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When I climax, I don’t hear a thing. Not her cries. Not my own. I don’t see anything because my eyes are closed. All I know is that I’m drowning in a high that’s more intense, more insane than any drug. My hips drill into her of their own accord. My body is imploding and exploding at the same time. I almost can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop shaking.
When my hearing returns, it’s my own heartbeat I notice the most. Beating in time to the hundreds of pulses surging through my veins.
Fuck. That was…mind blowing. Or body blowing. Whatever.
Withdrawing, I plop on the ground, holding my waning erection. I run a hand through my hair and wait for the rave in my body to settle down. I don’t think she’s come yet. The wand is on the floor, still vibrating.
After my body returns to normalcy, though an occasional shudder still runs through me, I get up and redo my pants.
Rousing myself, I gently remove the butt plug and ask, “What should we do next, Bridge?”
“Whatever you want, sir.”
“Whatever I want? That’s a pretty open invitation. How about something off your list of hard limits?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“If I remember correctly, the list included needle play, public humiliation, multiple partners, golden showers...I’ll even let you pick.”
Still nothing.
Agitated at the lack of response, I say, “Or should we try them all?”
“If you wish, sir.”
She’s willing to submit to anything I want to do to her? This isn’t the Bridget I know. Although the Bridget I knew was open to different kinks, and sometimes I had to nudge her out of her comfort zone, she did it affirmatively. She consented, almost like she was humoring me. This doesn’t feel so much like consent as it does resignation.
The pendulum of my anger takes a dramatic swing into guilt, shame, and even horror. I can’t do this.
I’ve gone too far, put her through too much. As evidenced by the fact that she felt enough desperation to stab me. So even if she doesn’t object, even if she doesn’t invoke her safe word, I don’t have it in me. At this moment, I’m more likely to fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness.
I step toward her with the intention of untying her, but the sound of footsteps draws my attention. I hear the door to the basement, followed by someone coming down to the stairs. I’m irritated because I gave Marshall specific instructions not to bother me. But it’s not Marshall.
It’s JD.
