“Well, I’m guessing that didn’t go exactly as you expected,” she murmured into my chest. Her voice was fuzzy with happy afterglow of rope and orgasm-induced endorphins.
My natural inclination towards sarcasm shaped my response. “Oh, no. I completely expected that reaction to the hood. It was all according to my Domly plan.” I was talking about the bit of edge play I’d pushed with my holiday gift to her. It was a Darlex bondage hood, with an opening for a mouth and a ponytail and nothing else. For a girl who had claustrophobic issues as well as no interest in humiliation or objectification, it was truly nudging at her boundaries. It had taken a few tries to get it on right, and then she had lasted quite a while, pleasuring me, before the last ropes on her ankles had pushed her over the edge into needing to have it off.
“Oh, I’m not talking about the hood,” she said. “That was…hard, but I definitely want to try it again.” Thank you, WinterFetish, I thought, glad that my Christmas present wasn’t going to be relegated to the bottom of the toy drawer. I also gave her a grateful squeeze, because that’s the definition of courage; being scared, and facing it anyway because it might be worth it.
And besides, removing the hood had only been a minor pause in the larger scene. We’d gone on to a nice ebi endurance tie culminating with some mutually satisfactory oral pleasure and even scored a simultaneous orgasm. “We rock!” I said to her, and gave her a high five.
She waved at the bedside table. “No, I was talking about the butt plug, the video camera, the condoms, the Tenga…” Not to mention the MauiKink cane and punishment rod in my suitcase, I thought.
But I thought about what she said, and gave it a serious answer. “Well…I’m not the kind of top who plans every bit of a scene step-by-step. I have some goals, of course, but I’m more about…creating an environment.” I waved at the toys. “I create a space where things can happen, and if some of them require props, it’s good to have them handy. If they’re not used, but we had a good time,” I hugged her again, “then it’s all good.”
And that’s important, I think, for good play, or even just for good life. Because sometimes you plan things very completely, such as
[THREE PARAGRAPHS OF SARCASTIC SNARK BORDERING ON PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE REDACTED]
…you can only hold her shaking hand as she weeps with frustrated energies and humiliated rage at being so dismissed by this person she trusted. You put away your own sense of failure, at having told her to put her trust in the wrong person, and you do your best to make it a good evening anyway – with Jack & Ginger and an Acid cigar and snuggles on the couch of the cigar bar.
Eventually you and she can focus on what you did gain from the evening: the knowledge that even when things gang aft a-fuckin’-gley, you’ve already got a relationship that can absorb it and bounce back, still full of the richness of joy and play and the good stuff.
Plans are all well and good. But a loving, open heart trumps them, agley or not, and thank the gods for that.
