It won't do any good; she's a sadist; if I beg she'll like it! - Don't give her that! - Then tell her red! You've got to stop her: red red red red! - But it's true I'm willing! I could stop any time I want! - But you won't! - You're the strongest, Justine! You're able to endure much more than this, it's just a foot!\" <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaahhhhhhh!\" <\/p>\n\n\n\n She's just dug her nails under the soles of my feet, and the pain is so great that it's a good thing I'm tied up because I'd almost come off the cage! I take back what I thought; I'm not strong at all! - ah yes and yet I don't think I heard you say Red to stop?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n She bursts out laughing, then stops. I'm gasping in pain! Make her stop! Please! Make her stop!<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n She approaches my head, takes my arm, kisses it a little, massages me a little too, lets me breathe for a few seconds... and goes to the bathroom... I breathe! My left hand goes numb. I've been fidgeting and my arm has jammed, so I gently loosen it and the blood reappears in my hand... I'm stoned! I'll never be able to finish this session if she doesn't leave my feet alone...<\/em> She comes back, strokes my hair a little and then says: \"Well, I'm going to enjoy the position anyway\". I see her pick up a cane. She can hit anything she wants as long as she leaves my feet alone!<\/em> She attacks my buttocks... Surprisingly, it's rather pleasant, I repeat, but the cane on my buttocks: we're still at level 4! We could go harder - oops - but this isn't the time, we need to vary the intensity, I need a little gentleness; yes, cane strokes on my ass are gentleness! I just don't have the same definition of gentleness as the others... Then, I'm sorry but to a letter: pain \/ gentleness is the same thing! She rotates the cage to another position and says to me: \"I wouldn't want to wear you out too much before the waxing! too late! I've had it! <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And Freddie Mercury opens his mouth! Sorry, I'm being vulgar with him! But he deserves it for singing so many perfect songs to make Madame want to take care of my feet!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Oh yes, I haven't forgotten your feet! I haven't finished!\" I hate them! Queen, Madame, the inventor of badines and me for being stupid enough to come back here! <\/em>And she starts again, and I start bawling and struggling again and then : <\/p>\n\n\n\n STOP! That's enough, Justine! Do you want her to stop? - Yesiii but I don't want to say it; I'm at the end but I'm not completely at the end! - So stop moving and screaming! Let go! The more you struggle, the worse it gets...- I'm trying but I can't! - Oh yes you can; you can do anything! Close your eyes! Take a breath! Concentrate on it and forget where you are! Forget everything else! You can do it <\/em>! I accentuate my breathing, concentrating solely on that, and as soon as I've started, I'm one with her! Madame continues to hit me, but the pain subsides! I'm not in this body, I'm not in this foot, I'm just a breath rising and falling... nothing exists around me anymore... <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she continues her rhythmic tapping, I hear her gentle voice: \"That's the Justine I'm looking for! Let go! Breathe!\"<\/p>\n\n\n\n She can talk...I'm gone!<\/em> She changes feet, I continue to breathe, a bubble appears in front of my eyes, rising and falling as I breathe, I'm that bubble! I don't move anymore...! The blows she continues to give me seem far away....I'm even starting to feel good. The song stops, Madame with it, and I continue to breathe as if my life depended on it, then I understand that it's not going to start again, as it approaches my head and I let go of everything. At that moment, I can feel the tears welling up! But I hold them back. It's too soon... I don't feel like crying right now! I want to let my body rest and become one with it again. Madame kisses my hand, bites it affectionately, anchors me again and I smile: \"that's domina love!\"... Yeah, well, I like it anyway! <\/em>I don't hate her at all! If she'd stopped before, I wouldn't have experienced this intensity and this moment of communion with myself, it's not bad to be nothing more than a breath surrendering, and I'd have missed a hell of a lot, because as I write these lines, I find it one of the best moments of this session. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I'm detached, and when I turn around she's handing me a glass of water, which I gulp down with a thank you! I look at her as if I've just woken up from a long journey, and she says, \"Cuckoo! I'm back!