In the Moment

M and I talk about writing stories. Recounting past exploits and imagining future ones. We send each other snippets of fantasies, and talk for hours about what we plan to do to each other. Or, even more dangerously, what we want done to us. They say the largest sex organ is the brain, and we certainly don’t ignore that.

It’s difficult, though, to remember the details. It’s hard to recall and put into words exactly what was happening the night before. So many of the details blur together, only a few very specific things standing out in stark relief.The thrill as he tightened the straps on my arms, pinning them behind my back. Closing the Kali’s Teeth around his hardening cock and snapping a lock on it. The sweat dripping onto my face as he fucked me on the floor. Brushing my hand over his tender nipples, captured by clover clamps. Begging for more, begging to be punished. There’s so much between these snapshots. Lust and fear and trust and the desire to push ourselves, and to push each other.

He comes home from another business trip, this one longer than anticipated. I’m dressed up and waiting for him, restraints ready, mask over my head, on my knees. The anticipation nearly kills me as I hear the key turn in the lock, waiting for him to set his bags down and shove his hard cock in my mouth.

Another night I replicate the “science experiments” I ran while he was away. But this time he restrains me and takes the control box, tweaking the settings, adjusting the speed and intensity of the electricity. In no time he has me begging for mercy.

I do the same to him another night. Zipped up tight in the sleep sack, chained to the bed. I take the box into the other room, playing with the settings to remind him I’m still there, giving him a jolt now and then. But I want to watch him, and I want to push his buttons, so I end up sitting on the floor by the bed, adjusting the settings, eventually making him come.

For a long time, neither of us felt the need to use our safewords. We had them, but rarely uttered them. Lately, though, it’s almost as if we’re daring the other to say it. Trying to push each other into crying “red”. It’s a boundary that we need to push, but we’re pushing it together.

Putting it into words

There are a number of nights I’ve meant to write about in the last few months, but continue to fail putting them down on paper. Sometimes it’s just a lack of time, but other time it’s a lack of vocabulary. How do you describe what it’s like to be brought to the edge repeatedly, to be pushed in ways you hadn’t previously imagined, and to savor every moment of it, even when you’re begging for it to stop?

A few weeks ago, it was M’s night to be in control. He pushed me far enough that I was forced to call a safe word, and later ended up sobbing against his chest for unknown reasons. He’s wanted me to write about that night for awhile now, but how do I do that? What do I say? It’s a lot more complicated than fucking my mouth.

It’s called sub space, but we call it “head space”. When your brain is short circuited and you check-out and can’t think about anything except being in the moment. You’re not thinking about that report due at work or that bill that needs to be paid or that homework that has to be graded. Where you are and what you are doing is simply that moment. That’s what M can do to me, and what I feel deeply inadequate in trying to talk about.

I hope I can give that to M one day, so he can understand what it’s like and why I have such a hard time talking about it.