Friday, June 4, 2010


I am cataloguing my bruises tonight.  Yesterday I had a play date with the other boyfriend.  Very recently we upped the intensity of our play, and the results have been...impressive.

Tonight  I have an assortment of bite shaped bruises on my neck and shoulders.  A tic-tac-toe board of cane marks on my ass, plus a few random strikes on my thighs.  Finger print marks on my inner right thigh, an impressively purple bite mark on the left, and a matched set of viciously swollen bite bruise on my inner calves.

I have a whip wheal from a dragon's tongue on my right shoulder, and an assortment of scratches down my back and ass.  There is also a new bruise on my left breast right next to an old one from the last time I saw the boyfriend.

All of which made me very, very happy today.

I've always kind of liked having bruises, even the non-kinky kind. It seems a little strange to admit it, but it is true.  I like bruises.  I don't intentionally hurt myself.  You know, other than dating tops who like canes and paddles.  But, I am clumsy and bruise easily, so I always seem to have a few of the non-kink sort of bruise somewhere on my body.  

At the moment there is a small, but deep bruise on my right shin from god knows what, and two long, narrow ones on my forearms from banging them against a shelf when a step-stool slid out from underneath me.

The bruises and marks are visible proof that I have been out there actually doing shit.  Putting up shelves and pleasing lovers and having awesome orgasms.  I like them, even if I reserve the right to whine about them.

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