\" <\/p>\n\n\n\n It makes me laugh! I'm laughing... I feel much better! I've finally got some energy left! She asks me how I'm doing. I didn't answer because the question surprised me and I wasn't really reconnected, but she doesn't have a first name apart from the nickname given to me by my mother and sister: Meumeu. The origin of this nickname comes from my older sister, I was about ten when they started calling me that. She says it's because I loved cows, but it's not true, I started to love them after that. It's easier for her than telling the truth: it's because I was fat. The nickname stuck, everyone in my family called me that without really knowing that the origin wasn't great. I hated the nickname, but as time went by, I came to love it. Because I think cows are funny, they have a strong symbolism and this tiny tattoo reminds me of the complete acceptance of my body, which I play with even though I hated it for a long time! It reminds me that I have to love myself no matter what I look like, and that a wound can also be a strength! In fact, all my tattoos evoke this, for different injuries and strengths! So it's called: Meumeu! <\/p>\n\n\n\n I'm surprisingly well, so we can move on to the next stage. Here I am, lying on my back, waiting for the wax to take care of me. I'm a little apprehensive, but not that much. On the other hand, my brain has left me a little already, especially as she's just spent a few minutes coating me with oil, which has relaxed me a little too much. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"y a diff\u00e9rente couleur... bla bla bla bla temp\u00e9rature bla bla bla couleur?\" ....<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ouille<\/em>But I swear I'm trying! I've even tried replacing all my thoughts about her with Madame to try and trick my brain into thinking that her first name is Madame. But it's useless! I know.... I've been thinking about it because it's not the first time it's been a problem. To tell the truth, I even use Madame, Monsieur or the person's first name to provoke in general... In fact, I did it just an hour later with: \"I did it just an hour later with: \"You're under 5? Yes, ma'am! Once, one of my game partners wanted me to say: \"Yes sir! I never succeeded! The only time he did was when he asked me if I was making fun of him after laughing in his face and I replied: \"Yes sir! Why am I doing this? Why can't I just add a Madame, Monsieur or whatever on the back! It really puzzled me... so I went back into my memories to figure it out and I found...<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I was in primary school, I had a teacher who used to hit me! He used to slap me because I was dizzy and fidgeting a bit too much according to him! (I had to call him \"Monsieur\" or \"Ma\u00eetre\" at the end of every sentence. He was an old man close to retirement. I owe a lot of my school traumas to that bastard! I still rebelled a little... and how? Well, I ended up making this \"Monsieur\" a vector of provocation, either in the way he said it or by not saying it at all! As if that meant taking away his power to subject me to this biiiiiipppp ( an inappropriate word for a gentleman who's probably dead too!). I think that's where it comes from, because my mother told me that afterwards (she didn't know he was hitting me, she just found out recently in the course of a conversation!) I didn't let the teaching staff do anything to me, even if it meant getting into a little trouble. I think in a D\/s context I activate this old pattern! It's not conscious, but it's still there, even if I now have a deep respect for the person in front of me (in this case I do!). <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Do you want me to explain what I'm doing?\" \"I don't mind, yes...\".<\/p>\n\n\n\n She explains and that tends to reassure me a lot. She begins and Oh! But it's great! <\/em>It feels like little needles piercing my body. On my flanks it hurts a little more, but it's still endurable, and above all, almost instantly, the pain is surpassed by a definite pleasure. I've never felt pleasure, in the true sense of the word, from my breasts! It drives me crazy when I touch some women (and some men too, for that matter!) and they shiver with pleasure. I don't know what it is, I let it happen but I don't feel anything! I'm forced to tell my partners that they only have to bite me or pinch them really hard for me to feel any semblance of pleasure, but it's a masochistic pleasure really, or purely psychological from being bitten, but not physiological. What's up? My God, was that the secret? You had to put hot wax on them for me to finally feel something!