Things I Asked For

What I Asked For

What I Didn't

“Have you "any silks?”

“To tie you up with,” he laughs, all too quick to grasp and over express the punchline.

Yes. My arms and legs. But, not until after I ride you first. I want to be the one on top this time. This is rare for me, but as I’ve explained at the onset of this, I am heading a one-woman revolution. I need to come over one day and say little in words and just take you to your room to lay your down with the huge boner you will undoubtably already have and just climb onboard and act like they do in all those porns. I am betting I can be that woman. It is nice of you to participate so willing in this gamble.

After that point, even if I cum, push me down and tie me down with the silks tightly, but without leaving marks in the professional manner. I may just have pushed my panties aside in my haste to ride you. Rip them off of me and go down, the way you have described that you want to do, with a hunger. I will fight you with my thighs. I w ill not be able to stop you though. You may push and prod at me with your lips and jaw. Say nothing more than grunts and groans. Force your face into me. Do it. I will not tell you how. That would just bother me. Take me that way even though I will most likely verbalize that I am saying no. We will settle first on a safe word, of course. However, I know for a fact I will not be using it..."

That way my desires are not my fault. I did not ask for it. I just laid there and let it go on after a struggle. If my body “betrays” me then and becomes super wet and if/when I finally cum right in a man’s face, it will all have been about what you wanted. It will be your fault because you will have been the one who insisted on asking for danger, the one who asked for it to happen.

Straps made for this kind of thing are often black, but I want the ties to be silk and paisley. They won’t cut into my flesh. I am not actually into pain. A psychological dance of wont and want not , lingers with a within me.

It had even been my suggestion that one time. I had even moved some old silk ties out of his sock drawer toward him. He was "ok" about it. HE was only ever neutral if I asked for anything. I took this as better him saying no. My lack of having shocked him should have been a red flag. His general disinterest for my pleasure was the same as ever too.

But, I had NOT asked to be left there afterwards, when I did indeed not even come close to cumming and he just got bored and climbed up from having just his mundane dick inside me anyway. I had at first remained silent, trying to get over the disappointment again. I then remained silent for too long. He got off and walked away. Right out the door and stayed away for hours, which then became all day.

I could not move. I did cry. I could not cry out to be saved as I could NOT be found in this manner by the neighbors. I panicked thinking what in the world would my beloved parents think of me if I raised a stink which would result in someone finding me, but also incriminate me. Eventually, I wet myself. Pee running down my own leg and into my sofa in the living room. There was straight lightening fear that shot through my body when this happened uncontrollably and, of course utter disgust of myself and ardent shame.

He screamed at me when he saw that. He backhanded me and called me even more names of debasement, but these names I did not like as they were real. I had had to go. It had been hours. The release of my urine had in fact calmed me down. It had washed over me and felt warm in a time when everything else in my life which came from within me was in contrast so terribly cold and disconnected.

He released my feet first, and then one of my arms. He hit my face with his usual open slap, they kind that he said doesn't leave marks because he after all, he was not stupid. But, that is when I saw the needle. He injected me, shot me up with in me of his substances. I was already unkeen about needles, here I totally froze. I don’t even know what was inside: the needle, nor mine own body. It burned immediately, and then I felt nothing at all. A heady space, a rush but, a lapse almost immediately afterward. I hope it was a sign I would not remember anything. I think I slept for a few hours following all of this. And, it is only by the grossest twist of fate, cruelty that I do remember all the rest.

We did not even break up after this time, not for almost a year. I was trapped as if still bound by him, to him by some invisible sense of my own guilt, shame, and loyalty. My largest fear was that he would leave me. Nobody else would want me after him and still only wanted him to know these details about me, how the simple miscommunication had been my fault, how I had asked for these things. He was the largest, most powerful man in the world to me. Mind-fucking is way deeper than most just plain fucking after all.