I needed… something.
I felt as if I had been through a lot lately. Nothing traumatic… but definitely emotionally draining when all stacked together. Stress from work and school were building, some personal stuff was swirling around a bit too much for my taste, and I felt a little disconnected from Deviant. I had traveled from one side of the country to the other and back again, and generally found myself busier than usual. I felt pulled, pushed, pressed, and scattered. It had a profound impact on my balance or, rather, lack thereof.
I hadn’t had as much download time with him as I had gotten used to, and it had been even longer since a subspace-inducing play session. I wasn’t complaining (though I am sure there were times I may have brushed against that line - cringe), because no matter what the situation or environment when I spend time with Deviant, we connect well and we get what we need from that moment; no one does it like Deviant.
Because I did feel like I needed something, something heavy, and I needed it from him, I asked for it.
He told me I would be punished… but not to the extent I would need the perfidious “punishment panties” again. Thank gods. I hate that red pile of thread; those panties, once so hot and fun, now meant only pain, shame, darkness. Even the word “punishment” – on its own – when coming from Deviant makes me shudder because my first thought is of that unwanted underwear.
Even with the caveat that they were not required for our session, I couldn’t get the image of the panties and what they put me through out of my head. It definitely had an effect on my headspace going into our session.
It all started a week before. I was out enjoying a mid-week happy hour with a girlfriend. The bartender liked us and our personal happy hour extended far past what other patrons were offered. We had such a good time, in fact, that I ended up taking her home to my apartment because there was no way she could drive home. (No, don’t ask. As much as the innuendo sounds good, we did not. Settled? Good.)
I was early. The grey weather persisted and subsequent influx of bad drivers to the Las Vegas valley had me worried about traffic and road safety. I left my house about 30 minutes earlier than normal and still arrived only 15 minutes early. His wife greeted me at the door and after chatting for a few minutes offered me a drink and said that Deviant requested I wait for him in the play room. I declined the beverage and headed upstairs.
Already waiting on the dresser were the requisite blue and orange plastic cups with ice water. I also noticed a switch on the floor, the Hitachi, and a few other items out of place. I lit the candles and put the toys away, then sat on the stool by the dressers. I waited, hands folded, listening to the shower down the hall and looking around the room. I always feel so cocooned there, so shielded, so protected. Odd? Maybe, considering I was there to be dominated physically and mentally, consensually injured. But I also know I am safe.
This session was not planned as much as it was… needed. My head was in a fog, I was a bit jumbled, and I was letting things bother me that did not deserve that kind of time. In truth, it was a mess of small things mostly, but between the mindfuck, the heartbreaking community service, some confusing inner monologues and a little inherent holiday sadness, it was all precariously unbalanced in my head and in my heart… I just needed some perspective, a little ego stroke, and a reminder that I was amazing, I could handle it all and then some, and I could take whatever it was that was thrown at me…. with a smile and maybe some glitter.
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“Mornin’.” He sends her a message.
“It is, yes,” she replies. “I need to resched if you’ll allow.”
“Aaahhh, no way. Really? :(“
She feels badly. She knows he had plans for her. Devious, painful plans about which he was very excited.
She also knew he had been working hard to put it all together. And now, on top of everything else, she was disappointing him.
“Yeah, I am sorry. I am not in the right mind for play tonight. I wish I had a better statement, but I always promise honesty.”
“What does that mean? Explain.”
She wonders if she can explain. She’s not even sure of her own understanding of what is going on. It was new but it wasn’t. It had been… how long? She’d been going through this, in degrees, for quite some time.
She had been bouyed up and then crash-landed so many times she was not just a little surprised at how hard this was. Even more frustrating, she was giving it – giving him – power over her through her own, self-imposed emotional turmoil.
How do you tell someone this? How do you explain all of this to someone who is in an amazing relationship of his own and how can you think they can begin to understand? How do you admit, when you are strong and intelligent and vibrant, that you feel weak, vulnerable and dulled?
“I am in a bad mood, I am tired, I am heartbroken, I feel abandoned and abused by someone who was supposed to love me. I know it’s not your issue, but it’s mine and I won’t be in the right headspace to be a good partner.”
She wondered if he would consider this too dramatic. He doesn’t like drama (who does? she wonders) and while this isn’t dramatic or over the top, it’s not his pain, it’s not his experience, and it’s not his problem.
He didn’t make her wait long for a response. “And I told you I’d be there for you and this sounds like a perfect opportunity for us to build trust. I think you should still come over and we can modify my plan a bit. Sound okay?”
“I just don’t think I can handle it. I am not trying to be an ass, and I hate breaking plans.”
He persisted. “And do you think if you couldn’t handle it and you fell apart on me – crying or whatever – that that’s not a good thing? I mean, it’s what we were after in the first place.”