You guys, my life last night could have been the scene of a bad BDSM movie. Or maybe a section in a "Things that Can Go Wrong" guide, titled How Children Can Kill Your Kink.
Most of you probably know my five-year-old son had surgery last week. The doctor warned us his recovery time would be slow, and things would get worse before they got better. We were told the worst would probably hit day three, post-surgery, after which, his condition (and mood) would improve.
Friday and Saturday were hard, for him as well as us, but we handled it. By yesterday, we thought the worst had passed. The storm was over, and the clouds would clear.
The relief affected Husband by triggering his Dom/Sadist side. It was as if, now that the stress of surgery on his child was gone, and everything was fine, he could celebrate...on me.
He didn't want to hear cries of joy. He wanted howls of agony.
Sometimes, when he gets like this, he gets playful.
This time, he didn't even bother trying to set me up in a trap, or wrap up what he wanted to do to me in pretty words like "punishment" and "discipline."
He put it very simply: "You have your nature...and I have mine."
It was obvious he had some plans already formed in his head how he wanted the night to go, but he didn't want to share them. There was only one thing he would divulge: I'd be getting plugged with horseradish. He told me this in a very calm, matter-of-fact tone, that made all the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Again, he wasn't doing this because I'd done something to deserve it, and he wasn't trying to teach me any sort of lesson. He was doing it because he wanted to. That was it.
Evening came, the kids went to bed, and Husband started in on his fun. Since we got the spreader bar a few months ago, Husband's favorite thing to do has been to attach the bar between my ankle cuffs, then snap my wrist cuffs to it, too, so I end up on my back, somewhat folded, with my arms and legs up. The position gives him better access to, well, everything.
That's the way he positioned me last night. Then he put a blindfold over my eyes.
Then he put in the horseradish.
It took a minute for the burn to kick in, like it usually does. I could feel his hands on my ass as he waited, caressing, fondling, and spreading. He could tell from my moans the pain was getting worse.
And then we both heard:
Five-year-old Son, who had been cutting back on his pain medication and had seemed to show every sign of recovering, was wailing in agony.
Husband's reaction was instinctive and swift: he pulled on his boxers and ran to his son. Leaving me spread, cuffed, blindfolded and plugged.
I didn't even realize what had just happened until I heard our bedroom door open. But a second later, when I heard his voice in our son's bedroom, I knew. I was dumbstruck. I wanted to run to help our son, too, but couldn't, for obvious reasons.
"DON'T JUST LEAVE ME HERE!"
He didn't answer, of course. He was too busy consoling our son, as was right. I should have been in there with him, too, but I had to get myself out of my restrains first...and get the horseradish out of my ass.
Getting cuffs off yourself is hard, but not impossible, not even when they're attached to a spreader bar. I worked as fast as I could, with fumbling, shaking fingers, pulled the root of my ass, and went to help Husband with our son.
We gave him pain meds, sat with him until the meds started to work, and put him back to bed. By that time, the mood had dissipated.
"We can't really pick up where we left off, can we," he murmured once we were back in our own bedroom.
"No," I said. "But we can still have some fun."
So we got undressed, and this time, he had me kneel on all fours and blow him while he stood in front of me, slapper in hand, ready to wallop me every time I didn't suck him in deep enough. We went on for quite a while, letting things move along naturally. Eventually, he started bucking his hips against my face, and I knew I was about to get the full dose of his climax deep in my throat.
This time, we both did some swearing as we quickly got decent and went in to him. He was sweaty, and thirsty, and needed to pee again. He also needed some comfort, as all little kids do when they're awake at a time of night they're usually asleep. So we chaperoned him to the bathroom, got him a drink, snuggled up with him in bed, and this time, didn't leave until his breathing was even and deep.
Any thought of play at that point was totally gone. We were done. Husband fucked me, but it was more a simple release of pressure than anything else. I didn't come at all.
We're both exhausted this morning. Son, of course, is not: he's bright and happy. He's sitting not too far from me right now, watching Spongebob, content.
I'm glad one of us is!
The thing about living a D/s lifestyle is that sometimes, life gets in the way, and when you throw kids into the picture, the number of ways things can go wrong increases a thousand fold. You just gotta go with it, do the best you can, and laugh when the mood strikes.
But I swear to God, that is the last time I let Husband plug me with horseradish when there's a sick kid in the house.