tumultuous sunday

So much happened yesterday that it boggles me to think about it.  It boggled me, in fact, even while it was going on. 

I’ll backtrack to Saturday first.  Joscelin got home from a conference, and I came over to his house unannounced (though I have a standing invitation), and he was (jokingly) like, “What the hell are you doing here?”  Ultimately he had to convince me to stay a while, because I really did not feel welcomed at all.  It was hard.  I don’t handle rejection well even if it is not sincere, and I couldn’t really tell.  (Besides “What the hell are you doing here?” I got “You’re lucky I wasn’t asleep when you got here” and “I was just headed to bed.”  So…I wasn’t just completely overreacting.)

But the time we spent together ended up being very intense.  Lying in his small bed face to face, we both got very turned on.  I had him stroke my clit (rather well, I should say) while he whimpered because I was cruelly touching his cock just ever so lightly.  And then we fucked, and I didn’t let him come, and he…went a little nuts.

It was edge play for me, essentially, though I don’t think it was for him.  “Are you really so cruel that you are going to leave me like this?” he asked, over and over again, in different words.  And there was a ton of holding and talking and begging and it was sweet and beautiful and desperately arousing and also scarily intense. 

At some point, I told him that owning him has two components, for me, in terms of how it feels.  It is, first, a license to use him for my pleasure, to push him beyond where he wants to go, to take his pain and control his orgasms and just…own him.  And, second, it makes me the guardian of his enslavement.  It makes me the trustee of his slave heart.  And that part makes me feel protective of him, and kind towards him, and fills me with aching tenderness. 

I told him this, but I didn’t feel that he really got it.  Perhaps he was too distracted by lust.  “Think about what I’ve said later, OK?” I said.  I wanted him to understand this duality I was talking about.  He asks me so often whether I really own him, and feel like I own him, etc., that I felt he would be receptive to hearing about it.

I went home then, leaving him with instructions not to masturbate further.  He slept deeply.  We were to see each other Sunday.

Sunday morning IMs were disastrous.  He was (in effect) cold and sharp.  I started to feel increasingly insecure, and I mentioned that I was feeling that way.  He asked why, and I said, last night was kind of scary, and then you didn’t respond to things I said, and…I don’t know.

He asked me what I’d said, and I reminded him about the two facets of ownership.

And no response.

He’d asked me for an orgasm, so I went ahead and told him no (we’d been talking for a while since the request) and he said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“No response to the thing I just said?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Fuck you,” I typed.

“Fine.”  And then he thanked me for not forcing him to have an orgasm after I’d already destroyed his mood, etc., and left him feeling trapped and angry.

I had already been crying a little bit, and saying things in my head like please don’t destroy me and why do you want to destroy me? and, ugh, this was just bad.

We fought a little more and then I offered to come over and just go eat something together.  “We can probably solve this in one minute in person,” I said.  It was a hard offer to make because, frankly, when someone feels trapped, it’s not obvious that you should get closer to them, right?  But I know we often do much better in person than online.

He agreed.  I asked whether he really wanted to see me or was just agreeing because he thought I couldn’t handle it if he didn’t.  I said I could handle it.  And he said, no, he’d agreed after considering it.  The initial thought had sounded appealing (this was immensely reassuring all by itself), and he’d realized it might be a mistake, but had decided to take the risk.

So I drove to his house, trying to stay distracted.  Whenever I thought about the utter rejection of my feelings of ownership, I would start crying.  I know – I fucking know – he does not reject that.  I know that he longs for it with all his heart.  But how can you ask for a response three times and get nothing?  Get anger back?  Get “you ruined my mood”?  I tried (with limited success) just not to think about it.

At his house, we hugged for a long minute, then he started to get dressed (he’d showered).  We were so awkward.  I was trying not to cry, we were trying to make normal conversation, and it was apparent that things were just bad.

“You’re desperately uncomfortable right now,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Towards me.  Being with me.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”

“Me too,” I said.  “It’s OK.”  I laughed a little.  (I commented a couple of times that we were actually comfortable together on a meta level, just not on the ordinary level of interaction.  Hence why I could say what I did.)

