Friday night I spent some time in another class. I know...why do I keep doing that to myself?
But this one was hosted by NEDS and it featured Princess Kali of the Kink Academy. The topic was Pushing Limits - or as she likes to say Pushing Boundaries. Daddy didn't attend because he'd had other commitments.
I love hearing Princess Kali speak. Not only does she really love what she does, she's like an excitable puppy (her words) when speaking about it. If there was ever a pervert that I'd look up to, it would definitely be the Princess.
I learned a lot about pushing boundaries. The key concepts (insert the sissy cheerleaders here) included communication and understanding. Communicating with each other, and understanding that what you're playing around with requires extra special attention. The possibility for damage to a person, and to a relationship, is too great to casually fool around with limit pushing. I'd wondered about pushing tops' boundaries, but figured that was a question for another day.
Little did I know that Daddy would decide to push THREE of my own boundaries before the weekend was over.
I'd been a good girl all weekend (his words). I'd made him smile, took care of things around the house, and was pretty happy that we'd had a weekend where we could give kink a rest for a bit. We did go to the Boston Pride parade, but solely as spectators. I took care of him, and as a result, he said to me that he wanted to do something nice for me. I assumed that we'd spend some quality time fucking. That's the one that I always choose. But Daddy had other ideas.
I can't describe what led to what. I was in such a great mood, I was laughing, teasing, smiling, and playing with him. And I'm not really sure what changed or when. He'd given me one of those choices. You know what I'm talking about. The one where there is really NO GOOD CHOICE. The one where you absolutely HATE both of them and the one where I try my hardest to distract him out of. When he'd decided that I was taking too long to choose, he picked one. I chose the other. However it had happened, I'd chosen the method of my destruction. And at that moment I hated myself only slightly less than I hated him.
But the result was him pinning me to the bed, tickling me. Now, tickling really is a limit for me. One of the reasons I didn't have it on my LIST is because Daddy is a sadist and I foolishly thought that tickling was tame. That, and he'd told me that he really doesn't care for tickling all that much. This is the time I really should have paid more attention to my playground. We were also playing without a safeword. That was something that I'd wondered if we'd ever really do. He really is a wonderful boyfriend and is very careful of my feelings and safety. But still, I'd wondered when we'd get comfortable enough with each other to trust ourselves to play that way. That takes a special relationship. That takes more trust that I'm used to giving. And that takes a special top to be able to know himself to trust himself to play like that.
If you've ever been pinned to a bed and tickled mercilessly, you've experienced the panic, the desperation, and the laughter turning to tears. The agony of being tickled like that, the fact that you can't stop it from happening, and the frustration of being forced to endure something that you'd kill to avoid ended up being so overwhelmingly rough, that I started to be afraid of the one person I'd never imagine fearing. His faced changed from the sadist that I'm used to seeing, the one that I know well...to the sadist that I wasn't quite sure I was capable of playing with. He became MEAN. In those few minutes that he was tickling me like that, he pushed three of my limits. Tickling. Crying. And Fear.
It wasn't easy to be pushed like that. And it left me feeling as if I didn't have anywhere to turn for protection. I felt no love, no compassion, and nothing of the man I was used to feeling. It was a scary place...being out there alone. Losing even the right to breathe. With him sitting on my chest, overpowering me and forcing me to cry when he knows damned well that I hate to cry. It was so difficult to lose all sense of myself, my control. And then the realization came to me. He'd won. By choosing the method of my torture, agreeing to his terms, thinking that I could still control things and realizing I'd lost, he'd taken more from me, than I was prepared to lose. Yeah. He'd won. He took Everything from me in that instant.
Afterwards, while we were talking, when I told him how mean he'd been, he just said to me that it's just so hard to get me to the place where I'm afraid. Experiencing my fear is hot. Knowing he caused it, knowing he's in complete control..not only of my body, but of my head and my emotions, is something that happens infrequently. And he likes that feeling. He said that he is always mean to me. When he's caning me, he's mean. But because I like it...it doesn't seem that way. But when he tickled me last night, because I don't like it....it felt as if it's the meanest thing he'd ever done.
And to tell the truth, as hard as that was for me last night, that feeling of being completely his, in his complete control, and unable to save myself from the fear....
well...that indeed WAS really hot for me too.