Talking to Me!

It happened last weekend.

I'm not sure of the context now. Before or after the spanking that usually serves as "foreplay" between He and I. Probably after. Most likely after.

I was caught by surprise, actually. There isn't usually anytime for me to "get ready" for sex. We usually go directly from spanking to fucking -- ready or not. Spanking gets Him hard, so... The reality of the journey that I've made in the last two years is that I've simply stopped expecting much from sex. If I "get to" an orgasm, then no one is more surprise than I am, but the constant chasing after it wasn't accomplishing anything other than making me feel increasingly frustrated and inadequate. So, my approach is that, when He's ready, we go for it. Getting me ready, if we were to actually try to do that, is a long, dragged-out, "no guarantees" process, and the level of patience that is required is beyond what is reasonable to expect from anyone.

When I masturbate (and I do -- because they didn't manage to remove my libido), using my vibrator, it is almost always in the darkest hours of the middle of the night, long after He has dropped off into sleep, and I can be assured of extended stretches of uninterrupted time (assuming I can stay awake). It is then that I am able to slowly conjure the stories in my own head that will help me reach the place of physical release. Very rarely are my few remaining "girly" bits going to respond to pure physical stimuli if my head isn't along for the ride.

But...

Last weekend, for whatever reason, He decided to try and "do something that would be good" for me. That is always a little "iffy" in the beginning.

The whole idea puts me into a dither almost immediately. It sets me up with instant performance anxiety -- I know how hard it is to "start my motor," and so I know going in what sort of investment in time and energy the whole business takes. I worry, right from the start, that I'm going to take too long, and just frustrate Him before we ever get anyplace.

AND, He always wants me to tell Him what to do while He's poking around with my girly bits -- draw Him a roadmap to the secret launch button or something. "What's going to be good for you?" He'll ask me. I don't know. That's the honest truth. If I were doing it myself, I'd have to follow the sensations very, very carefully and quietly, holding my breath the whole time, hoping I didn't somehow lose the trail, trying not to try too hard, and knowing that at any moment, it could all just vanish and be gone like a dream. It takes an odd sort of sideways concentration that doesn't really look too closely at the target, but can't afford to get distracted either. It isn't the sort of thing that is enhanced by attempting to provide directions in the midst of the whole affair.

He gets frustrated with me, and I end up feeling like a complete freak.

But this followed a different path. Somehow, I managed to find my focus on the sensations His fingers were creating, and was able to still my rising panic enough to just go with what He was choosing to do. And, for whatever reason, instead of asking me what He should do, He began to talk about what He wanted to do with me and to me. He spoke low about wanting to take me over His knee and blister me, while I squirmed and cried and begged. He talked of sending me to the corner with the rubber punishment strap to contemplate how much it would hurt landing over and over on my already bruised and burning bottom, until I was ready to come to Him and ask for the strapping that He would give me. He mused about how rainy our weather has been, and wondered if the spring wouldn't bring a particularly plentiful crop of switches; saying that it would be good to keep me switched on a regular basis.

At first, I wanted to contradict the images He was creating. After all, I had not done anything to warrant such harsh beatings... I'd been "good..." But somehow, the words caught me, and I didn't fuss at Him. I simply let myself fall into the stories He was telling me -- stories like I might have told myself in the dark, lonely, silence of the night. I relaxed into His embrace, followed His words and His voice, let His strong hands work their magic, and began to rise to the heat that He was creating.

This time, when we came together to make love, I was more than ready to follow the trail on which He had set me travelling.



There is power in words for me. The stories, the ideas, the images that the words can create can help to bring the rest of my being along on the journey. I weave words into stories in my own questing mind, and, when He ever so rarely, gives me the gift of words, He can carry me along to just about anywhere.


swan