This morning, he pulled off my shorts and sat my naked ass on the kitchen counter, pulled up my shirt, and spread my legs. He rummaged through the drawers and came back with skewers, rubber bands, and a knife. With my nipples clamped between the skewers, he traced the paring knife over my breasts, my belly, my thighs, my lips, my clit.
He told me he was making me uncomfortable, in lots of ways- and it surprised me in that moment how much he was right, how well he knew exactly where to push me: i was exposed, in front of an open window, being intimate, not just intimate, but being kinky, being an object of kink; sitting bare-assed in the kitchen, on a counter, yuk (and cold); being taken and used suddenly, out of the blue, wrong time, wrong place; being made to watch the knife tip and the blade trace lines across my skin, nerve wracking, and across my belly which i loath and never want him to touch; yes - his tounge in my ear, not to make me giggle and squirm, but to torment; the physically uncomfortable, overwhelming, painful sensations from my nipples and my skin; and working to remain open to him throughout any and all of it.
He doesn't need big plans or grand gestures or cliches from kinky porn get in my head - he knows exactly where my mental buttons are. Lucky him that some of my buttons are so easy. And i start thinking that i should toughen up, not be so easy, not be such a mental weenie. What's wrong with me? Maybe i'm not enough for him. Then i hear "good girl, i know this is hard, but i like to play with you." Which makes me think maybe it's ok to be how i am, maybe he's happy.
He sends me to the bedroom and his demeanor changes. Suddenly very rough, abrupt, he reminds me of my words, then lays in. I'm not caught up, can't catch up. I beg, and move away, and sob, and soon enough my mind goes the wrong direction. I ask him what i've done wrong. He stops just long enough to look me in the eyes and tell me i've done nothing wrong, he's doing this because it's what he wants to do. Then he's back at it.
Later, afterwards, he reminds me that he wants me - in those moments - to not think, to not wonder what he wants from me, or try to reason things out, he wants me to just follow and accept, to trust that he will tell me or show me whatever i need to know.
I don't know why my mind goes where it goes in those cases, but he doesn't want it to. I'm hoping that writing it out here will purge it and let me move on next time.