Living rent-free in my head

The other day I was receiving a punishment. Since my last visit, I had managed to accumulate 99 point. 98 really, as 1 point always remains. I never know how the points will be worked off and he never fails to come up with something new.
I was informed that I will be spanked or an implement of his choice will be used for 98 minutes.

Do you have any idea how long 98 minutes are? Very, very long.
He did joke about it and would set the number higher every time he mentioned it. I had the hardest time concentrating on NOT letting my bratty self say: “Come on, bring it on. I can handle 198 minutes.” Self-control is no necessarily my strong suit, but this time I’m very proud of me.

The 98 minutes are not the point of this post thought. That will definitely come later this month.
As I was lying here and he was using one of the evil implents on me, he didn’t only hurt my bottom but also my back. At first it was OK. It hurt, but it was bearable.

The problem I faced was not the physical pain. It was in my head. I realised it made me have flashbacks to the summer 2019. And that upset me. It was the summer I made the mistake of going out and playing with “the sadist”. This had left my body bruised for weeks after, and my mind bruised for years. I had written about it in 2020 and how I had to say goodbye to an old friend, the belt.

Just a few days prior to the 98 minutes, I watched Michael take off his jeans, undoing the belt, and said that maybe we can try the belt again. Realising strokes on my back made me think of that guy, upset me.

Not only am I still struggling to enjoy things I used to enjoy, because of the trauma he caused, but now I even find myself thinking about him, when I’m with the man I love. I was supposed to enjoy, as much as one can enjoy punishment, but instead I had to tell Michael “not the back” and force myself to stop thinking about him. I can’t even remember the last time I thought about him. There’s no reason or desire to do that. I really couldn’t less. Or so I thought.

Even after 3 years, he is present, when I don’t expect it. I wish I’d have a way to get over it, put the bad experiences away and remember the happy ones. Surpress it all and be done with it.

Of course I know that it takes the time it takes to heal. And I’m OK with that. But it annoys me that even now I still am connected to him somehow. I hate that he seems to live rent-free in my head.

The picture I posted with the post is not one of my back, but my thigh, after a few hours with “the sadist”.

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