I think this “moment” started during the shower-dick-sucking that immediately followed the missed-texts-fiasco.

He started slapping my face.  Not lightly, and not super-duper hard either.  But with enough crack to hurt.

And I started laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  I was so HAPPY I was nearly delirious. I like being smacked across the face.  A lot.  A LOT A LOT.

Then we weren’t in the bathroom anymore. I don’t really remember how I got from the bathroom to right beside the bed.  (Probably magic.)

He kept pulling his cock out of my mouth (or sometimes leaving it in) and slapping me, harder and harder.   And I just laughed and laughed and laughed.  I was in heaven – what ELSE would I do?  Happiness like that just makes me GLEEFUL and glee makes me laugh!

I don’t think he quite got that, though, because the next time he said, “Is something FUNNY?” and smacked me hard enough that I felt it in my jaw for the next two days.

I laughed more.

I was too far off in la-la-happy-land to answer eloquently so I simply said, “If… If you keep this up… We won’t be able to go out in public!  And that’s… Funny!”

And truthfully, that was funny for me to think about, in a really happy way.  But it wasn’t the FULL reason I was laughing.

I was just… So damn… HAPPY to be hurt.

I was VERY much hoping I was going to go from laughing to crying from pain, with nothing in between, but it never made that transition.  I think partially because he was so thrown by how giddy I was.

I wonder if it’s a separation thing.  I don’t get hurt for SO long and then the most minor pain sends me to such a happy place that I’m reduced to fits of pleasure-giggles.

Does anyone else do this, or is it just me?

P.S. – To twisted… Since I can’t directly reply to comments, my email is chloe (at) thenaturalorders (dot) com.  Only, you know, without the (at) and (dot) and the spaces.  Email away!

(You can MUST read Part I here.)

The day I was leaving, I spent a good amount of time packing up. Antonio had rented a hotel room by the week, and since I was only there six days, he was going to come back for his things after he’d gotten rid of me.

This, for some reason, made packing way harder for me. No, I don’t mean emotionally, though that was hard. It was harder because there was still STUFF all over the place. I’m used to packing in a hotel room and then scouring it inch-by-inch for left over items so I can SURE i haven’t forgotten anything.  (Like the lube that got tossed under the bed.)  But, since he had his things everywhere, I couldn’t do that this time.

*stress*

Anyway, after I was FINALLY satisfied with my packing in the bathroom, I left my all-packed-up toiletries bag in there because I wanted to brush my teeth once more before we left, and wanted to pack the toothbrush in there afterward. I told Antonio I was all clear in there and he went to take a shower.

I went about my packing in the main room, doing a lot of pacing, packing and unpacking and repacking, muttering to myself, and generally looking like a fool. 

I was finally feeling like I had everything together when he came out of the shower. I went to brush my teeth and grab my toiletries bag.

Instead I stood, gaping, at the bathroom. He was coming out, with a towel around his waist. (And while that’s a lovely sight, it’s not what caught my eye.) He looked behind himself, where I was staring, and said (almost as an afterthought), “I had to go through your stuff to get your shampoo.”

Apparently, totally unbeknownst to me, he had been using my shampoo and conditioner all week. Obviously, that’s fine. But he hadn’t mentioned it ALL week, so I didn’t KNOW he was doing it!  If I had known, I wouldn’t have packed everything up before he’d showered that morning.

Anyway, what left me slack-jawed was the state of the bathroom. He had taken EVERY goddamn thing out of my toiletries bag – shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razor, loofah, makeup-remover pads, razor blades, lotion, nail polish, manicure set, toe separators, etc. etc. etc.

Not only had he taken it all out, he had STREWN it across the floor. It was just… Everywhere.  Like he’d opened the bag, and shook it out on the floor while spinning in a circle or something.

I smiled a shell-shocked, crooked smile at him and said, “All my hard work, undone!” And he just said, “Yup.”

I smiled inwardly, too. Because. You know. It was just so HIM. So Boss-like. So dismissive of that chunk of my time and energy and sanity.

It’s not that I LOVE him dismissing my time and energy or sanity. It was just one of those reminder-moments.  Because as I was thinking how it was clearly easier for him to simply toss MY stuff around to get MY shampoo and conditioner that he had been using all week without even telling ME that I realized… It’s not “my” stuff. They aren’t “my” things.

I don’t get to bring things into this life and this relationship without them, immediately and intrinsically, becoming his. And as his, he can do with them as he pleases.

It is kind of awesome.  Even if it makes me insane(r).

This is part of the famous “Vacation Moments” series. (I’m starting the series right now, btw.)

On Friday the 13^th, Antonio went to work and I stayed in the hotel.

I got a text when he was on his way back saying he wanted me waiting on my knees when he got there. *grin* Being as I’d spent the majority of the day in the bathroom puking (I got sick on this visit.  Joy!), I decided that was a good place to kneel. Besides, it couldn’t be seen from the hotel window or the door. It was practical, if you will.

I took up post in the bathroom. A text came through saying he was five minutes away.

Cue nerves.

I waited.

And waited.

And then I saw motion out of the corner of my eye. And THERE he was! Peering in at me through the window!

He was CHECKING on me! RAWR! That’s so damn hot. I leaned forward – still kneeling! – and waved, so he could see how good I was being.

Then he BANGED on the window.

Huh. That was a little aggressive…

I know, I know! Perhaps he couldn’t see how good I was being! I leaned forward more, smiling, and waving. Look, Sir! Look how good your girl is!!!

“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!” he shouted. He shouted in That Voice.  You guys know That Voice.  I know you do.

Cue MAJOR nerves.

I stumbled to my feet and, out of some strange kind of instinct, I took a few steps toward him. Toward the damn window.

“THE DOOR!”

Oh. Right. Yes.

I fumbled around for my keycard and went outside in my bare feet and opened the outer hotel door and our room door, with wide eyes and that panic-churned stomach. He was p-i-s-s-e-d. He stalked into the bathroom and said, “I’m taking a shower.”

I was totally, utterly dejected.

Know what had happened? My phone never got his two final – and goodnatured – texts about forgetting his key and needing me to let him in.

*sigh*

Way to ruin the mood, fucking iPhone.

(Don’t worry, though. He regained “the mood” later. Halfway through his shower, to be exact.  Heh. I knelt outside the tub while he showered and sucked his dick. Then a moment later, he decided to get out of the shower, get behind me, pull down my pants and give me an anatomy lesson. That anatomy lesson? A Slave’s Knees Must Bend In TWO Directions. I failed that lesson, as it happens, and I still have the mango-sized bruise on my shin (from where I smashed into the tub) to prove it.  Stupid uni-directional knees.)