a sadistic little fuck

Joscelin wrote a nice little post about our time last night, which he described like this:

Imagine being taken out to dinner, having a good time, laughing, and then being taken back to your place where you are systemmatically aroused and denied, over and over, instructed on how to seduce your partner, and make her dizzy with sexual pleasure, and then try and figure out how to return to your evening without having gotten an orgasm.

All, watching her look at you like a rare delicacy to be carefully and discerningly devoured.

I like how he makes me sound all smoooooooth.  And now you have a choice: you can stop reading right now, and keep that image in your mind, or you can continue and hear my side of the story!

Very occasionally (like, perhaps once or twice in our whole relationship), I will show up at Jos’s place, or take him to mine, and immediately press him against the wall or bed and take him, push him, hurt him, fuck him – whatever it takes to make him mine.

But far more often, I treat him like an exotic chocolate bar, taking him to bed with me and unwrapping him slowly, savoring the smell and anticipation forever before taking even a nibble.  Or like a spider who has a wrapped-up fly – why devour it right away?  It’s not going anywhere.

This means we lie face to face in bed, close together (especially at his house, where he has only a twin sized bed), and I just look in his eyes, and we talk.  Lately when we do this, he is usually desperate with arousal.  That’s hot for me, and frustrating for him.  He’d rather be taken and devoured.  I make him keep his hands away from his cock, sometimes with his arms crossed across his chest.  I could do this forever.

Looking him in the eyes is wonderful but also challenging.  I know he’s watching me closely to see my responses, and that makes it hard to be authentic.  And I have often cried in his arms this way, and at times that is close to my mind, and yet I don’t want to go there.  It is not easy to be watched so closely.  I try to focus on watching him.

Last night, I decided after a while that we should fuck, but despite feeling painfully aroused, I wasn’t wet at all.  It was a good time to teach him a little more about seducing me (which he tends not to know how to do, other than by letting me have my way with him, which is hot but not the whole story). 

“Kiss the insides of my thighs,” I said.

“Rub your nose on the outside of my pussy,” I said a bit later.  “Try to make my pussy think about getting stimulated without actually getting it.”

He did beautifully with that.  I wasn’t sure it would even work for me after I gave such explicit instructions (since instructing my lover is somewhat antithetical to being teased, for me), but the sheer physical sensation made me crazy.  I called him names (“you fucking tease”, “you bastard”).  It was fantastic.  (I knew he would be good at this psychological stuff once he knew a bit about it.)

When we got to fucking, I started out on top.  I forbade him to move.  I love looking down at him like that.

I don’t know what brain circuits went black to allow me to utter this line: “Owning you makes up for a lot.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.  “That almost hurts.”

Ow, yeah.  That came out really shitty.  What I was feeling, really, was that the fucking hurt, and I needed to wait and go slow, and yet I felt no pressure about it.  I did not feel sexually defective or like I needed to hurry things up to please my partner.  I was just happy sitting there waiting for things to ease up, and making him wait.  I explained that and apologized for saying it in a hurtful way, because I hadn’t meant anything bad at all. 

I let him move.  He knew I might not let him come, and was almost crying with…desperation?  The pain of knowing he might be denied?  It was wonderful to see.  And after a while, I put him on top.  (No, we didn’t roll over.  Are you kidding?  This was a twin-sized bed.  We stood up and I lay down again.)  It started to feel fantastic.  He went a long time before needing a pause to avoid coming.  Then he went a long time again.  I left marks near his elbows where I dug my nails in.  I didn’t really mean to.  It felt so good in one specific spot.  I longed to come but knew I couldn’t.  I tried a little bit anyway.  And I knew if I let him come I would feel jealous, and I finished deciding not to.

When I told him I was done, he stood up and started peeling the condom off.

“You wanted to talk about your paper, I think,” I said.

“Um…shit.  Fuck.  Yeah.”

“I think we should do that, then.”  I started grinning despite myself, at the sheer evil of what I was doing.  He was standing there naked with a giant hard-on and I was encouraging him to show me his thesis.  It made me giggle.  I apologized.

“Don’t apologize,” he said.  “Laughing gives you pleasure.”  He seemed very stern when he said, “I’m not confused for a second that this isn’t sadistic on your part.”

Gentle reader, I became afraid.  I can call myself a sadist to him a hundred times.  He can ask me if I’m really a sadist and I can confirm it over and over.  I’m a sadist.  Life is good.  But sometimes if he says it, and is stern like that, it just hits me in a scary way. 

I’ll do something, telling myself that if he resents it, I am cool with that.  I know I have to be, or I can’t do it, and I want to do it, so that’s what I say.  I don’t care.  I’m in charge.  He has to live with it.  (I knew he’s cool with this.) 

But sometimes I am really not that tough.  And suddenly I was afraid he was angry.  He was putting on clothes to go downstairs and get some tea at this point, so he wasn’t facing me, and I was trying to keep my shit together so that at all costs he wouldn’t know I was freaking out at all.  Stay cool, Dev.  It’s OK.

He left to get his tea and came back without it, saying, “I just realized something.”  He sat down on his chair.

Oh god.  I knew he was going to say something.  This isn’t OK.  I can’t let you do this.  It’s interfering with my work.

I braced myself.  He turned around, opened his thesis document, and started telling me what he hoped I would read.  He got up and went for the tea, and I sat down and started to read.

The rest of the night was great.  It’s hard to express how much I enjoyed reading some of his paper, and working through the logic parts (which were hard for me), and arguing with him about stuff.  It activated all those math-pleasure parts of my mind, and also gave me a sense of accomplishment, because I wasn’t sure I could actually understand it when I started.  I know, I know, it’s not bdsm – but it’s fucking good stuff.

And then home and to bed.