Post by Sinclair nó Valerian on Jun 23, 2009 16:48:57 GMT -5
Before each assignation, I always try to drift off into my thoughts. It makes it easier that way.
If you were to ask me if I belonged in Valerian House, I would say outright without hesitation that I do not, but in truth, I am not sure. I suppose, I do not WANT to belong to Valerian House and I wish I had been born with another nature, any of them would have sufficed, but I had been graced with a love for Valerian’s spiced candy not only on my tongue, but all over my body in a way that I do not know how to describe. My body longs for the whip and my pride is ashamed of such longings. What my head wants, my body has never followed. It has always been a pain to be in Valerian House, but when someone craves such pleasure in displeasure, I suppose then, I love being in this House more than any other.
As a child, I remember the confusion that my placement had caused amongst the Houses. Certainly, I lacked what was necessary for my parents’ Houses, Alyssum and Balm, and I fit no other categories for the other houses, except two. It was Mandrake and Valerian that bickered over me for proper placement and in the end, Valerian won, only because the Valerian Dowayne had brought forth my blood with a needle and I recoiled with biting, furious words that to them, dubbed me as a glutton for punishment. While Valerian won me over that day, I believe they regret their decision for I have caused them more trouble than I have any good. I understood spice candy much faster and better than any of the peers in my age—that pleasure in pain coursed through my veins, however, it was “I yield” that I could never accept.
In all my twenty years, I don’t think I’ve ever said it.
My first assignation was the hardest, I have learned since then to try to bite down on my tongue to the point that it bleeds and enjoy that pain I self inflicted, as well as keep myself quiet. I ended up learning that the hard way. My first patron knew how to use his whip and had sought out a challenge, not liking the glares that I sent him. I can remember his every word, how he told me that it was time to be whipped, to strip and lastly, to display my body for him. I remember my response like it was yesterday and how it was like a slap across his face. I doubt he had ever been so furious and surprised in all his life.
“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong and YOU certainly don’t deserve it. Perhaps I’m the one who should do the whipping.”
Understand, I was but a mere sixteen year old talking to a man at least thrice my age and in all my years, I had never been beaten harder, but I had refused to use the signale for I believe that is what he wanted to hear from me, to prove me wrong. The fact that he had paid dearly for my virgin price never crossed my mind. Naively, I saw the payment as buying the time to be with me, earning my respect and thus, my willing services was another. I would like to say that as an adult, I have changed, I have matured and I have learned the ways to appreciate my patrons, to move towards the completion of my marque, to lose the rebellion of my teens but unfortunately, as much as I would like to say it, I have not.
I ponder on this all as I sit in my patron’s room as she dresses in her tight leather and dons her whip. I prepare for another assignation and stare at the devices on the wall and scattered on the floor in longing, for not once have I felt the ecstasy filled burst of pain on my body from a patron who I have willingly yielded to, one who has earned both my delicious fear and respect. My patrons are nothing but men and women with too much money on their happens. My lips purse to form those words I have never spoken, “I yield” as the doors open and I drop to my knees at her request, glaring holes in the floor and trying to numb myself through this forsaken night.
Nammah help me, that I may hold my cursed tongue.
If you were to ask me if I belonged in Valerian House, I would say outright without hesitation that I do not, but in truth, I am not sure. I suppose, I do not WANT to belong to Valerian House and I wish I had been born with another nature, any of them would have sufficed, but I had been graced with a love for Valerian’s spiced candy not only on my tongue, but all over my body in a way that I do not know how to describe. My body longs for the whip and my pride is ashamed of such longings. What my head wants, my body has never followed. It has always been a pain to be in Valerian House, but when someone craves such pleasure in displeasure, I suppose then, I love being in this House more than any other.
As a child, I remember the confusion that my placement had caused amongst the Houses. Certainly, I lacked what was necessary for my parents’ Houses, Alyssum and Balm, and I fit no other categories for the other houses, except two. It was Mandrake and Valerian that bickered over me for proper placement and in the end, Valerian won, only because the Valerian Dowayne had brought forth my blood with a needle and I recoiled with biting, furious words that to them, dubbed me as a glutton for punishment. While Valerian won me over that day, I believe they regret their decision for I have caused them more trouble than I have any good. I understood spice candy much faster and better than any of the peers in my age—that pleasure in pain coursed through my veins, however, it was “I yield” that I could never accept.
In all my twenty years, I don’t think I’ve ever said it.
My first assignation was the hardest, I have learned since then to try to bite down on my tongue to the point that it bleeds and enjoy that pain I self inflicted, as well as keep myself quiet. I ended up learning that the hard way. My first patron knew how to use his whip and had sought out a challenge, not liking the glares that I sent him. I can remember his every word, how he told me that it was time to be whipped, to strip and lastly, to display my body for him. I remember my response like it was yesterday and how it was like a slap across his face. I doubt he had ever been so furious and surprised in all his life.
“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong and YOU certainly don’t deserve it. Perhaps I’m the one who should do the whipping.”
Understand, I was but a mere sixteen year old talking to a man at least thrice my age and in all my years, I had never been beaten harder, but I had refused to use the signale for I believe that is what he wanted to hear from me, to prove me wrong. The fact that he had paid dearly for my virgin price never crossed my mind. Naively, I saw the payment as buying the time to be with me, earning my respect and thus, my willing services was another. I would like to say that as an adult, I have changed, I have matured and I have learned the ways to appreciate my patrons, to move towards the completion of my marque, to lose the rebellion of my teens but unfortunately, as much as I would like to say it, I have not.
I ponder on this all as I sit in my patron’s room as she dresses in her tight leather and dons her whip. I prepare for another assignation and stare at the devices on the wall and scattered on the floor in longing, for not once have I felt the ecstasy filled burst of pain on my body from a patron who I have willingly yielded to, one who has earned both my delicious fear and respect. My patrons are nothing but men and women with too much money on their happens. My lips purse to form those words I have never spoken, “I yield” as the doors open and I drop to my knees at her request, glaring holes in the floor and trying to numb myself through this forsaken night.
Nammah help me, that I may hold my cursed tongue.