3-2-1 Meltdown

Thursday night Alan came over and fucked me good. Friday I went to BF #2’s he also fucked me good. Saturday night Sir fucked me until I came well over 7 times. I guess all the fucking and cumming wasn’t what I had really needed because after I still felt empty and alone. And, when Sir tried to leave, I lost total control.

I told Alan to only fuck me, not hit me like he likes to. He agreed and fucked me so hard against the side of the bed we knocked the top of the mattress off the base and into the side table and knocked my lamp onto the floor. That was fun. In between and after fucking we talked and cuddled. Talking to Alex is like trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle. He is adorably depressive and hates himself for seeing me. He thinks we are bad for each other. He isn’t polyamorous and doesn’t understand it. He is hurt that I am not exclusive to him and that I don’t want to play more. But, he admits we aren’t a good match for a serious romantic relationship. Sometimes I wonder if I am pushing his boundaries by texting him when I want to play. Yet, he always wants to come play with me when I do. Just before he left that night,  he couldn’t help himself and started spanking my (already sore) ass, lightly and repetitively until it was warm and red and I asked him to stop. I asked for a kiss before he left and he kissed my forehead.

Friday I texted Sir that maybe we shouldn’t do scenes anymore. It was surreal because part of me knew I was just angry and hurt and didn’t really mean it. And when I saw his reply, “OK…Then I’ll just find another bottom… Not like there’s a shortage” I knew he didn’t mean it either. I was sure he expected me to say that’s not what I wanted. Instead I said, “Good. You do that.” Because I was afraid to keep bottoming for him and it seemed like an easy out. After work I grabbed an energy drink to get me through a Friday night out. I had made plans to go to a kink community gathering and see BF #2 after.

It was really nice visiting with friends from the kink community for a bit, but I left early to go see BF #2. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. Kisses, cuddles, his skin pressed against mine, and to hear his voice and see his smile. It was everything I had hoped for and needed and more. We can’t be in a room together for very long without wanting to rip our clothes off and go at it. He shoved me against his bed and started taking my clothes off aggressively. He scolded me for not bringing condoms and instructed me to tell on myself to Sir. “I am going to ask him later if you did,” he said. BF #2 is primal and he hates condoms but he wears them for me out of respect. He kept fucking me for awhile making me cum and then ripping the condom off and teasing me more. After he ripped the third condom off he sauntered away from the bed, remarking “I hate these condoms I bought by the way.” He came back and laid down. He pulled me towards him, then suddenly lifted me and twisted we around so that my knees landed behind his head. He grabbed my hips and pulled my pussy into his face. I started sucking his cock. It felt so amazing I came way quicker than I thought I could.

We took a break after that. I laid naked on the bed and BF#2 stood occasionally pacing around his room, slowly returning items of clothing to his body. He is always generating more anxious energy than his body can hold, so constantly needs to move about to expel it. We talked about things. I told him I wasn’t going to do scenes with Sir anymore. He looked at me like I was full of shit. I tried to convince him I meant it and explained how I was feeling. He encouraged me to talk to him more. He said he knew I loved to bottom for Sir, we just needed to find somewhere in the middle we could meet. BF #2 makes a good Daddy. He can be so smart and calm when good decisions need to be made. I felt grateful I had him to talk to, because I knew he was right. I just really needed someone to tell me.

We went outside and smoked, then we went back inside and he led me back up to his room and fucked me some more. When we were done, he grinned at me and asked “So, did you cum 6 or 7 times.” Then he quoted the blog I had written the day before: “I’m a greedy lover. I like to cum at least 6 or 7 times,”while he chuckled. I blushed and hid my face as I told him that yes I had cum that many times and thank you. “You would probably say, yes anyway even if you hadn’t,” he said, because he knew I had.  I resented that remark, but  I didn’t deny it very convincingly. I like to think I never fake anything when it cums to sex. How would that serve me anyways, if my lover thought I was cumming and wasn’t? Yet when I am with dominant men I care about I have an overwhelming urge to please, that, unfortunately, sometimes, causes me to say things I don’t always mean. My desire to please seems to win over my desire to be authentic with my lover.

