Even though the idea of it is super terrifying to me, I’d love to go to a play party in this sort of situation one day.
Chantelle Fox – MFH
trust
Two nights ago, something pretty crappy happened with my family. It was totally out of left-field and never something I had imagined would ever happen. I’m still kind of reeling from it, but I’m doing a lot better that I thought I would be, all things considered.
But when I learned about it, I had a pretty massive panic attack. I have anxiety, and this stuff happens, but I’ve never had one this bad. My whole body was shaking, I wasn’t saying the right words. Given the circumstances, it was a “natural” reaction, but it was still incredibly frightening.
I was about to go to bed when I found out and I started texting Sir frantically. He was able to calm me down somewhat, and I was so grateful for him for being so understanding and gentle during the whole thing. It’s one of the reasons I love him so much and why I believe he’s such a keeper.
The next morning, I found out from Pup that he’d tried to get in contact with him. Pup was, understandably, asleep. When I asked Sir about it, he said that because he wasn’t able to care for me in person, he wanted to send someone over who could.
Even my therapist, who is a bit of a non-monogamy skeptic sometimes, was incredibly impressed like this. It shows that Sir trusts his place in my life to the degree that sending over another man to comfort me wouldn’t feel threatening. It shows that he also trusts Pup and me, as well as respecting the dynamic we’re building. It was just this really amazing, really selfless gesture that demonstrated that Sir totally prioritized my feeling safe and comfortable over the hierarchy of our non-monogamy.
In light of all the crap that went down, there’s my silver lining. I realized that our non-monogamy has matured so much in the last year and that we really, really do trust each other.
A year ago, Sir and I tried to have anal. Key word: tried.
Sir had engaged in anal in the past, but I never had. I also had the kind of interest in it that stopped at fantasy. I considered it a soft limit. It wasn’t something I sought out, though every so often I would stop on it in a porn and think “damn.”
I consented to trying it with Sir because I knew how much he liked it and I enjoyed the idea of doing that with him. But, I was really anxious about it. I was worried I would make a mess (I’d heard a few horror stories), I was worried it would hurt, I was worried I would hate it. I also found the invasiveness of it – though super sexy – a little triggering.
We tried an enema one afternoon and I was completely triggered by it. I kicked him out of the bathroom and expelled it on my own, then wound up crying. He took care of me afterwards, but I wound up reacting out of trauma and turning the situation to blame him for “making” me do it. He hadn’t, but I’ve come to recognize these are the kinds of trauma responses I have.
Another time, we tried anal sex and I got so anxious I clenched my sphincter right as he was trying to enter me. Even though he’d made sure to warm me up a lot, it still hurt like crazy because I’d clenched. And, once again, I got super upset and somehow blamed him for making it do that.
Sir was incredibly patient with me, and we had a long talk about why I was being triggered. He held me and promised that he wouldn’t bring the subject up anymore.
But over the past year we’ve both eased into the idea of it, and I’ve also grown to trust him more deeply than I ever thought possible. So, when he came to visit back in August, we tried again.
This time, I relaxed through the enema. He was patient with me. I let him stay in the bathroom with me the whole time and we shared in the pride of how calm I’d stayed.
Even though I was still incredibly anxious about it, I let myself relax and trust that Sir would take care of me. He was experienced in this. He went slow, tried a few positions, and when we finally had a comfortable momentum, I caught myself smiling. “We did it, babe,” I kept saying, getting used to the feeling of him inside me. I was swelling with joy over the fact that this had turned out to be this really amazing bonding experience which I guess isn’t the first thing you think of when you consider anal, but that’s what this was for us.
So what’s the secret to anal sex? I don’t know, I think it’s trust. And probably a lot of lube, too.
“None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust.” – Paolo Coelho, Brida.
“I understood that in this small space of time we had mutually surrendered our loneliness and replaced it with trust.” ― Patti Smith, Just Kids.
I haven’t been totally, genuinely scared in quite a while. When it comes to play, I’m really into fear. I’m into that rush of emotion, that checking of trust, the way the elevated heart rate and squirminess of panic feels a whole lot like arousal. It’s why I love knives. It’s why I love the deep and casual invasiveness of medical play. I just really, really like the space of being terrified.
So, the other day I met one of Sir’s partners on Skype. The two of them had recently been out with each other and I had gotten really anxious in the middle and broke down and called him up. I wasn’t proud of it, but I just get scared.
Basically, she meets a lot of the stuff that I really can’t for Sir. And so my head runs through all these crazy possibilities like, “oh my gosh he’s going to realize that she’s better at this and that and he’s going to be done with me.” I recognize I’ve got a serious fear of abandonment, which naturally goes just peachy with ethical non-monogamy.
