Sometimes I forget No is an option

Sometimes, I don’t want to come. Sometimes, I really, really don’t want to come, because it will stop me feeling what I feel: I’ll stop teetering on the edge and go over, when I’d rather teeter indefinitely.
Sometimes, I’m so focused on coming that fucking, for me, seems like nothing more than a question of getting him in the right position and keeping him there indefinitely until I can get to the point where I’m so spent I’ve completely lost interest in what he might like to be doing. Sometimes, I think it’s not going to happen, and then as soon as I think that it does (he might have something to do with this).

This is one of those times. I’m enjoying having my brains fucked out, and quite happy with it not really going anywhere – it can go on indefinitely as far as I’m concerned, and maybe a bit past that – when I begin to feel it might be going somewhere. Clearly he feels the same thing, because he hisses “If you come, I’m going to fuck your ass,” in my ear. And I don’t want to have my ass fucked right now; more than that, I don’t want to not have a choice about having my ass fucked. I can feel myself start to squiggle back from coming, wriggling beneath him so that his pubic bone isn’t driving against my clit and his cock isn’t hitting my (possibly imaginary) g-spot, all of which is quite difficult as I’m not really in a position to move very much at all, neatly folded up as I am. And then there’s a knock at the door and extrication and it passes.

“I didn’t want you to fuck my ass,” I say when the interruption is over. He looks at me in astonishment. “Of course I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want me to.” Oh. Well, I know that, now that I’m (semi-)rational again. What scares me is how irrational sex makes me. It disconcerts me that if I’d come and he’d tried to fuck my ass I’d have let him, even though I didn’t want it, just because I’d have accepted the logic of consequential action, because apparently when I fuck I lose my fucking mind. Even though I can see, in retrospect, that there’s nothing in it for him to do something I don’t want, I still know that at the time I accepted unquestioningly what he said: there was no part of me that thought I could refuse, or that maybe he wouldn’t, or that there were options open to me (and it’s not as though I’m scared of saying No when I feel I need to, or as though I don’t know very well that my No will be respected).

In even more retrospect, though, this inability to access rational thought when being fucked does explain quite a lot.