I was wearing an improvised collar and he attached a belt-like thing to it. As he forced me on my hands and knees, he pulled the lead and had me follow him. In the corridor he stopped, adjusted the lead and soon I felt the end of it hitting my bottom.

So far, so good.

It hit me once, twice maybe. I don’t recall. The sting was what it was, but I knew that very moment, I couldn’t take it. Yes, it was a lot and it wasn’t the only time I struggled with pain that week. But it was more than that.

My mind kept coming back to that moment, but I wasn’t able to form words and sentences to explain it. Even less so, in English. The next day, I had a moment when I saw his belt on the bed and I knew it was Mean Day™ and my points would be redeemed. I knew I had to say something, but luckily the belt was just a belt and lying there because it was lying there.

What was happening inside my head? Why was I so overwhelmed by it? It wasn’t the first time he hit me with a belt, if I remember correctly. To be honest, I don’t know what changed. Maybe I did. Maybe I feel more comfortable now and more accepted in speaking up and telling him all the (partly very stupid) experiences I had.

Last summer I was seeing a man, I refer to as “the sadist”. That sums him up pretty much. From the first moment I knew he was not what I ever needed. But I am who I am and we had fun chatting and then had a date. That date turned I to something more than just a date and we met again.

The next two weeks we met about 4 times, I believe. 5, if we count me ending it – that was a whole disaster. For days and weeks after that I was scared that he’d suddenly will be standing outside my flat or building and threaten my life. In a “I will destroy your life” – kinda way. I took down both posts I had written about him, because I felt threaten by him. And even now, more than a year later, I will not repost them.

Within our 4 dates, he managed to physically hurt me so bad that I had bruises all over my body, for weeks. Not just regular bruises, but distinct bruises, showing the implement used on me. The implement being the belt, obviously.

I had marks on my neck, my bottom, my thighs, my arms, my back. It was summer and I was walking around with a turtleneck.

When the belt hit me again thus week, the memories came back to me. The way the sadist disregarded my plea to stop, refused the use of a safeword (“slaves don’t have safewords”) and with all that the memories of the pain, the tears, the coldness.

I’m not going to go into the question of wjy I allowed that to happen to me and why I continued seeing him.

As I was on my hands and knees, crying, using my safeword and had all those thoughts rushing throut my head, all I could think was: “This is not fair to Sir. It’s not his fault. Why should he be the one to suffer from pain and distrust I learnt and experienced from others? How is that fair? Why is it up to him, who has always treated me with respect, love and all the other good things – aka as one should in a normal relationship – to repair what others have damaged?”

All those thoughts only made it worse. And as usual the only two things that help are talking and writing. Talking with him about my experiences, my feelings, my reactions. And writing, to sort my feelings and maybe help someone out there to not feel alone, but understood.

So, for now, it’s time to say “goodbye old friend” to the belt. Its not the first time that something I enjoy has to wait a while, until I work through it and can come back and enjoy it again. Just like I did with face slapping. And if I don’t enjoy it ever again, that is alright as well. And I’m sure Michael can find plenty of ways to replace the belt.

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