Disclaimer: This post mentions topics involving consensual sexual violence. Not suitable for individuals under eighteen years of age. Reader discretion is advised.
I fought with the Perspex sheet, trying my hardest to stick the tiny suckers to the sides of the aquarium and divide my stressed out, pregnant female from the excitable males. I didn’t want her having a feast on my two-week old fry once she went into labour, but the boys weren’t being too kind to her, either. The £13 “aquarium divider” was the best that I could do under the circumstances.
“Right. Now fit down the sides, you little buggers” I sighed. The fish had been giving me the run around almost all afternoon.
I checked the time, 18:50. Wolfie would be finishing soon and his headset hadn’t rung in more than fifteen minutes. We were meant to play but I was ambivalent. After the fish tank fight, I was pretty tired.
“I love how at ten to on a Friday, that’s it, nobody calls you”. It was a casual observation. Everyone was keen to finish their work early on a Friday, including him.
“If you jinx me, I’m going to find something to jam up your ass” he warned, slamming a clenched fist against his palm for emphasis, “right up there” he warned.
“No Daddy! I’m just saying…”
18:58, his headset rang.
“Good evening! Matt speaking, how may I help you?”
Oh shit, he’s pissed. REALLY fucking pissed.
“Right, that’s it…” he warned when he finally finished with his call. I was still watching the fish, something, anything to take my mind off, anything to distract myself from what might be.
Anal play, I don’t like anal play, I don’t want anal play. Anal play is like… a two. Think girl, you did a bit in business negotiations. Surely you can negotiate your way out of this?
Worth a try.
Phase one began with simply not reminding him, don’t mention it. don’t say anything, just act cool and casual. Order dinner, eat dinner, keep it simple.
“Lemon mousse for you” I said airily, placing the pot down in front of him. “I do like how these turned out, velvety, lemony and fluffy. Almost better than the cheesecake.”
“Mmhmm, not bad” he acknowledged, scraping the sides of the pot. Shit, he knows my game.
Time for phase two.
“Hmm, sleepy” I murmured, picking up the sofa cushion and snuggling it against my cheek.
“No, playtime soon, Kitten.”
“Sleepy, Daddy” I tried again. It was time to really pull out all of the stops. Try cute, initiate cute.
“Stop being cute” he warned, I sighed. Figured that one out too, huh?
“Come on, come and see what I’ve done in the bedroom” he said, pulling the cushion from me and pulling me to my feet.
“Oh yeah, looks nice. Good job!” I said, acknowledging the red lighting and the tealight candles whilst trying to keep my footing in our lounge. No matter how much you woo me, you are not getting near my butt!
“Where do you think you’re going? Get in here, Daddy’s going to have some fun with you” he purred, pulling on my wrist. I squeaked as I lost my footing and stumbled into the bedroom. I sat on the bed and watched him. Down, but not out. Not yet.
Suddenly I saw it, in all it’s translucent purple glory, stood upright on the bedstand. My lack of confidence gave me away and I gasped.
“Seen something, kitten?” he smirked. Oh, where had he gone? He, the nice call centre man that existed only a few hours before? I missed him right now.
“The.. the thing” I stammered.
“The thing has a name, Kitten. What’s it called?”
I whimpered softly, “the butt plug, Sir”.
“And what’s wrong with it?”
Ah ha! My one given chance to make a logical argument.
“Well, Sir, with all due respect, your kitten is full of curry,” good so far, atta girl, “it would be ill-advised. Unless of course you want to try something that we’ve never done before” I grinned, quickly stopping myself to swallow my pride.
He stopped to consider me for a moment, “fine, you make a valid argument”.
Hallelujah! I saved my own ass- quite literally!
“But watch that little mouth of yours, it’s going to get you into trouble.”
Another gasp, “yes, Sir.”
The purple cone of degradation never did see it’s use, but with me bound and blindfolded at his leisure, the pinwheel, scratcher and floggers came out for his amusement, and even his belt served a stint. For a while, the butt plug started to feel like a bit of a bargain.
As the leather strap of his belt bit against my thigh for however many times it had now been, I grimaced through gritted teeth and sighed as I gave in. The strokes blended and I lost myself in warmth and sensation,
This is bliss.
My Sir calls me a “Sammie”, or His Sammie, his Smart Assed Masochist. He enjoys torturing me, and I enjoy suffering for him. He doesn’t cut me, but he does belt me and flog me and make my flesh all kinds patches and stripes of pinky red. I backchat, I feel, I suffer, I laugh, suffer more, then fuck and sleep. The next day, I’m back at backchatting and tormenting again, rinse and repeat.
“Jesus H. Christ! You’ve got that fucking thing again! Go away with that, you cheesy pinwheeled freak!”, he laughed as he dragged the pinwheel and scratcher in unison across my flesh. One was sharp, but the other was sharper.
“Cheesy pinwheeled freak? Oh wow, that’s it now. I’m going to have to go away and revaluate my life choices, you’ve completely unnerved me.” he teased.
I suffered for him into the early hours, until our session came to a natural end and we made love by candlelight. We discarded the props and allowed ourselves to simply be together. The kinky fuckery is great, but we often find these days that they are not always inclusive of one another. We enjoy playing together and we enjoy playing rough, but as the moon sets and the sun comes back up, we really are just like any other couple.