Month: March 2017
Crying isn’t a safe word.
StandardThis still surprises me. I know it shouldn’t. I don’t cry easily, apart from when I’m submitting when I seem to burst into tears at the slightest disappointment (something to do with vulnerability, I guess?), but the result is when I do cry outside of kink situations, people jump to console me.
When I cry in scene, he strokes my cheek, tells me I’m hot, and continues to be a cruel bastard. I should be used to this by now but it shocks me anew every time.
There was a moment yesterday when I thought, rather hopefully, that my tears might move him to relent, to be kinder. They didn’t, of course. I got a little cuddle, but no reprieve. And I found, along with the insulted surprise, I was hit by a massive wave of relief. Isn’t it nice to be able to cry but not ruin everything? Isn’t it nice that when even my brain is struggling to accept what I want, to the extent that I’m throwing a tantrum, he still knows?
At first it starts as a partnership, both of us on a quest to tease your little clit to the edge.
Pause.
Then back as the urge subsides. But soon we reach the point where you’d normally make yourself cum. Your limit reached. That’s when your hand pulls away. Our partnership ended. It’s still what you want at this point, or at least what you can endure.
But soon, even that stage passes. And yet the edging continues. This is where I like to play. I sense the shift in your body, and your mind. You’re actively trying to cum. The urge to cum shifting from a want to a need.
And yet, the methodical circling of your clit continues. Only now I add my tongue. And start to probe inside your slick and swollen walls.
You become too squirmy. Restraints are needed.
Then we continue our dance. There’s no end in sight. I wait for you to give in and accept that. It won’t be long now.
