Crisis

„I'm not sure it's for me," he said softly, one hand playing with the leaves of the pottet plant he was sitting next to as he stared at it in thought. His chest expanded slowly, and then contracted as he sighed, his chocolate brown eyes flicking towards me for a fraction of a second, then resting on the plant once again. The fingers of his other hand tapped restlessly against the concrete of the stairs he was sitting on.

He made me feel helpless, but not in the good way. Heaven knows I enjoyed the feeling of being tied to his bed, ropes digging in my wrists, powerless to stop him from beating me, or fucking me senseless, or both at once. But there was always the safeword if the pain overwhelmed me, if I couldn't take the scene. I'd never had to use it, but the knowledge was there. Now, I wished someone would whisper the safeword for this scene into my ear, so I could stop it, make it all go away and be happy with him forever. In ignorant bliss.

"You've said that before," I told him. My own voice sounded scratchy to me, almost shaking. I was scared. "What do you mean by it exactly? Has it gotten too intense for you? Or can you... can you still not stand the thought of hurting me? I thought you had gotten over that."

"I have. I did. I... I don't know." He raised his hands and buried his face in them, and I resisted the urge to touch him comfortingly. This was not the time, much as I'd have liked to soothe him. It broke my heart to see him like this, conflicted and torn, and knowing that I was the source of it all.

"It's so complicated," he said through the hands covering his face. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" I dreaded the answer and closed my eyes in anticipation, my body tense. But the answer didn't come. Instead, I felt his hand tentatively touching my shoulder.

"You couldn't live a Vanilla life, could you?" The question didn't catch me completely by surprise; after all, this was at the core of the entire dilemma. Still, it was a shock to actually hear him ask it. I could feel my pulse accelerating, and it became harder for me to breathe as I struggled to answer.

"I don't know. I could try. Is that what you want?"

"You would be unhappy." It was a statement, not a question, and I nodded weakly. It was no use arguing the obvious. I craved submission. I wanted, needed it to be a part of my life, and I'd told him that before. His hand squeezed my shoulder comfortingly, and I heard him say what I knew was true.

"I don't want you to be unhappy."

"I would be unhappy without you," I blurted out, desperate not to lose this argument. I heard him sigh again and looked up at him, to find him looking back at me just the same.

"You're trying to manipulate me."

"I don't want to lose you!" I was so aggravated that I jumped up, looking down at him with blazing eyes from my standing position. He didn't avert his eyes. He was slightly shocked by my behavior, I could tell, but still understanding.

"Who says you're going to?" he asked me, keeping completely calm, and I immediately felt very silly.

"Well you should have said that," I said lamely and sat back down on the stairs.

He elegantly slid down three steps, until he was immediately behind me, and put an arm around me, pulling me against him. I'd always loved the feeling of protection that his broad chest conveyed to me, and so I leaned against him thankfully, calming.

"I don't want to lose you either," he whispered into my ear, and I turned and slid my arms around him. I clung to him, and he held me, and we sat like this for some time. Not moving, barely even breathing, just together, enjoying the feeling of being close to each other. But it was impossible to pretend that everything was good for longer than a moment when there was still a big issue between us.

"So what is it then?" I finally whispered. "What is it that bothers you about it?"

He let out his breath and relaxed his arms, still holding me, but not as tightly. He closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them and looked into the distance.

"There are parts about it that I like. You know that. But there's been things... things that haunt me at night. Some scenes that my mind just keeps replaying over and over, and they bother me more each time."

"What scenes?" I asked him timidly, and he told me.

Such as the first time he had made me bleed. It had happened quite by accident, during one of those times when I had been moody and stubborn, at my worst. I had been sucking his cock, carelessly, unmotivated, and scraped him quite painfully with my teeth. He had withdrawn, looked down at me for a moment, then slapped me with so much force my head felt like it was going to come off my shoulders. I had immediately suppressed any sounds of pain that I might ordinarily have made, lowered my head, and waited. But when I glanced up at him after a moment, I had found him staring at me in horror.

He hadn't broken scene, but continued on, getting a moist cloth and wiping the blood from my nose and lips. I hadn't realized it was there. He had taken care of me, silently, until the bloodflow stopped, then continued the blowjob despite the fact that I had difficulty breathing. But that had been the punishment for my moodiness, and I had accepted it without complaint or resentment.

"I should have stopped the scene," he said quietly, his hand stroking my back comfortingly. "It wasn't right. I should have stopped the scene there and then, and I should have apologized and held you while I washed your face. Not like that. It wasn't right."

"I didn't mind."

"But I did. I realize that you were fine, that it wasn't a big deal to you. But for me –" he broke off and shook his head helplessly.

"But you're getting better," I argued. "You learned from it, and you know better whether to continue a scene. You won't make this mistake again."

"I'll make others."

"Everyone does though. It'll get better, I promise."

"I hope so." He grimaced. One of my hands travelled upwards to run soothingly through his hair, while my mouth kissed along his jawline, urging him to continue.

"What else is there?"

The time I had been left waiting in the dark. I had been tied to the bed, knots secure and tight without cutting off my circulation. He had been a boy scout, and he was excited about this new use for his knowledge. He had gagged me as well, something we hadn't tried before but that I had been eager to experience. It was night, a thunderstorm outside, wind blowing the raindrops against the window full force. He had been in the middle of teasing me, running a featherduster along the insides of my thighs, the feeling more agonizing than I could ever have imagined. I was raising my hips, longing for his touch, quivering with anticipation – when the lights had suddenly gone out without warning, and I felt like I was thrown into pitch black, icy cold, endless depths of water.

