Posted at 13:52 on 14 Feb 2011 by Pandora / Blake
I've noted before that positive sexual energy seems to flow through my polycule; when I have fun with one partner, it can precipitate unexpected good times with the others.
It felt a bit like that last Wednesday. Even while D was still at mine, I was stealing occasional kisses and cuddles from Tom which held far more promise than I've been able to expect of him since his health worsened last November. On Wednesday evening, after D headed home, Tom caught me in an unexpected embrace. From the way he kissed me my hopes that he might be feeling a bit more like his usual self started to soar; and as I drew back enough to look into his eyes I discovered to my delight that his domly twinkle had returned.
It's a tough balancing act, a relationship with chronic health problems. The person who isn't ill has the job of not putting any pressure on their partner to do more than they're capable of, and reassure them that it's totally okay and they should take whatever time they need - even though you desperately miss being physically close to them, would kind of like some physical reassurance, and want to show your partner that they're wanted. Likewise, the person who is ill has to be honest about their limitations, clearly express their boundaries and reassure themselves that they aren't a failure for being ill (probably while feeling humiliated, guilty or angry or a mix of all three), at the same time as reassuring their partner that the issue isn't lack of desire or interest. It's tough.
We've been getting better at it, I think, although initially I was so keen to reassure Tom that I wanted him lots and lots and lots that I ended up making him feel even worse about not being able to give me what I wanted. Poly helps; having other partners I can turn to has enabled me to put less pressure on Tom, and having a nice time with another partner gives me an energy boost which I can then feed back into my relationship with him.
Over the winter I got used to not expecting Tom to be well enough for the sort of play I knew we both wanted, and I was happy to put those desires to one side and simply enjoy his company and closeness until he told me otherwise. So when that twinkle reappeared in his eyes, I wasn't expecting it - and my surprise made it all the sweeter.
It was the first time we'd played for weeks, so he was understandably cautious. I on the other hand was in high spirits, and being as cheeky and flirtatious as I thought I could get away with. The combination turned out to be remarkably successful.
Over his knee, I peeked over my shoulder every chance I got, and encouraged him as he started out with gentle warm-up smacks. He set a leisurely pace and I had no desire to rush him; I just wanted to let him know it was all good with me. As he slowly stepped up the power I found my joy at being back in this beloved, familiar situation bubbling over. Every time he elicited an "oww" from me I couldn't help laughing. I loved the strength of his thighs bearing me up, loved the warmth and promising pressure between them, loved the rough smoothness of his big work-hardened hands. I didn't go wanting for rubs and caresses, and when he made me yelp with his trademark strong, full-bodied, fleshy smacks - and, next, with the hairbrush - rather than feeling fear I found myself giggling with delight.
It was a joyful, positive vibe. I kept making eye contact with him and grinning. As I lay down over pillows in the middle of the bed I knew this was going to be an extended session, a making-up-for-lost-time sort of scene, and my heart was singing.
I'd been slowly, methodically warmed up with hand and hairbrush, Tom taking care to colour my bottom evenly from thighs to dimples. So I was more than ready for his belt; felt not a jolt of terror as it increased in force; watched the shadow of his arm lifting on the wall in front of me with lip-biting anticipation. The razor strop was next, broader and heavier but old, old leather, and I lifted my arse and groaned gratefully at each impact. He used the wooden ruler almost full force and I sighed into the pillows. I was eating up everything he could give me. My masochism light had been turned up as bright as it goes, and I couldn't get enough.
At some point - just after the strop, I think - I flashed a smile at him and asked if he was taking requests. Why, what did I have in mind? I mentioned that all the canes in our collection were in my room, apart from one, which was in his. I was referring to the Master cane, the 12mm dragon I bought him for his 30th birthday. He made no promises, and when the ruler came out I complained, laughing. Next, though, he picked up one of our favourite medium-strength canes, and I knew he'd get to where I wanted, in his own sweet time.
Two canings. I think he made me count the first one, but did the honours himself for the second, harder one. I have the number 24 in my head but I can't remember if that was one or both. I just remember my hunger, my voracious appetite for impact.
I wish I could predict what will put me in that mood. The warm up helped, as did the long build-up since our last play session, but neither of those factors can be relied on; just as love, submission and desire alone aren't always enough. I do think that poly can play a part - I was feeling loved and rejuvenated from a happy two days in D's company, which meant I didn't need comforting or looking after by Tom, I was coming to him from a place of strength and happiness.
The warm up had another effect, which was purely physical. After a long session of hard impact play I woke up the next morning without a mark on me. (Despite the fact I have a kink for being marked, I was glad - I've just spent the weekend with D and am seeing Penny tonight and tomorrow, and it seems politer not to be pre-battered when I visit them.) Tom warmed me up so thoroughly that I barely even welted at the time, even though the final caning alone would have left me seriously bruised had it been given cold. The weirdness of this fact continues to fascinate me. Aren't bodies wonderful?