The nipple meat follies

Infants are wonderful, glorious, magical little creatures…who suck all sexual energy out of a person and shove it down a deep, dark hole – never to be seen again. Luckily, Belle and I are past all that now. Ours are grown sufficiently to get up by themselves and more or less deal with life while mom and dad “sleep in”. Belle’s sister and her husband, though, are still about five years, ten months out from that luxury.

Last night, they brought their two-month-old baby over to us so they could attempt reentry into adult society. While we were hanging with the little peanut, they went and sat in a bar before having a lovely meal, uninterrupted by crying babies, in a dimly lit restaurant – only to spend the entire time talking about the baby. By 10:00, they had returned, packed up, and gone back to the hellish existence called “new parenthood”.

I was thrilled because 10:00 isn’t crazy late for a Saturday and Saturday is the one night I look forward to all week long. Nine times out of ten, we have sex on Saturday night. And not just any sex. It’s usually the night we use to break out of the box and try new things. However, this Saturday night was that tenth night where, because the bouncing baby sex energy black hole had tired her out, Belle was uninterested in hanky-panky.

We should have left it at that. Sucked it up and considered it a donation to the young couple with the screaming ball of joy. But, either due to her lingering desire to please me or my pathetic, deprived posture – or some combination of the two – we did not leave it at that. Belle, bless her heart, decided to experiment some more.

Let me say right off, I am a big fan of Belle’s experimentation. I do not fault her at all for what went down. Just so we’re clear about that. You win some, you lose some. Last night was a loser.

She wanted to know if I could sleep with clothespins on my nipples (and not the wimpy wooden ones we have, but the firmer plastic kind with rubber ends for better gripping). I told her I wasn’t sure if I could, though I immediately felt trepidation. Even if I could fall asleep pinned, should I? Could I be damaged by leaving clothespins on my nipples all night? Also, was I supposed to try to keep them on all night? What if they came off? Should I put them back on? What were the rules here? I didn’t ask any of these questions, of course, because I was in my subbie painslut headspace. I dutifully got the clothespins and gave them to Belle.

Her intention was to put them on me, then go to sleep. She was tired and didn’t want to do anything but also didn’t want me to go empty handed. Very sweet, but more warning bells. Pain is not a passive plaything. Bondage can be (hell, I’ve been in bondage for over a week 24/7 if you count the CB6K), but pain requires attention. I endure it – the really strong stuff – because of her feedback. She inflicts it and I absorb it because she inflicted it and, presumably, wants me to absorb more. The idea that she’d set me up then roll over and go to sleep just felt wrong. And I should have said that. But I didn’t.

So, on went the plastic clamps. She’s figured out that by not grabbing a big hunk of nipple meat she can make it hurt more. She pinches just enough to hold on and that creates a more intense pain. I reacted immediately. It felt really good and I got pretty hard. She was touching me, asking me how it felt. It was all great. But then she started to drift off. She knew I wasn’t in the right place and asked what my score was, but I answered with the pat, “I want to do what you want me to do,” line. She wanted me to sleep with clamped nipples. OK, I’ll do that. But I knew it was not going to be good.

I actually did skate pretty close to sleep a few times, but the clamps kept my brain anchored to wakefulness. Belle, eventually, started breathing deeply and regularly. Then I felt neglected. The pain turned that corner from warm and pleasant to harsh and mean. It wasn’t feeling good any more. Since she was out for the next eight or nine hours, I was in limbo. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to fall asleep. Should I lay there for hours awake and hating it? Should I wake her up and ask her what to do? Should I just take the friggin’ things off, roll over, and go to sleep? No option seemed good.

It says something about the state I can get in that I felt paralyzed by the options before me. I did nothing for a long time because none of them seemed like the right way to go. I didn’t want to disappoint her, I didn’t want to disobey her, I didn’t want to bother her. Of course, I removed them. I rolled over onto my stomach and felt bad. Belle, asleep, instinctively moved her hand to touch my side when she felt my movement, but she didn’t wake up. I could have cried. I felt like shit.

The important and good thing from this experience is that I was able to talk to her about it this morning. We both know now why that didn’t work. We know where not to go in the future. As long as we’re always moving forward and learning new things, I’m perfectly fine with the occasional potholes.

One Reply to “The nipple meat follies”

  1. This is a really familiar type of dynamic. I haven’t had this exact experience, of course, but I’ve had to learn to be really, really careful about unsupervised instructions. They often do create a lot of painful ambiguity and confusion turning to bad feelings.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *