Through this entire sequence of events he hadn’t spoken. He was breathing hard from the exertion, but not a single syllable had dropped from his lips. He leaned close and told me to open my legs. In retrospect, telling an already crazed sexual predator who is sitting on you to go fuck himself is probably a bad idea. He slapped me again, hard enough to stun me as blood trickled from my mouth. He used the opportunity to secure the cuffs to the bottom of the couch. The pain was intense as they cut into my wrists. It was pretty much a moot point whether or not I’d have marks on my body.
He tried to force my legs open again. He would slap my thigh then pry, slap my breasts then pry some more. I am pretty strong for a woman. After awhile he used his knee against my ribs, leaning in so I couldn’t breathe, in fear of a fracture. I resisted for as long as I could. In the end he pried me apart, sliding his fingers roughly inside.
After all the rough play I have enjoyed for the last 3 months, I wasn’t terribly surprised I was wet. My body has been trained to respond to a mix of pleasure and pain. He laughed then, telling me that I not only deserved it, but that I wanted it. In some strange way he was right. This was one more in the line of limit testing. Did I have them? That thought gave me pause and I went still again. I floated away, not into blissful subspace, but into a place where I could think logically for a moment.
There are several reasons I chose to do this, none of them good. I had some… recent discussions I am not at liberty to share… with a friend. I’m logical, pragmatic, but I am also human. My body is not my strong suit and I know this. I’m working on it, but it is a slow process. To have someone I truly care about, want in my life tell me that I am not desirable, incompatible with beautiful things… well it sent me into a tailspin. I hadn’t realized it until this moment of clarity.
The question was now what. I was in a bad situation not enjoying myself and, to top everything off, I had to find a way to tell what I had done. It was wholly my fault. I put myself in this situation, allowed myself to be swallowed up by my pride, my desire to be punished. That was what I had wanted, to be punished for being undesirable, for disappointing someone I cared about.
I lay there, still and quiet and let him finish. It was fast now that the fight had gone out of me. I put on my new clothes and left silently into the world again. He hadn’t said a word while I dressed, but as I walked out the door he asked if he could see me again. I got into my car and drove home, silent tears tracing down my face. I didn’t cry for what had happened to me, but for what came next. I had to find a way to tell him and he was never going to forgive me, never going to look at me the same way again.
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