Balancing Acts

Walking around the good will… perusing second hand junk… I am eyeing a heavy metal table that is very adjustable… Hmm… with a few tie points and a little padding and some nice vinyl upholstery it might make a nice bondage table… only twenty dollars. 

I leaned up against Master and murmured about the possibilities in his ear.  He gripped the edge and gave it a firm yank and shake.  He shook his head… “Not stable enough.  You play a lot rougher than you think you do.”

I gave him this look… and deep in my heart is the little voice that screams… “If you tied me down… if you just said the words ‘Don’t you dare fucking move.’  You could put me anywhere and I would stay.  I am not the one that wants it rough… it is YOU!”

And it is true.  Do you know how many times I have melted in his arms… surrendering… opening… giving… only to have him lose interest and wander away?  If I want those hands to stay on me strong, compelling, forcing… I have to resist.  I have to be tight and pull away.  Only then will the light come on in his eyes and only then will he continue.

But it is a balancing act… resist but do not resist too much.  Do not hurt him… not really.  Do not take it too far or he will go from happy pirate to grumpy old man.  And all this resistance slowly gnaws at my submission.  After a while, the avoidance becomes ingrained, automatic.  He reaches for me and I shrink back, he touches me and I shove his hands away.  It has become the norm.  And I have lost my balance.  And he seems to be a grumpy old man all the time.

This has happened before… and I know the remedy.  For a while I need to stop resisting… completely.  In many ways it is the ultimate disobedience… to obey completely, without hesitation or reservation… to lean into his touch and ask for more.  He does not like it.  He wants to fight.  He will taunt me.  He will tease me.  He will do everything in his power to infuriate me… and like taking blows from the whip, I must absorb all these… because only then can I be the slave I need to be and the slave he needs me to be.

We did not buy the table.  Even if it had been perfect… we would not have purchased it.  He rarely ties me up.  I cannot quite abide the idea of acquiring one more thing.  And, really, how can a bitch fight back if you tie her up?