Oct 202015

Sometimes, it’s worse knowing what to expect. Our second time doing a scene together, the bruises on my thighs already healed a few weeks from the last time, and now I knew that in this scene they would bruise and tender to the touch again.

I was laying on my stomach, my arms had long been tied tightly behind my back, useless. Kneeling, he rested my knees on the tops of his strong thighs. My legs were bent and raised off the floor from this action, hips and chest pressed more firmly into the floor. He crossed my ankles, bound them together, and pulled them towards my thighs, wrapped rope around the upper thighs once, pulled the ankles even closer into the thighs. My legs didn’t want to compress that close, he folded me anyhow. Another wrap around the thighs, even tighter so my my physically limitations hardly mattered, and then each subsequent wrap dug even further into the skin and muscle, the constriction sustainable but painful.

I knew how unfolding would feel now, a mix of relief and strained muscles. I already ached.

He tied into the wraps, then into the hard point above him, and lifted. My body wasn’t mine to control, and even less so as my back arched, my legs lifted, my hips no longer grounded, my chest and now face pressed more firmly into the floor. I turned my cheek and felt the rough fabric of carpet underneath. Each small movement up that he created caused a moan of pain to escape my lips. I wasn’t lifted high but my own weight pressed fiercely against the tight ropes of my thighs.

Last time, he had stood on me in this position, in my then hazy mind I still reeled from that fact, but as his foot pressed into one of my thighs, I tried to now focus on how I was able to handle the weight. I tensed in anticipation, my body fighting rather than surrendering to the sensations of his body weight pressing intentionally from behind the already rope-gripped top of my thighs. My back arched a bit more; I would have clung to the ground or clawed it if my hands weren’t tied behind my back. Previously, how had I dealt with this so easily to the point where I was barely aware? Shifting even a little didn’t help a bit. My thigh felt as if the rope was steadily sawing into skin and muscle.

I had asked for this pain when I asked for the scene, I reminded myself silently. At the moment, I couldn’t remember the why.

He slowly decreased his weight off of my thigh…and then went to the other. The prospect of pain had me tensing in expectancy. This thigh hurt more. My own weight was painful; his standing form on top of one thigh was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

The suspense of the pain, the motions that he continued to do – as I expected him to do, ceased to matter.  I hit a threshold of pain, found myself holding my breath, and slowly released it. My body relaxed into the ropes instead of resisting them. My mind stopped anticipating his next action, instead yielded and accepted.

I would have bruises again, I would remember him every time I looked down, every time my skin unintentionally grazed against something…

and remember fondly.

*To read about the first part of the scene, and my mortification and excitement during negotiations, click here.

* To read about end of the scene (my favorite part this night), click here.

Wicked Wednesday is all about the number two, and this was my second time doing a scene with someone other than my husband, and two-thirds of the write up from it. 
Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 5:22 am

  3 Responses to “Standing Expectation”

  1. I love how you work through almost fighting it until accepting it. Lovely scene!

    Rebel xox

  2. “I had asked for this pain when I asked for the scene, I reminded myself silently. At the moment, I couldn’t remember the why.”

    I do this all the time, ask for the pain and then in the moment, when it is happening I hate it and wonder why on earth I asked for it…. but when it stops, when the marks are gone. I crave it all over again


  3. Oh his is exactly how I feel at times, I want it, I hate it, I need it, I want it more!

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