Salt in my wounds

Two days before I had a date to go to the wellness center with my friend, Master T told me to turn my back to Him after my training. I had to lean forward with my ass up in the air. Slowly and deliberately He started making lines on my ass, using His knife. It was relaxing at first, until it started feeling sensitive as He continued along the same lines over and over again. By the time I was allowed to go to bed, I had a delicious warm feeling in my buttocks and as I got into bed, the skin felt a bit sensitive. The next day at work my buttocks did not bother me too much. I was barely aware of them.

knifeplay
Photo made directly after some knifeplay
(click to enlarge)

The next evening, the night before I would go to the wellness resort, Master T repeated the actions of the night before. This time, when He was done, the skin was broken in some places and I felt every movement when I sat down or sat up in bed. I woke up during the night and was instantly aware of my backside. When He checked it the next morning He informed me that the lines were clearly visible and I would probably draw some attention.

Knowing people would be able to see the lines if they care to look did not bother me. However, when we got to the wellness center, I realized that there would be some awkward moments. I had a full body massage scheduled, which meant that the marks on my buttocks would be under close scrutiny. What’s more, I had a scrub massage scheduled. My body would be scrubbed and then oiled after that. I eased my own worries by telling my friend that they do put a towel over one’s buttocks, which meant that whoever was going to do the massage, would not touch the painful spots.

How wrong I was in my thinking…

Right after lunch I had the appointment for the massage. A young woman called my name and I followed her to the massage room. While I took my gown and flip flops off she explained that she would scrub my body with sea salt and then put a special body lotion on it after I have showered. My brain stopped stopped working at ‘sea salt’. She was going to scrub my body with sea salt? Would I even be able to handle it if she scrubbed the bruises with sea salt? I quickly got my brain working again by reassuring myself that she would cover my buttocks and not touch them.

Again… how wrong I was.

She put a towel over my backside. I knew she saw the bruises but she said nothing. She just told me what she was going to do and said if anything did not feel good, I should tell her. Just before she put the cold mixture of sea salt crystals and some kind of creme on my right leg, she folded the towel to uncover my right buttock but cover the crack in between. I realized that the salt would touch the bruises. And it did. Soon my ass was on fire when the she rubbed the salt in my wounds. I lay very still. My eyes were closed. It burned. I felt it in every movement my body made. When I had to turn over on my back so she could scrub the front of my body, the salt was trapped between my ass and the massage table and the burning intensified.

Somewhere in all of this I has the feeling that I was floating. It was almost as if the burning disappeared and I was only aware of her hands on my body. I was completely relaxed and completely in her hands. Figuratively and literally. It was a wonderful feeling and had me feeling quite relaxed the rest of the day, despite a headache that bugged me.

The rest of the day was spent in different bubble baths and swimming pools and in the restaurant, having a nice glass of wine and later a nice dinner. All the time I was aware of my bruised ass, especially in the bubble baths where the bubbling prevented me from sitting still and my ass rubbed against the seating all the time. Having my ass marked like this had me aware of Master T and His ownership all day long. Not once did I see strange looks in my direction, but then again, I did not really checked to see if anyone stared at my ass. I had a wonderful day and a wonderful, painful massage and would do it all over again if the opportunity arises.

© Rebel’s Notes

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