Wednesday, February 24, 2010

the Professor

I should write about this now to capture how I feel. It's taken a few hours since his departure for the inevitable crash to occur and now here I am, left on the verge of tears. I'm not quite certain as to why I am experiencing this disconsolate sadness, but if I were forced to (did you see what I did there?) explain, I would reckon that it is because I feel cheap and used.

"Whoa, whoa," you might interject, "isn't that the point, you dirty little slut?"

I met someone off of a BDSM-centric networking site and we connected after a volley of emails and text messages. We appeared to have the same interests, and based off his photographs, I found him good-looking. We agreed to meet at my place this afternoon, despite both of us expressing some apprehension. Nobody wants to make a "date" with an axe murderer. Well, at least not me. I might enjoy being dominated, but I don't enjoy being butchered.

He arrived on time. It was awkward but as we'd both expressed our mutual trepidation, our fears seemed to be mollified. As soon as I had the apartment door shut, he extended his hand and clenched it around my throat, pushing me backwards, hard so that the door bounced in the jamb. His face loomed close, threateningly so, next to mine. I could feel his hot breath against my skin. I quivered, pinned at the neck by his hand. Slowly, so slowly, he brought his mouth to mine and his tongue pressed between my lips. Still caught by the throat, I could only moan, the sound echoing in our mouths, my knees quaking uncontrollably.

Suddenly, he grabbed me by the hair (I was wearing it in a bun at the top of my head) and dragged me to my bedroom, wrenching me forcefully and nearly spraining my neck. Hand still entangled in my hair, he pushed me down, throwing me down onto my knees and positioning me in front of the bulge of his jeans. I knew what he wanted as I peered up at him, so I gingerly undid the button and withdrew his hard cock.

"You're a dirty whore, making me jerk off thinking about you today at work," he hissed, grabbing his cock and jamming it between my lips.

I choked. I couldn't help it - it was suddenly filling my mouth, crushed against my tongue, jabbing at my uvula. With his free hand, he caressed the side of my face before abruptly hooking his thumb into my mouth, pushing hard down against my tongue. I felt my throat close up and I gagged, tears welling in my eyes. But dutifully, like the good little slut I had promised to be, I continued to suck his cock, deftly bringing it deeper and deeper until my nose was hitting the front of his pubic bone. I was still sputtering and this seemed to annoy him because he pulled out of my mouth and yanked me onto the bed, lifting my dress to expose my bare bottom. I wasn't wearing panties. Then came the slaps, the quick, hard and repetitive spanks to my naked ass. Over and over, the deft strokes rained down on my skin, loud and hard and flat.

"Daddy, stop, that hurts," I cried, wrenching from his grasp. The spell, the one we'd so carefully crafted together, was broken.

To his credit, he wasn't a true sadist; he licked expertly at my dribbling wet pussy, stuffing the fingers that had earlier been in my mouth up into my cunt, wriggling them in an attempt to coax out an orgasm for me. But I was no longer in the magical moment. I let him jerk off onto my tits, and he left shortly thereafter.

After rereading the preceeding, I realize that I was wrong to write that I felt cheap and used. I portrayed myself as someone who enjoys BDSM but I didn't thoroughly explain just what aspects of it that I enjoy and like the most. I am not an avid pain slut. Gentle slaps at my nipples, at the sides of my tits are great. Moderate spanking is fine. But the sort of spanking that leaves me, even hours later, sitting here wincing in pain, is not what I enjoy.

It's not his fault. I hope he doesn't read this and think that he did anything wrong. The onus is on me for having not explaining in great enough detail just what I can and cannot physically handle. And I'm sure, over time, with the right person, I'll be able to take more and more intense pain training, but right now my focus is to find someone with whom I feel safe and loved and respected.

And that leaves us at the "Daddy/daughter" dynamic, which I will save for another entry.