“Behave….!” a warning punctuated by physical manifestation.
I’m angry, unsettled, desperately out of sorts, frustrations transcending the sexual plane.
He strokes my hair, caresses my cheek, but I scowl, I don’t want to be petted. He asks me a question to which He already knows the answer, but I do not reply, the words “Yes, Sir” have become jammed in the bottleneck of my mind.
He warns me I’m close to crossing the line, yet still I push, albeit with caution, watchful, on edge, ever mindful of the latent consequences. There’s a distance between us,
I know it,
(You I created it, my inner voice reminds me)
He feels it,
He does what He can to bridge the gap.
Another question, “Why are you hiding from me?”, a sullen response….I truly don’t know the answer.
I’m curious, and tempted to step across the line to find out what lies on the other side.
But this isn’t a plan constructed by the brat who occasionally taunts, or the masochist who likes to play a game of wind up the sadist, this is a cry from the heart of the submissive, of me, to Him, to come find me as I sit in the eye of the storm, trying to protect myself from the emotional debris that rages all around.
It isn’t pain I seek, but impact, physicality, Him. Strong, immovable, boundaries against which I can push to no avail, for I need them to surround me, become my cage in which to crawl, my haven, my place of peace and safety.
I have a fantasy which plays out in my mind.
A girl sits at her Sir’s feet on the floor. He’s afforded her the luxury of a cushion to ease the discomfort of her deeply reddened behind. She’s angry, at Him for meting out punishment, at her for creating the need in Him to act. He strokes her hair, and she pushes Him away. He does it again, the response is the same. He binds her hands behind her back, ignoring her words borne of anger and frustration, He knows they’re not aimed directly at Him……He pets her again, and this time she cannot escape, she has no choice but to endure. With each loving touch, pride is diminished, anger dissipates, and she starts to let go. Tears fall, and briefly she’s angry again, for she cannot dismiss them, cannot brush them away, she doesn’t want to be seen as she falls apart. He holds her then, and puts the pieces back together.
I’m out of sorts, angry, frustrations which transcend the sexual plane. I try to recall the moment of impact, when all (emotional) hell let loose within. But I can’t, I don’t understand from where that destructive spark came. I crawl inside myself, hide away…..I need Him to come find me so I can feel peaceful again.