Dear Sir,

I'm still catching up on my emails, and now it’s time for my reflection on our second attempt at the gym downstairs from your work.

I guess there are reasons I’ve been putting this one off, but I also know it’s an important one to write.


I was coming from home this night, which meant I had time to get organised and into the right mindset, and I felt really good on the way to your office. That was actually the day I’d been to the Correction Centre to get the voucher, so I felt well and truly up for the night ahead, which I knew was to include more discipline than recent meetings had.

You met me outside and we both headed downstairs to the gym. You instructed me to stand facing the wall, leaning against it, palms flat and legs spread. You lifted my skirt, revealing bare skin underneath, and tucked the material into my waistband.

You disappeared out of view and I heard you closing and securing the door to the gym. You returned soon enough to administer a spanking, not to punish me for anything but, as you said, to help me to become a better submissive. That sounded like a good reason to me :)

You left me in that position for a while, as you got various things organised around me. Such a simple stance, I know, but one that gradually started to really take its toll. I shuffled around a little, trying to relieve the burning in my arms. I thought about saying something, about folding my forearms against the wall and leaning on them, taking the pressure off my wrists, but it seemed inherently wrong to the scene – I imagined the conversation in my head…”Can I change my stance, Sir?” “Why?” “Because it hurts.” “That’s the point.” So I tried to stay as still as I could until you finally told me to stand up.

Next you got me to bend over and put my hands on the weights bench in front of me, again with my legs spread as wide as possible. Not sure how I was going to manage with arms that were already shaking, I tried putting my forearms on the bench instead, figuring you would reposition me if that wasn’t acceptable. I also felt my feet straining against the sides of my slippery sandals. I’d asked earlier if I could take my shoes off and you’d said no, so I didn’t want to ask again. The same thought came back to me as before – if it’s uncomfortable, then deal with it. The problem was that I wasn’t dealing with it very well, and so I started to feel uncomfortable about everything.

At this point I should probably point out that hindsight is a valuable thing, as is the ability to see things more rationally when _not_ submerged in the submissive mindset.

Yes, obviously I should have said something. Probably when I was leaning against the wall. Definitely when I was struggling, bent over the bench. But each time I kept thinking that it would pass, that it would get easier, that I’d push through. Now I have learnt, that doesn’t work – if I need to say something, if pain or discomfort is actively taking me out of the space I’m meant to be in, I’ll speak up.

But back to the scene and you instructed me to guide your cock into my pussy. I reluctantly balanced on one arm, as I awkwardly tried to comply, suddenly acutely aware of how much easier this whole thing would be if I wasn’t the size I am. That’s a thought that very rarely enters my head during scenes, or sex in general, but once it does, it’s the equivalent of being doused with cold water. Frustrated and embarrassed, I gave up, wanting everything to finish there and then, but knowing that it wasn’t going to.

So why didn’t I say something then? Because I couldn’t bear to explain what was wrong.

This email is far and away the hardest one I’ve had to write to date and I’m baulking at every paragraph. I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish I didn’t have to put all of this in writing, but I know that you need to know what was going on. What couldn’t I say that night? What couldn’t I explain? I’m not sure it will even make sense now, but this is the best I can do at offering an explanation.

Back to the gym. I’m bent over, silent, not giving you any indication that anything’s wrong, so there’s no reason for you not to continue. I feel your cock slide between my cheeks as you begin thrusting against my bottom – nothing painful, nothing I couldn’t handle, but nothing that I could reasonable get into, given the state of mind I was in. Responding to my reaction (or lack of), you instructed me to play with myself while you continued. I complied, trying to use it as a means of getting things back on track, but it proved to be fruitless.

I thought back to your words earlier, about helping me to become a better submissive. I was so angry at myself that suddenly, not only was I not better, but in my own mind, I was so much worse. A failed submissive.

