I am not sure how to start this entry. I want to write it because I have a million emotions rushing around my poor body. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. All directed at only one person. Myself.

The Master and I have had a fall out over my previous blog. His wife read it and was upset that I didn’t understand her. In my defence I have never met her and only know what I have been told. Plus BDSM is so personal it is hard to understand someone else’s take on it without talking over it in depth. I don’t understand how she can have a Dom whom she submits her body to and her husband who looks after her heart. To me the deal is reciprocal. I give my body to use as he wishes to the man who will take care of my heart. The man who will be my champion. Who will dry my tears and hold me while I feel the pain of the cruelty of the world.

And you can guess what happened. I had to take the blame from the man I am on a journey of emotional submission with. His harsh words cut into my heart like a knife and the knife remained wrenching around as more unkindness followed. Pain searing through my chest like you would not believe. Tears streaming down my face. I am reminded of a phrase I saw on FetLife only yesterday:

“A Dominant must be even more careful with his words than he is with his hands. A bruised behind will heal in days, a bruised spirit may be damaged for life.”

I am alone. I have no champion. I dry my own tears. And when the harsh words keep coming, I do the only thing I can do to save my heart from being torn apart. I block his number. His last words to me were about my immaturity and as I block his number I know he’s right. I am behaving like a teenager. But I can’t take it. Anyone can say anything about me in my everyday life (and they do) but once I start that beautiful journey of submission, I cannot stand even the slightest criticism from the man who owns me. I have often been called a naughty girl and punished for my unacceptable behaviour. That is training I both understand and appreciate; but a continual barrage of harsh and unkind words do not have a role to play in the BDSM world I want to live in. It was a punishment too far to the girl who lives to please the man she is with. I asked him to stop three times and when he refused to adhere to my safe-word warning, I blocked his number and got myself out.

I know I have Dominant readers and I wanted you to know how wounding it is to a submissive’s heart when you use harsh words to her. If she begs you to stop, please stop. The safe-word rule applies here too. Your words will be killing her. I weep as I write this. And I am the strongest woman I know. I have one thing I am grateful for. I didn’t use harsh words back. I could have done. He bared his soul to me and showed me his darkest insecurities and I could have used them to wound him deeply. Deeper than his words had cut me. And I didn’t. He called me immature but the fact I didn’t use my power to hurt him reminded me of how much I have grown. Once upon a time I would have spat venom in his face without a second thought. I am better than that now.

Yet here I am a lonely whore once again. But hopefully not lonely for long …

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