(Mis)Treatment

I’ll admit it, there was a somewhat covert layer to my post on Friday. I had the main post drafted out, but then it just needed a little bit more, it had the potential to be more, to be something better.

So I made it that way.

It started off with adding one or two more details than really needed to be there, a “dip” as I like to call it; a tiny taste of my wicked mind and then back out into a very casual, airy interaction between myself and the reader. Almost as though that moment of intensity was nothing more than a figment of their imagination. A sampler spoonful, if you will.

It was good, but it still needed more. It needed images, so I was careful in my selection of those too. I wanted to create a kind of visual story into my submission as well, all without going too obtrusive or overboard. I think it worked.

Of course my intention was to give my readers a taste of me (though not like that, you perverts). However, nobody was more of a target for my devious intentions than my close friend and fellow deviant, Bill.

Oh yes, I knew what I was doing and I knew what my intentions were. It was much more than just teasing him, more of a subliminal, full-throttle fucking which I could then deny all knowledge of. That was my master plan.

Going back, then Bill and I have been close friends since whenever the hell it was, probably 2009 or so. We first met online on the now-retired BDSM website Informed Consent, then in person at Bristol Kite Festival in (I think) 2014, then again at a restaurant in, again I think, 2015. We hit it off right away in person, and when we met for dinner there was a very noteable tension in the air.

Since then we’ve had a “thing” between us, coupled with unwavering emotional and, if possible, practical support.

We tried defining it as a relationship for a time, but we both had different needs and could-gives and realised that holding on wasn’t really being fair on the other, so we let that go. We didn’t stop being friends though, and we didn’t stop flirting with each other, either. Oh no, we did not.

In fact, I think subliminally (and sometimes overtly mentally) fucking one another sort of became a thing we did. A physical relationship was off for us, in large part because we both knew and accepted that Bill’s primary partner wouldn’t be comfortable with it, but flirting with the what if’s and maybe’s became a game we played instead. Flirting was okay, and the feelings were mutual, so we found ourselves in an openly known and accepted flirtationship instead. That’s worked for us ever since.

Bill is Dom switch, and I am submissive, so that sort of lent itself for things falling into place there too. We never formally agreed what we were though, it was more assumed and not contested given that Bill and Matt hit it off just as quickly. I had no reason to contest it, and Bill has never given me reason to do so. Once Matt said that he would trust Bill with me, I knew that my fate was sealed.

I was as much Bill’s as I was Matt’s from then on, and that’s just the way it was. Us submissive types really don’t get much of a say in these things.

But whereas Matt has little interest in my medical kinks, for Bill they are of most interest. Whereas many people find them weird, Bill finds them curious and exciting. It was always that which made me sit up and pay particular attention – I’d never been “there” before.

It changed our relationship, because he knew just how and where to push to send me spiralling deep into my submission. I wasn’t afraid of Bill, but I was more inclined to think twice before I tormented him.

Usually.

Except for when I don’t, and then my trying to torment Bill usually comes back to haunt me.

Incidentally, I am cleaning a not-exactly-warm bathroom when he messages me.

Nothing wrong with an extra chill 😉

I did enjoy last night’s post, deeply revealing

A soft sigh escapes me and the world folds away. He’s taken me there already, the ass.

Why do you do this to me?

😉 I do nothing, such an accusation

That word is back there on my tip of my tongue, and it’s both an admittance of my position and a plea for the mercy that I’m not sure I really want anyway. That word – Sir.

He knows the power of words. It’s why we work, it’s why we play these games, it’s how we fuck one another even with our clothes still on and dozens of miles between us.

It takes me a good 10-15 minutes to collect my thoughts again, my skin tingles, my vision feels hazy and my hearing feels muffled. I’m present in the room and yet I’m not here at all, it’s a sort of fizzy, hypnotic, blissed-out and peaceful state that I find myself in. Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose that the cold, hard floor beneath my feet and the chill in the air probably isn’t helping things. I feel sleepy, or at least deeply relaxed. A part of me wants to resist it still.

It’s subspace for me, and Matt knows that I find subpace hard sometimes. It’s a tranquil place but it’s also a place of vulnerability, and life has taught me that it’s not always safe to be vulnerable with others. I need to only be vulnerable with people that I can trust, at least ultimately, though experience has taught me that my physically-hypersensitive state is entertaining to the sadist that I’m married to, too. Even running a pinwheel along my inner arm (or heaven forbid, thigh) is enough to make me groan deeply in protest, to which he laughs.

Fortunately, experience has taught me that Bill is also one such person who I can trust. Ish.

Though he is a sadist too. It seems they really must be my favourite breed, who knew?

I growl at the thoughts that swirl through my mind, at being his patient, his subject, while simultaneously not really minding them at all. There’s enough will in me to put up a fight, but not enough in me to resist. I think that’s a known of me by now; she’s feisty until the very end.

Or at least until she’s slept very deeply and peacefully for a solid eight hours and she’s back up and ready to take on the world again, anyway.

By nightfall I run my aquarium ammonia, nitrates and nitrites tests: Yellow, yellow, blue – the colours that make for a happy freshwater aquarist. None of the bad stuff, just as you’d want it to be.

Before I’m finished though, I decide to have one last laugh with Bill. I poise the syringe and a pair of tweezers around the test tubes, just to give them that scientific asthetic. Happy with my photo, I caption it and hit send.

There were experiments, and I was involved 😉

Ha! That will give him something to think about. What experiments would he like to conduct, exactly? I take a sip of my evening tea with a borderline arrogant smirk upon my face. Gotcha!

It doesn’t take Bill long to reply.

Hmm science, makes an interesting sucker a syringe 😉

… Damn him.