Who is Pollyanna?

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A girl who enjoys sexual freedom. Who seeks pleasure through pain. Who is eager to explore her sexuality through friendship and experimentation. A girl who loves easily and wants to be loved, fucked and abused in return. A seemingly fragile flower who offers herself to trusted people as a plaything.

Dec 2, 2013

Nowhere left to hide

He promised he'd beat me, fuck me, make me cry and break me. And he did all these things, but not in the way I anticipated. I expected a menacing sadist forcing me to do his bidding: I got a man who was firm but compassionate. Instead of a wall of forced submission and pain to shield myself behind, I was left completely exposed, more vulnerable than ever before; I was confronted with my own deep desires and persuaded to admit what I really wanted. There was nowhere left to hide.


I waited, sick with nerves, for him to arrive. As instructed I'd gingerly inserted the anal plug and carefully selected clothes that were disposable. My hair was precisely arranged to hang over my eyes; it wasn't much of a defence but all I had. If I couldn't see him, if he couldn't look me in the eye, I'd be safe. It meant that for the first hour of his visit I saw only his hands and shoes. He teased me for hiding, but didn't force me to look at him - he knew I'd look eventually and it would be all the more powerful when I did.

His gentle manner was so in contrast to the last time, when he'd aggressively stripped and raped me; it threw me. Given I couldn't look at him, only his unmistakable voice assured me it was indeed Mr Flame in the room with me. 

My clothes were reverently removed; he complimented what he found underneath and made me shiver with caresses across my skin. My hands were comfortably secured behind my back. I was praised for complying with the butt plug.

In this initial stage I was too nervous and hidden within myself to be capable of much speech. He coaxed me to talk aloud and only when I persistently failed to speak clearly, did he reprimand me.

The first blows were a spanking, sensual from his leather gloves, making the plug throb inside me. It was not uncomfortable. The brief introduction to the nipple clamps made me whimper, but once removed, his hands were cold and soothing. 

When he placed me kneeling facedown on the bed, with my legs apart, hands still secured behind me, the fear returned. He used a variety of implements on my back, arse and thighs. There were many painful blows but none that let me escape from him completely. Just as the intensity would build he'd pull back. It was disconcerting and pulled me out of hiding within, confused with what was going on, resenting the lack of pain to bury myself in.

I became less compliant, moved out of position to goad him, challenged him verbally. But there was no reaction. A few painful strokes of something - the knotted rope flogger, the sharp square ended leather one, the thin whippy cane, but no release. All the time, he encouraged me to let go, to give in.

"To what," I screamed in my head, "I've nowhere to go."

When he released my hands, he laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me, several fingers deep inside me, firm but not rough, demonstrating how wet and inviting I was. Gently stroked my body, encouraging me to please him.

I felt every last bit of submissiveness had left me and pushed him away. We struggled briefly until I escaped to a corner of the room. He followed, dragging me back and pinning me on the bed. I fought again, until I wrestled away again to the opposite corner.

And sat there hugging my knees in bewilderment whilst he sat on the edge of the bed, silently watching me. I berated myself inside: "What the hell are you doing? What kind of submissive are you? Did you break him already?" And then silently turned on him. "Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't he take charge?"

The tears that came then were borne of frustration and disappointment. Eventually I told him I didn't want to fight with him.

"You're not fighting with me: you're fighting with yourself. Give in. Let go."

And there he had me; the painful realisation broke me. He could have forced me to stay on the bed, could have forced me to do anything, but it wasn't about him: it was about me.  He beckoned me to him and I crawled across the floor burying myself in his lap, crying as he stroked my hair and whispered encouragement. It was a cathartic release for a very confused mind. A very strange and unexpectedly place to find myself mid scene. 

Finally, I asked him to continue. Admitted to him, to myself, that I wanted him to do these things to me, such things I'd ever only let myself be forced to do. Pleaded for him to take my submission, now I offered it willingly.

I don't know if he sensed my need for punishment; whether he wanted to continue the catharsis; or, whether he wanted me to feel the full force of my submission, but his next act was as brutal as everything else previously had been compassionate.

He pinned me face down on the bed, his hand painfully tight on my neck. With his other hand he opened his trousers and retrieved his cock, pulled me up by my hair and impaled me on it, burying the length of it in my throat. I couldn't breathe, could only gag, but he would not release me for many long seconds. Then, a brief respite for air and back to fucking me violently. 

He continued for some time, continuously bringing me to wild despair at not being able to breathe. I tried to beg, but the sounds were intelligible and merely amused him. When he finally released me, he pushed me face down into the mess of tears and drool that had soaked the bed; there was no hiding from what I had just done.

Strong arms then pulled me up and laid me on my back. "I'm going to fuck you now." I braced for the onslaught, but the beast had disappeared again; he was gentle, it felt good. I didn't know how to process this. Resorted to my usual responses: "NO, please stop."

"You don't want me to stop, do you? I know you don't. Be honest."

No, I didn't; it killed me to admit it, but I shook my head confirming his suspicions.

"Tell me you want it then, good girl, tell me you want me to fuck you, beg me to fuck you."

For the first time that afternoon I faced my fear and looked him in the eye. And for the first time in my submissive life I wanted a man to fuck me, not for his pleasure, not for my defeat, but because I wanted him to.

 "Please fuck me Mr Flame, please fuck me Mr Flame, please..."

Saying the words made me cry. His approval made me cry even more. And then the final breaking point: I asked me to fuck my arse. Positioned myself on the bed waiting for him, was completely complicit in the act, and thanked him for it afterwards.

My first consensual submissive experience. The greatest mind fuck ever. A gift.

1 comment:

wholebeanandI said...

Incredible re-encounter. Very ..very passionate!