As we put our clothes back on a second time, I felt torn. I felt emotions inside me that I wanted to convey to him, but as the words formed in my mind, I couldn’t find the courage to say them out loud. I wanted to say how much he meant to me, make sure he knew that even though I came over horny and wanting to fuck, that he means so much more to me. I wanted him to know how special he is to me, even if we didn’t work out as primary partners. I couldn’t find the words and we went out to smoke again.

Before I left, as we were saying good bye, I put together some words, something like this: “You are so important to me. I know you think it’s crazy that I call you my boyfriend, but you ground me, you help make this overwhelming situation I am in  feel more doable. I want you to know that I appreciate you. I love you.” I had had my head down while I said these things to him. And when I finished he tilted my chin up just enough so his eyes were in my gaze, paused, and said “I love you too.” I contained my excitement, because this is the first time he has said this to me in person. I knew he was afraid that if he said it, I would read too much into it. But, I was so happy to hear him say those words.

The next day, I wrote out what I wanted to say to Sir about being his bottom. I gave it to him when I visited him at work. I told him how hurt I was that he hadn’t given me much attention this week (Okay, i admit the words I used were: ignored me). We had different perspectives on this as usual. He insisted he was busy. I continued to not understand how someone is too busy to talk with or see the person they are in love with. Before I left his work I gave him the letter and told him to read it and that it was about the bottoming thing. He looked at me and with a little frown said, “You weren’t supposed to agree with me when I said I would just get another bottom.” “I know,” I replied, “We both said things in anger.” He claimed I was the only one that had been angry, (probably because he hates to admit to having emotions) then pulled me against him and muttered in my ear, “Bottoms are a dime a dozen, you are one of a kind.”

My heart melted when he said that because he is the most special top to me and I want him to feel the same. Now if only I could have gotten him to listen when I tried to talk more about it later that night. True, I did wait until he was getting ready to fuck me to bring it up and since I expected him to read the letter later, I left a lot out. But, this is kind of how it went:

“Sir, I am scared of you….I can’t take that much pain, Sir”

“Yes, You can”

“I was so scared of the whips, Sir”

“But you did so good”

“I know. but it hurt for too long after, I am not strong enough, Sir”

“Yes, you are”

“I am afraid you will want to hurt me too much, too often”

“That was the worst it can get, Doll”

“Ok, Sir”

Because, every time he disagreed with me, he did it in the sexiest, domliest way that made it seem like he was just encouraging me to be the best I was capable of being.

He pulled me off the bed until my hips were hanging off and stuck his dick all the way inside me and pulled all the way out. I gasped. He kept doing this over and over, making me gasp every time. Then he started fucking me hard and fast until my head felt like it would explode and I held my breathe because it felt so good I didn’t want the tingling in my brain to stop. When I finally drew a breathe he asked me if I had cum. I replied yes.  As he pushed me back up onto the bed. I pointed to my shins and showed off my bruises. I told him Alan had given them to me when he fucked me against the bed. “I thought Alan didn’t fuck you,” he said. Hm. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. Usually Sir loves to hear about me fucking other guys. It turns him on. Instead I felt very close to getting into trouble. So I said “Well, he does sometimes and I asked him to.” Then I apologized for the misunderstanding. He rolled me onto my back and fucked me more and when I gasped for breathe again. He asked me again if I came. I told him I did. After that happened three times, he rolled on his back and let me crawl on top. I rode him, cumming again and again until I squirted a puddle beneath me all over him and it slurped and sprayed when our stomachs slammed together.

Sir told me to get something to clean him up. When I returned and cleaned all my cum off Sir’s dick I stuck it in my mouth and sucked and sucked happy to have him in my mouth. When I stopped he asked me how many times I had cum while I was on top of him. I told him four. He looked at my pussy and said, “Now your pussy looks all banged up and destroyed. I am surprised it wasn’t already since it’s been fucked so much this week.” Sir kept fucking me and I kept cumming so I must have cum at least ten times by the time he pressed my thighs together and slid inside me, his favorite way to cum.

