Everything worked more or less according to plan last night. I forced him to eat stuff that tasted gross, tied him up, slapped him around, spit him in the face and said all kinds of nasty things to him. Then I forced him to pee himself, still wrapped up and tied down. And finally, I made him cry. Really cry this time, not just a tear or two.
I know I loved doing it, because I remember loving what I was doing. I remember being turned on by his helplessness and how he struggled against his bonds. I remeber telling him he only had two ways out, either using a safeword or doing as I told him, and I remember how this gave me a thrilling sensation all the way down my spine. I remember being turned on by hitting him and spitting on him (that last part is something I've never done to anyone before).
Yet in the clear light of day, it doesn't feel so great. I never usually feel any kind of shame with regards to my pervesions. I have no problems with me getting turned on by dominance or even sadism, it's just fun, and I've read enough and talked to enough people to know that this is fairly normal and nothing to be ashamed of. And although I KNOW the same thing with regards to humiliation play, it's still so much more difficult to accept.
After he got back on his feet, and we'd cleaned ourselves and our equipment (and the bathroom floor), we talked about it some more. And again, once we'd gone to bed. And again this morning. And each time he told me how he'd loved this experience. There was nothing I did to him that he doesn't want to happen again. It was terrible, but he handled it, and he loved it. He keeps reassuring me that he's fine, that he wanted this.
Yet I feel like crying. I feel like curling up in a ball against him, begging his forgiveness. To just repeat "I'm sorry" untill... I don't know. Untill this feeling of being a terrible, terrible human being goes away.
It's my words that hurt me the most. Saying terrible things to him, lying as best as I possibly could, trying to make it believable. Stuff I didn't mean, stuff I knew would hurt (but that I also felt fairly certain he could handle). Intentionally trying to hurt someone else, hurt me. And it keeps on hurting.
It's what I wanted. It's what he wanted. It's what we talked about beforehand, what we agreed that we both wanted to explore further. Limits we agreed that we wished to push at, actions that we knew were more extreme that we've ever done, but that we both thought we could handle. He didn't know exactly what I'd do to him, or make him do, so he couldn't activly concent to those. But we did speak about it in general terms, and all the while as we were playing, I kept asking him if he wanted to use any safewords. Just to make sure, because it was frustratingly difficult to know wether he was suffering in a good way or in a bad way.
I spoke this over with T, just now, and he told me that he sees my second thoughts on this subject as something healthy. The fact that it is difficult for me to do something like this, proves that I'm a mentally sane person and not a sociopath. That doesn't mean I can't do these things to someone else, just that doing them (at least the first few times) should feel hard. And of course he's right, and yet it feels damn uncomfortable. It feels like I'm second guessing my entire nature, my sexual preferences and my way of life.
So yeah, it might be normal and healthy. But it sure doesn't feel any good.