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When you forget that you even *have* a safe word . . .

I have never safe worded out in 16 years. I've never even come close to feeling as if I needed to.

But I came as close as I ever have so not long ago.

Granted, I absolutely deserved the severity of the punishment I was given. And it was delivered with one of the most severe implements we have – a long, wide, leather strap that has been the bane of my existence since Daddy got it.

Something happened to me during the punishment, when the crack of the strap rang out much longer than it usually did, and was applied much more viciously than usual, also.

I couldn’t have taken it in littlespace, so I was big for the entire thing, and I don’t know what happened, but I just kind of . . . shut off. I kept thinking that it was going to end any minute now, but it didn’t.

And the longer it lasted, the more detached from what was happening I felt. I was divorced from my emotions, and even though my butt was on fire, I didn’t cry.

I don’t even think that I really cried out much, or I remember trying not to, anyway, for some reason.

It’s probably not a good thing that I didn’t think once even think about using my safe word.

But then, I wasn’t thinking. I was just . . . enduring.

I didn’t cry until afterwards, when I was in the bathroom doing my evening’s ablutions, and then after I crawled into bed. But this, too, I did as silently as I could.

I wasn’t able to accept the solace that Daddy offered me afterwards. I was still too withdrawn, too stiff, too disconnected and detached, as if I was worried that, if I allowed myself to feel, it would be impossible to stop the deluge.

And I was right.

I hid my tears from Daddy by going to sleep.

I was exhausted, but the tears leaked out from my closed eyes to soak the pillow beneath my head, until I finally fell asleep.

My big is with me now. Squeaky is in hiding. I don’t think she wants to process or even acknowledge what happened.

Might have been too much for me.

I don’t know.

I feel a bit lost, and usually, I’d turn to Daddy when I feel like that.

But I don’t feel as if I can right now, which makes my heart ache in another, almost worse way.

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Lissa's picture

Yowzers. Big hug to Carolyn. I don't think I have ever felt like that but I do sometiems feel like Daddy spanks me too long. I feel embarrassed being all frantic and like too overwhelmed to keep in mind the stuff He wants me to think about when he punishes me. But then for some bizaro reason I still want him to decide how much I deserve. I think I'm cracked somewhere.

Carolyn Faulkner's picture

You're not cracked! That's part of the whole dynamic, for me, too, is letting him decide.

I get that way, too - I'd do just about anything to get him to stop.