He said he’d fight back when he was being hurt: Not ‘ha ha’ kidding around play-fighting, but a kind of involuntary ‘fight or flight’ reaction that would kick in hard.
His body would involuntarily flail and punch and try to get away.
He wasn’t bratting or intentionally being difficult, and he wasn’t wanting to stop, but he knew himself and he knew how he reacted to pain. He had enough experience to know that he had to warn play partners that this was what he was like. He was genuinely worried about accidentally hurting his partner. And rightly so. He was 6’2 of big strong strapping man.
The choice as his dominant was either to hold back when we played and not go so far that he lost control, or to be aware that it was coming and prepare accordingly.
“I probably need to be restrained,” he said, almost sheepish about admitting his lack of control.
He was right, he did.
He would rage against it, the pain, eyes blazing, every muscle straining, his entire body tense and fighting. Even tied down by his wrists and ankles, he had enough range of movement that he could throw me off the bed when I was sitting on him.
His power was intoxicating to experience. Like riding some raging bull.
I’d regroup, get back on top of him, and hurt him some more.
Until I was bucked off again.