When I got up the next day my head and jaw were aching something fierce. I was so confused and embarrassed. On the one hand I had gotten more action than ever before and with the love of my life, no less, but on the other, I felt as though I had been degraded and there was a deep sense of shame that I was so thrilled by it.
I then remembered the panic in my heart when I had for a moment thought I was about to die in between Charlie's legs, which made me feel nauseous. I began trembling violently at the reality of that memory and how just dark it was. I went through all the horrible things she said to me and how she was so incredibly beautiful, yet so incredibly mean.
Overwhelmed by the flood of emotions that had surfaced, I went to the bathroom to have a shower. When I looked at my face in the mirror, I noticed that all around my eyes and forehead were hundreds of tiny red dots. I went in for a closer look and rubbed at them, to find out that they were seemingly under the skin. There was a large bruise that hadn't fully displayed where I'd been hit. I had to be honest with myself, I looked terrible... Flustered, I got in the shower and tried to wash of the shame.
When I got out a quick Google search showed that the dots were likely popped blood vessels, which can result from being choked particularly hard.
Dear God
, I thought to myself, as I curled into the fetal position, naked, on my bed.
The physical effect of the shame was like nothing I had felt before. I felt paralyzed, nauseous, bruised and battered. I thought about all the potential outcomes and, though I dreamed of Charlie coming in and holding me gently, telling me that she was sorry and that she got carried away, I had to admit to myself that this was not one of them. Running these potential future outcomes through my head, none of them seemed good and instead I allowed myself to sink deep into the comfort of dark, suicidal thought patterns. At least I could control that...
The next week was not as horrible as I had expected, though the deep anxiety and depression had a firm grip on me. Charlie was basically ignoring me, which was perfect, because I couldn't even look her in the eye. I was terrified to talk to her again and we barely said two words to each other.
I had been avoiding our house and staying inside my room with the door closed whenever I was home, so there were seldom few opportunities anyway. She had smiled at me when we crossed paths in the hallway, but it gave nothing away. It had seemed friendly though.
Maybe she was just as embarrassed about what had happened as I was?
I mean, this kinda made sense to me. My logic was, she could have just gotten carried away - it had seemed very out of character for her to get so worked up. I felt like her reaction was just as bad if not worse than what I had done. I mean, physical violence like that, I could probably go to the cops...
Maybe she was worried?
My heart skipped at the hope these thoughts triggered, like a dumb dog that thinks it's going to get to join in and eat at the table with its human family.
The next night my housemates and I were watching TV together and I noticed Charlie and Sally whispering to each other and occasionally glancing my way. My heart raced in panic as I saw them giggling between themselves. I feared that Charlie was talking to her about what had happened, but I tried to just ignore it and watch the stupid reality TV show that my housemates cared so much about.
They were talking about me though...
What the fuck? Charlie had said that if I did what she wanted, she wouldn't tell anyone.
I was fuming and freaking out and trying my best not to blow up. Before I embarrassed myself, I quickly got off the couch and ran up to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I lay on my bed and tried to calm down, but I couldn't.
There was a knock at the door as it opened, and Charlie snuck in quietly, shutting the door behind her. "Hey Oliver, are you okay?" she said quietly as she came and sat on the bed beside me. "I'm worried about you baby; you don't seem yourself. I'm so sorry I got so carried away the other night, I really didn't mean to hurt you... It's just that in the heat of the moment I can get carried away, and y'know, I was just playing, and I thought you'd enjoy it. I can see now that it was too much and that I should have controlled myself a little more. You're like a shell of a fragile, little boy, right now, aren't you?"
I breathed for a moment, letting the relief set in, as I realized that I might have let my fears get the best of me with how I had been processing this whole incident. "Oh really?" I replied trying to downplay my emotions.
"I didn't realize I was giving off that impression. I'm actually okay... You did get carried away, though. I must admit I was questioning whether the whole time you were being serious, or just role playing, and it has been worrying me, but of course I liked parts of it" My voice began to break. "I didn't like being punched in the face though and that choking was way too much, I fucking went unconscious!"
I had tried to keep myself calm, but I clearly had showed myself during the end and Charlie looked through me with her eyes, almost seeming satisfied at my inability to control my emotions.
Charlie moved in to sit closer and put her arm around me whilst I lay against her. She stroked my hair, then kissed me softly on the forehead. The motherly comfort and intimacy of the moment calmed me, then made me feel warm and gave me butterflies.
My dick started to harden as I nuzzled into her breast through the soft fabric of her sweater. Feeling my cheek brush against her nipple, I realized she wasn't wearing a bra and as I took in her sweet, floral fragrance, I felt immediately intoxicated with lust.
God, I love her. I would do anything for her. If what she likes is hurting me, she can hurt me.
"Hey... It's okay baby. Mommy's here. Here to make your troubles go away," Charlie said to me in a soft, sultry voice. I felt whole and completed, as if a huge ray of sunshine had pierced through a storm and was melting away the snow.
