I still bear your mark, Mistress
The time I spent playing with Tamar was one of the most erotic and intense times of my life. We met when she began working at the professional b&d dungeo I worked at in Sydney, Australia. I had never seriously subbed to anyone in my private life until then (or since), but pretty much from the moment I met her, I wanted to submit to her.
Although I had been working as a b&d professional for some time when I met Tamar, my relationship with her introduced me to a lot of activities which I hadn't experienced before. One of these things was cutting.
I was heavily into the goth scene at the time, and Tamar and I shared an affinity for gothic imagery. She knew I was in the goth scene and was interested in that kind of imagery, including vampires and blood.
The first time we played Tamar gave me a small cut. I am not even sure what kind of blade she used to do it with, but I believe it was a small knife. I was tied, spreadeagled on her bed, and too excited and frightened to watch as she cut me. I was turned on and terrified, but there was no way I was going to stop her. I think that scared her a bit. When we had finished the scene she chided me, saying she felt that I was self-destructive and that I wouldn't have stopped her from going further with the cutting.
One evening we played at the dungeon where we both worked, after hours when everyone else had gone home. I was being a surly little sub, resentful at being hurt (she was such a sadist). Finally she gave me a choice, to submit to the cane, or to be cut. Something about cutting and blood was much more personal to me, more intimate, more erotic.
I chose to be cut.
Up until that point, my involvement with BDSM had never really gone beneath the skin. Nothing had been done to me that felt permanent. My body piercings had been cosmetic, performed by professional piercers. While they all held significance for me, they had never been done as part of a scene or ritual with someone significant to me. What I was about to do with Tamar was taking me over that threshold.
I loved the clinical nature of her preparation. I loved that she was playing safely and taking care of me. At the same time, watching her wipe my breasts with antiseptic swabs felt like waiting for something terrible and inevitable. I felt like I was about to cross a boundary, that she was going to sweep me over it. And I couldn't wait.
Then, using a temporary (play piercing) needle, Tamar began to scratch lines into my breasts. I would have preferred a razor, but it wasn't a pre-planned session, so she used what was on hand. The cuts weren't deep, but thin, catlike scratches, three on each breast. I can still remember the way the cuts looked, beginning as thin scratches of red, then welling up with a little blood.
I wasn't scared while it was happening. I was totally in the moment with her, loving that she was doing it to me. And loving the transgression of it. I have very pale skin, and large breasts, and I knew it must look beautiful. I loved that she was drawing my blood. I wished that she would lick it off me, but I felt guilty about asking her to do something unsafe, so I didn't mention it.
I felt so proud to have Tamar's marks on me. They felt like proof of the bond between us, a display for the world. I remember going out to Ritual (a Sydney goth club) a few nights later, deliberately wearing a dress with a plunging V-neckline and corset to accentuate my cleavage and show off my newly acquired marks. It thrilled me that people were noticing my cuts and pretending not to notice.
Of course, there can be drawbacks to going public. One deluded young man at the nightclub decided I must be into vampirism and tried to chat me up by offering to introduce me to his coven. His fantasy or delusion seemed a million miles from the reality of watching my lover cut her marks into my skin.
After our cutting scene, Tamar told me she had deliberately made the cuts shallow because she thought my skin would scar easily and she didn't want to permanently scar me. It turned out that she was right, even her shallow marks left me with scars. They are slight, but still noticeable in low cut clothing. That was several years ago, and I still bear the scars, proudly. Thank you Tamar, wherever you are.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 22 March 2002