He’s too sick; he won’t fuck me. My back hurts all the time, I still feel dizzy and nausea. But I want sex. Oh, how I crave for it. Since the last couple of weeks have gone by without my total satisfaction I feel even more frustrated. He feels inadequate, because he can’t have sex with me even though he really wants to. It makes us both sad.
It’s not a perfect situation to be in.
I was reading this wonderful post on Exploring surrender and I felt a little twist in my stomach. A very loving and very familiar setting of deepthroating, fucking and ass-fucking leads to orgasms… and after that! What, wait, there’s an after? After that PIC*, Conina’s husband, floggs her.
I felt stupified. I felt recognition. That’s what I need.
And I have asked for it. I remember it now. I’ve asked for it before sex and after sex. Tortuting me, spanking me. But it only ever happens that time, and I feel it happens half-heartedly like it’s a chore he has to get out of the way. I can’t let go and enjoy and surrender, if my Sire is looking bored and just doing out of good will. He has to mean it!
So, I went to him and said these things to him while I lay on top of him on the sofa bed in the other room where he was listening to music.
You need to start learning. Torturing, I say.
I’ve been learning sucking your cock. You have to learn too. Knots and floggers and stuff.
He understands. I’m saying this from a position of strenght. I am not waiting for it to happen now, I am not baiting him to doing anything and I’m not angry or hurt.
I can do that, he says.
I hope he remembers his promise.
Later I was sitting across from him as he ate dinner. My back hurt so much I only felt like vomiting, so I just sat there drinking water.
You should eat something. You’d feel better.
I don’t want to, I say and tears roll into my mouth.
Just a sandwich.
I don’t want anything. Everything makes me want to throw up.
He lets out a deep sigh.
You’re back pain is making me anxious, he says and looks like he’s about to throw in the towel. I feel he’s being unfair. I have hugged him, made tea for him, covered him in blankets and consoled him the whole day, because he’s sick. I can’t have any sympathy? My hurting bakc is immediately too much for him?
I start crying. After a bit I bury my head in my hands. He comes over and caresses my back for a bit and then goes back to eating.
Is this really worth it? he asks. If it will help with having babies?
We both know all these are just side-effects from the hormones. Even some of the broodiness. But not all.
I nod and say yes, and my eyes tear up again. Of course. That’s not even a question. It’s more important than anything else.
He sends me a kiss, but I can’t answer. I just cry. He sends me a new one and now I do answer.
You really should eat something, he says like he’s thinking something.
It’s a common joke in our house. We both get angry and sad pretty quickly, if we don’t get our fill. The dropping bloods sugar levels affect people differently, but we are pretty much the same. I think he was on the right tracks thinking that eating might help some.
I don’t wanna, I say and cry still. The tears just keep rolling onto my cheeks and neck. I’m mocking myself saying it like I’m a little girl fighting her parents.
Would it be better, if I ordered you? he asks and keeps eating his dinner.
I burts into a small laugh and smile through my tears. My pussy pulses. My heart melts. Really? I think. Is this that easy? He seems to be thinking the same.
I order you to eat a sandwich.
He looks at me, smiling a bit like he does, when he’s ordered me. I rise and start making the sandwich. It doesn’t matter how frail I feel my body is. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel like eating. Immediately when he orders me I start to crave for the sandwich. I want to eat it. I want to complete this task. I feel safe and content. I feel passion.
He laughs at me when I eat the sandwich happily and with good appetite.
You just needed someone to order you, he says and smiles.
When I’m done we stand up hugging and he says, pretty wisely, that I probably would never have gotten so blue, if he’d ordered me to do things all day long. My heart beats faster, my body stirs.
I guess so, I answer. I guess I’m like that, I say.
Okay, now. You go to lie down for a while. Surf the internet or do some fun stuff. You can come see how I’m doing after half an hour. Then I’ll give you more orders.
He hugs me and kisses me, and then he tells me, that he’s going to go watch this one program he’s uploaded.
Somehow, that’s the most important thing. He’ll know what I’m doing, because I’m being ordered to do it. But I don’t know what he’ll be doing, and sometimes it creates anxiety in me. For him to give such straight guidelines for what’s going to happen, I feel completely at ease.
But my half an hour is up!
*PIC = person in control