Sir and I had a lovely reunion today. We fucked each other silly, cuddled, took a shower, and then I helped him cook. In the kitchen, while I chopped veggies and he chastised me for my improper usage of different knives then showed me how to do it right, we had a long chat. It actually felt like more of a Q&A, in which I grilled him, hoping to figure out exactly what is going on between us. It was a drawn out conversation, but I’ll condense my questions and his answers. Maybe having them in type will help me make sense of what we discussed, because despite hours of conversation, I am still not completely clear on where we stand.
Question: What are you looking for in a partner?
Answer: Someone who is younger, has no kids or no kids under the age of 10, isn’t a party girl (he likes to go out and have a good time but he doesn’t drink or do drugs), and is reasonably fit.*
Question: What about in terms of personality?
Answer: A perfect lady, and a total slut. . .exactly like you.
Question: How would you classify our relationship?
Answer: We are having an affair. (Ouch.) Does it bother you that I said that?
Question: So, you have said you are looking for a life partner, but you are not monogamous, and yet you don’t believe in fucking around…?
Answer: I believe in fucking around as long as it is not behind the person’s back. So with us, if I met someone, I would tell her that I am non-traditional and that I have another girl, and would ask if she’d like to meet you.
Question: What does that mean, “I’m your girl”?
Answer: We are together, but you can’t be my partner because you’re married.
Question: How do you think another woman is going to react to knowing there is already someone in your life who you want to keep?
Answer: Not well.**
Question: So then maybe the two of you would swing?
Answer: Nope. I’m not a swinger.
Question: Am I your submissive? (We had got onto the subject of collaring and how he views it the same as a wedding ring. Therefore, for someone to truly be someone else’s submissive, they would also have to be partners, in his view).
Answer: Sort of. We would be under the category of It’s Complicated.
Question: So what does that mean?
Answer: It means that you are married, so you can never truly be mine. I am also afraid to completely dominate you because of The Incident. I have to have total confidence in my ability to do what I want to you without crossing any lines, and I don’t have that confidence. And honestly, people have gone to jail for taking it too far with a submissive. Every time I am about to dominate you it scares me and I pull back.
Question: Do you think that maybe I’m a little crazy?
Answer: No. You are one of the most sensible girls I’ve met.
Question: Then why do you feel like, if I have given you carte blanche to do what you want to me outside of my hard limits, I would turn around and call the cops? Do you not think I know what I want?
Answer: It’s not about what you want. It’s not about you at all. It’s about trusting myself and knowing I am not going to go too far again. I can’t seem to get past that fear.
Question: You know what they say about facing your fears?
Answer: I just need to get over it. And you need to piss me off, you never do anything wrong.
At this point I picked up a slice of rutabaga and threw it on the floor. He laughed and hugged me and told me it was going to take more than that. Then he promised we would get past it.
So. . .shall I go brat? I really need a spanking!
P.S. For those of you who were concerned about the fact that I wasn’t mentioned on his FetLife profile, he told me today that I am now listed under his relationships–without me even bringing it up or having to ask. Yay.
*He added that none of these are deal breakers if he is in love, but this is what he is looking for.
**I wanted to ask what he would do if he found someone he thought he could make it work with but who wasn’t okay with me being in his life, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Regardless, he says he is not monogamous and will not be, so I guess any woman he is with would have to share him one way or another.
He gathered me in his arms, gave me a gentle kiss, and told me he’d missed me.
I melted against him and squeezed him back. It was probably our first real hug.
He told me to strip, and then positioned the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. He turned on the TV.
“Porn?” I teased.
“No,” he said with a smile, and turned on a jazz music station.
I felt strange.
He told me to lay on my front, and said the fire would warm me up soon. Then he went and heated a bottle of oil.
He gave me a full-body massage, starting with my shoulders and slowly working his way down to my feet. He knew what he was doing. I should have been totally relaxed, but I felt off. I love massages and never get them. I should have been in heaven. But the non-sexual touch, and the jazz music, and him saying he’d missed me, was doing my head in. I wanted to leave.
I think I went there looking for hate sex. I wanted him to pound the rage out of me while I screamed and raked my nails down his back. I needed him to fix what he broke.
I think that’s what he was trying to do–fix it. But instead I just felt lonely and uncomfortable and out of place.
