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| poutanaki |
I wasn't expecting play that night, not at all. I had offered myself, in an off the cuff remark a week or so before. I had made it clear I was available, if you were at a loose end… the way I often do. Though you commented that the last time we had been in a play space socially it had seemed different somehow. The dynamic between us had changed, that play hadn't seemed possible somehow.
So I wasn't expecting at all to play with you that night. Well, I never really have expectations of anyone actually, but sometimes I have the hope it might happen. Often with you that's how I feel, I hope you might choose to play with me. Not that night however, even when you teased on the way there, when you suggested there was maybe the slight possibility depending how you felt.
Surprisingly, I was wasn't really in the mood myself that night. I was feeling a bit fed up and unattractive, so I earmarked the night as one for socialising, frivolity and lusting over the burlesque acts.
It was surprising for me then, to find myself sat upstairs, next to a large display of designer cup cakes and a delightful gin bar being beaten by you. I'm not sure how it started, at one point we were two friends chatting and then the air changed between us. Perhaps it was a slap, or perhaps it was that pressure applied on my chest, that pressure point that hurts and bruises so easily, that almost takes my breath away. That horrible pain, that I'm really not sure I like, but endure for you.
However it began, it began… and soon it seemed a tirade of slaps and punches, on my chest and on my face. Though at first I thought it might be one of those fleeting little flirtations we have, where you hurt me a little, before we return to just two friends chatting again. It was when you straddled me that I knew it was more than a momentary game.
I don't remember it step by step or really what order things happened in; but I remember the sharp pain of you squeezing my breasts so hard that my legs licked out, unable to stay on the floor on more than one occasion. The slaps and punches on my chest and on my face. The sharp jabbing horrible pain that lingered.
I remember you resolutely removing my glasses and taking my drink from my frozen hand and putting it on the floor, and me taking a deep breath ready for what was coming.
I remember the moment somewhere near the beginning, when I looked up at you and adored you. When I was so full of gratitude and affection that I wanted to hug you and squeeze you so tight, because what you were giving me was wonderful. The inappropriateness of that impulse and the idea of having that reaction made me giggle silently to myself.
I remember that I wanted to open up to you, like a flower opening to the sun. I wanted the layers to be removed from me, till I was there laid out in front of you, open and willing. I wanted you to see me, to see through me, to know how much I was offering myself to your sadism, offering myself and accepting what ever you wanted to give me.
Every time you touched me, to move my face into the correct place for you hand or your fist to connect, it felt like a caress and I coveted those little soft touches before the pain. It felt in a way like being moulded by you, as you positioned me exactly where you wanted and there was no fight in me, just acceptance.
I remember when my head started to throb so much I couldn't think straight, and I remember the first fat heavy tears that rolled down my cheeks, though I don't quite know what it was in particular that released them.
I didn't actually know that I was aroused till you pointed it out, till you instructed me to rub myself, and then I found that my knickers were sodden. I did as you asked (though it was awkward with you straddling me) while I tried to forget that we were in such a public place. I was actually pleased when I had to stop to allow you to move your punching from my face to in-between my legs.
Not for long though as each blow seemed more painful, and it was a struggle to keep my legs wide as you lined your fist up with that delicate area. I am not sure if it was the last one or not, but the one blow I remember the most, is the one that hurt so much that I cried out despite myself. Your fist hit my cunt and the pain rocked me, it travelled through me and escaped from my mouth.
I'm not sure what was worse, the pain or my embarrassment of that cry, when the room was so quiet and it seemed to echo off every wall. It seemed so loud in my ears and I was mortified at the idea that people had heard that, that people might actually be watching us, me. The idea of making that kind of loud uncontrolled noise again was almost more daunting than experiencing the pain again.
I remember your teeth sinking into my flesh, and both kind and cruel words whispered to me. Your determination to bust my lip, and you grabbing my lips and smushing them between your fingers before punching my mouth again. I remember shared moments of delight, the curl of a smile on my lips and the hint of one on yours. I remember you lining your fist up with my eye as you had done once before some months ago, and I how much I wanted it again (as much as I did then). That there was a desperation to feel your fist connect, I think I craned my neck slightly reaching for it almost and I waited, but it didn't come.
Though more pain did, and then one word that was harder to take than all that pain that had come before it. “Pathetic” that word spat at me made me sob, made be refute it profusely. I tried to hold it in, to accept it as I accepted the blows, but in that moment I desperately needed for you to take it back, I needed to tell you that I wasn't that. I think I must have said it about 10 times, between the tears and the panic.
I remember you telling me that that you had me, that I was safe there in your arms, you told me to breath, and I fought to calm myself, to get my breath, between my declarations that I wasn't pathetic and my insistence that I was fine. I wanted you to know I was alright, I didn't want my hysterics to stop the scene, so I desperately tried to calm myself, though my guilt in reacting the way I did to that one word, just made me more upset and seem less alright I guess.
I think on reflection that one of the things going through my head was that I wanted to take that, take all that you had to give. I wanted to be broken and sobbing, and I wanted to be pathetic, to feel pathetic, if that's what you wanted me to feel, to be totally defeated by you. Part of me wanted you to take me there.
I wanted to be able to agree with you but I couldn't and I was upset with myself that in that moment I couldn't take it, that it was too much for me for whatever reason. I felt I'd failed somehow, in not being able to accept that, that my pride (or whatever it was) had got in the way of what you wanted, of what I wanted.
You pulled me back from that, brought me back slowly, from that panicky, emotional place. It was suddenly like I was back in the room almost, when I was able to focus again, when I was breathing calmly again. You were looking down at me smiling and I was smiling at you through my tears, still insisting that I was fine, and I was fine… more than fine.
Edited Sat 10 Jul 10, 4:16 PM by poutanaki
| 10 Jul 10, 4:50 PM WintersInnocence 2 yrs |
Beautiful. 'One more, one more. Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee And love thee after. One more, and that's the last. So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, But they are cruel tears. This sorrow's heavenly, It strikes where it doth love.' Othello Act 5, scene 2 | ||
| 10 Jul 10, 4:56 PM Dark_Cherry UK(B), 2 yrs     |
Took the words from my mouth. Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain - Mark Twain | ||
| 12 Jul 10, 5:57 PM sparklydolly UK(HU), 2 yrs |
Wow, that was beautiful sparkly x Im a broken doll, You're the puppeteer, Take control for me, And wipe away my fear - Paloma Faith | ||
| 14 Jul 10, 12:17 AM femsup UK(NW), 5 yrs  |
I love your writing so much.Such deep insightfulness into your feelings its breathtaking. |