<\/em> It's funny because a few seconds later, she pulls out a vibrator. Maybe my little cries were different. But honestly I didn't really need it to feel pleasure. This moment was so invigorating after the previous episode. It was so much fun! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then... Madame approaches with a knife... she makes sure to show it to me before she starts scraping the wax off my skin... Okay, it doesn't take much to scare me all the same! She uses it to remove the wax Justine stops freaking out a bit! Yeah, I don't feel like it, she's going to stab me! - It's nothing more than a razor blade!<\/em> On the other hand, don't move too much, you never know! <\/em>She's talking to me at the same time, I'm starting to relax, when suddenly she stabs me! The weapon is a dummy ... The 5-second fear gives way to laughter: \"I thought so!\" yes, I just thought so! She gloats at having seen my reaction: \"just for those 5 seconds, it's so great, the eyes going wide! I have to admit, I would have loved to be there too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She tells me that she can do great things with fear, but that we haven't talked about it before and that she'd rather we talked about it later. Indeed... but I'm already imagining the worst... She continues to scrape my skin... and to put it everywhere (I'm sorry for the cleaning that had to follow!)...<\/p>\n\n\n\n Aaaaahhhhhh - eh it hurts!<\/em> it cut my sides! \"Oh yes, that wasn't the fake knife!\" Yeah, well, I felt it and I still have a slight mark from it a few days later, as if I'd been scratched violently.... The worst thing is that the next day I discovered it in the shower, I hadn't noticed it before and I thought: what a moment! She scratched me so hard to make a mark? Before I had the little flash of pain in my head... ah no ... it wasn't claws, it was the redheaded woman on top of me with the knife...<\/p>\n\n\n\n She comes back with fire sticks, I think it's too beautiful! Aren't I supposed to be scared? Hum... well ok a bit anyway! <\/em>The warm sensation is nice... and so are the ice cubes that follow... <\/p>\n\n\n\n ah not that one! This one's maaaaaal! My clitoris is burning cold!!! It's sore... Rah this mix of sweetness and sadism surprises me every time! Just like the hot towel on my breast! OUILLE! <\/p>\n\n\n\n She leaves the room and comes back, but not without trying to scare me with her cursed badine! <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"How are you in terms of energy right now?\" That moment lying on the floor invigorated me! . \"It's about whether we end on something intense or something softer...\" She's going to dust off her whips?<\/em> - I'm fine! <\/p>\n\n\n\n I'm back on my feet... go on, I'm tied to the cross. \"Oh dear, I didn't pay too much attention to your breasts today...\". I say nothing, but my face betrays my thoughts: she's laughing at me! Just because I don't write it down doesn't mean it didn't happen... I remember, don't I? <\/p>\n\n\n\n I am again deprived of my sight! I can hear the whip cracking! <\/p>\n\n\n\n It begins... and oh surprise !!!! C<\/em>t's not the first time I've been whipped. The one and only person to have whipped me so far is MK, it's not his favorite instrument and I've always considered it to be the most severe in the panoply! For me, it's associated with an instrument of punishment! In fact, Madame tells me she's going to punish me for some reason (I can't remember all the threats, I must have forgotten to say Madame or something... I don't remember \ud83d\ude09 ). I often get hit like that now, but never like that! The technique, as I saw it, is remarkable! It doesn't hurt at all. She barely grazes me and it's actually quite pleasant. I'm really surprised. It intensifies a little... but it's gentle! I've learned from my mistakes of the first session (it's not true!<\/em>) – Let her do it! She's just warming up, she doesn't know you well yet... she needs to take it easy, that's reassuring! Don't provoke.... <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"How intense are you right now!\" uh... if I say a number, she's going to take it badly... I can't decently tell her: 3!\" <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The next 4-5 shots go up to well over 5! It makes me laugh and squeal at the same time \ud83d\ude05 she laughs too! <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"No but what insolence!\" <\/p>\n\n\n\n She intensifies the blows a little more and then hits me with what she'll call a granny accessory... carpet beater or triple cane? I don't know, but I like it! It hurts, but it's fun ( totally nuts!) She unties me and puts a mask on me, then asks me to stand facing her, arms raised. She picks up a whip... ah it's nice I can see her. A little bit...