I am a highly sensitive creature. Maybe too sensitive sometimes. I take things personally that I shouldn’t. My skin can be thin at times…too often, actually. My senses are usually heightened. I smell…and taste…and hear…and feel deeply.
In fact, recently, I wrote about the senses for The Erotic Journal Challenge…
But last night, I was reminded of my physical sensitivity and how it actually gets in the way of things sometimes.
Mr. D loves to play with my nipples, but honestly, most of the time I can barely stand it. I stand there (or lay there) and accept it, gritting my teach, trying desperately not to squirm and squeal. There are times, though rare, that my nipples are not so sensitive…though I’m not sure what causes it (I need to pay closer attention so I can replicate it).
Last night, I took my shirt off near the bedroom door, getting ready for bed, just as he walked in. Arms over my head in mid-disrobing, he saw the obvious opportunity to take hold of what was in front of him. I braced myself, knowing what was coming. It’s not that I dislike it…so my “bracing” isn’t a “fuck, you’ve got to be kidding me, why do you have to touch me” sort of reaction. It’s more a “oh, shit, just please oh please be able to handle it without screaming because I know he loves it and I know it would please him if I just enjoyed it” sort of reaction.
But, I could tell, from the first touch, that this was a night I was going to be overly-sensitive to touch. And he was going to capitalize on it.
He went to get ready for bed, and I got in it, setting alarms and snuggling in. But, he came out of the bathroom, he came to my side of the bed and turned on the lamp. Clear sign. Then he ripped off the blankets. Clearer sign. And then he climbed onto the bed, from the bottom, and began kissing my leg upward, from my food to my thigh, laying tiny bites on the softest parts, driving me absolutely fucking mad and making me scream and wriggle and bite my own lips, my hands on my head, trying to contain the sensations.
Every little centimeter of my skin was on alert, and no matter how hard I tried to “breathe into it” and just “let go” I could not. My yoga principles failed hard as I writhed beneath his touch.
I’m not sure if it irritates the fuck out of him when this happens or if he enjoys making me flip out in this way.
And I’m also not sure why other nights, this kind of treatment affects me differently. Sometimes, I find the whole process sensuous and, rather than my body fighting it, it sinks into it and soaks it up. I undulate and moan with pleasure rather than flop around like an angry cat.
I will say that after he finally licked my clitoris and calmed me down with a bit of oral attention, my skin was no longer standing at attention. Things felt warmer and softer, and more willing to accept exploration.
Sensitivity can be torture in so many ways. On a night like last night, tying me down and going at me (no sex necessary) until I cried would have been easy and taken little time. And maybe it would have been a healthy exercise for me. It would have driven me crazy. But, Mr. D is not a sadist (mostly). He slipped his fingers into me and took my brain to a different place, letting my sensitive skin and nipples rest…for the time being.
And then he gave me a lesson in submission…but I’ll save that story for another time…maybe.