Yesterday I was all giddy when Wonderboy came home. We had marvelous sex sunday, the kind where neighbours start to complain when it ends with a bang. Wonderboy’s face ended up dripping with my waterworks, his belly and cock were soaking too, and I was in heaven. (Huh? How’s that possible Bambi, you ask? Read more here.) I thought we finally tamed the beast.
I was at my best behaviour when Wonderboy got home. It’s funny, I really had no plan. I’d just been reading Tom’s old entries and was feeling pretty damn aroused. I found myself grabbing Wonderboy’s ass while he was heating food on the stove (our microwave passed away recently, sigh). I slid my hands in his underwear, groped the wonderfully luscious buttcheaks and made Wonderboy turn around laughing.
Did I forget to tell you that the first thing he did after hugging me when he got home was to take off his clothes? Silly me. That’s what he always does. I like him half-nekkid around the house. He is so damn pretty, and unlike myself, toned and tall and all suntanned. And it was really hot, I mean literally. It’s still 30 C degrees inside our house as I write, and it was the same yesterday.
Wow, you’re really in the mood, aren’t you? I smiled, he smiled and we hugged and kissed.
Will you eat with me? he asked then and started to make the table.
No, but I’ll sit with you, I said and sat on the table to watch him work.
Suddenly I heard myself say Would you like me to do something for you?
Wonderboy looked up from the plate, curious, smiling tentatively. I grinned back. I felt something stir inside me. I was thinking he could make me vacuum, although it’s my turn so it won’t be anything special. He could make me do the dishes. Or make his food for him. I’d already put on the coffee, which I arranged on my afternoon coffee break, and it was burbling so loud it almost made me laugh.
You can make me do things, you know. I’d like that, I said.
Wondeboy nodded, looked around and answered I’m thinking. I did the dishes anyway. Then when he was starting to eat, he commanded in his sexy voice. Give me the salt. I jumped to it from my seat which is farther away from the side table, and so of the salt, than his. It was the first time ever he has (ever!) not suggested but demanded something of me. Even in bed, even in the heat of the moment, he always manages to be super polite and nice. It would be nice if you’d take it in your throat. I’d like it if you fingered me back there. Please, be more gentle. So it was a huge difference, and suddenly, completely sexual just to hear him say those words. Oh my God, I’m a service sub, too! I thought bewildered. How can this make me so hot?
We were both laughing, but when he had eaten and got up I could see his teeny tiny sexy briefs (that are just old and too tiny for his now trained butt) straining to hold his hard cock inside. It was all vertical, because it couldn’t fit in otherwise. It was the moment of truth. I guess, he was kind of embarrassed for not being able to hide his wood. But I was excited, too. I told him that. So, he went to bed and told me to close the binds, get him coffee and come back. I sat on the foot of the bed waiting for him to finish the coffee.
He was looking at me differently, but still smiling. Take off my pants, he said and I did. Lick me a bit. And I did.
That’s where the hot part ends. I don’t know what happened, but when we tried to get it going, it didn’t.
It was hard. It was smothering. We tried to have sex two more times before we finally gave up.
It was just too frightening to try anything new. I needed more kissing, caressing, closeness. The things I thought I didn’t need. And he was all too worried about holding the world on his shoulders, like Apollo, all alone. He couldn’t detach his hands, even for a moment, or otherwise the whole world would come down.
I told him that he doesn’t need to take the responsibility alone.
I told him I love him.
I told him there can really be no mistake or wrong in sex, so it can never be his fault.
I told him I wouldn’t fall, I wouldn’t betray him by seeming okay but secretly being scared and uncertain. And that’s the promise I have a hard time keeping. I did have a breakthrough. I said things don’t feel okay when he was fucking me. I admitted that we have to stop. I admitted that we probably should just cuddle. But. (There always seems to be a but, doesn’t there?) When it came time to talk about the emotions behind what had gone down, Wonderboy had to spesifically ask me in order to get any idea how I was feeling.
Just imagine him on top of me. I am silently looking at him, not saying anything, not even nodding. Just imagine what’s going through his mind when he has penetrated me violently, fucked me, made me suck him, and suddenly notices that I am all silent and flat. He stops thrusting. After a while he takes his cock out and puts his hands around me in a more caressing way. This is the way it always goes.
Does this feel good?
It doesn’t! Does it hurt?
Am I doing something wrong?
Should I be doing something else?
Are you okay?
You’re not okay! Are you sad?
Is it about the baby? Something probably changes in my expression because he continues.
Are you afraid that you’ll get pregnant if I come inside you? I shake my head.
Are you afraid that it will happen again? I nod.
Are you scared about that? I nod and my eyes fill with tears.
Do you just want to be like this? He tightens his hug and puts his head against mine. I nod.
And not do anything else? I nod.
And that’s it. Way to go. I said this doesn’t feel right somehow and thus we stopped having sex, but after that I could not bring myself to do any self-reflection at all. I used all my superpowers to stop the sex. It was a first for me, so maybe, just maybe, you can be a little emphatetic. How scary it is to not know what you want, and to be aware of you own emotions, changing by the minute. It’s not his responsibility to take care of me as well, but he’s effectively doing it. I’m trying so hard but he’s still doing it all by himself.
It’s a huge deal to be responsible for someone else’s body and soul. It’s hard to enjoy the service, to find the right way to handle the submissive’s ever changing emotions. If I am fighting within myself wanting to do these things and then resenting myself for it, resenting him if it doesn’t go right. He always gets the shit end of the stick. When it doesn’t fly, he’s always responsible for it because he made me do it. Even if it’s in pretend. No wonder he feels I blame him, and doesn’t have the courage to play like he wished to. The bets are too high.
I want to change that. But how?