With every touch my skin warms a little more until eventually it throbs with a burning heat. I dance beneath you, accepting you and denying you in equal measures. I fight this fight because my body forces me too but in my brain and on my lips are the words; more, harder…. Mark me! Leave bruises and bite marks, knife lines and welts; twist, pull, tear at my flesh and with every move leave a trail of visible lust across my skin. I need to see your passion etched on my body for days to come. It is beyond a desire or a want. It is a need that feeds my submissive soul. I will admire and tend to them, I will prod and poke them, I will photograph them, touch them, look at them. I will love them. Without those marks I get hungry and restless, my skin looks empty and unloved, my mind twists with thoughts of putting them there but I can’t, because they only work for me if you do it.
I am fairly sure that anyone who visits my blog regularly will know that marks on my skin are a really huge part of my kink, submission and our play. I was completely unaware that I had this kink when I first started exploring BDSM but as I have written in a post about early indications of my kinky nature I look back now at the odd teenage love bites that I acquired and realise that in hindsight my feelings about those should have been a fairly strong clue. However it was not until I met Sir and the first time we got together that suddenly my need for and understanding of marks started to make sense to me.
I can clearly remember those first ones; they were welts from 27 strikes of the whip across my arse. I admired them in the mirror of our hotel room for hours and the next day when they started to fade I found myself yearning for more. He reapplied them and numerous other marks too during those first weeks but it was a while before I was able to truly articulate my need for them to him. Of course like so many things he already knew, but gave me space and time to find a place where I felt confident enough with my needs to be able to speak them out-loud to him.
Marks are a visible sign of what I am to him; they are his stamp of ownership and his love. I look at them and they are memories of a moment. They are like a painting of that moment that I carry around on me for days afterwards and often they bring with them a physical reminder, bruises that I press and poke at; bring them back to life again and again as I do. The sensation of that ache running through my flesh excites and pleases me all at the same time. To me the bruises are sexy. Just like if he cums on my skin they seem to be a part of him that he has left behind on me.
I have also discovered that marks or my desire for marks can change how I feel about a certain activity. The most recent example of this is needle play. I have never really felt the urge for needle play, in fact I have seen some images of it that have made my skin crawl and not in a good way but then I saw this image (the one in the bottom right of the collage) on A Slut’s Memoir and suddenly it flicked that ‘marks’ switch in me and I found myself contemplating and eventually communicating to Sir that my previous thoughts on needle play might be wrong. Only time will tell if this is the case but when I imagine my back looking like Laurie’s does in that image, I know I want that.
I know that my love of marks is closely linked to many of the things that I get off on; knife play, vampire gloves/blood play, misery sticks, floggers, biting, pegs and other heavy impact toys and even to some extend wax play which although it doesn’t tend to leave a deep mark like a bruise or welt does clearly have a strong visual element to it in the moment. Of course I enjoy the sensation of many of these things as they are used on me but the knowledge that they will mark me for him, as his, heightens the sensation and will often motivate me to accept more knowing that if I do I will be rewarded, with marks!
I can’t even begin to think of the number times I have found myself in the toilets of some fetish club or other admiring his handy work on my flesh, or at home I will, once he is done, nearly always ask if I can go see. At times he will even have to call me back from the mirror, telling me to leave them alone and come back to him because I have a tendency to get lost in them. I am without a shadow of a doubt a complete and utter marks slut. I will crave them, I will ask for them, I will accept and endure in order to get them, I will love and cherish them when I have them, and I will mourn them once they are gone and then I will start over again and I will wait as patiently as I can until such time as he desires to mark me again.
As I went to post this piece I suddenly realised I had not mentioned the most important mark of all, although it is beautifully shown in the image above. His mark; my tattoo!
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