Crying

Update: Listed as Editor’s Choice on Sugasm 154. Thank you, RV!

I woke up feeling as though I’d gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson.

I hadn’t, of course — a quick check to see if i was still in possession of both my ears proved that. I had, however, woken up after an evening of serving my fabulous Dom, and I literally felt as though my legs had been hung backwards on my hips. I ached — oh how I ached.

I do not complain, I merely remark.

However, this was all secondary. What was bothering me was a bout of extemporaneous weeping that had suddenly come upon me as my Dom was fucking me and using me the previous evening.

I’m not a crier, and certainly not a spontaneous one. This is not to say i don’t ever cry — I do, usually when moved by emotional situations — but in those instances it’s understandable, and more to the point, contextual.

Only on rare occasions have i ever burst into uncontrolled fits of tears, and i remember pretty much all of them from throughout my life. They all seem to be associated with medical situations, in a bizarre twist of circumstance. The first was when my GP, a crusty old buffer with a gruff manner and unpleasant breath, examined my rectum when i had persistently recurrent stomach pains as a young teenager. My mother was present at the time, and it was not abuse or misconduct in any way — but i remember being extremely shaken and upset.

The last time i recall such a tearful outburst happening, was a couple of years ago when i had what I would term as partly cosmetic surgery around the area of my left eye.

And then there was last night.

He’d fastened a soft leather collar around my neck to which was attached a long leather leash. (But of course! What use is a collar without a leash, you might well ask — and I wouldn’t know how to answer you.) At first, I’d been on my knees in front of him, worshipping his cock, balls and that sensitive area at the top of his thighs that he loves me to lick and nip at — I love to give him pleasure that way — and his sighs of bliss were gratifyingly welcome.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, as is his wont, and ordered me onto the bed, on all fours, facing the wall. He arranged himself behind me, and pulled me down, slowly but surely, onto his cock.

“Gyrate yourself, gently, up and down, back and forth. Squeeze my cock inside you. Can you feel how hard you make me?”

I did as i was bid, enjoying the sensations coursing though my body. As you would expect, I adore my Dom, and consider him a god among men, especially in bed. But I’m serious about this — it’s not just mindless sub-babble. No one fucks like him. No one. And god knows, I’ve had a few. But I digress. Bad Sapphire.

As i moved myself, impaled on his cock, he pulled at the leash, softly at first, and then jerked it hard. I felt the soft leather tighten around my throat for a moment, and then to my amazement, i found myself bursting into tears.

Originally, I’d not wanted to have any kind of breath play involved when we met. The idea of wearing a hard collar terrified me. The feel of even the slightest pressure on my throat sends me into a blind panic — and it’s almost completely irrational, and I don’t know from where it springs.

Then we’d looked at his bag of evil sadistic sex toys, and i’d seen that the collar was soft and pliable leather, with no evil-looking studs, and he’d tried it on me, and I’d been fine. Mentally and physically, fine.

When i cried, i had no idea why I was crying. Of course, he stopped everything and bade me crawl back up to lie next to him, where he held me as I sobbed and heaved, and stroked my hair soothingly.

“What on earth is this? You weren’t short of breath and you didn’t use the safe-word. Are you OK? Why are you crying?”

But he said it with such care, and so soothingly that i cried even harder.

“I d-d-don’t k-k-k-know…” I stuttered through a veil of tears.

“Were you in pain? Did you feel you were choking?”

“N-n-n-no.”

“OK, calm down now, there, there. Come kiss me, Sapphire-the-Fucktoy.”

He held me until i calmed down, and then sent me back to the end of the bed, and the end of his cock.

I am still at a loss to explain what happened. Not through lack of trying — god knows, I’ve been racking my brain ever since. So far, no scenario suggested seems right:

I can’t recall a suppressed memory. (Yes, i can see the irony in the statement.)  i just think that memory fragments would have begun to float back to me by now if there were any, and they haven’t.

Is it an irrational fear of choking?

Maybe i on one level long to be owned, and on another level hate and abhor the idea, causing me to encounter an incredibly complex inner clash of emotions, resulting in a bout of spontaneous weeping?

Either way, it seems to have opened floodgates, no pun intended. I’m not constantly tearful, but every so often i feel overwhelmed and well up. Then I take a deep breath and compose myself, and I’m fine.

Mostly.

Either way, I’m eternally grateful to him for the tender way in which he dealt with me when i cried. He was warm, compassionate and caring — and I realised once again how lucky I am to know this man, much more to have him as my Dom.

Even if he did make me cry.

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