Happy Tears

I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to write this.

I’m not a poet, and I feel like I’d have to be one to impress upon you what last Sunday was like for me. I feel like to convey how sexy it was I’d have to tell a story about Sunday, but it wouldn’t be what actually happened.

I’m going to write about what happened, and if I don’t make it clear, if I don’t capture the moment as it deserves. I’ll say this: Sunday night was big for me, it isn’t that it was a perfect and wonderful evening, but I believe that it will have a lasting effect on me.

Tavi came over a bit latter than we had planned. Life does get in the way of these things. We popped down the street to my neighborhood pub, for a bite and a drink, but rather than being it’s usual chill self, Sunday nights apparently mean loud football and obnoxious patrons. As soon as we finished out food and drinks we left back for my place.

After Thursday’s episode, I’d felt different. Often sort of close to tears, much closer than I’ve felt in a long time. We had discussed trying to get me a full release, but by Sunday I didn’t feel quite the same. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to cry at all, whether I’d be willing or able to let go, or whether I’d start crying really soon into play. So, as we got to my bedroom,I made an effort to assure Tavi that whatever happened or didn’t happen it was OK, and I didn’t want her to feel pressured to try and get a certain result out of my Gordian knot of a brain. She was more than relaxed about it, saying that she was doing this for her own enjoyment and that I needed to take off my clothes already.

With me in my boxer briefs and her in the buff, she directed me onto my stomach and started in on my back with a wooden spoon. Working hard and fast as she straddled me, I was soon writhing beneath her and trying to muffle myself with the pillows.

This was every bit as painful as it looks

She moved me quickly through the paces getting me warmed up and without delay throwing the harder stuff at me. Before long she flipped me over and took out a sharpie and wrote “toy” on my chest before beginning to maul it. Remember I was already pretty heavily bruised from Thursday and as keyed up as I was it didn’t take long before my cries were join by an insistent trickle of tears.

It was too much really, I couldn’t keep my hands were they were supposed to be, out of the way. I was close to safewording, and managed barely to communicate this. (We’re adopting, yellow for future use by  the way.) Unfazed Tavi assured me that she knew where I was at and promptly swiveled around to face my legs.

For a while, to let me get control of myself, while maintaining my head-space she attacked my thighs with the spoon. My shoulders were pinned to the bed by her powerful legs, and to muffle my cries (let’s be honest screams.) I had to do so with her thighs.  There was of course another option for muffling, which lay just beyond my limits, but was nonetheless placed tantalizingly close so that I could feel the heat coming off her.

Tavi punctuated the beating of my thighs by biting me on each inner thigh and holding it for a minute. She tugged too, as I screamed into her leg, trying not to bite back, since I knew that I’d regret that.

She slithered back up to face me after that and began to play with my chest again.  Shortly it was decided that I needed to be restrained for that so she tied my hands to the headboard with some silk ties that I just happen to have left there.

After working me to the point of tears again. She told me that I was going to get ten more with the spoon, and that I had to count them. Already beyond words, I nodded, terrified.

The next few minutes are beyond my ability to describe. Go listen to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for strings, and come back and try to describe that. It was beautiful and painful.

I was Sobbing uncontrollably. trying to count. O-o-one *Smack* cry, sob, gasp , breathe, ta-ta-two…

Wanting not to say the next number, not wanting to disapoint Tavi, trying to remember the next number, trying to breathe and crying like I haven’t since I was a child all while thinking “I’m so happy.”  And I was, I was bawling like a calf and still the happiest I can remember being in a long long time.

After N-n-n-ni-nine, *Smack* Tavi Told me that on Ten I was going to get three and then I’d be done. I was so scared of saying Ten, I don’t know how I did it. She hit me three times, hard and in rapid succession. Then she untied my wrists and made everything better.

She kissed me and held me, stroked my hair and told me how brave I was. Called me a good boy and let me cry on her breast until I was calm. I got up to blow my nose, since I was tired of sniffling, and didn’t want to get snot on her (imagine the shame.) When I saw my chest in the bathroom mirror, I had to exclaim “Oh, my god!” at the sight of the welt she had raised. It was beautiful. I had a glass of water, we cuddled she showed me just how hot she found my crying. I kissed her and thanked her.

This is the welt after it’s had a few hours to go down.

I can’t say that it was perfect.  Perfect would have felt like I cried enough for every time I’ve bottled up my emotions. Perfect would have been following the aftercare with fucking, and falling asleep in her embrace. It was wondrous though. I feel changed. I think that  I may be able to cry next time I need to. I’m sure that She will be able to bring me to tears again. I don’t think that perfect happens, I think my ideal fantasy of a thing will always be without the flaws that reality brings. But experiencing the real thing outshines the idea of the thing, and even if it isn’t perfect, It is enough.