I can’t stop thinking. Over and over I am telling myself to let go. I’m telling myself to submit, but I really have no idea what that means in this context. I tell myself to relax while every fiber of my being tightens and closes up. Some instinct in me is forcing me to protect my center.
I’m tied to a chair, my wrists bound behind me with thin hemp rope and she is hovering above me; interrogator, torturer, top, woman, beauty. Those eyes are unwavering. I wouldn’t say they are cold, but they are certainly unnervingly calm and predatory. Those are the eyes that made me want to do this. Those eyes are studying me, figuring me out. Figuring out how to take me apart.
Her nails rake my chest, then a hand in my hair pulling my head back, then a solid punch to my chest. My jaw clenches and I ready myself for this. I can take anything she can give me. I am a rock and I am unbreakable. She is this immense dangerous force, this powerful, intelligent woman, but I can take anything. I want to take it from her. I want to show her how tough I am.
The punches are a warm, dense hurt. Nothing much really until the tenth or eleventh in the same spot, then it is a burning muscle pain. When I can’t take much more she rakes her nails across the now sore spots and my back arches and I try and swallow my scream.
Her sharp fingernails pinch my nipples. Such a simple thing, but it’s a new pain. I gasp, my fists tighten, wrists pull against the rope. I feel the pain, but I can move it in my head. It’s just a thing; it’s just a sensation; it can be what ever I want it to be. My breathing calms and then she digs her nails into my nipples three times as hard.
“No, no you don’t get to stay in that place,” she laughs her throaty laugh.
My face is in the cool cotton of her white tank top. I laugh too.
“I keep forgetting you’re smart,” I growl into her shirt.
I can almost see the pain like the needle of some gauge on a dashboard. I see it fluctuating, nearing the red. Suddenly it is white hot, it is searing my brain. The pain it everywhere.
“Please-” I whisper. I know the word, but it is impossible. It is more than impossible, it is weak and I can’t be weak, not in front of her.
Maybe I can take it. Maybe I can ride it and find that place again, but then there is even more pressure and the word spills out.
When she lets go my head flies forward. I have to protect my chest. No more. Her breasts are against my cheeks. Want is there, somewhere in my head, but too far away to really grasp at. Every part of this is different than what I am used to, even the desire. My mind doesn’t know where to go. Still the image of her pressing her breasts, fruit-like to my mouth and ordering me to suck and please her awaken some new element in this.
I’m not here to seduce her. I don’t even think I know how to do that from this position. I’m not here to break her down and make her my toy. I’m the toy. What does that mean? Can I even be a toy? Would someone want me for a toy?
The idea makes me shy. It makes me nervous and fragile and vulnerable. Something inside of me wants to succumb. I know I’m not okay with it, but I am doing it anyway and that makes me feel brave. I don’t want to be closed to this. I don’t want to let pride and stubbornness dictate what I can be.
And then there is the need to be hurt, which is new and potent.
She walks away and comes back with two things. She shows them to me with a crooked smile before she puts them down. The knife and the stun gun. Like it or not I’m going to get what I want tonight.
“Yellow is a good tool, but ‘please stop’ is something we can play with. I’m aural. I like to hear people beg. I think you’d be good at begging.”
It’s one of those many moments when part of me is overwhelmed by the power she exudes. Part of me almost ready to beg. The other part of me, the part that never shuts up, is impressed at what a perfect line that is. I know one day I’ll use that line.
She doesn’t like it when I drift off. It’s something I take for granted in a scene. I can do pretty much anything I want in a scene, but not here. Here I can do what ever she wants.
She grabs my face and I close my eyes. Her fingers around my jaw, moving me this way and that, examining me again. Then I feel the knife drift across my skin lightly. I can feel the sharpness of the blade, the danger of it. My whole body tightens again.
She traces lines across my stomach and my chest and then she stops right on my collar bone and presses the tip of the blade into my skin.
It’s a odd pressure. I don’t like it as much as the other sensations and although I know that I am theoretically safe my heart starts pounding. My blood is rushing and I am trying to will my suddenly squirming body not to move whole the blade is digging into to me.
Then it is off. Tracing again. She is testing my reaction. Gauging my thresholds. When she comes down and drags the blade across my stomach her lips are millimeters from mine. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her. I’m also hit with the idea that in this place I feel like by ability to initiate anything has been taken away. I can take nothing, I can only beg or accept.
When she takes the black rectangle out of its little case the fear left over from the the knife doubles. I’m gasping and she is smiling wider now.
“You okay?” she laughs.
“I think so,” suddenly shuddering with a nervous giggle.
She pets my head and pulls my hair, then she moves down and kisses my ear softly. She sucks at the top of my ear and then bites down on it. I’ve never been bitten there and it is a sharp hot pain. She stops when I start to whimper and gasp and calms me before I hear the crackle.
I brace myself, not sure how much it will hurt. When it comes it is surprisingly mild. Closer to the violet wands I’d played with. She hits me with the stun gun again and my body awakens to the white hot needle like pain. Somehow I’m laughing through it.
She goes again and again a little longer and my laugh becomes a short hoarse scream. Again and my body jerks against the ropes. Again even longer and now it is cutting through all my defenses. This fucking hurts.
“How ya doing,” she laughs into my ear. She sounds like she thinks I’m close to my limit.
“Does.. it go any.. higher?” The words come out and I almost wish she didn’t hear, but she laughs and laughs at this, her eyes wide with genuine surprise. I am melting with pride. I’m good, this is perhaps the newest part, the desire to please her like this. The desire to be her good boy.
She hits me for a few long shocks that send pain and pleasure dancing in my head until everything is white fuzzy sensation.
She laughs some more, my comment still lingering in both of our heads and the tension is broken. I feel like I just drank a liter of espresso. My body is alive and wired and I feel like I can breath for the first time in hours. I’m twisting and fidgeting now, my body full of a new nervous energy.
I ask for some water and she smiles and goes to get it. When she gets back something has changed. The spell is broken, not in any bad way but an organic sort of end to that part of the scene.
We really weren’t planning much tonight; we just met up after work and decided to play a little. This was only our second time but it felt far more comfortable. I know that next time thugs will be far more intense. I can see the inevitability of my submission. My understanding of what that means.
She unties me, hugs me. She takes me to the bed and cuddles me. I try and relax into this embrace, but I am too wired, being pet and hugged now makes me feel too vulnerable and weak. Some part of that switch has turned back. Still I try and accept her comforting, knowing she needs to give it. For me this is the hardest part; suddenly still in her arms I feel like I am pretending for the first time.
After, at home, everything has a new dimension. I see both sides of the equation in new ways. I want to try things she did to me on other people; not the specific acts, but her demeanor. It’s like learning from a different school of thought.
That night I fall asleep in minutes, my bed suddenly feeling like cool and safe, my body feeling calm and sinking into the softness of the sheets. All the tension of the week was zapped and punched out of me. My mind is still for the first time in a long time.