The doorbell rang. My heart raced, the inside of my catsuit slick with sweat. Once I buzzed him in, I wouldn’t have much time. 30 seconds at most to climb the stairs, and he’d be at my door. I hit the button and rushed through the steps I’d practiced. Kneel facing the door. Pull on the blindfold hood. Stuff the pack of cigarettes I’d bought for him into my mouth. Shit. I couldn’t feel them on the rug. Where had I put them? The footsteps were getting closer and I wasn’t ready! Just as he reached the door my hands settled on them, I shoved them in my mouth, and threw my hands behind my back.
Was it in time? Did he notice? The steps came closer, and I felt a hand on my head. “Hmmmph.” He kept walking, entering the living room. I could imagine him judging it. The kink toys neatly laid out on the table. The techno playlist I’d spend an hour trying to get right before he arrived. The tidiest my flat had ever been. I waited, my mouth full of cellophane, my ass full of silicone, holding myself as gracefully as I could under the circumstances. The footsteps returned, and then the hand, dragging me into the living room, scrabbling on all fours. He sat on the sofa, and pushed my face to his boot. “Lick, gimp”. I obeyed, eager and desperate to please, even when he lifted his foot to expose the treads that had only just been pressed against the pavement outside. “Pathetic”
He pushed me back up to a kneeling position, and ordered me to describe myself with as many degrading, humiliating labels as I could come up with. I complied, quickly, needily, shamefully. Adrenaline and conformity pushing me to places I wasn’t comfortable going. Between each word, he hit me, and when I came up blank, he mocked my failure to meet his expectations. He kicked me down and put his feet back. Leaning back, treating me as an object in my own home. My knees shook, the latex clung sticky to my skin. I could taste the filth on my tongue, and feel the cheap, hard plug. A placeholder, if he chose to remove it.
We had negotiated the smoking, but he still wasn’t happy with it. I’d had to insist that, if he wanted to include it in our scene, he had to smoke out the window. So reluctantly, he dragged me over, sitting in a low chair, and forcing an ashtray into my hands. My knees were giving out at this point, kneeling never having been easy for me, and I almost collapsed to the ground. Mercifully, he allowed me to sit, legs tucked under the chair as he blew smoke out the window. “Next time, you’re letting me smoke wherever I want, gimp”.
Once he finished, he took the ashtray from my hands, and pulled down his zipper. I’d been dreading this. Blowjobs are painful, unpleasant affairs for me – I get jaw cramps almost instantly, and gag at the slightest provocation. Still, I did my best. Choking and pushing through the pain, I exhausted myself bouncing up and down on his cock, until he grabbed my head and finished himself off, forcing his sticky fluids down my throat. Almost immediately, there seemed to be a change. He pushed me away, down onto the floor. “I think I’m done. Maybe I’ll use your arse another time, gimp.” I heard the footsteps to the door. Heard it open, and slam shut. I stayed, lying there on the floor, heart pumping, excited and sick. I had gone through with it. I never even saw his face.
I couldn’t even look at a kinky picture for months afterwards. He ghosted me, for which I am somewhat thankful. Even now, if I try to use a plug, or allow myself to be bound, my head goes back there, and I panic. I struggle to wear latex like I used to. Everything associated with that scene carries a sticky, filthy residue. The verbal degradation hit me the most, a denial of confidence and sincere surrender. I am sure there are many for whom that kind of abuse is fulfilling. Not for me, on either side. I haven’t submitted to anyone in the three years since this scene. Perhaps I will again, but only with sincere trust, and the understanding that my surrender will be valued, not spurned and mocked. In the meantime, the dominant role I have always found more comfortable remains as fulfilling and wonderful as it always has. For that, I am thankful.