Friday came around and the girl arrived at Home 2.0. She had gotten herself into a not insignificant amount of trouble during the previous two weeks which I believe she expected to be dealt with swiftly upon arrival; but that didn’t happen. We had dinner and late into the evening I led her outside to the patio, where we settled in to catch up on activities since we were again face to face. The conversation came around to some of her shenanigans which had been the source of my displeasure.
It was during this conversation that I impulsively decided we needed to retire to the play room, though it was already after midnight. Earlier in the week she had asked me a favor, that I not stop our scene if she started to panic as she had previously. I had told her I would honor her request even though I knew the potential risk involved. While a lot of what we do is risky and I have no issue hurting her; harming her in any way would absolutely devastate me. I know that a lot of you reading this aren’t lifestyle folk and this statement could be incredibly confusing but I can assure you – there is a tremendous difference.
We hit the hour and a half mark and I had her chained on her back to the box, the three foot by three foot contraption I had commissioned recently. She was wearing nothing but ankle cuffs and the locking mitts that she hates because she can’t escape. As she is a former fighter and her vantage point was typically on her back, to be in this particular position can really cause her duress. And it did.
I had been rotating between using my hands, implements and teeth to punch, bite, hit and manipulate every available body part. Her head and shoulders suddenly reared up and she snarled something at me. I thought I had heard it but wasn’t entirely sure as she’d never said these words to me before.
“Alexa, pause.” The music stopped.
“What did you say to me?”
With some difficulty, her eyes flash darkly at me. “Fuck. You.” She sneers.
“Fuck me?” I ask. “Really?”
“Yeah. FUCK YOU.”
I’m instantly on top of her, straddling her body with mine and holding her down with all of my weight; hand gripped tightly down on either side of her throat while pushing her head back as her face starts to darken and she’s struggling for oxygen that won’t come.
I put my mouth next to her ear and purr “No baby, fuck YOU. Cause you ain’t going nowhere until I let you go, and I’m not done yet.” For emphasis I take a nice long lick from her chin to just under her eye before letting her go. I remove my hand and watch the color in her face return to normal as she coughs and tries to shake it off.
I continue with my assault on her and eventually end up grabbing the cane she gifted me early into our relationship. It has a fantastic reach and is particularly effective on the most sensitive of areas; inside of the upper arms, breasts, inner thighs and feet are favored targets. At this point she was trying to curl up into a fetal position and was talking again, though softer this time. Once again I paused the music to hear.
“……I have to get up.” She’s trying to push herself up but cannot as she’s attached to the box. Her eyes are rolling back into her head. She can no longer focus and is no longer fighting, just trying to sit up. “I have to get up.” She repeats.
“Why?” I ask her. Genuinely curious.
She’s struggling to form her words. “A lot of people are going to lose a lot of money. They’re counting on me. I’ve got to get up.”
A chill runs through me. The boy child is back and he’s back in the ring, just where muse left him so many years ago. He’d recently made an appearance after many, many years of being locked away deep inside of her psyche and here he was, lying in front of me trying to do what had been so deeply ingrained in him to do. Never give up. Keep going no matter what the circumstance.
I put the cane down and straddled him again, softly speaking as I did.
“No, you don’t have to. You aren’t there anymore, you’re safe. You’re with Osha and I. You don’t have to fight anymore, baby. Just rest. We love you and it will all be okay.” I just kept talking to her softly and gently touching her where just moments earlier I’d been striking her. I watched her slowly relax and then she ended up simply collapsing, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks from under her closed lids.
I unhooked the cuffs that had been binding her and prodded her to wake up enough to help me help her get to the bedroom where she promptly tumbled onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning I was out of bed before she was as my mind was dancing over the details of the previous nights activities. I didn’t realize how deeply it had affected me until I started texting a dear friend about what had happened and found myself with tears of my own running down my face.
When muse woke up a little later we started talking about what happened, and she didn’t remember any but a very few details. When I started describing it I suddenly became overwhelmed and found myself breaking down and unable to stop crying for a moment.
I didn’t cry because I am ashamed of what we do or who we are; I cried because I see that sweet, broken boy trapped inside of our beautiful girlfriend and I know his presence haunts her. We are tap dancing over the ghost of him and possibly others and as all of this unfolds we really don’t know what to expect, but we do know that we have to move forward because stopping is not an acceptable option.
Had the boy been allowed by his family and society to evolve as he would have, perhaps there wouldn’t be such a tormented soul now speaking up from the unmarked grave he currently occupies.
But had things gone any differently; would she still resemble the person we know and love now? What would have been sacrificed back then in homage to her being allowed to transition when she first expressed a need to? Her talent? Her passion? Her strength or fiercely protective nature over those she values?
In reality had all of that happened back then, we would not be here writing this blog and trying to figure all of this out, and while the whole thing at times has been confusing and incredibly painful in ways I could have never imagined; I am honored to be trusted to help carry her through this journey as she comes to truly know who she is; and not just who others want or demand her to be.
Many of us never get that privilege.