After he came, he went to the shower to clean off. I laid on the bed. I should have felt better but I just felt sad and empty inside. I thought maybe I just needed Sir, So I went and found him in the shower, showered with him, and followed him back to my room. He looked at the clock and grabbed his shirt. I could feel the panic rising in my chest. “I hate to do this, Babe. But since we had dinner together it took so long, now I have to go home.” I HATE being left right after sex. Because so many men have done it to the point I think that sex is the only thing worthwhile about me. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore, but with Sir and our history and me being extra insecure this last week, it sent me into a panic.

I started begging him not to leave. He tried to be rational, but I didn’t care. Then he tried to make himself sound like he had done so much for me already. Mentioning he had come straight form work, had come early. For me. For me. That sent me into a rage. I started snapping at him. Telling him how he was wrong. Telling him not to try that shit with me. Accusing him of neglecting me and not loving me. He came close to me and kept saying the wrong things. I wanted to push him away as hard as I could. I didn’t. In my rage, I could see myself hitting him, pounding my fists against his chest and pushing him away from me. But I didn’t. I tried to tell him how angry I was, how hard it was for me not to try and hit him. He kept saying the wrong things. My eyes started to slit. I could feel the hatred in my eyes. “Do you recognize this look,” I threatened, “Is this the look your ex-wife gave you before she hit you.” And then I knew I had gone too far.

He sat down on the bed and motioned for me to sit at his feet. I buried my head in his lap and I let all the tears I had held back all week come. As I sobbed in his lap, I knew he would think my tears weren’t real, that they were used to manipulate him. I tried to think of the most honest thing I could say to let him know I was there, I was trying. “I don’t want to lose you,” I said, “I am afraid I am going to lose you.” And there I was pathetic, hysteric, completely out of control, sobbing into his lap and begging him not to leave. I told him I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him again. I told him I couldn’t make it until Monday without him.

I realized I was getting lost in my feelings and I tried to breathe. I stopped crying and I breathed. He spoke in his stern, serious voice, telling me to listen. I calmed myself more and looked up into his eyes. He cupped my face in his hands and scolded me. “You are acting weak and you aren’t weak,” he said. “What is most attractive quality in women for me,” he asked. “Strength and Independence,” I replied. “Then why are you acting weak like this? I don’t like it when you are weak.”As he lectured me, the pain re-stifled cut deep and I envisioned cutting myself. The second time I pictured the razors slicing the skin on my wrists. I told him I needed to take my medicine.

I got up numbly and went to take my anxiety medicine. He got his shoes on and got ready to leave. He told me that I didn’t need anybody. That didn’t mean I had to go without anyone but that I could if I had to. That I didn’t have to do everything on my own anymore, but to never be afraid of it. He reminded me that I had already done everything on my own, including getting clean and off the streets. And then he left. And I was okay. But it always stings when I lose myself that far to my emotions. I know Sir won’t leave me because of it, but he hates it. So do I. Part of me wishes he was a safe place to lay my head and really let all those emotions out. Maybe if I could find a way to do it that was more measured, more controlled he would. But, feelings aren’t Sir’s forte. They certainly aren’t in his comfort zone.

Last night, a guy friend came over and we snuggled and chatted. He massaged my legs and held my hand. It was nice. But, I have had enough variety for one weak and all that fucking hasn’t done a thing to fill the void or qualm the anxiety of losing a lover, having one to lose, denying a relationship with my mother, or losing support for my son. I do feel a little bit stronger though. Even if it doesn’t feel that great. I feel confidant that I will always be able to do it all on my own…if I have to. And it’s Monday and I am still okay. I just found out he isn’t coming. Now he promises Wednesday and I am okay. Because he is right. I am strong, I can do everything myself. I always survive somehow, no matter what the adversity. Except when it comes to really, truly connecting with someone in a healthy way.


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