He asked me what my fantasy response from him would have been, to the two aspects of ownership thing, and the question made me cry.  I knew I couldn’t answer it without crying.  When he went to the bathroom, I wrote a short note explaining that it wasn’t about how he’d responded.  I just wanted reassurance.  While he read it, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe and not freak out.  He told me he was afraid that, not knowing how he feels about ownership himself even, he couldn’t give me what I needed to hear.

On the way to lunch, I said, “Don’t be afraid that you don’t have what I need.  I know that you do.”

“Well, then…you don’t be afraid that I don’t want to see you.”  I choked up when he said it.

We had lunch.  Things unraveled and got OK again.  He said he is always, always happy to see me.  He said if he could, he’d give me a house key, not just so that I could let myself in, but in the hopes that someday he’d come home and find me already there.  He said it convincingly.  I still can’t quite believe it, though I do believe it.

We rented a movie (Princess Mononoke) and went back to my place.  Jos had asked to use one of his birthday coupons and I’d agreed, so there was going to be some rope bondage.

I told him I needed some holding first, so we went to bed together.  I tried to get my emotional needs met while he tried to hold back his raging lust from having been denied an orgasm for a bunch of days.  At some point the focus moved more towards his denial, which I was getting into.

“If we switched bodies and I could feel what this is like for you, do you think I would still do it?” I asked.  (I was just indulging in the dark side – the edge, if you will.)

“Don’t ask that, god, no, don’t.  Just don’t,” he said, or something like that.  “It’s too close to your guilt.”  He spoke intensely and adamantly, and I fell apart.  I cried heavily. 

“I can’t stand you being mad at me,” I said.  “I can’t stand having to be so careful about what I say.”

“I wasn’t mad.  I wasn’t mad at all.”  He held me a long time.  Eventually I had him get me a wet washcloth for my face and we talked about my guilt.  It concerns him that I won’t discuss it - that I cut him off when he tries to sympathize with me.  He feels there are misconceptions behind it, or something like that.  We didn’t discuss it thoroughly, but we did discuss it somewhat usefully.

When I got back to normal, I was a little bit torn (as I’d been all day) about whether to let him come or not.  Saturday night, he’d asked if there was a real chance I might not let him come Sunday.  He said he couldn’t imagine it.  “Are you daring me?” I’d asked, and he’d said he was, a little.  So I was tempted to answer the dare, but also felt strange doing it because of a dare.

I found a middle way forward.

Jos is deathly afraid of disposals (the little blender-type things in sink drains that you use to grind up stuff you put in the sink, like orange peels or whatever).  So I told him, “In five minutes, you’re going to fuck me to my satisfaction.  And then I’m going to let you come, or not, based on your decision.”

I walked him to the kitchen and said, “If you put your hand in the disposal and keep it there until I am satisfied, I will let you come.  It’s your choice.”

“I can do that,” he said.  “I know I can do that.”

“OK.”

“Oh, you want me to do it now?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Shit.  Are you going to put your hand on the switch?”

“Probably,” I said.  “Yes.”

“Fuck.  Like how?”

So I showed him, putting my finger on top of the switch (which has to move up to turn the unit on). 

“You won’t turn it on?”

“No.”

“There’s no danger that it will come on?” he asked

“I don’t think so.  You can see how it is.  No, it won’t come on.”

“OK.”

He put his hand in and told me he had two fingers touching the bottom.  I put my hand on the switch.  He kept his hand still but was visibly (and audibly) nervous.

“Close your eyes,” I said.

He did it, but got very anxious and repeatedly asked for assurances that I wasn’t turning it on.  I kept the hand that was not on the switch firmly (I hoped reassuringly) on his arm.  When I let him open his eyes and remove his hand, he did so quickly, then washed up (seeming still a bit shaky).

And then we fucked and he got his orgasm, as promised.  He came screaming.  It was very yummy.  And well earned.

After a while spent just resting and chatting, we went for the coupon bondage.  He started off in a very smart-assed space.  (At some point he even did the uncharacteristically SAM-like thing of handing me a switch and essentially daring me to use it.  Which I did, to much complaint.)

