Beyond the Bruise: What Four-Letter Play Taught Me About Trust, Touch, and Pleasure Without Pain
TikTok video from 2023-02-09
So this absolutely deserves a part two. Or maybe a whole damn series.
Let’s talk about four-letter play.
No, not the kind that involves yelling “fuck” at the driver who just cut you off. (Although, yes, that can be cathartic.)
I mean the four letters: B. D. S. M.
Impact play. Sensation play. That deep, hot space where control and surrender tangle together like lovers who can’t get enough.
Now before you go making assumptions—this wasn’t about whips and chains and leather dungeons. (Although, I mean… never say never.) This was about something more subtle. More intentional. More felt.
And let’s get this part clear:
It wasn’t even about sex.
Not directly.
It was about presence.
About trust.
About choosing to feel something on purpose.
When I started dipping my toes into this world of play—post-monogamy, post-everything-I-thought-I-knew-about-intimacy—I wasn’t looking for a Dom. I wasn’t looking for pain. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone.
I was looking for someone who could help me explore my edges.
Someone who could say, “What do you want?”
And mean it.
So I said:
“I don’t like pain. And I really don’t like surprises. But I do like bruises.”
(He raised an eyebrow at that, by the way. So did I.)
Because here’s the thing I discovered:
I don’t want to be hurt.
I want to remember.
I want that feeling—the one you get when someone presses their lips to your skin just a little too hard, and it lingers. That ache that makes you press your fingers to it the next day, not because it hurts… but because it’s yours.
It says:
I was there.
You touched me.
We made something together.
It’s like a secret handshake with my own body.
A hickey on my thigh becomes a love note.
A fingertip bruise on my hip becomes a flashback.
A sore spot on my ass becomes a grin in the shower.
And babe, let me tell you—this man got it.
We negotiated every part of our scene. Talked it out. Built the container. Checked in. Clarified safewords. (Yes, that part is sexy too. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.)
Then? We played.
And when I say “intense,” I don’t mean brutal. I mean deep.
I mean completely in it.
I mean I closed my eyes and surrendered without fear.
He touched. I received. He struck. I breathed.
He watched. I felt.
And here's the best part: I didn’t feel pain.
Not in the way I feared.
What I felt was sensation—layered and hot and electric.
What I felt was attention—his, fully on me, without distraction.
What I felt was alive.
It wasn’t about enduring. It was about choosing.
And when I looked in the mirror the next morning and saw the delicate bloom of color on my skin, I smiled.
Not because it hurt.
Because it reminded me.
I pressed it, slowly. Just enough to feel it.
And there she was again:
That version of me who said yes.
Who trusted.
Who asked for what she wanted—and got it.
So if you’ve ever said, “BDSM isn’t for me, I don’t like pain,” I invite you to consider this:
It doesn’t have to be about pain.
It can be about memory.
It can be about marking a moment.
It can be about a bruise that feels like a poem your body gets to read again and again.
That’s what four-letter play means to me right now.
Not punishment.
Not submission.
But a new kind of intimacy—with someone else, yes… but even more so, with me.