That is, until he started working his fingers over my ass. The non-sexual part of the massage was over. He slid his hand under me and rubbed my pussy, making me gasp. He alternated between teasing my clit with his fingers and grinding his palm against me, until I was moaning and dripping wet. When he slid his fingers inside me, I came almost instantly.
“Roll over and come here,” he said.
I turned on my back, then shimmied down to the edge of the chaise where he was sitting.
I thought he was going to fuck me, but instead, he lowered his head and ran his long, wide tongue over my open pussy. I purred. He continued to rub my pussy with his tongue, then sank it into my opening. I screamed and ground my mound into his face. He licked me out for ages while I writhed, and then rimmed my ass hole with his tongue. I shuddered and gasped as he slid two fingers inside me, then three, pushing against my g-spot. I wondered if he was going to fist me again.
I came twice more, with his tongue in my ass and his fingers in my cunt, and then he walked over and stood beside me. I sucked his cock into my mouth as he rubbed and pinched my nipples, until I orgasmed again, my moaning vibrating along his shaft. Then he straddled me, and shoved his huge, throbbing cock into me.
“You love grinding against my big cock, don’t you?”
“Fuck yes!,” I screamed.
We fucked like two starving people, banging the hell out of each other until we both came, and then he held me for a long time. The weirdness crept in again.
“Stand up,” he commanded. “I want to look at your ass.”
I stood and turned my backside to him.
“You have a world-class ass,” he told me, then grabbed me and turned me around. “The rest of you is great, too. You are so fucking sexy.” He pulled me towards him, causing me to stumble, and started to eat me out again. I moaned and whimpered as he ravaged me with his tongue, then eventually gasped for him to stop because it was too much. He pulled back instantly.
I have more to say on the subject of the two of us, but that will have to wait.
Let’s just say I am happy, and afraid, and confused. And horny.
Even in my own mind, theories abound as to why I did it:
Maybe I am hell-bent on self-destruction.
Maybe I have little-to-no self-worth.
Maybe I so need to be dominated that being taken flipped some kind of switch inside me.
Maybe I am trying to minimize what happened.
Maybe I just needed to feel something–anything.
Maybe it’s all of those reasons. Maybe it’s none of them.
Christians would say I’m depraved, and feminists would say I am re-victimizing myself. Friends would say I am just plain unhinged, misogynists would say that this proves that I wanted it, and therapists everywhere would agree I have issues.
But in the end, the reason is simple: Pleasure is worth more than my dignity, and he is the best fuck I’ve ever had.
I met with him.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I have a deep-seated desire to self-destruct. Maybe it’s because I am a big believer in talking and closure.
I drove to Starbucks without insurance. He would usually pick me up so I wouldn’t have to take that risk, but a not-so-small part of me was afraid he might kill me and bury me in the woods.
We ordered our drinks. I let him pay because I am broke. We took our coffees outside and sat on the concrete edging of a flower bed so that “No one would hear us yelling,” he joked.
“I’m not going to yell,” I said.
“I’m not either.”
I lit a cigarette. I have been trying (and failing) to quit for months now. Shit just keeps piling up. I need my coping mechanism.
“So,” I said.
“So,” he said.
I took a sip of my coffee. Said nothing. Waited.
“Look, he said.” He used my name. “I had no indication that I was crossing a line. You seemed to be enjoying what we were doing. I have no desire to ever hurt anyone–physically or emotionally. That’s not me. If I had any idea that you felt you were being violated, I would have stopped. You came so hard when I had my finger in your ass, I just thought. . .”
I cocked my head to the side. A beat passed between us. “What do you want me to say?,” I asked. “Are you asking me something?”
“No,” he said with conviction. He looked anguished. “I am not asking you anything. But. . .you told me I raped you.”
“That’s how I see it, yes.”
“And I would say, ‘No.’ ” He shook his head.
“I said ‘No.’ A bunch of times.”
“I didn’t hear you. If you did, it was garbled.”
“Well, I was gagged.”
“I’ve been fucked in the ass. I’ve said “no” every time before it happens, because–that’s shit’s gonna hurt at first. But the aftermath is amazing.”
I continued to chain smoke. I was probably on my third cigarette by then.
“If I heard you say ‘no’, I must have thought it was just the heat of the moment. You didn’t kick, or try to move away. You weren’t bound that tight that you couldn’t have made it clear.”
