I try not to be annoyed, it’s one of my favorites. I can see by the bulge in his grey sweatpants that he’s hard and excited, so I bite my tongue and just roll with it.

Tearing off more strips from my shirt, JD binds my hands to the bedposts. He uses the last strip of shirt to gag me, then stands back to examine his handiwork. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says gleefully.  “Another one?” I think. I’m plenty surprised now and getting wetter by the moment. JD goes into the bathroom, I can hear him rummage around, opening drawers and cabinets. I test my bindings, he’s got me tied tight. The gag tastes like fabric softener, not a very April Fresh flavor at all.

I wonder what triggered this. JD is vanilla with a capital V. This marriage isn’t really working anymore. Everything was fine as long as he had two jobs and was never home. Ever since he lost one, we’ve discovered we’re nowhere near as compatible as we liked to pretend. The sex, however, has always been lackluster. The closest he’s ever come to kinky was producing a half-used bottle of cherry flavored body oil, left over from a tryst with an ex-girlfriend. I’ve tried to talk him into tying me up, roughing me up a little, but all I’m met with is nervous laughter and another round of the missionary position. Over the years I’ve sent him dirty emails, dropped hints, bought toys, all to no avail.  I’m eager to see what he finally has in store. 

When JD and I first dated, I tried to tell him about my sexual past. He said none of that mattered to him. I told him about the awful things that had happened to me,  how when I moved here I finally got therapy,  how much better I felt now. When I eventually told him I liked pain with my sex, how I like to be restrained and dominated, he said “I think you need more therapy.” It will still be a couple years before I discover my real sexuality, before I realize liking these things doesn’t make me a freak, but when he says this, it solidifies my fears for a long time to come.

“Ready?” he calls out from the bathroom. I smell the candle before I see it, the fake floral scent is overpowering. I only bought it because it matched the blue stripes in the shower curtain. I’ve never even lit it before, it’s probably coated with dust.  When JD sets the candle near the TV, I assume he’s trying to create some sort of romantic atmosphere.

JD stands at the side of the bed. Pulling his gray sweatpants around his knees, he thrusts his dick at my mouth before he remembers I’m gagged.  He blushes, then peels the sweats all the way off. He regains his composure, then straddles me. An electric surge races through me, I want whatever he’ll give me.

I’ve needed this a long time, longer than I’ve let on to even myself.

Hesitantly, he reaches over and tweaks my nipple, then yanks his hand back like my tits are on fire. I moan a little too loudly, trying to encourage him. He pulls my hair, but it’s just a fast yank like a kid teasing a girl on a school bus. He moves up to bite my neck, then gives my breasts a hard squeeze. I’m elated as the pain ripples through my chest. I pull against the restraints, not to escape, but because the tightness that binds my wrists makes me feel alive again. I feel like Sleeping Fucking Beauty finally getting the hard dirty sex I need to wake me up after a long restless slumber.

I close my eyes and lay back on the pillow, open and excited. He fumbles around, biting and pinching, every clumsy poke leaves me hopeful. I feel the weight shift on the bed, he gets up. I wish he’d blindfolded me too. I keep my eyes shut, wanting every movement to be a surprise. I can hear him breathing hard, my skin is covered in goosebumps. The air is electric between us, a pitch of excitement I thought I lost years ago.

Then the first jolt of cheap molten candle wax splashes across my chest.

“FUCK!” I scream through the gag, spitting it loose. I sit straight up, my hands still tied to the bedposts. The headboard lurches along with me as I pull against the restraints.  JD enthusiastically pours rivers of more blue wax across my tits.  “Stop!” I yell, “Jesus FUCKING Christ!”  The room smells like a cheap gift shop exploded, the chemical flowery scent is nauseating. JD  finally stops. “What?” He looks at me like a confused puppy. I can feel my skin turning hot and red under the crust of blue. Hardening dots of wax splatter across the sheets and pillows like a bizarre crime scene. “What?” he asks again as he unties me, “I thought you said you liked pain.”

I stand at the bathroom mirror, peeling flakes of wax off my nipples. I feel so lost. I want to explain the difference to JD, why this wasn’t “good” pain, but I don’t know how. I don’t know the words for any of this. I just know that this is all wrong, all wrong in every way and I want out.