But, when Sir and I sat down to talk, I wound up just getting really shy. I was a little embarrassed about having placed the call the other day while they were together and I’m just generally a kind of shy person. So, I kept hiding my face and getting nervous.
For the most part, I was a nervous, shy mess. But, we all kind of flirted a little and, gosh, I don’t know. I think I’d be down for doing something as the three of us. I just need to sort out some of my anxieties and remember that in the same way none of my partners will “replace” any other, the same holds true for Sir.
It’s kind of alarming that even in the face of the logic of my own non-monogamy, I can’t shake that feeling of inadequacy or precariousness in my primary relationship.
Lately, I just want direction. I want someone to just take over and let me take my hands off the wheel for a little while. I know that’s a lot to ask. Too much, probably. It’s unreasonable and I know I wouldn’t be happy. But that makes me feel small and pathetic and needy and demanding and a little incapable.
Overwhelmed, Part Three
Sir and SG returned to the living room. I didn’t look up, staying in the position they’d left me in until Sir grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up until I was holding onto the back of the couch. He pushed down on the small of my back until I dipped my ass out, biting my lip in anticipation of the pain that I knew was about to come.
“She was mocking me the other day that I didn’t get to give her any birthday spanks,” Sir explained and smacked me across the ass with the tawse. I yelped and jumped up a bit before he eased me back into position. “But now that we’re somewhere nice and private, I thought you might like to help."
I looked over my shoulder as Sir grabbed onto the loop between my cuffs to hold my hands out of the way. SG had picked up the riding crop and swung it hard against my ass, as if to gauge my reaction to it. He’s not the sort of guy to use anything besides his hands, but he was clearly enjoying himself. "That sounds like a good idea,” he replied to Sir.
“So we’ll alternate, then,” Sir said, taunting me by tapping the tawse against the top of my ass. Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, Sir set the tawse down and tugged me back by the cuffs on my wrists. He slipped down beside me and slid a pair of nipple clamps into place. I pouted and he put me back into position. “Are you ready, dear?”
“Uh huh,” I replied around the bit gag, already starting to feel drool gather at the corners of my mouth, drawn out by the way my head hung.
The two began to alternate hits, counting as each made contact. Sir mostly stayed on my right buttcheek with the tawse and SG with crop, but a few hits wandered more towards the center. I cried out with each hit – they were getting progressively harder – and I felt my eyes well up with tears, felt drool puddle onto the top of my breasts.
By the twentieth hit, Sir rubbed my shoulder. “Are you ready, baby? Three more.”
“I can’t,” I whined behind the gag. “I can’t, it hurts so much."
I should preface this moment by saying that I have a safeword, and it’s not "I can’t.” Sometimes, I want a push, I want to be reassured that I can continue to take this sort of pain. I want to build that tolerance and get into the endorphins and feel proud of what I’ve taken. And because I’ve been in a relationship with Sir for a year – and been playing with him longer than that – I trust him to know when to push and to draw the line where I just can’t take any more.
“You can,” he reassured, mussing my hair. “Are you ready to keep going?"
I nodded and the two resumed, delivering the final three hits. I collapsed against the couch, whining in the pain glowing across my rear and the dull throb of my clamped nipples. Sir pulled me upright and kissed my temple. I could tell that he was very proud. And I felt so incredibly strong and resilient that I was thrilled with myself.
But Sir was right, he called it. It only got messier:
You said you wanted to be pretty. You said you wanted all the attention. Be careful what you ask for, sweetheart, it may be messier than you expected.
I should mention that Sir and I are starting to explore something new with our dynamic. A few years ago, I used to like being more of a “slave” than a “sub,” but I got burned pretty hard by some people and it drove me away. I got really, really scared about putting that much trust in someone like that again, and so I completely resisted entering into that sort of dynamic again. But, I’ve always craved it and wished I could have it.
A few weeks ago, I admitted this to Sir. I was stressed out and I was craving that release of just serving someone. I kept asking him to just take control and he kept asking me what I meant. The whole time, I was shaking because I was so scared to let myself feel that again. But, I admitted it to him.
I told him about how I wanted to feel more like property, about how cherished that used to make me feel. I admitted I used to let myself get pushed deeper into subspace, that I used to hold off on backing out of beatings just because they started to really hurt, that I used to value obedience and service. But I had my trust betrayed and I completely withdrew and closed off to it.
It’s been a process of me first admitting this to myself, and now admitting it to him. Sir has been so patient and loving and I’m so proud to be owned by him. I have no interest in calling him Master, but we’ve been exploring that new dynamic now. And I get super nervous when we do, but I’m excited. And I’m so, so happy I can start to trust someone that way again.