“So it’s my fault?” I asked.
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not saying it’s your fault. . .I’m saying, we should have discussed your limits beforehand. Everyone I’ve ever fucked in the ass before has said no, but it was also discussed and agreed to first. We didn’t do that, and that was a huge, huge. . .huge. . .mistake.”
I nodded. “I agree. We should have talked about it more before you tied me up.”
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
I shrugged. I was (and am) dead inside.
“I’m not okay,” he said. “I am so fucked up over this. I could only stay at work for an hour today. I’m honestly thinking of just quitting sex altogether. I cleared all my contacts and took myself off all the websites. I’m considering just being done, that’s how wrecked I am over this.”
For some reason I felt compelled to apologize. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.”
I shrugged again.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. What could he do?
“Part of me wants you right now, and part of me is terrified. I’m sure you feel the same. Actually, I’m sure all of you is terrified and none of you wants me.”
I smiled sadly. I may have even chuckled.
We talked a bit more about how fucked up we both are. He said he was thinking of joining Sex Addicts Anonymous. I told him I had considered that myself, but was pretty sure I’d just end up sleeping with everyone.
After a few more minutes, he said good-bye. He asked me if I wanted him to drive me home. I told him I’d driven there, and something crossed his face that I couldn’t quite place.
“Do you want a hug?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
He hugged me. I couldn’t bring myself to hug him back. “Are you shaking?” he noticed my tremor.
“I’m cold,” I said.
Pulling away, he looked at me. “Good bye.”
I walked to my car and drove home feeling lighter.
Most people would say that he knew exactly what he was doing. That he wanted to meet me and convince me he hadn’t done anything wrong, to cover his own ass. That of course he would say he didn’t rape me–what man would admit to that?
But I truly believe it was just a very unfortunate situation. He thought we’d agreed to a kind of relationship that I’d never agreed to. He thought I’d trusted him enough to give him complete power over me, when I’d only agreed to sexy play. He thought “No,” meant yes, but to me, “No” means no.
We tend to group people into two categories–murderers and rapists, and the rest of us. But I see the world in shades of grey, and that is where I live my life.
I don’t know if I would ever do this again. Certainly not with him, but maybe not with anyone. Then again, I am not a girl who has ever been good at resisting my vices.
We will see.
I was raped yesterday.
I know that technically that’s what it was, and yet it it so much more complicated than that. Girl friends are angry with me for not going to the police. My Dom asked me if I liked it. Another male friend wanted to know how “serious” it was–did it hurt? Am I traumatized? Were we role-playing?
Here is what happened:
I went to D.F.’s house. He fingered me in the car. He told me to suck him, he fucked me, and then he took off his belt and whipped me over and over again for cancelling our last “date”. It hurt. I whimpered and screamed, but I took it. He finally stopped. He clamped my nipples and told me to get upstairs. I told him I didn’t think I could walk. He said I’d better, or he’d beat me. I hobbled up the stairs, clutching the railing.
He told me to lie down. I did as I was told. He blind-folded me, tied me to the bed posts with my arms and legs in the air, and put a ball-gag in my mouth. I remember the thought “he could kill me” floating through my head. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t, but I wondered what the hell was wrong with me that I was willing to take that risk.
Honestly, what happened in between is a blur. I know I came a LOT. I know I screamed, and not because it hurt. I know I was really uncomfortable being tied up in that position but that I did not complain. The next thing I remember is him sliding a lubed finger inside my ass. I tensed up instantly. He commanded me several times to relax, and I tried to obey. I whimpered but eventually I came, complete with screaming, moaning and squirting.
Then, he asked me if I wanted his “big cock” in my ass. I shook my head frantically, and said “No” around the ball gag. He asked me again, and again I shook my head and said “No.” He told me he knew what he was doing. That he would not hurt me. I said “Please don’t,” “Please stop,” but he didn’t. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over. When he was done, I asked him to untie me.
He said he wanted to fuck me again first. I did not argue. I let him fuck me. I do not know if or when or where he came. He untied me, finally. He took off my blind-fold and took out my gag.
He said “I guess we should have discussed whether your little virgin ass was off-limits. But now you know what ass-play is like, whether you like it or not.”
He kissed me.