<\/em> it's fun what she does on my arm. She asks me to pull them up. I feint ( yes yes... I confess!) once my back is turned to fetch another smaller whip; I lowered them completely for 2 seconds only to raise them again. Not seen - not taken! But for the adrenaline alone, it was worth it! she whips the front of my body, it's almost funny \ud83e\udd2d ( no no... I'm not provoking!). <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"We'll do the game again with the dice to finish. Being the fool that I am this time, I pray that the number is high enough! <\/p>\n\n\n\n 64 ! Bingo! She seems to think it's too much... yes, well, technically yes, but who cares? <\/p>\n\n\n\n I turn around and she starts... is this a joke? Oh, it's a whip! You have to whip with it, not caress me!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \"It's not about me!\" <\/p>\n\n\n\n She's stopping the movement! She's laughing! \"What insolence! I'm too nice!\" She comes towards me to pinch me but I can see she's more amused than anything else. \"What did you say? - Madame, I don't want things to go too fast, it's already happened to me and I've burnt my wings! - So I'm going slowly! I respect that, but it's impossible with you!\"<\/p>\n\n\n\n I'm laughing because I recognize myself so much! The number of times I say: um... can we go soft? And I end up with my buttocks bluish all over because... \"no but soft not so soft... you have to provoke there!\"<\/p>\n\n\n\n But that's precisely why I turned to someone I can trust and who's a pro! Because what I've just shown here is my main problem! I know for a fact that I can take it pretty well. In reality, it's not my body that copes well, it's my head! And that, in the hands of the first stranger, is risky, extremely risky! Spanko purists are for 90% adepts of the classic hand spanking (watch out for me too!). The psychological sphere outweighs everything else! And if I had to choose, there isn't even a choice!) and quite few actually accept instruments. So when spanko men find a spankee who accepts something other than the classic hand spanking, and moreover she takes it and doesn't start whimpering after 10 minutes, they have a lot of trouble with limits... and especially when they don't switch, I must say! I've never had a problem with anyone who switches or has switched to explore, so I've never had a problem with women... Most of the others don't know what the instruments really provide, or know very little! And I'm not even talking about the psychological sphere. So I've come to refuse instruments other than domestic ones with anyone, if I'm alone with them, too risky! I know I need intensity; I also know I need someone I can trust with my eyes closed to stop when I need to and never abuse me. I wrote this sentence in the questionnaire because 1. I was a bit scared and 2. I wanted to warn you right from the start that I can take it, but take it easy maggot, I'm still a human being. I know it sounds obvious and I was sure I had someone who understood before I wrote it, but words on a website aren't enough for me until I meet the person in person; especially as I was stepping out of my comfort zone \ud83d\ude0a\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Back to our 64 lashes.... Which are finally a bit in my zone without being! Ouch! There you go!<\/em> I count.... A little too fast! \"No... you're not counting when the shot hasn't been put in yet!\" oops... I anticipated a little too much! \" <\/em>I'll give you 10 more for that! Oh, I like this stricter tone! It gives me butterflies in my stomach. <\/em>Note to self: getting committed quickly becomes a priority! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Ouille 64!!! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now for the ten extra strokes... Is that a punishment? All right, then!<\/em> She changes whip... This story has a stink to it! Ouch! <\/em>1 ! Ah yes the intensity isn't the same, it bites a bit more.... The last 3 are more straightforward and therefore more like what I know from the whip! Ouch!!! 10 ! She comes up to me and repeats my little provocation... I smile, so does she! she hugs me from behind... it was a nice moment... <\/p>\n\n\n\n \"Is that enough work? You're not going to say in your report that you didn't get enough?\" I smile... Bah... no... who dared say that? Not me! Not like that! and I'd never have dared to make it clear... Shame on whoever did that...\ud83d\ude0b<\/p>\n\n\n\n She massages me and hurts me a little to finish: \"ah did you think it was a quiet moment?