Disclaimer: This post mentions topics involving sexual activity and consensual sexual violence. Not suitable for individuals under eighteen years of age. Reader discretion is advised.
Contains some strong language.
Last Night passed off without a hitch. Even if James was a little late because of a ‘Kill The Bill’ protest in town, we had a wonderful evening nonetheless. We talked about loss, about politics, about vaccines, about robot vacuums and more. James, it seems, is the political left side of central, just like I am. I’d always had him down as being much more liberal than me, and yet James too, it seems, has a loathing for wokeism and the cancel culture. Following his spate of cancellations, my respect for James had dropped somewhat. After last night though, it shot back up.
I opted for a simple navy blue floral top, black trousers and my flip flops. Navy blue, the colour my Sir likes to see me in, with a printed white flower pattern – it was appropriate for a social situation. I also set it off with a pair of crystal earstuds, which Matt didn’t notice until afterwards, are actually shaped like snowflakes.
“Not appropriate for this time of year, Mrs S” he teased.
“I know, but they’re so small that it doesn’t notice. Plus, if you squint a bit, they sort of look like daisies” I grinned. It was a great cover story, but if he’s onto me, then I should probably invest in something which is perhaps a little less seasonal. I’ll get away with it this once, but I doubt I’ll get away with it again. For someone who is as blind as a bat, he’s astonishingly observant.
To be honest, I’d forgotten until last night how much I liked hanging out with ‘my boys’. The Henleaze Crew, as my mother knew them, because of the bit of Bristol that they’re from. I was warned not to hang around them, not to be alone with them or do anything with them in case they harmed me in any way. James and I have laid carpet together while Matt was at work and yet still, absolutely nothing happened. Okay, so James did actually touch me once – he hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek one New Year’s Eve. I know, isn’t he just the worst?
James ordered in a couple of pizzas and we watched the Ukraine – England game. We only scored one goal in the first half, and three in the second. Words were very obviously had at half-time.
“I reckon Southgate took his belt off at half-time” I joked. Almost immediately, James picked up on the joke and followed up on it, pretending to thrash invisible players with an imaginary belt. Ahh yes, there was a reason he was our best man.
James has been to Ukraine, and we have tried Ukrainian snacks. Not only did we talk football, but we talked Ukraine, too. More than Ukraine, we talked food, we talked culture and palettes. James, like myself, detests raw tomatoes and food so spicy, you can’t even taste it. Maybe I’m not so strange!
“Go on then, James, if you could pick any cuisine, what would it be?” I asked. For someone so well travelled, James must have some interesting preferences.
“Indian” came the reply, with absolutely no question. My, my – he is a man after my own!
“What’s your go-to dish then, mate?” Matt added.
“I do like a biryani” James said. I nodded approvingly, it was a good call.
I made a mental note to invite James for a curry night sometime, though I’m not sure how we’d work out the logistics, or how I’d get around a curry night with company without slipping into subpace unintentionally. I’m so used to a chicken rojan josh ahead of playtime on Kinky Fuckery Friday and as of yet, James still doesn’t know what we do. I wanted to tell him about my blog, I’m just undecided what to tell him, or when it the right time. Advocacy is one thing, coming out is quite another!
We woke late on Sunday morning with the warm morning sun streaming in through the curtains. In a way, I already knew what Matt would want from the morning – he wasn’t working, we had no plans and no visitors to prepare for. There was only one way that scenario ever ends!
I’m not sure why, but early morning sex always seems to bring out the kinky side of us. Well, the rougher sex side of us, anyway, perhaps not kinky so much. Perhaps it’s the room being light, perhaps it’s the sound of the world outside or the fact hat we should be doing nice, normal, civilised things. Whatever it is, something ramps up our drive.
“Do you want to come?” Matt asked. Really? So courteous. He wasn’t strictly asking though. From his body language, I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
Feeling his breath against my sex was enough to make me forget how to breathe for myself. He drove me insane, closer, then further away, closer, then away. What the hell was he playing at? What even has he been reading?!
Whatever it was, I’d had enough.
“No, stop” I commanded, I could feel the tears of frustration and confusion prickling my eyes, “I can’t, I can’t” I whispered.
I curled into a ball for a while and rested – confused, emotional, frustrated and aroused. Why? Why did he? What did I do wrong?
Why had he felt the need to punish me?
Once again, unbeknown to myself, I fell asleep. I awoke again, disturbed and anxious, just as confused as I had been before. By now, Matt had moved over to me so that we could talk.
“I just don’t get why” I said softly, “why would you do that? You know that I don’t like it. I didn’t that first time, and I don’t like it now.”
“I’m sorry” he replied, “I was going to let you.”
“When?” I challenged, When, exactly? He was going to let me five or six times, and then he wasn’t. So when? Orgasm control doesn’t work with me. Four or five times and my brain just switches off and thinks of something else to do. Yes, I stay frustrated, but my mind stops looking forward to a sweet release because it realises that it’s probably not going to get it.
“Now” he said, referring back to what we had been doing only moments before.
“No, not now” I said wryly, “we’re talking. But thanks anyway.”
We spent some time apart, both thinking, perhaps, about the what’s and whys. For my part, I wondered again if I could even be into BDSM after all. Could kink without punishment be a thing?
“I don’t consent to punishments” I whispered into the emptiness, That was my truth. If I’ve fucked up, talk to me, let’s sort shit out like adults. If I fuck up, I beat myself up so much that I don’t need punishment. I’m more than capable of punishing myself for upsetting someone – trust me!
“Funishments? Yes. Punishments? No.”
Maybe that was the other part of it – I like to laugh, I like to joke and not take life too seriously, and I like to be around warm people with an infectious sense of humour, too. If a partner were to start punishing me, rather than just a bit of funishment as part of a scene or whatever, then it’s probably going to damage that relationship. I love impact play and bondage as an ‘in the moment’ thing, I love a bit of silliness for a moment of silliness as well, but if it’s for every rule broken and misdemeanour performed, then we’re going to have a problem. To me personally, it may work for a short-term arrangement but it’s unrealistic for the long-term. To make a go of BDSM (or any relationship, for that!), you absolutely do need to have a sense of humour, and I certainly couldn’t live without mine. Even in a scene, when I really, really should behave, if my mind has something sarcastic to say, well… 😉