In the middle of the night, I'd go walking if I could only sleep..

It’s two am, and my head is a mess. So this post will be a mess.

Oh well.

Lying in bed chasing my head in circles isn’t working. I’m hoping if I chase it in writing I’ll find…I don’t know. Peace? My goal? Some sort of resolution.

Last night, when he went to put the baby to bed, I asked if I could suck him off when I got to bed since it was likely he was going to fall asleep putting her to sleep. I was enthusiastic. I like sucking him. I do. Even when it makes my jaw ache and I hate drooling, I like it. I like making him feel good. I wanted to blow him. I wanted his come in my mouth.

And when I got into bed, I asked him again as I gently undressed him if I could blow him. Good manners, confirmation…and then enthusiastically started licking and sucking. I wanted to give him pleasure, feel his cock pulse in my mouth. I wanted to feel his balls tighten in my hand and feel him shudder as he came.

Except it didn’t work like that. I was into it and he seemed into it, but I’m not fast at giving head. I knew he wasn’t close to coming when he yanked me off his cock to taunt me. “Is that the best you can do? Why did you even ask to blow me? Make. Me. Come.”

The taunting is hot for both of us. Well – it’s hot for me. I assume it’s hot for him because he’s not a big talker in bed, so if it’s not hot for him I doubt he’d do it.

I redoubled my efforts. Sucked harder, rubbed his balls a little more, made a bigger effort to use my tongue alongside the bottom of his cock and not just the head, tried to get him in deeper so the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. Gagged until my nose began to run.

I think looking back that’s what fucked me up. He wants me to deepthroat and I haven’t figured out how yet. I can’t get him past the back of my throat no matter what position we’re in. When I gagged it impeded my breathing because it got my nose going. It didn’t make it /harder/ to suck him off – it made it impossible to breathe through. I can only hold my breath for so long, so I had to open my mouth more often. And that’s all well and good to say now but at the time, all he knew is I was stopping and breaking the rhythm he needed to get off.

When he slapped me, I wasn’t surprised. I had one more chance to get him off, he told me, or he was saucing me. “Make. Me. Come.”

I tried. My lips were feeling funny from trying so hard, my jaw ached, and my neck ached, but I wanted him off. Until then I’d still been enjoying it. Now I just didn’t want to fuck up. And he was super hard, super turned on, harder than before he’d yanked me off his cock. Part of me wondered if he’d been close and had stopped me to draw it out, but I tried even harder, forced him deep into my throat, gagged over and over and tried to ignore it and keep up the rhythm. But breathing. I still had to breath now and then, and he told me later there were several times I almost had it but stopped to breath and adjust for a second. I didn’t honestly think he’d sauce me – I guess I thought he wanted to come in my mouth as much as I wanted him to.

When he yanked me off by my hair and started dragging me off the bed, I knew I’d fucked up. I had failed. I had failed in giving him a fucking blow job.

Without letting go of my hair, he dragged me to the kitchen – walking was so awkward because I couldn’t stand up straight, just sort of hobble, prisoner by my hair. I whimpered as we went, and whimpered harder when he grabbed the tabasco.

When he throw me on the couch and curtly ordered me to spread my legs, I complied, but felt near tears. Saucing for not making him come faster had been a threat before, but it had never ended up being an issue. He was almost silent as he rubbed it into my clit and onto my labia as I shook slightly. He taunted me, asking if I needed more. It was starting to burn and I protested, but I have no idea what I said. I don’t even know if it was words.

Roughly, he made me flip off my back onto my hands and knees. Grabbing my hair again, he fucked my mouth for a few moments to get his cock wet. I remember it made me gag, but the searing blistering pain between my legs was taking most of my attention.

When he grabbed my ass and started forcing his way into my anus, I don’t even think I more than whimpered, but that wasn’t due to gentleness on his part. He fucked my ass roughly, deeply, and as hard as he ever had before. Between the severity of the fucking and the burning pain on my clit I felt fucked up. Now and then I felt him slow his pace and looking back I wonder if he was pacing himself to give me the opportunity to come – it’s one of those unspoken things that he will usually hold off until I’ve come at least once or come if he knows I’m close. I wasn’t in the headspace to orgasm though.

When he came, he taunted me again and told me at least part of me worked for getting him off.

Ouch.

I had expected him to withdraw and clean up, but it quickly became obvious he had no intention of leaving. He’d withdraw almost all the way, and then slam back inside me, over and over. He pushed me down onto my belly – I cried out because it pressed my legs together and intensified the burning, which was still at full intensity. When he started grinding his hips into me, rocking his cock inside my ass, I did my best to brace myself as much as possible considering how gone I was with the sauce still burning – fucking like that feels, he’s told me, incredible for him, but it’s nothing but uncomfortable for me.

