Tipping point

A warning: this is long.

I've spent the last few days in a quandary. We've talked a lot, had wonderful conversations, he's been generally fantastic, and we've had lots of different kinds of amazing sex. But still, some things he's said had left niggling doubts in my mind, even if he'd never intended them to. I've written several posts and not posted them, about the nature of D/s, about my lack of willingness to continue on like this, and about the things we've done. I could never get up the nerve to share. I'm going to share this one.

I took the loudest toys - the floggers, the belt, the paddle. I put them away. It wasn't a random act, but the result of several of the conversations we'd had, none of which led directly to this place, but I was beginning to feel worse and worse about leading him to do the things he does to me based on offhanded comments he's made. One of the posts I haven't posted was even titled "Done."

This was apparently a bad, bad idea. I should have talked to him about it, I know. But I was too humiliated to have the "I know you don't get off on this" conversation, and I thought I'd do it the next day. Of course, it didn't occur to me that he might want those things more immediately. We'd made amazing love the night before, it was beautiful, perfect; I actually said "I never want this to end" during it. So I thought he probably wouldn't need them this night. I was wrong.

Response time is now immediate

"Kiss me."

Silence.

"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said kiss me."

Silence.

He took my face, turned it toward him, kissed me. I responded reluctantly. Too much thinking on my part about what he really wants leads to these situations. I worry too much about what he really wants and fail to respond to what he's actually asking for.

"Who do you think you are anyway? What are you thinking?"

"Should I kiss him?"

"And what did you decide?"

"I hadn't decided yet."

"I see. I think you've forgotten who's in charge here." He went rummaging for toys, then told me to turn over.

"Nuh-uh."

"Turn over!" he shoved me over. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Because you were in the drawer with the hurty things."

"Aha, but would I hurt you for no reason?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Well, I might. But is it likely that I would hurt you for no reason?"

"No."

"Okay, good. So then why do you think I'm going to hurt you now?"

"Because I didn't kiss you."

"Aha. There you go. You just decided not to kiss me."

"I did not! I hadn't decided yet."

"But you don't get to decide. There's no 'thinking about' kissing me. When I say kiss me, you kiss me." He rubbed my ass with the edge of the paddle as he spoke. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

He struck me. "Good." He hit me several times with the paddle, then "How does that feel?" When I didn't respond immediately he repeated himself sharply.

"It.. it stings."

"But you don't seem particularly afraid of it."

"No."

He put it down then, and the long heavy flogger hit me then. "How about this? Does it 'sting' too?"

Attention

I wasn't paying enough attention.

In my defense, he didn't tell me to put the book down.

To be honest, I thought if I tried hard enough to be non responsive that he'd give up and go away - while also secretly hoping that he'd persevere, notice, and not go away at all. The strange thing is that I want both of those things simultaneously. If the first outcome occurs, I'm justified in having behaved the way I did in the first place since he clearly wasn't that interested after all, and if the second outcome occurs, I get laid. I want to get laid more, but I nearly always have myself convinced that I prefer to be justified.

He slid under the covers next to me, chatted to me a bit about the book I was reading, slid his finger under the waistband of my panties and asked "Um, what's this?"

"Underwear."

"Why are you wearing it?"

"Because I am?" There's no rule that says I can't. I didn't say this because the last time I voiced it he responded with "Yet."

"I see," he responded, then ducked his head underneath the blankets, disappearing.

"What are you doing?" I asked, momentarily alarmed, disconcerted, things not going like I had thought they would at all.

A novella from reality, part I

The ruler

I've mentioned before that he loves hurting my nipples. "They make such tempting targets," is his response when I ask why. I had purchased a transparent plastic ruler and put it in our toy drawer, and he was really loving using that on my nipples. On a recent shopping trip, I spied a large, thick wooden ruler that didn't have a metal edge on it (probably due to its cheapness), and I purchased it and slipped it into the toy drawer as well, without mentioning it. He noticed it several nights ago, but hadn't touched it yet. It just lay there, waiting.

Unkissable

During the time this happened, (a few weeks ago) I had a cold sore on my lip. Kissing and cocksucking during this time are off limits - it's dangerous since casual contact with the sore can spread the virus, and who wants those things? I certainly don't. I generally get them when I stress out over something - not something I can actively control, but my stress response is sometimes triggered for odd reasons. This time it was a video game. Thankfully it was a small sore and healed up relatively quickly - I have had some large ones during very stressful life moments that took weeks to clear up.

I was cuddling up to my love, and he was holding me oh-so-tenderly, stroking my hair and face, and I was burying my face against his shoulder, enjoying the attention. He murmured: "I wish I could kiss you." and I whimpered my own agreement to this desire into his shoulder. He followed that up with a musing "It's not very nice of you to make yourself unkissable."

The consequences of forgetting

This is long. I go a little overboard on the details. Apologies. Mmm.

He's told me not to wear pants to bed, but there's this period of time  after I bathe and before we go to bed when pants are necessary due to shared living space. They were long underwear this time, actually. He was brushing his teeth and doing other get-ready-for-bed things, and I, already having done all those things, slipped under the sheet and started reading my book. He joined me and started talking to me, slipped his hand under my shirt to stroke my breasts. He mentioned that I'd probably like a little more attention from him, more often, and I agreed.

"But you'll take what you get, won't you?" and I agreed with that as well. His hand wandered downward, then paused.

"What's this?" he asked, fingering the waistband.