Saturday night I was riding the unicorn high. I had returned home from a successful evening of dinner with friends and some good discussion about me being their unicorn. They wanted a friends-with-benefits arrangement that had the potential to be sexy and kinky. I felt desirable and horny, and when LH arrived, I was ready to get naked and fuck. Not that I said anything about my desires, because I was fairly certain I could peel us out of our clothes and he’d take the hint. Yes, I was feeling that confident in my powers of seduction.
When LH walked through my bedroom door, I sensed he was in a mood. He smiled at me, but it was the smile of a predator. Right away I sensed he was in Master space. I didn’t listen to the cautionary voice in my head who whispered to tread lightly and pay attention. I blithely talked about my evening as I made the bed, excited about the opportunities that hovered on the horizon. Because even though my intuition was wicked accurate, I often ignored her words of advice. sigh… because I’m an idiot and like to live on the edge.
Sir grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me up to look at him. His eyes captured mine, and he gave me the barest hint of a smile. “I’m going to make you cum, and then I’m going to hurt you. Do you understand?”
I nodded, still not quite believing him. He continued to explain what he had in store for me as I changed tack, slipping off my dress and unbuttoning his shirt and shorts. His hand hovered over my cunt exactly where I wanted, and I tried pushing myself closer. All I could think about was getting those fingers inside me, but he pushed me away and told me to get on the bed. I did as he said, still thinking that I could cajole him into doing what I wanted.
Biting back a word of protest, I lay on the bed and spread my thighs. I lay there silently inviting him to ravage me, offering myself and wishing we could get on with it. I pouted when he refused to touch me and gave him my biggest, bluest eyes. I felt mildly irritated that he was resisting my playfulness, but figured he would soon succumb to my wiles. After all, I was a unicorn. I had magical powers of glittery seduction.
The feel of his hand across my cheek froze me in place. I gasped, and he hit me again.
“There’s my slave. I see her now,” he said. Stunned, I didn’t say a word but waited for my next instruction.
Getting slapped was a trigger for me–a trigger in a good way. The blow placed me firmly at the edge of the deepest part of my submission, a place where we had played before with wonderful results. I eagerly waited for the next thing that would push me into the abyss and transform me into the enduring, peaceful slave that always dwells inside me.
Much to my shame and frustration, I never got there.
As the night proceeded, sir kept me precariously balanced at the edge of submission. There was no meditative state for me, no peace in my grudging submission, and it was driving me crazy. I felt frustrated as he encouraged me to struggle against him, pulling my arms free from his grasp as he fucked me. I had orgasm after orgasm against my will as I desperately tried to find the peaceful place within me that could just accept the stimulus with open arms and without judgment. I wanted to find that place within me that endured without complaint, that would take whatever sir gave me with unflappable calm. That was my definition of a “good” slave, but I couldn’t seem to attain that state of grace.
After a particularly messy fucking of my ass, sir shoved me into the shower. I stood naked and shivering as he poured cold water over me, gently scolding me for being such a dirty whore. Part of me loved being roughly used while a smaller part seethed with frustration. No matter how hard I tried or how much I wanted it, I couldn’t dive into my slave self to fully embrace and revel in the degradation and pain of our scene. And for the first time ever, I was angry at LH. Again he grabbed my face so that he could see directly into my eyes.
“Do I have all of you, slave?”
When I remained silent, he wrapped his fingers around my jaw. “Use your words. Do I have all of you?”
“No, sir,” I replied and closed my eyes as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
I didn’t realize it until I said the actual words, but I was holding on to one last piece of my free self. If sir wasn’t going to give me my familiar cues that would launch me into deep submission, then I’d fight him and hold on to that one last bit of independence. I clung to it, making a small barrier between us. The problem was that I wanted to give it up more than I wanted to possess it, but I didn’t know how. The back and forth tugging of our play had upset my idea of peaceful submission, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back to familiar slave territory from this new position.
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” sir said, and kissed the top of my head. But he wasn’t finished with me.
Seemingly on impulse, sir decided to cane me for a missed text earlier in the week. I fought the beating tooth and nail. Refusing to lie still, I actually sat up and tried to grab the cane out of his hand. I’ve never done such a thing in all my BDSM days, and I felt an odd combination of exhilaration and shame for attempting it. Finally when sir called the scene over and pulled me into his arms, I tried to believe his reassurances. He was thrilled with the territory we had explored, but all I felt was frustration with myself and disappointment.
I’m still processing everything that happened, and LH and I are still talking through the many things that occurred and the feelings we experienced. (Damn the feefees!) This morning I knelt beside him on the bed, dressed in running clothes and ready for coffee. He said, “You’re a beautiful, desirable and powerful creature. But I want you to remember that you and your empire rest under my boot. Under those clothes you’re wearing, you are my naked slave.”
I’ve thought a lot about that statement, carefully analyzing the layers of my reaction. I wondered if the whole point of the scene was to claim me or was it to teach me that there was more than one way to dominate a slave. Or even more intriguing, is sir offering me the chance to explore an entirely new territory of my submission–a place where I’m permitted to struggle and fight. It will mean revising my definition of what a “good” slave does, and I’m starting to be OK with that. In fact, I believe I’m going to thoroughly enjoy myself.