Expectations

I’m not always sure what to expect when I go over to W’s. Even when I ask for something, I don’t know what that something is going to look like, because even if I have asked for something specific, the how of it is up to him, and how we will interact, where our headspace and energies will take us, is always an unknown until we are in the midst of it. It occurred to me, as well, this last time, that I don’t always share the “why” of it with him, either, but that “why” colors how I feel and react in a scene, and thus, because what we do is so fluid, based on the energies that flow between us, it affects and molds our scenes as well.

I’m coming into my own as a bottom. It’s taken me a while to feel comfortable communicating what I want. I’ve outgrown (or overcome), for the most part, the feeling that I shouldn’t ask for what I need in terms of play. When, how much, type–I often ask for that now, and have been gratified to find those needs met.  Early on, still steeped in the D/s mindset, still believing that everything had to be his idea, up to him, driven by him, I could not bring myself to ask for a certain kind of play, or even play at all. But as my relationship with W has grown, as I have grown into myself in this relationship, I have come to realize that he wants and expects to me to be an active participant in getting my needs met. Obtaining satisfaction, getting those needs met, are my responsibility, and communicating what I want/need is part of that.

Whether or not, and how, he will satisfy those needs, is up to him.

So when I asked if we could play, when I said I wanted something “hard,” he knew that I wanted to be physically challenged.  What he couldn’t know was where my head was at. Why I wanted it.  I knew, subconsciously, what I was after.  And maybe in the front of my mind I knew it too, just a little, though I didn’t let it blossom fully in my mind. I wanted to go there as unencumbered by expectations as possible.

And so I went, and he proceeded to place me in a physically demanding bondage position, one that challenged my balance by placing me in the predicament of causing myself discomfort or trying to balance against the pull of the ropes precariously.

What I thought I wanted was to slip into that easy headspace of submission. Yes, I am a bottom, I ask for and get what I want/need in a scene, but there is also a deep core of submission in what I do with W, in my dynamic with W, and oftentimes, having come to this space because of my needs, what I find I need most is simply to submit to his wants and desires. To place myself at his disposal: to submit to him.

Instead, that day, I found myself fighting him.  Fighting submitting to him.

I fought the ropes. I fought the fall into submission. I fought the position and even his hand when he would have given me pleasure (though it was such an untenable physical position that I couldn’t have let go enough to feel more than marginally aroused anyway.)  But I realized, in that moment, that I hadn’t come there for arousal. I came to be subjugated. I came to be have my submission forced from me.  Taken.

Every moment was a trial. I gave in physically, I stayed as he put me, I endured the eventual caning, because I couldn’t do anything but endure it. I was tied, so I couldn’t actually, physically fight him, but inside I was fighting, snarling, resisting with everything I had.

When he finally brought me down, I was as exhausted from the internal struggle as I was from the physical. But I hadn’t submitted, not yet.  I hadn’t given in. There was still that core of resistance in me. I felt it, even as I curled on the floor, on my knees but with my legs still held open by the ropes on my ankles, with my wrists still bound in front of me. Even as I lay there in the age-old position of supplication, I wasn’t beaten, not yet.

He grabbed me suddenly by the hair, and, sitting on a stool in front of me, forced my head up and then his cock into my mouth.  His hand was hard, immovable on the back of my head.  I fought him, even then, struggling to breathe, to pull away, but he held my head down on him, shoving  his cock deeper into my mouth as it swelled huge in my throat, choking me; all the while caning me.  I gasped and gagged, and then, finally, finally, something hard inside of me broke.  I opened myself to him, my mouth, my throat, my self. Whatever that hard, resistant thing was inside of me was released.  I felt loose and free.

Later, I looked up at him from my position at his feet, a place that, for awhile, felt absolutely, perfectly right, and smiled.

I don’t always know what to expect when I go to W’s, but somehow, I always get what I need.

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