(initially written 7/27/11)
It should have ended with the shower. If I hadn't been so tired and so ... spaced out, so lost in my own thoughts about what had just happened, it would have.
But he was outside the shower as I was standing under the hot water, washing my hair and idly flicking away flecks of wax.
I don't remember what he asked or how he said it. I don't remember the words of my reply. It had something to do with me having been terrified when he was rifling through the kitchen.
But some how, I let it slip that something specific in the kitchen had terrified me because I'd already tried it.
I didn't say it in so many words, but he knew. He read right through what I'd said.
Immediately, the questions started. For an hour, he badgered me - he didn't let me out of the bathtub, then he didn't let me out of the bathroom. He alternated between demands and pleading, jokes, laughing, begging and being serious about how I could tell him.
I was mortified. I could not tell him. Could not not not.
I felt guilty that he had found anything out at all - I hadn't meant for him to. Knowing that there's a "secret" is unfair. But I couldn't tell him. I just couldn't.
And strangely, throughout all the badgering, as he threw out outlandish guesses (coffee grinder? knives? mixer? griddle cord?) and demanding questions (on me or in me? food or appliance?) it was easy to not budge. Mostly, I didn't answer anything, afraid he'd guess, although somehow I slipped somewhere and he knew I'd tried it, knew it had been recently. He thought it had been a few nights before and that I'd plan to exclude him and for that I felt bad, as it wasn't calculating or planned, but it was easy not to answer. I was mortified, embarrassed, terrified.
Terrified of what...I'm not sure. Terrified he'd think poorly of me? Terrified he'd think I was a slut, think I was debased, twisted? Terrified he'd wonder how his wife could do that...could put tabasco on her clit just to feel it? Liked being punished that much?
...or terrified that he'd be interested, terrified that he'd /want/ to do it to me? I still hadn't processed what I'd thought about the night before. I still hadn't decided if I COULD do it again. What if he liked it? What if it turned him on? What if he wanted to see me writhe as the evil sauce seared me in my most sensitive place?
He told me I didn't need to be, but it was still easy to say no. As long as he badgered me, I refused.
And then...he gave up. Said he was going to bed. And as we lay in bed, the pressure and the guilt was overwhelming. Two, three, five, a dozen, a hundred times the words nearly fell from my lips - but I was still so frightened.
Somehow, and I can't explain how, him telling me he'd drop it was a hundred times worse. I worried I'd hurt his feelings, that he'd be upset. No, he assured me, he wasn't...but inside me, the words were burning. I was scared but more than before now I wanted to tell him, wanted him to know.
He'd dropped it, he assured me. And then, without really having decided to speak, the words came out.
"Tabasco sauce."
There was a moment of silence. When he spoke, I couldn't tell how he felt, if he was disturbed or upset or interested. "Where did you come up with that idea?" His voice was so neutral I couldn't parse his reaction.
Noncommittally, I told him I'd read about it, and shrank into my pillow.
He admitted he would never have thought of that. I told him I knew as much - had realized it from his wild guesses. He hadn't even been close.
There was a pause, and then...he told me he wanted to do it. Rightthatsecond.
I panicked, truly and completely. I begged and fought and told him no. 20 minutes, 30 minutes he cajoled and tried to force me out of bed. My heart beat wildly and I refused - I couldn't, could not not not!
And then...he gave up again. Truly gave up. Told me he was dropping it.
And suddenly, like before, I couldn't stop talking about it. I told him about the fantasies, told him about how it happened.
He told me he was letting it go, but if I kept talking about it he'd want to do it.
And then...then he said something that set off a deeper panic, froze my insides. He told me he wouldn't bring it up - I'd have to ask for it if I ever wanted it.
But I hadn't decided if I wanted it or not! I didn't know! But the idea of asking for it...of asking him to hurt me like that...
It was mortifying. Completely, utterly horrifying.
Ask for it?
Never.
Which meant it was now...or never.
I didn't stop talking.
And then, found myself on the couch, told to touch myself as he got the tabasco sauce. My heart beat so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and I begged, pleaded for another night, just not tonight, not now...
When the baby cried, he went in to comfort her, while I panicked. Twice more he had to go in and I thought I was getting out of it, but when he emerged, I fought him as he fought to spread my legs. He was going to see my reaction to this, and he told me I just had to deal with that.
My panic peeked when it looked like he would drip it straight from the bottle, and I won my only concession of the evening - he'd pour some on a small saucer and apply it with his fingers.
My heart beat so wildly I could feel it all over my body. I felt as if I should be drenched in sweat, and my body shook - when he finally forcefully spread my legs and dabbed on the sauce, I nearly sobbed. It was done - I couldn't stop it anymore, couldn't do anything about it but wait for the pain and try to deal with it.
When he asked how it felt, my voice shook in my ears as I told him it was cold and would take a minute to take effect. How long would it last? I told him honestly I had no idea - time had no meaning when the pain was that searingly intense.
And then the burning began, and I know I was moaning and whining piteously, gasping and sobbing that it hurt, it burned, it burned - roll my hips, writhing, trying desperately to escape the sensation. I heard him murmuring that watching me moan and wiggle was hot, so hot, but the words - while distantly comforting that at least as I suffered he took pleasure in it - were nearly meaningless, as I was so lost in the sensation.
He was hard, and he told me to blow him, to suck him. I tried - I wrapped my lips around his cock and tried to suck - but the pain was so intense I couldn't focus. I tried to explain that I couldn't but even now I have no idea if the words came out or not, but the idea that he watched - and that he told me this was punishment for holding out on him - had my vagina wet with the evidence of how turned on I was.
I kept wriggling, kept trying to move my hips and butt, anything to stop the pain, the burning, as I with sobbing breaths told him how much it hurt, how much it burned - and distantly, I felt him preparing my ass, fingering me, getting ready to fuck my asshole even as I writhed and suffered as the tabasco seared my hardened clit, my vulva.
When he entered me, he was so turned on he was rough, and I remember yelping, asking him to pull out - I can't honestly remember if he did or didn't, so lost in the pain and burning, disconnected with myself and yet locked in the awareness of the pain on my clit and now the new pain in my ass. He fucked me hard, roughly, grabbing my hips as I disparately voiced the intensity of what I was going through.
And while it hurt, it was so clear, and so hot, so erotic as I was torn between the pain in my ass and the pain in my clit - a dilemma - do I writhe to try to quell the burning in my vulva, the searing pain in my clit, or focus on my ass, focus on accommodating his cock as it ravaged my asshole? I couldn't do both - trying only failed in both, but I juggled, one moment trying to move with his cock, to relax my asshole that I had tightened as I battled the burning in my vulva?
When he came, I felt him shudder and release inside me, and I was free to wiggle and focus entirely on my cunt.
I don't know how long the anal lasted, but my clit was still searing and burning, and as before, without having decided to masturbate, I found myself rubbing my clit, my body on the edge of orgasm, fueled by the ass fucking and the punishment and the orgasm that usually came from being fucked. He teased me, saying maybe he shouldn't let me come - my hand fell to the side, and I vaguely remember whimpering, but he let me come, and it was body shuddering, so intense I felt my entire vagina tighten and shudder as I came over and over. I had touched myself in front of him before, even climaxed from it before, but never, ever like this before. In my head, there was this sense that he wanted to watch me suffer, and it added something indescribable to it, something so erotic that even as I whimpered had me turned on.
And it still burned, and I still moaned after, but eventually, finally, as he watched me writhe, it ebbed, slightly, but enough that I could pull myself together. I felt swollen, raw, and super erotic..and I had made it through.
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