By pinching my nipple A. could read my thoughts. I was laying against his chest last night, shirt up to give him access. He was fondling the creamy, abundant breasts bulging inside my black bra. Tenderly -- at first. Then he pinched my nipple, gradually crushing it between his thumb and forefinger. Instead of protesting or retaliating (his boys are much more sensitive than my girls), I simply whimpered.
"Somebody's in a subby mood," he announced.
I hadn't intended to show my cards so soon.
He had just been telling me that he was in a mood more amenable to subbing if I still wanted to top. We were going to play the night before, but he had been feeling under the weather with the cold that won't go away. And I had been far too groggy from an epic four and half hour nap (despite my normal twelve-hour slumber that night), even though I had fallen asleep while planning a night of sadistic delight.
Suddenly he was suggesting all sorts of nasty things to do to my ass: ginger, the cane, a hard punitive ass fucking (it's what dirty sluts get for being, well, dirty sluts, right?). All of which was making my cunt gush.
As is so often the case however, my cunt and the rest of my body were at total odds with each other. The sciatica in my left buttock kept throbbing, despite much icing. The muscle spasm in my right foot would not stop pulsating. My bummy hole has been rather tender of late with, um, ::cough:: hemorrhoids ::cough:: (I hate the stuff my doctor gave me to treat them). And the lower right abdominal pain that I've finally agreed to let a surgeon take a look at was as distressing as ever. Indeed for the last few months I haven't even been able to come without a sharp, violent pain there at the moment of orgasm -- hence the reason I've finally agreed to the laparoscopy after dragging my feet for three years with multiple bouts of physical therapy and every other kind of therapy you can think of.
Even as I dreamed of punishment during my rest period, of being vulnerable and violated, I knew it was not to be. Perhaps A. began the evening with the right idea in the first place. My legs could use a good massage -- and maybe even my foot and glutes.
"I'll have a bowl ice cream, please," I ordered A. after handing him the creams and oil I wanted him to use for my massage.
When he returned with my ice cream, he shook his head.
"How did we end up here tonight? What happened to me fucking you up the ass?"
You know, the question I was asking in my last post. The funny thing about switching is, you never know who's going to end up on top.