Marvin came over the following Thursday for a morning hook up. Having rode his bike from Bushwick, he was sweaty so we sat on my couch with a glass of water each. He was polite and reserved, it was a little awkward. Once I broke the ice with a kiss we were able to get down to business: ‘why are you wearing panties? Next time I see you I want no panties.’ Who says panties? Obviously Marvin.
After he undressed me I went upstairs to use the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had two kids. I breastfed for a total of 4 years. For the first time in a long time, I looked at my body and I thought it ugly. What the hell was I doing? I had no business with this game. This was a longitudinal experiment though and I was determined to be in it to win it. I swallowed my feelings of inadequacy.
When I came back downstairs we got going. Me: hesitant, uncomfortable. Him: confident and in his element. We started fucking.
Once again he hit me hard, so far so good. Then we entered the battlefield. He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me onto his cock. This guy has a big dick and without being able to control my head I gagged. ‘See baby, I want you to gag. Spit on it.’ I tried to do what he wanted. But the thing is: I hate gagging. It reminds me of panic… anxiety. I wondered how far I could take this.
Every time he pushed me onto his cock and I gagged and pulled away he slapped me. ‘Now why aren’t you doing what I want you to?’ I was a little disoriented, I was in pain. He told me to lay on the floor and touch myself which, I did. He finished the job by going down on me.
There was more to come and in a series of humiliating positions he held my head and made me gag. Any time I moved away he grabbed my head and pulled me back, hitting me at the same time. He shoved his fingers in my ass and it hurt. At one stage he sat on the arm of the couch and bent me over his knee, slapping me like a Catholic truant. I tried to give myself over to it. Then we went back to the gagging/cocksucking but this time there was a bit of strangulation thrown in.
How did I get here? I felt scared. But was that bad? At the time I was unsure.
After an hour and a half of this he told me I ‘didn’t deserve his cum.’ We were done for the day. He jumped in the shower. I dressed myself. I could hardly sit down.
Before he left, standing in the vestibule by my front door, he made me recount the three instructions he had given me: next time, no panties. I was to grow my pubic hair out. He likes a ‘full bush’ (my aesthetician!). Lastly, he wanted to see me before my ‘marks’ faded. I had a few bruises from last time and he had hit those again. I could see how, if this were to continue I would probably be constantly marked.
If I had thought myself ugly the day before it was nothing compared to how I looked the next day. I had some particularly bad bruises that were an homage to all the colors of the rainbow. On top of these there were flecks of red and blue all over my ass where the capillaries had been broken. This was not a man I would take home to meet my parents.
That afternoon, I discussed the event with R. It felt wrong: Marvin and I hadn’t agreed on any dom/sub boundaries, we hadn’t agreed on any of it actually. Maybe he just wanted to hurt women or, was the unintentional radiator experiencing a power surge? The experiment had derailed.