You got me to stand up and lead me to another gym machine where you could secure my hands above my head. I was grateful to now be standing, my arms no longer required to support me. I convinced myself that this would make everything better. Tears started to flow in spite of my resolution, but I dismissed them – “this is true submission, it’s not all fun and games,” I remember telling myself.

I felt the lightest touch of something on my skin, tracing up and down my back, my bottom, my legs. It was the riding crop. This continued for a while before you disappeared again from my peripheral vision.

I continued to fight my inner battle when you returned, and I felt you pushing a butt plug into me. I started to panic, but tried hard to relax, knowing it would make it easier. It didn’t. It stayed in momentarily while you went to get something else, but fell almost immediately and I didn’t point it out – I was quite happy at that point not to have one more thing to deal with. The tears grew from a trickle to a stream as I tried to sort out in my head what to do, but it was all mushy and confused and wasn’t helping me at all.

Upon returning to me again, you inserted the dildo into my pussy – a toy that has elicited a pleasurable reaction from me every time we’ve played with it. This time though, my tears turned to sobs as I could no longer sensibly process anything.

You asked me if I was ok and I shook my head. Immediately you untied me and helped me down, onto the floor where I curled up in your arms and cried and cried.

I don’t really know why I didn’t safeword. Earlier in the night I can understand it, as I didn’t feel it was too much, just very uncomfortable, which is not really the idea behind a safeword. I should have said *something* but not to the point of ending the scene. But when it got to the point that I was seriously, albeit silently, freaking out, I should have ended things.

I know you talked about that as I rested, still in your embrace, after releasing so many tears. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t say what was wrong, but I heard what you were saying and I took it in. I know it worried you that I didn’t say anything and I understand now that by not speaking up when I’m in distress, I risk letting something happen that we would both regret.

At one point you said to me, “Don’t cry. When you cry, you make me upset.”

I realise you were using various approaches to comfort me and I’ve no doubt that this was one of them, but I wanted to ask you to please not put that on me. I’m extremely self-conscious of crying in the company of others, of anyone, and to feel ‘allowed’ to cry is extremely valuable to me. Growing up, I was made very aware of the consequences of me crying on others around me, which caused me at times to withdraw emotionally so as not to hurt anyone else. I mention that comment only as a means to give you that insight, though, as in fact you DID give me that space and it meant a great deal to me.

After everything was calm again, you asked me what I wanted to do next. I suddenly had a flashback to an incident that happened last year when I had reacted severely and unexpectedly during sex with someone who, given the choice, I wouldn’t have opened up to so emotionally, but it all happened rather dramatically. After what I’d describe as an intensely distressing period of about 30mins where obviously some past pains were released, my partner put his arm around me, groping my breast, and said, “Shall we continue?”

So when you asked me what next, I wasn’t quite sure what to say, but opted for a clarifying, “I think I need to put my clothes on.”

There was a pause. I waited for your reaction.

“That’s a good idea. You probably shouldn’t go outside naked. Would you like to get a coffee?”

For the first time that night I laughed. I wanted to hug you again :)


I was very aware of how difficult and, realistically, how frustrating the night must have been for you, but you didn’t show it. We went to the nearby coffee shop, talked about everything except BDSM stuff and after a while I was feeling 100 times better.

You drove me home and I went upstairs, knowing that everything was ok. That you weren’t mad; that you more than likely would want to see me again, despite everything that had happened; that I could have a mini-meltdown and the world wouldn’t collapse around me.

I usually like to wear my crazy on the inside, but sometimes there just seems to be no room left and it overflows. Ideally, I’m alone when that happens and I find a way to deal with it (usually involving some combination of tissues, blankets, chocolate and my teddy bear – or if I’m feeling particularly constructive, my notepad) but sometimes there are witnesses and I have to deal with the thought of being exposed.

I’m so sorry, to both of us, that I didn’t say something earlier. I am also so grateful for, impressed by and relieved at how you responded to the situation.

Thank you for holding space for me when I needed it.


Now it’s time for me to send this to you and then deal with the thought of posting it to the blog...


Respectfully,
Dru xx