Recollared

Looking back, I can see that the breakup was a necessary thing.

He had some family issues to deal with.  I thought I was helping.  I meant well, but really I was getting in the way.  And I had my own baggage to deal with.  Memories from my way back past.  Stuff that had followed me all this time.  I needed to take the time to let that stuff go.

And so we broke up.  And I cried.  And listened to sad music.  And ate ice cream, and went to the gym and did all those things you do when you break up.  And I got healthier, and stronger.  

It was the sex that made me first consider coming back.  I missed the ass beatings.  And the cock sucking.  I could have sucked any cock I wanted, he told me.  But it wouldn’t have been the same.  Different technique, different rhythm.  Different smell.  Musky testosterone, with a hint of cayenne.  Eau de Dom.  I have a thing about smell.  His smell.

None of my vanilla friends understood why I went back.  But they never understood it to begin with.  Of course, they didn’t, there was always a key piece missing from their view.  The kinky piece. 

It’s hard enough in a vanilla relationship to find good sexual chemistry.  But when you’re kinky, you have another hurdle beyond that to clear – you have to have relatively compatible kinks.  To find someone with whom you have great sexual chemistry, closely compatible kinks, and then on top of that, good trust and communication – ah, that’s the jackpot.  To trust him enough to be able to forget your safeword while deep in subspace.  To have such good communication that you don’t even have to remember that safeword.  He knows you so well that he can see your limits approaching even before you do.    

There are lots of Doms out there.  And I’m sure at least a few of those are pretty good Doms.  But a Dom like that?  One in a million.

And so, we tried it out again.  And he beat my ass until my feet started to shake back and forth, and he knew he had gotten me to that sweet intersection of pleasure and pain.  

It hasn’t been an easy few months.  I’ve yelled.  I’ve cried.  I’ve screamed in fits of anger.  As he slowly, carefully, took back the reins of control.  A process not unlike taming a skittish horse.  Until one day a few weeks ago when he sternly announced to me that I was “his whore, dammit”.  And my pussy got all wet.  And here I am, all recollared again.

It will probably always be like this for us – falling apart, rushing back together again.  Endless cycles of up and down.   I’m learning to let go of my rules and expectations for what the relationship is “supposed” to be.  Learning to relax into the rhythm of it.  But for now, I’m just enjoying sucking his cock again.  Inhaling his aroma.  Enjoying the feeling of his collar around my neck again.