Pain. Will I ever understand why I love it so? I doubt I fully will because I’m constantly finding new ways to describe my reactions as well as experiencing new fun pain times that call for more pondering. I find myself with more questions than answers, always.

Even when I think I know how things will go. I never really do. Especially when H is involved. This past Sunday we visited Kage together. We’d already played a number of times and I was covered in wonderful whip marks (I will write about this at a later date, for your perving pleasure, don’t worry) but I wasn’t really expecting anything more.

They were sat in a quiet corner of the changing room when I found them. We chatted, they took photos of my bruises and we overheard some things which for us were quite uncomfortable. Fatphobia is an epidemic and even when not aimed at me, I felt the shame of being fat afresh. I’m working to love my body and my belly and I was glad I was with H, who understands the struggles too as a hot fattie themself. We comforted each other.

They stroked my belly. Loved my belly. It made me smile but what really showed their love was the way they bit my belly. Hard and demanding, no softness at all.

I love the feel of their teeth clamping into my flesh. Love the tight constriction, the piercing stinging pain. I adore it. I crave it.

But still I fought against it, as the pain escalated and didn’t stop. I pressed down on their shoulders, danced about and groaned. Could I take it?

The answer was yes. It is always yes. If I get to a point of no, I express it immediately, no hesitation. When this heart-racing, mind palpating panic sets in I do all I can to alleviate the pain. Well, distract from it, I guess.

Often I’ll bite myself or move my arms or legs, sometimes both. I might scream or squeak or whimper. If I’m really deep into the pain and can’t escape it l will sob.

H’s bites took me to this point and beyond. I started gripping and pulling on them. To get them to stop? I think so, on some level but most of me wanted more. That I think is why I was digging my nails into their back and encouraging them to bury their face deeper into my belly fat and bite harder.

Is it something in my brain or body that at points so desperately wanted them to disengage? Maybe it was a combination of the two.

But both my body and my mind also revel in it. I felt a rush of ecstasy as I failed  to escape. I found joy in not being able to pull away. Yes, I knew I could stop it all with a word but I didn’t want to. I am H’s to do with as they please. And their pleasure is in my pain. In my moaning wails and panting groans. In my placid acceptance and desperate attempts to escape.

So I took more. I fought on because that is what I enjoy. There I find my victory.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I am a complex beast.

So when H would stop biting, look at the clump of flesh all red and scrunched up from where they’d bitten, I’d revel in their sadistic smile, their pokes and their return to biting me.

And then they went in again, after a while of just talking and me thinking that was that and I panicked.

“No,no, no, no, no!” I cried.

“Is that a safeword?” They asked.

And this is part of why I love them so. They were giving me the out. If I’d have said yes, it was, they’d have stopped. I took a moment  and deep breath before replying.

“No, it’s not.”

H smiled and bit me again.  When they finished they held me and told me how proud they were of me and how I was a good girl. All the things I needed to hear. Fuck, I’m so lucky to have such a sweet sadist aren’t I?

I do wonder though,is this where sensible Victoria faces off against masochist Victoria? Is the common sense me battling to regain control?

Common sense is a good thing. I’m blessed with a fair share of it. However, it does meld in almost seamlessly with my anxiety. To get to the right thing to do in a situation I’ve thought through the many, many wrong things to do before hand. Often days even weeks in advance. It makes me cool in a crisis but can also leave me crippled by indecision. It’s your typical two-edged sword situation.

I guess at the moment I’m actively trying to not listen to that voice as much, the one I think of as common sense but is actually far more likely to be fear. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time actually doing stuff without thinking it to death first.

I sometimes say how I wish my pain tolerance was lower. I wish that I could get to the incredible heights without having to have the ever loving crap beaten (bitten?) out of me.

I think that is human nature to want what we don’t have. It’s a passing yearning. I thoroughly love being the high level pain slut I am but the jealous desire to do less is that voice of reason (more often fear) that is worried about everything that could go wrong.

I’m risk aware, this isn’t about seriously endangering myself but you need to take some risks to really feel alive.

I don’t think I could get the highs without the fight. It is that fight, where I conquer myself. Where I beat down my fears, where I show how fucking tough I am, when I stop panicking and revel in what my body can do, in what my body can take, then ecstasy comes.