The Importance of Keeping Your Mouth Shut

Up until just now I had no idea what I was going to name this post, but I think it fitting. If I hadn't kept my mouth shut, the reason for me writing would not have happened, which would have been a real shame and probably would have made the day rather sour. Because this post is about play time.

For a bit more background, the Satyr and I used to go out. There were unfortunately various problems, some linked to past trauma of mine, and quite a few to do with communication. When we finally sat down and talked things through we found we wanted quite different things. I'm very glad that we've remained close - there's very few I can be really at ease around.

Being at ease unfortunately doesn't mean being open. I don't know what keeps me from doing so with him, it might be the previously-mentioned trauma, but as he is the only one I've started a new relationship with since then I can't be sure. Its led to some awkward situations and some major miscommunication.

On Friday night he came around for the watching of dvds. Unexpectedly we ended up having the house to ourselves. There were many warm cuddles, and some serious flirting. Some serious serious flirting. Yet I could still feel that wall inside, that damned wall that despite being so at ease with him just would not crumble, jabbing at my insides whenever I gave it a nudge. I have to wonder if it gives me a glazed look or something from his comments. No sweet Satyr, you're not meant to know what that look means, that's the whole purpose of a mask. I was almost literally biting my tongue at his question - first instance of keeping my mouth shut. Its never a good topic, almost guaranteed to leave me in tears.

At one point I offered to show him a rather revealing piece of lingerie I had recently acquired. And then to model it. It was a rather cold night, so it took a bit of mental prodding on my own part, but I so wanted to see that look on his face, and I was certainly rewarded when he stepped back into my room. His hands were cold to start, but it felt so good to be touched again, and they warmed fast. In fact the whole room got quite warm fast, warm enough for him to shed his jersey, and for my shaking to not be from the chill any more.

He pulled me onto his lap, whispering in my ear just what he could do with me in such a garment, his hands demonstrating hot on the heels of his words. The panicky part of me was yelling to tell him to say, not show. That night though it had fallen in a pit and was sounding rather faint, so I was actually able to tell it to shut up. Second instance of keeping my mouth shut.

Then he swept me up in his arms and laid me down on my bed, and that's when I felt the wall finally vanish, laid out trembling and vulnerable beneath him.

Is it any wonder that I enjoy submission so much when its the only time I feel like myself?

I love to feel a man's hands on me. I love to writhe and squirm and moan for them, to show them what a slut I can be, to delight them with my responses. I can't stop to think with him touching me, and that's probably a good thing, because odds are I would over-analyse the situation. His hands on my skin, on my breasts, inside me, that's all there is.

Then he asked if I would like him to cum.

Oh crap, here? On my bed?

Many times I've felt like a selfish lover with him, getting off so much from his touch, never giving the same in return, and always feeling guilty. As much as I want him to enjoy as much as I am, I hit that mental block again. Yet more trauma scars. How can I ask him to leave, or to wait? I know what it is prompting such a response, but I can't even trust myself to speak, for fear of spoiling it all.

So I say nothing, and trust and hope that he will do what he feels comfortable with.

Soon enough he frees his cock, as big and hard as I have ever seen it, and strokes himself to orgasm. And I am very glad that I kept my mouth shut, because I liked seeing just how much he enjoyed it too, despite my initial reaction.

Curled up on the bed with him, the lingerie long ago discarded, we basked and dozed and chatted. I could feel the wall going up again brick by brick. Sigh. But at least I had something warm and fuzzy to keep with me behind it until it came down again.

Was a much nicer return to reality than it could have been, as we were still like that when we heard my mother in the hallway, having completely missed the door, and snapping the wall up that fast isn't so nice. I'm glad I had been in a dressing gown already before she left, so she wasn't surprised when I came out in it to divert her from poking in my room. Though she didn't know that now I was naked under it!