i’m still reeling from the spanking, and have fallen deep into that submissive space where i can no longer think straight, or really think at all. i’m desperately longing for more touch, but i also want desperately to please Sir Martin.
So when he says, “I’ll ask you again. In terms of what you need from this weekend, what do you see as the most important aspects of our interactions? Which parts of my dominance and your submission seems most valuable to you?” i struggle to focus, to find the right words.
“Take your time,” he says. “You don’t get extra points for answering quickly. But give me another flippant, thoughtless answer and I’ll peg your tongue for a while. That’ll slow you down.” i guess i look as horrified as i feel – and i’m not even quite sure what he means, it just sounds awful. He laughs, “Just with a clothes pin, and don’t worry about it now. Just take a minute or two to think before you answer me.”
So i do, because right now i want more than anything to please him. And maybe it’s easier to answer since i’m feeling so submissive, and don’t have all my filters in place.
“i think, Sir, that at home – well, at work – i begin to think that i’m supposed to fix everything. That it’s my responsibility to make everything and everybody ok. i know that’s not true, in my head i know better, but it feels true. So when i come here – when i come here -” and tears well up – “i need to be punished – because – i can’t fix everything.”
i pause, and then i add a harder part, “And i need to be reminded that i CAN’T fix things, not because i’m not trying hard enough to, and not because i’m not good enough, but because i’m just not able to, no one is. And there’s so much pain, so much hurt. When i think about it…” and i choke on the words, a tear running down my face.
i want to crawl up in his lap, i want him to hold me, but he’s just watching me, steadily, kindly even, but just watching. “Tell me the rest,” he says.
i hesitate, i don’t want to, i don’t want to talk about it anymore. But he’s looking at me and my thinking is still kinda fuzzy, and the rest is right there on the tip of my tongue. Open and honest. That’s what he said. Fine. i can do that.
i pull back the tears, i need to be able to talk. “So here’s what happens. There’s so much pain, and so little i can really do, so i start feeling like i can’t do anything, and then i can’t stand that. i start thinking, sure, i can do lots of things, and i start feeling a lot of pride about myself, and then something’ll happen and i realize i can’t do anything, and i feel awful, awful, awful. And then i think, oh, wait, sure, i can do lots of things – and i start getting all – prideful. Full of pride.” i drop my head, i can’t look at him.
“Sometimes, i feel like i’m losing my mind,” i whisper, “cause what really bothers me, when i’m thinking like that, i’m not really thinking about anything except me. It’s like i’m watching myself, judging myself, all the time. And never really being good enough. i need to get out of myself. Forget about me, focus on something – or someone – else. That’s what i need from being here.”
He’s been watching and listening, but i can’t look at him. “i know,” i add, trying to regain control, “i sound pathetic. All dramatic and stuff.” i shrug. “i don’t mean to. It just comes out that way.”
He shakes his head, just once, firmly. “No,” he says, “Not pathetic, not dramatic. You’re describing what happens when your ego takes over, when you’re too overwhelmed to stay fully present. You’re just trying to protect yourself. Protect your heart.” And he smiles, a lovely, warm smile that makes me feel better just looking at him.
“We can work with that,” he says, leaning forward, stroking my cheek with one hand, the other hand brushes my nipple. “I have some ideas.”
That makes me tremble a bit, i raise my eyebrows, “Ideas?”
But he just smiles. Then – “Pain? What role does pain play? I know it turns you on, do you need a lot?”
“No, Sir,” i answer quickly. “i’m not a real ‘pain slut.’ But if you like it, i like to – to show you i can take it,” i drop my eyes, suddenly embarrassed, “You know, take it for you.”
“Good girl,” he says. “I like your desire to please. Let me see,” and he leans forward, grasps both nipples, and squeezes, oh, so hard, so omg, so damn hard, i cry out. He releases them, and “Thank me,” he says.
And i do, my nipples still aching, i say, “Thank you, Sir,” and i mean it.
He smiles, “Good girl,” he says, and, “Now for the third question. We’ve talked about why you need this, and what you need from me. What do you offer me?”
His words feel like a smack in the face – like i’ve been knocked down by a huge wave – like i’m drowning. How can i know what he wants? How can i offer anything, other than my submission, and if that were enough, he wouldn’t be asking me!
i know he didn’t mean to hurt me, even while i can’t breathe, and can’t think, i know he didn’t mean to do this, but all i can think is that i don’t offer anything, i have nothing to offer.
i stutter, “i – nothing, Sir, i don’t have anything to offer you.” And i hope he’ll stop there.
But of course he doesn’t. “That’s not true,” he says, and his voice is cool and i feel like he’s angry. Or disappointed. “Try again,” he says.
Then i think, “oh, of course, i know.” And i smile. Lick my lips. Shift my body a little. “Oh, of course that’s not right,” i say, and i sound sultry, at least to myself. Seductive, even. “My mouth,” i say. “i can please you with my mouth, Sir.” i lick my lips again. “And you know, i can please you with my -” but before i can say it, he says, “Stop.”
And i do, i bite my tongue, but the words are in my head, my pussy, my cunt, my ass, my mouth, that’s what i offer, isn’t it? That’s all i have to offer.