Hurting Myself

One of the things on John’s list of tasks was playing with myself to amuse him (and of course with the Birdlock still on). That’s what I did yesterday because today Love wants to watch soccer on T.V.

It was not easy to think of ways to entertain Master, because I still feel ashamed for my body, even though he’s been trying to teach me to be proud of who I am for years now. I chose pegs, a huge dildo and a wooden spoon, as Master likes to give me some severe strokes with a spoon while I’m trying to keep upright and not to scroch the food. It all started very innocently, but at some point of the game I lost control. John did not mix in and just kept watching me. Perhaps it was a test, I don’t know, but I failed anyway. I hurt myself so bad that today my chest is blotched with bruises and I suffer from belly ache. I should not have done that to myself and today I feel bad about it. I just took the opportunity to hurt myself, packed as service to my Master. That’s got nothing to do with sub-pride or being a good boy or whatever. I still wonder whether BDSM is just a way of hurting myself over and over again and it’s so sick, because I usually like it. Later yesterday evening, when we were in bed, Love turned to me and whispered to me that he’d like to kiss my wounds, but that he won’t touch me before I’m done with the list. I know, but I only seldom feel that bad.

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