The next morning came with the horrid realization that this was not a dream. The moment I woke, he stirred on the floor beside me, that’s one of the down sides of submitting to a light sleeper. I struggled to meet his gaze when he looked up to ask if I was ok.
Was I? The truth was I didn’t know how I was feeling. My body ached, I felt physically weak, and my heart was feeling a little numb. I was struggling with just how much I felt for this man, my ever increasing desire to submit to him and what I perceived as his rejection and disgust…..irrational, probably, I’m a Cancer; meaning I pretend to be strong, but once you get passed my hard outer shell, I’m nothing but a pile of emotional goo and irrational worry.
“I’m Fine,” I replied, that ever popular and disturbingly accurate acronym for “Fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional”……yeah that summed it up nicely.
True to form he pushed me for more, and I confessed that I was hurt at his anger towards me. I didn’t understand why he could be so eager to do this the day before, be the one who brought it up and then be so upset with me for asking for it, for asking for more.
An emotion I couldn’t quite name crossed over his face and he stared up at the ceiling. “I wasn’t upset with you, I was upset with myself,” he said quietly after a moment. It took some time but eventually the issues came to the surface.
To the man behind my Dom our play had moved passed the line of acceptable BDSM play, and into the grey area that could be deemed abuse by the outside world. The thought of someone seeing these marks on me and thinking that he was beating me was a huge pill for him to swallow.
For the Dom, it was a thrilling experience that turned him on more than he was prepared for. The battle between these two sides of him, coupled with the obvious pain I experienced, was a lot for him to take in, leading to the events that took place.
That made it easier to understand where he was coming from, it didn’t change much. I asked him what he was thinking when I had locked myself in the bathroom. His response was simple, “I thought, ‘She’s gone. I’ve lost her’.”
When the little light that is his daughter awoke, we started our day. She was thrilled with her video game and pretty much checked out as soon as he let her turn it on. So I slipped away into the bathroom to get dressed.
One of the things that started this whole fiasco was a comment I had made on how his marks, whether bite or strap marks, never seem to stay very long. For some crazy reason my resilient pale skin doesn’t hold a mark. When I turned around to look at my sore backside that morning I was met with a series of the darkest bruises I have ever seen in my life.
These bright purple/red marks out lined the shape of the cane imprint, two for each cheek. I must have spent a good five minutes gently fingering them and admiring their colour and shape. Call me crazy but I get no end of joy seeing the after effects of our play on my body.
The idea that there is a visible mark from him, declaring my body as his, is the most powerful aphrodisiac I have ever encountered. Nothing delights me more, nor does anything scare me quite so much, I’m terrified by how much I want his mark on my body. How willing I am to feel any pain that means I get that coveted mark, it’s insane.
When I finally made my way in to the kitchen, he moved around me like I was a delicate piece of glass. With every glance my way, every softly spoken word, I knew he was worried that one wrong look, one more hurt feeling and I would walk out of his life forever.
I contemplated not telling him, he was so upset by putting the marks on my body, I felt as though he didn’t deserve to ruin the pleasure I felt in seeing them. Then in almost the same moment reality kicked in, I wanted, needed to share this experience with someone. I’m not able to share my relationship with my inner circle, not only is the majority of our vanilla relationship a private matter, the kink side of things is even more hush-hush. If I wanted to share this, I only had one choice.
When his daughter had slipped into the bathroom and I looked across the kitchen at him, he met my gaze and I whispered, “So it turns out I do bruise.” The change in him was instantaneous, his back straightened, his chest puffed out and that fire I adore sparked behind his eyes.
“I want to see,” he told me, just as quietly. My first instinct was to deny him, hurt him the only way I new how, but I knew I would never follow through with it. We talked for a few minutes, I answered his questions about the size and colour, and then he turned to me again.
“I am so hard right now.” Those words confused me more than anything, even though he’d told me more than once that he was turned on by this, I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t get passed that tone in his voice.
I think he could tell I didn’t believe him, so he took my hand and placed it on the front of his pants…..definitely aroused by this conversation. He led the way to his bathroom and standing at the door said, “May I see you in here for a moment.”
With his daughter sufficiently occupied, I followed him in. He ordered me to let him see my ass, and when I bent over his touch was reverent. He stroked and groped me, careful not to be too rough, but knowing that I needed more than a gentle caress.
“I want to do that again,” he told me……silently I knew it would take quite a while before I would ask for his mark again.