\" I smile, I needed to spice up the cuddle a bit. Resuming the cuddle: I feel good... understood and grateful! and when I feel that way at the end, it's because something has really happened, I can't necessarily name it, I can only murmur a little thank you. She takes off my necklace and asks me if I'd like to be alone. It's rare for me to say yes, usually I'm more in need of a cuddle and softness... the real thing, not the one with an l instead of a c. But this time I say yes because if I held back my tears earlier, now I know they're going to come out and I'd rather be solo and avoid them coming out in the subway \ud83e\udd2d\ud83d\ude09<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inanna brings me a soft plaid that smells like laundry and covers me with it, then leaves the dungeon, telling me to take my time. As soon as she's out, I sit down against a wall; I look around the room and... cast off, I start to cry. No sadness, no pain; no excess nothing... just a wave of release. I stop...then start again. I think I could use a hug right now! But I don't want to disturb, and I also need a few seconds alone to collect myself, so I curl up in the comforter. I look up! It's all right, I'm not crying any more, but I'm completely stoned again.... I need to feel the water on my head! I get up and walk out of the dungeon. I wasn't expecting it, Inanna had just come out, I jumped! \"No, I promise, I didn't mean to! She looks at me and immediately hugs me! I'm anaesthetized, but this hug brings me so much comfort. I go into the bathroom, a little... a lot pummeled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The shower wakes me up, even though I'm still on cloud nine. Once I'm out of there... we chat again and I'm finally a bit more me than usual and than at the beginning and we talk for quite a long time. We talk about fear and my agreement to go further. I say yes, and she tells me she can't ask me at first because I'm not in my right mind. It's true, and neither is she! The lady who greets me and the one who takes me out of the apartment is not quite the same! The change is much more subtle than it is for me, but I can feel it... it's all in the eyes! The one who welcomes me into her role, the one who takes me out of it. Both are very similar, which is reassuring, but they're different all the same. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When I start up, I'm like a battery, but by the end, it's discharged! I get up to leave because I can see the time and I think to myself, damn, we've had a good chat, but I don't want to take up too much of her time. On the doorstep, for some reason, I give her a quick kiss and a hug. The first time it was her who asked me and I was surprised, the second time it wasn't and to tell you the truth, I didn't even think about it until I was writing these lines and then, well, it was me! I perceived the subtle but very real micro sign of astonishment... before welcoming her all the same. Once on the stairs, the fact that she showed a little surprise made me think: Why? What's gotten into you! I don't really like kissing, either! Thank you COVID! We kiss less and less. I only give it to my nearest and dearest or to those who turn their cheek. Well, once in my old job, with a boss! Hypocritical as can be! She wanted to kiss me on the cheek, and I held out my hand! What's more, I used to give her Madame all the time! But it was a way of keeping my distance when she tried to call me by my first name. Here's another example of when using Madame wasn't a sign of respect for me! My brain replied: \"I'm unplugged, but I just needed one last gesture of affection that doesn't mean goodbye! But: THANK YOU! And the kiss is perfect for that. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I went home on a cloud... the next day I was at the top of my game, the day after that the same, and today, Thursday, I'm writing these words with the feeling that I'm prolonging these moments. <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":10326,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_kadence_starter_templates_imported_post":false,"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false},"class_list":["post-10335","temoignages","type-temoignages","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/temoignages\/10335","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/temoignages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/temoignages"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10335"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/10326"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inannajustice.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10335"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
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