I see V again Thursday night. Twenty-four hours. Not so long to wait, in the scheme of things.
It’s been so long since we’ve been in “that” space together.
Saturday night, I got a taste, before something unexpected happened and we had to stop, too soon.
Up against the cross, wrists tied, skin bared. His hands on me, his mouth on mine, his body pressed heavily against my naked skin.
I squirm a bit. Wriggle my ass, feel the heat between my thighs. His fingers are there for a moment, then gone. He steps back. The flogger whistles through the air. It lands with a thud against my back. My ass. My thighs and my shoulders. Between my legs, back to my ass.
I’m warm now. Grooving to the music and the tempo of his strikes. The flogger is heavy and thick, pushing me against the cross; except when the tips catch me and make me dance.
He switches to something else, something dense but not with a stinging slap, like a paddle; this is all thud and no sting, like a baseball bat swathed in cotton. I like it, though I can’t place it. I thought I knew all his toys. (Turns out it was a length of thick, soft rope, twisted around on itself. I’m a fan.)
He pauses, moves in close for a moment, I turn to kiss him. He leaves me. I stand there, shivering a little in anticipation.
The sting of the whip is sharp, unexpected (even as it was expected.) This implement I recognize: my new favorite whip, the one with three crackers that I got him in Ohio. I decide if we break up I’m taking the whip with me, I like it so much. Over and over, everywhere, he snaps that whip over my skin. The flat of the leathers and the sting of the tips intermingle, and I am dancing and squealing and panting and slapping my hand against the wood of the cross. Yes! Yes, yes, yes.
Then, suddenly, there is noise and heat beside me – someone has lit a blowtorch next to us (to do cell popping.) I don’t remember reacting, just the roaring of the flame in my ears and the heat and I am trying to get away–
And then I am down, and he is holding me, cradling me as my racing heart slows, as I come back into my skin, back into our surroundings. As my heartbeat slows, I look around at the cross and rope and toys scattered about, sorry that it ended so soon – but so grateful that he saw and understood what was happening. That he reacted as quickly and calmly as he did. There was no danger, but even if there had been I know he would have kept me safe.
But now…I crave more. I want the finish we should have had to that scene. And I think he does too.