~ following on from last week’s post ~

I’m slowly becoming reacquainted with my body in it’s post menopausal state, learning how everything works, it’s as if the map has been rewritten, the landmarks moved and altered, but not completely beyond recognition.

Clitoral orgasms are much more intense, but the journey is  muted, giving the impression that the journey’s end is never going to be, until suddenly it’s there, bright, irridescent, blindingly intense….and then the moment is gone, no aftershocks to further tantalise the body. Tease and denial simply won’t work now, because there’s nothing there to tease me with, nothing to deny, no pleasure to draw out and use in wonderfully sadistic torment.

Pain, inflicted pain, is again more intense, everything keenly felt;a few carefully placed strikes with the belt and tears seek to overwhelm. Clamps assault my nipples and the very first thing which runs through my mind is ‘I don’t think I can take this anymore’. For someone who glories in identifying as masochist, it’s a devastating (potential) truth to have to face.

Emotions
*wry smile*
These pesky fuckers are all over the place, as if my body is attempting to rediscover equilibrium, and I’m merely the passenger taking notes along the way. The desire to disengage from people can, at times, be strong, the anger I feel over…nothing…is in itself a major frustration. Nobody deserves to be on the receiving end of the tirades I can occasionally feel brewing, so I take myself out of the way until the feeling passes. It’s isolating, I even wish to distance myself from Sir, but he ofcourse will not allow that, and so I find myself treading on my own eggshells so that he remains without battle scars of my making.

It’s not all bad though. I go to Sir with my fears, and together we navigate our way around each one. The topography of my body, of my sexual self, may have changed, I may deeply resent this drug which invades my personal space, but it’s time I stopped looking at the problems and see this as an opportunity to discover new things about myself, and He new ways to torture me!

So I strip myself back to my simplest form.
No filters, no alterations, no adornments, just me.
And remember, I’m still here.

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To see who else is being wonderfully wicked this week, click the lips below.

Sinful Sunday