“Was it really only 7 weeks?” Bear asks me.
“Yes, it was only 7 weeks” I answer in earnest, before I realize what he’s doing. “Are you pushing my buttons?” I ask him.
After those 7 weeks, sometime mid-January – if I am being obsessive, actually a day shy of 7 weeks – Bear asked me whether I felt upset, or sad, because I just came. “No,” I told him. “Orgasm feels great, so no, I don’t feel sad or upset.”
It’s nice of him to check in. And I know that feeling sad or upset over coming is a valid reaction. I’ve even heard of people getting angry, or losing respect for their dominant, if they are allowed to come. And while I know that people have their own stories and their own reasons to feel that way, I am for sure glad I don’t. That’s a a complication I really don’t need.
I am still struck, at times, by how strange this arrangement we have is. Bear teases me, and I want to come so badly, right now. And I don’t. And that’s good and right for us. It feels like the weirdest thing at the same time it feels like the most fulfilling thing. I am excited by the prospect of coming every other month or so, and giving Bear all the pleasure and orgasms he wants.
Bear changed the rules for my wearing his cock ring, a tribal design number I’ve mentioned before. I used to wear it at night, after he gave it to me, and then took it off for going out. It turns out Bear didn’t realize that I did not put it back on unless he handed it to me. So, new rule: I am to take it off when leaving the house, and put it back on when coming back in. I’ve been able to obey that, mostly. I may forget I am wearing it, and take it off half an hour late, or be half an hour late in putting it back on. That isn’t willful disobedience. It just takes me a while to internalize the new routine. Bear is, luckily for me, understanding.
I had received an email advertising a presentation about “using bondage to create intimacy in the bedroom”, and I felt bummed that day. I’ve wanted bondage for a long time, and Bear, while interested, has avoided tying me for the most part. Bear noticed I felt bummed, and asked me why. I explained that I wanted that intimacy through rope bondage quite badly, and that I was convinced I couldn’t have it. There were tears. For, in the past, when I encouraged Bear to do more binding, he felt pestered, so I stopped doing that.
We talked. Bear explained that he dreads the work and heavy lift that comes with intricate bondage work, and I explained that I think of rope bondage as having two very distinct aspects: The intricate work for photography and public consumption, which Bear does want to do sometime, and the intimate work in the bedroom, which can be just a simple tie. I don’t care what it looks like, I just care about the feeling of being helpless before Bear.
He’d make a priority of binding me, Bear said. I can hardly wait. And I do hope he’ll get, emotionally not just intellectually, that the intricate rope work for photography isn’t “the end game” or some kind of graduation. Being able to be intimate with rope is a skill in its own right, one that I, at least, value more highly than the skill of being very technical with rope.
One night, after I had massaged his calves, Bear was playing with my cock. Every time he’d touch my frenum, my cock would jump involuntarily, and I’d moan and writhe. He started playing with that spot, watching my cock jump with a big grin on his face. “This is fun!” he exclaimed. “Boop!”
I love the bastard.