It was sort of fun, him being that way, but also sort of annoying.  I blindfolded him before I started the bondage, because otherwise he can’t resist watching and making suggestions and it makes me a little bit crazy.  (Bondage can make me kind of insecure and frustrated anyway.)  I had him standing in some open space in my room and I kind of dicked around with him, matching his mood.  (I got his chest harness tied and jerked him around by it, for instance.)

But after a bit, he changed.  At some point he started to kind of freak out.  He kept telling me he was Ok and would be fine, and was fine, but he didn’t seem fine and he couldn’t articulate what was going on.  By this time I had him in a chest harness with part of the rope going between his legs, somewhat tautly, and his hands were bound together. 

I started to talk very gently, and I had him sit on the edge of the bed.  I stroked him and just waited for him to be able to tell me what was wrong.  I’d had him holding his arms together from wrists to elbows, out in front, and the position was making it feel like he couldn’t breathe, and he was afraid to relax it without permission even once I’d tied him.  I told him it was fine to relax and he did.

Then he had a sentence that started with “The rope that’s…” but he couldn’t finish it and seemed panicky.  Eventually he was able to tell me that the way I’d tied his hands was cutting off his circulation, or he feared it was.  Obviously he was really afraid to correct me about it, and had also just gone super headspacy from the bondage itself, which does that to him (which I’d forgotten).

“It’s OK, sweetie,” I said.  “I’ll just retie it.  It’s fine.  Thanks for telling me.”

“OK.  Thanks.  Yeah.  OK.”

So I retied his arms in a more comfortable way, and took the blindfold off.  He started to feel good again but I had him lie down with me for a few minutes to chill.  He was really, really spacy.

When I got around to figuring out what to do with his feet, I had him sit up for a minute so I could see how his parts fit together.  He said, “Mistress, may I ask a favor?” and, when I said yes, asked if I would adjust the crotch rope, which had plenty of slack in the front and none in the back after his change in position.  I did it, then joked like, “That’s what I’m here for…just to serve you and make things better for you however I can.”  (I’m not sure I actually said “serve you” but that was the tone I used.)

He lost it, halfway between tears and fury.  “No, don’t,” he said.  “Please. Don’t!”  And, “I just asked you for a favor.”

I realized what I’d done to him, how it sounded to him (like it had been wrong for him to ask, like he’d been trying to control me), and I felt just terrible.  “I didn’t mean it,” I said.  “I’m so sorry, it’s OK, I didn’t mean it, I really didn’t.”  I just said these things over and over.  I leaned him back onto his back and held his head and just tried to soothe him.  (Memo to self: do not joke sharply with submissive in headspace.)

After a few moments, he sat back up.  I apologized again, saying, “That was careless,” and he said, “I forgive you.  No, I forgive you.”  That’s as serious as it gets, apology-accepting-wise.  (God, what a rollercoaster day. We both sound like utter basketcases.)

In any event, I tied his ankles together the same as I’d done his wrists, and then walked him to the living room for the movie.  I put a blanket over the couch so that once he sat down he could cover himself with it.  He walked like a wind-up toy and it was pretty hilarious. 

Once he was sitting on the couch, I had him draw up his knees (into a comfortable position) and then I tied a new piece of rope to his ankle rope, then to his wrists, then to his collar, leaving some slack.  And then we watched the movie.  He was goofy and headspacy the whole time, which was really fun.

Afterwards, I untied his hands but left his ankles tied together and to his collar, and I walked him back to my room like that.  He had to walk slightly bent over because of the extra rope.  It took a while.

In the bedroom, I untied him (forbidding him to help) and he reveled in his newfound freedom of motion.  We lay in bed together, ostensibly doing aftercare.  I looked into his eyes and was overcome with feelings of intimacy and love.  He asked for another orgasm and I granted it.  

He spent the night.  I had trouble getting to sleep, but started off so happy just to have him nearby.  I know I say “I love him so much” all the damned time, but it’s true.  And after a rollercoaster day like that, it feels even more true than usual.