I had told him before that I was scared of the dark. It was a phobia, something I just couldn't get rid of. At that particular moment, the fact just hadn't come to his mind, and before I could stop him, he had left the room hastily with the promise of getting candles.

It started almost immediately. My body felt completely rigid at first, I was frozen, unable to move. Then, I could see them, the faces of terror that made me unable to stay in any dark room for longer than a few seconds. The images of any scary movie I had ever seen, any ghost story I had ever been told, melting together and forming my personal terror. My breath started to come in tiny gasps, and the noise terrified me even more. I was drawing their attention to me. My body started to shake despite me desperately trying to think of something other than the terror. Rapidly, images started to flash and melt back into the dark, cut up bodies, psychopaths intent to make me suffer, ghosts, demons, anything horrible my trecherous mind was able to come up with. I heard ghost sounds, maniacal laughter, the last breaths of dying people.

And then he was back, stumbling blindly into the room, the all too real sounds making me jump. I needed confirmation it was him. I finally dared let out a sound through my gag, a loud moan that was made almost inaudible as it left my mouth.

"It's just me, love." The flicking of a lighter illuminated his face, but it was so ghostly and frightening that I almost wished it hadn't happened. He managed to light a candle, setting it down on the nightstand, but in the motion of lighting the second one, he caught the expression of my eyes in the flickering candlelight and froze.

"Oh, shit. Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He hadn't known what to do first, light more candles, release me of the gag or undo the knots of my bonds. He had opted for the bonds, the well-tied knots falling apart as he pulled, and I had jumped into his arms, wrapping my shaking body around him and burying my head in his shoulder and the tension slowly started to fall away from me. He had muttered soothing words, carefully removing the gag and then lighting two more candles while I was still clinging to him. The way he took care of me was excellent, giving me his full attention, making sure I was comfortable and apologizing over and over again as he held me protectively.

But the damage had been done. I was a terrified mess, and he felt incredibly guilty for putting me in this situation, for leaving me alone when he should have known better.

"Once again," I said, "that is something you've learned from, right?"

He nodded slowly. His hand was playing with the small golden crucifix around his neck while he looked at me in thought.

"There are so many things I'm scared of screwing up," he said.

I hugged him tightly. "Me too. The one in charge isn't the only one who can mess up a scene, you know. There are things I could fuck up easily, and I'm scared of that happening as well."

"But I'm responsible for you," he argued. "That's how it works as soon as you submit to me, I am responsible for you. I need to care for you."

I didn't like the way he kept on focussing on his guilt, and opened my mouth promptly to guide his thoughts in another direction.

"But overall... not counting your fear of screwing up, I mean... overall, you have liked this so far, haven't you? We have had some really good things together, and I want there to be more."

"Yeah," he said softly, looking at me again, suddenly smiling slightly. "Yeah, you're right. There have been things I've enjoyed – thouroughly – and I wouldn't want to miss any of them."

"So that means what, exactly?"

"For us?" His fingers twisted into mine as he took his time looking into my eyes. "I think," he said finally, softly, "that I might be able to handle it. If you're willing to be patient with me. Give me time to think about what I might enjoy doing to you."

My heart clenched briefly in joy. I had no trouble accepting his conditions, I would have done just about anything in my power to keep the two of us together, and happy.

"That would be wonderful," I smiled at him and he gave me a broad, relieved smile in return. We both knew that there were issues we still needed to work on, but the mosst important decision had been made, and it made the both of us feel suddenly ten times lighter.

"Besides," I grinned, "I know there have been times when you definitely enjoyed yourself.

Like the time we were both thinking of, smiling at each other now.

He had really gotten into beating me for the first time. My ass was red as fire and felt just the way it looked, my knees were wound and scratched from crawling, and my jaw was tired from the sheer amount of oral pleasure he had made me give him earlier. My whole body was sore and thouroughly used, and I felt wonderful. He knew it, too.

His body was lying on top of mine, his weight pressing me down and forcing my quivering thighs apart. He had denied me any pleasure up to this point, had teased me and left me needing, and I was bursting with sexual energy. I wanted him badly, my entire body on fire and ready to receive him. My wrists were straining against the ropes that held them, not out of a desire to get free, but simply because my body was arching up and against him without my will.

"Please," I begged, and he drove into me with all the force he could muster. I let out a scream before I could help it. I was slick with need and took him in easily, his hands grabbing my hips to keep them still while he drove inside me repeatedly, so impossibly hard, making waves of heat radiate through my body.

I thought the ropes were going to burst, so hard was I pulling against them by this time. I met his thrusts as well as I could with my body. He lowered himself to kiss me, groaning into my mouth as our bodies slid against each other, a film of perspiration covering the both of us. My legs wrapped around his hips in an effort to pull him deeper, to increase the sensations that were flooding me even more.

It didn't take long at all for me until my hips started to jerk uncontrollably and I cried out, clenching hard around him. I felt like I was filled to the brim with some fiery liquid and it was burning me alive. I gasped and shook, and a second later he was there with me as well, pushing hard inside me one last time before he clung to me desperately, pouring himself inside me. I couldn't feel my body at this point, I was numb all over, but I simply closed my eyes and felt as if waves were crashing down above me and soothing the burning.

It was a while before our shaking bodies calmed down, and before either of us was able to move. His weight crushed me as he lay fully on top of me, exhausted and satisfied, only moving his arm once to tug on the ropes, so I could pull my arms free and hold him, stroking his damp back. He rolled off me at last, very slowly, propping his head on his hand so he could look at me, a smug smile on his face.

"That was pretty good, wasn't it?"