One of the articles I read while Googling in the waiting room of the ER suggested letting go of being embarrassed, and to consider it a badge of honor.
Alright let’s do that.
Ms. Cassidy is such a badass, so committed to the exploration of pleasure, that she spent several hours in the Emergency Room. She officially earned her "Survived Mortification" badge.
How far back should I rewind to share this story? Then he said after dark, no wait that may be much too far back. Yesterday my top and I were having a general check-in and catch-up conversation. It was lovely, relaxed and informal. My top has an expectation that I speak like a lady. It’s a reasonable request, not that it must be. I have agreed he can ask anything of me, reasonableness is not a prerequisite. But again, this one is reasonable. Mostly, in the real world and in the fantasy world where I exist, I prefer gentle language as well. Um, except for when I don’t, sometimes F-bombs, suggestions to choke on **** and C-words just rain down on everyone. So, while all relaxed, informal, and engaged in a lovely conversation I may have casually said, “…jaded, bitter, c***.” I don't know, it seemed appropriate in context at the time.
The punishment he assigned was, compared to past punishments, lighter. I had to write fifty times; I will talk like a lady when I am speaking to my master. These were to be penned while, see I’m embarrassed already. Badge of honor, written with a butt plug inside of his pet. Oh, that helped too, his pet. That’s a standard when I am punished. I sought out and bought plugs I believed safer for extended use. Those pretty, sparkly ones are cute but using one while sitting for an extended period seemed like it would lead to one’s sphincter- did I really just write that word in my blog? You did, keep typing. OK it seems to me that a little round button of a jewel might just push on one’s sphincter enough to just pop inside, and wouldn’t that be a nightmare? So I, wishing to avoid nightmares, bought a collection of little pink plugs with anchor-like bases. They were too cheap; I remember thinking that. But also, they’re just little silicone toys. I’m such an elitist snob to question the quality because they are fairly priced, right?
I took a picture of the toy and thought of a silly and teasing thing I would say to my top later. I prepared to carry out my punishment, and I snapped another picture. This one was all legs and ass, if I am being punished my top should get to enjoy it, right? Then I sat down and zoned out writing.
I zone out so hard when I am writing lines. My thoughts become so fluid, and my body feels like it is vibrating. I really should mind my language. Crass is not the impression I ever wish to make. It is a reasonable request. Requests from a top are essentially the same as limits. Would I violate a sub if they said cursing was a hard limit? Master John has such a gentle vernacular. It conveys patience. I am so lucky to belong to such a patient, gentle natured yet hardcore sadist. Oh this hurts a little, punishments hurt, relax and finish writing.
I finished and emailed my top the completed assignment, the teasing comments, the xxx picture, and my sincere affirmation that I will curb my language. Then I spent a moment tuning in to the experience I was having, all of it. How sweet our conversation had been. How much I appreciate his thoughts on everything. What is the depth of gratitude?
The toy started to feel a bit pinchy. I decided I had pondered these thoughts enough for the night and I should take it out. And as I am gripping on one wing of that anchor-like base, my fluid, flowing thoughts are snapping back to attention. What is happening here? This doesn’t feel right. Then all synapsis were screaming, get it right now, something is wrong, just as the wing tore off in my hand and the rest of the toy slid all the way inside.
Once I got the blinding panic under control, I called Master John who helped me relax further. Unfortunately, even after laughing and relaxing well, it was clear I wasn’t going to be able to retrieve it on my own. He helped me find my courage, strategize how to manage my embarrassment and sent me to the ER. I engaged with a triage nurse, a physician assistant, a radiologist and a doctor; each of them helped me laugh through my embarrassment, and each assured me they have seen this a dozen times before. It was able to be retrieved without surgery, thankfully.
Master John’s pet survived this mortifying ordeal without lasting injury or scars; and feels ever braver for having the experience.
I mean, probably not so brave as to ever say the C-word within earshot of Master John, but the rest of you, perhaps I’ll see you next Tuesday.
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