The lights are dim. The gas-mask is on. Video plays on the flat-screen with grunts, and moans, and grunts, and thrusting. Knots are tied. Un-tied. Re-tied. Pleasure is denied, and explored and denied. Rhythmically. Sometimes in time with the music. Sometimes in time with the video.
Sometimes in time with the grinding of hips against restraints as erotic tension builds. Or groans. Or deep, growly breathing. And subsides. And builds.
Higher plateaus are reached and recede. And approach. And recede and new heights of pleasure are just within grasp and withheld.
…and sometimes the surrender is a surprise.
…and sometimes limits are reached that weren’t even known they were limits until a strange scream mixed of joy, ecstasy, and anger because one tiny shred of control that wasn’t even a conscious limit is suddenly gone, carried away by an animal sound you’ve never heard before…
…and really liked hearing.
…and there he is, covered in sweat and the thick remains of his own shot-away excitement.
So do you relax and sort out the confusion and the pleasure?
Or do stand back while he scurries to find clothes that he thought were in an organized pile while you smile your best inscrutable smile? Watch him flip mentally through the “hooker’s checklist” of watch, wallet, keys and, sometimes underwear as he pats pockets and head for the nearest exit.
Should you text to confirm that he is OK and that you haven’t broken an unspoken limit?
These are the things that happen during kinky play, and regardless of safe-words and interviews and constant communication…
Sometimes there are trapdoors.
Sometimes you are left floating in brand new territory.
What do you do with that?