Chasing Me Chasing You

An uncollared submissive struggling through depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm.

The Best Worst Case Senario

After reading Kink of the Week and my post about crying, Sir was pretty eager to play. He had been warning me all afternoon that things were going to be rough and I needed to be honest and safeword when I needed to. I was getting that lovely mix of fear and excitement as we got the kids to bed and got my cuffs on.

I really wanted to last a long time for him. So I let him know that having a distraction on tv would help me separate from the pain for awhile. He didn’t want me to go into subspace too soon, so I threw in an action film. Eventually the pain would be too difficult to ignore, but it would help me to take a little more.
He showed me all the toys he wanted to use. To make sure I was prepared. The flogger, paint stick, and paddle were pretty standard. But tonight, he had also brought out the PVC pipe and a belt into the rotation. I am sure my eyes were pretty wide as I climbed up on the bed with a, ‘yes, Sir’.
It wasn’t so bad. I know that that is terrible to say. It hurt, and I welled up pretty quickly. The flogger and the paddle bring on a sort of numbness, but once every couple of smacks a sharp sting got through. He had told me we were going to start slow. So after about ten minutes he flipped me over and started fucking me. I was already really wet, and tears were flowing. Honestly, I was just a tad relieved that he hadn’t started hitting my clit. That is still a huge wall in my head that I have yet to tear down.
I was trying really hard not to come. I knew if I asked he would say no, so I was trying to hold back. Which was harder than one might think. See, Sir and I have been sleeping together for a long time, we know our sexual moods. I can tell when he is trying to hold back, to make it last longer, or when he is getting tired. But when he really lets go I can’t read him. It’s amazing and overwhelming because his lack of control completely dismantles my attempts at control.
So through my haze of focus I hear, “fuck it”. The word ravage does not even begin to describe the next few minutes. After, we are laying there in a sweaty mass and he rolled me over and kissed me. “You have to stop being so sexy, you fucked up my scene.”
“Sorry, Sir.” He knew it was only half-hearted, but I threw as much conviction as I could at it.
“It is ok, I am not really complaining. Next time I will make you cry harder, faster and then fucking you into next week an hour before I intended to won’t seem so bad.”
“Fucking me into next week is never bad.”
He forgave me for my tears and cries being too sexy for his self-control. I would say that I would try and cry uglier next time, but I am not sure that would have the desired effect for him.
Apparently I just cry too sexy. Learn something new every day.

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