I have no idea how long it went on for – it takes a long time for him to get off that way, I think because he only does that when he’s just come and has stayed hard, so it’s harder for him to get off. I remember his nails scratching me, grabbing me occasionally, manhandling the parts of me accessible in that position.

When he finally came again, he withdrew and casually gave me permission to masturbate, which usually makes the burn easier to deal with. It had started to ebb slightly by then, and I still wasn’t in the right place to orgasm. I acutely felt the failure of not being able to get him off with my mouth.

He told me to clean up and come to bed – I pointed out I was still in a great deal of pain from the tabasco, and he nodded and told me to come to bed when able. Though not before squeezing my cunt and tugging my collar, telling me that I was his sex toy and needed to do better next time. (He’d never called me a sex toy before. I suspect he was experimenting. I don’t know how I feel about that label.)

When he went to bed, I cried.

Oh yeah. I cried because I had failed a blow job. Go me.

I just…I had been punished before for having forgotten to put my collar on. That night had been intensely erotic – his forcefulness and disappointment and roughness had been immense turn-ons and the night had gone much the same as this night had gone. I could have taken a lot more pain that night – I was in the right headspace for it, contrite for having fucked up and turned on by everything he did.

But failing isn’t fucking up.

I had failed. Which is a fuck-up, but it’s worse than just a fuck-up.

Blowjobs are sex 101. How the fuck did I not get him off?

When it finally faded enough to go to bed, I wrestled and then finally got myself to bed like a good girl, but I slept like crap, conflicted and upset.

Tonight when I went to bed, I was conflicted again. I had permission to go down on him, and I had permission to masturbate. Going down on him wasn’t required – his exact words were something like “if you want to” though I don’t remember the actual words. I got in bed. I touched him. I worried about failing and lay down. I sat up again. I stared at him and thought. Chased my head in circles. Thought about deepthroating and everything I’d read about it. Thought about how much I enjoyed his orgasm when he came in my mouth.

And decided I couldn’t let one night shake my confidence too badly. I started touching him, stroking him, to wake him up enough to ask if I could suck him. That usually works to get him hard quickly. Except that tonight, he stopped my hand. I froze and asked if that meant I shouldn’t go down on him. He grunted and I pulled my hand away, asking again.

In reply, he turned over.

Well, message received.

Except that now I feel resentful. I know before when he’d wake me in the middle of the night for sex, if I tried to shove his hands away or stop him because I wanted to sleep I got fucked anyway. And I can’t reword that to not make it seem like he was demanding, but that’s not what it was. He wanted me, and I wanted him to feel good. My body got him off even when I didn’t want sex, which made me want sex. It’s complicated. Haha.

I did resent that though, because if I wanted sex in the middle of the night I could never make him into my willing accomplice. It seemed terribly unfair and lopsided. (Which conversely turned me on, but I could never admit that…then.)

So now I tried to wake him and got turned away, and feel resentful…again. And I wasn’t even trying to get myself off, I could have masturbated! I wanted to go down on him. Oh irony.

And that has my head turned inside out. Because…that’s not a very submissive feeling, is it? It’s…not supposed to be equal. I want him in control. Need him in control.

But if that’s true, why do I resent that I just got turned down for a blow job? Am I worried that I really am not good enough at giving head that he didn’t want me? Is it rejection that’s bothering me?

Or do I just … feel…slighted?

Isn’t he supposed to slight me? I want him to put his needs before mine. I want to do things I don’t want to do because they get him off. (Say that five times fast.)

More and more, I’ve wanted to give him all of me, everything I have. We’ve been talking about making this thing…this game…this whatever we’re doing permanent. As in…he’s always in charge. Ability to say no – to a beating, to an ass fucking, to sex in general – forfeit.

We’ve talked about that. It’s like…in strong consideration, I guess, for lack of a better term.

I don’t doubt that it would be far from easy, but if I’m resentful because I was turned down for blowing him, am I cut out for that? Maybe I’m too needy and bitchy to belong to him. Maybe I can’t handle that. I’m having such a hard time with the vaginal sex ban because – while I get off from anal, from the roughness and how it’s so him-centric, so for-him – I’m not getting off the way I enjoy. I get off from fisting too, but don’t enjoy that. I like being fucked. I like sex. I like getting off with him inside me. Getting off from anal or masturbation or his fist (ugh) are not getting off the way I want to. If I’m having a hard time with that, how could I possibly deal with him calling the shots…forever?

Maybe I should tell him I’m better cut out to be a bottom or a bedroom sub than what we’re talking about. I feel like…him having all of me is the way we’ve been heading long before we introduced erotic pain. Like our relationship has been a D/s dynamic long before he put the collar around my neck. I see so many ways it makes sense for us and the idea /feels/ right. But this also feels like stupid shit to be wrestling with, so maybe…I’m just not cut out for that. Maybe I can’t give enough of myself to make that work. Maybe I’m too selfish. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough.

I’m out of ways to poke my brain and am not any closer to feeling like my head makes sense.