Mar 15, 2010

Be Careful What You Ask For

I felt like a bomb went off in my head.

I could only blame myself.

I've been so afraid of being "greedy" in a scene that I don't always say every little thing that I like or dislike before a scene. Sometimes I can't even put voice to these things until I come across them.

I decided to see Ms. N, a new Domme in town, because she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and because she was gorgeous -- the latter mattering naught if the former isn't there.

After some online chats and emails I made an appointment.

When I got inside her flat there was no chit-chat. She cut to the chase, counting my tribute and telling me to strip down to my underwear.

She was lovelier in person than in her pictures. She wore a beautiful red patent leather outfit that accentuated her curves. From my vantage point on my knees on her living room rug I mostly saw her fishnet stockings and impossibly high red heels.

The scene consisted of Ms. N circling me, her heels clomping on the hardwood floors, while she interrogated me, lightly flogging me all the while.

She began simply enough, asking when I had last hurt someone's feelings.

This isn't something I like to do, of course, but I had actually hurt a coworker's feelings that day. She had been occasionally coming to work in a horrendous pink jumpsuit that gave her a wicked camel toe. Rather than confront her about this, I shot her an anonymous email. She didn't take it in stride. Instead, it really upset her. I felt pretty awful about this, doubly so as I confessed this tale to Ms. N, a relative stranger who didn't know that I don't get off on insulting people.

She got her hooks into me fairly quickly and easily. She took the tack of female superiority. I should not have hurt anyone's feelings, especially a woman. From here she began her interrogation in earnest. I wasn't sure if we were playing a game or not. I took a chance and answered all of her questions honestly.

This took me into some territory with which I'm very uncomfortable including my dishonesty with my wife and my reliance on escorts for sexual release (and human connection). She asked me what my wife would think if she knew what kind of pervert she was married to, or what if my coworkers knew that I enjoy sucking dick?

This whole scene played into humiliation and, I'll admit, that's exactly what I asked for. I just didn't expect a true humiliation session, I suppose. I don't know if I shouldn't have been honest and started scripting more of a "character" as we went along or if I should have stopped the scene to explain that I wasn't comfortable discussing truly personal issues. I mean, at points Ms. N had me talking about my former Domme getting ill, my father dying, and my job boring me.

This session was rawer than a lot of therapy sessions I've had but with therapy there's little to no judgment. Here, Ms. N played into the humiliation angle by degrading me; talking about what a dirty pervert I was.

I've never said my safe word when I wasn't being beaten to within an inch of my life but I almost said it to her.

I've talked in the past about how hard it is for me to cry and/or cum when I'm on my meds. I purposefully didn't take my pills that day in hopes of some release at the end of the session. Instead of cumming, I was taken to the verge of crying.

At one point Ms. N blindfolded me and had me get onto my hands and knees. I thought that maybe she'd shift from interrogation to punishment. She gave me some pain via some candle wax poured onto my back and some deep scratching to get it off but that was all.

Again, I think that I was to blame here as I had warned Ms. N that I'm a wuss when it comes to pain. I had hoped that she'd start slowly and take me to subspace via her flogger but I think I had warned her away from this.

After walking around me for nearly an hour, Ms. N sat down and had me take off her shoes to rub her feet. As I massaged them she discussed the possibility of me seeing her again, telling me that it'd be better if I did so that she wouldn't share my secrets with anyone. This made me really uncomfortable. Had I not been so honest and answered every question completely, I would know that this was all part of the fantasy.

For someone into confession their sins and being denigrated for it, along with the possibility of being blackmailed, this would have been an ideal scene.

As if a timer went off, Ms. N told me, "That's enough. We're done." She had me get dressed again and left. No hug, no handshake, no words, and barely a goodbye. I was stunned and not necessarily in a good way. I went out to my car and broke down. Once the tears had slowed, I turned my car around and went home.

The question became whether to tell Ms. N my feelings about things. I feel that I set us up for failure by not being more honest before the session began. When I gave her limits on humiliation (please don't make fun of me being fat, bald, or hairy), I should have established that my "real life" was barred as well. She "went there" and I didn't know how devastating a journey it would be.

It took a while to come to grips with my feelings. I vacillated between sad to anxious to gratitude for the catharsis. Overall I think I needed exactly what she gave me. And, I shared my thoughts with Ms. N and felt better for it.

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