He does a very good job of making me feel loved. When he sent me the above message today, I nearly cried. But let’s be honest, I cry so very easily, especially in stressful times. He always makes me feel loved and appreciated. Desired, however, is a harder one. Do I know that he enjoys playing with me? Yes. Do I know he enjoys my company? Yes. Do I know he enjoys both my suffering and my service? Yes. Do I often feel desired by him? No?
Desired is a loaded word, for me, I guess. English Oxford Living Dictionary defines it as: 1) A strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen, 2) strong sexual feeling or appetite. My overthinking, self-judgmental brain tends to focus on the latter of these definitions, and as he and I have a “non-romantic/sexual” relationship, desire is not a word I often use for his feelings for me. I desire him in this way, always have, always will, but I put it on hold and keep it at bay, to keep expectations managed and balanced. Over the years, it has wobbled up and down, depending on what’s going on, and his testing various waters. But it tends to return to this balance.
Today, he sent me that message. Tonight, after his initial plans were dashed by unexpected class set-up, he got me aside for a flogging.
Leather mop warm-ups. Good and steady, get me bobbing and swaying, into the zone. Eyes closed, just feeling it, and him. Fingertips make me shiver. Then off to get the big deer flogger, gods, I’ve missed that. But solid thumps. Heavy sounding thwacks. Pounding me into the wall. Knocking groans out of my chest. Then snaps. Sting. Not the whip, not the tips, heavier. Squeals of pain. I have a vague notion, but it’s not until he lays it over my arms in front of me that I’m sure it’s the dragon tail. A few more heavy hits, and then the deer flogger is over my arms, as well.
He bring up the rubber mops. Ready for this? It’s been a long time. Too long. Let’s find out. Surprisingly, I am. They feel good, heavy, solid. Slamming out more groans, eyes squeezed shut makes balance occasionally hard, but keeps me deep. Tipping Florentine brings out more squeals, then heavy, deep double blows, rock me into the wall. He counts me up to orgasm a few times. Thank you, Sir! Do you feel desired? He asks between them. Yes, Sir. And we go right back into it. I last a lot longer than I expect to, though we both know our old endurance challenge is probably a bad idea. It feels so good, slamming my back, pulling out screams with the tips, groaning with the big hits. I know he lifted me by the hair at one point, but I can’t even place where that was. Finger tips on hot flesh send me gasping. He spanks me to another counted orgasm as we finish up. Kisses and hugs and thank you. He grabs my back a few more times in the evening, even another counted orgasm before we’re through. A very nice Thanksgiving night.
That’s what desire means for us, between us. A different kind of energy – the smack of flogger on flesh, the screams and groans, the rocking and tapping and swinging. The pushing back and forth of our energy. The gleam in his eye as a crumple against the wall, squealing at the lash. The grin on his face when I pop back up and present my back again, and again. The one, two, three…. Thank you, Sir. The touch of fingertips on burning skin, and the rough grab and squeeze to get one more squeal.
I forget that sometimes, when I let my brain run on. It is still very programmed with societal norms. There are things I still want to find in my life, to add to my life. But I am extremely lucky and blessed by what I do have. A partner who loves, appreciates, and yes, desires me, in our own special way.
