the guilt.
During the first play session with my Sir, He lightly slapped my face. Not hard. He puts it as a “pay attention!” tap, type of slap.
My reaction? Volatile. I felt myself tense and simultaneously wonder, “What the fuck did he just do?” and “…will he do it again?”
Apparently the look on my face was so expressive that He was overcome with the desire to slap me again. So it began. Later, Sir would tell me that, that was the moment He sensed the chemistry between us.
Being slapped the first time, and subsequently harder the times after that, felt liberating in a weird sense. It put me in my place. I especially enjoy being slapped when I’m not responding in the way I should. Sir demanding answers to questions that I don’t want to answer. Slapping me with my arms above my head, repeating the question. It gets my adrenaline going. Even when I’m being fucked, I enjoy it. I feel like it grabs me and drags me down into a submissive place faster. When He’s feeling especially aggressive, He has forced me onto my knees to service him orally, and pulled me up by my hair to slap me when I gag on His cock. Which is particularly brutal, He pointed out to me, because He’s essentially punishing me for something I have a hard time controlling.
I’m surprised that I enjoy face slapping so much. In clubs, I’ve seen more than one person out of the corner of my eye look at Sir and I warily when He slaps me. My theory is that I’m pretty young and it must be a little off putting to see an older man slap a younger girl. I also never expected to enjoy something like that. Your face is very personal, and being slapped is a violation of that personal space. I’m also discovering many subs put face slapping as a hard limit, which doesn’t surprise me. Sir has admitted that He’s not usually so… so brutal, as to slap subs across the face. Only with me.
So imagine my guilt when I go to my sociology class and the reading is about domestic violence. I slump down in my chair as my Professor rants about violence against women and it shouldn’t be tolerated. I immediately blush and feel awkward when I remember about how aroused I became being slapped and thrown around.
I know that I shouldn’t feel bad; that’s there’s worlds difference between the two. I can’t help but feel twangs of guilt at times. That I shouldn’t really enjoy it, that good girls don’t want to be slapped. That face slapping is a horrid act. That men who slap women are evil. These things are all wrong. This guilt spills over to other acts, which I’ll detail later.
I still enjoy being slapped. I just have to deal with my ‘feminist guilt’ as I’ve come to call it.
I have no intention of stopping. I crave it.
