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“Then why do we need to talk?”
“I think you know why,” I said firmly, indicating the sofa again. “Now let’s get this done so we can play.”
“I don’t want to ‘play’,” Minty bit out, anxiety straining his voice. “I want to hurt.”
“You’ll hurt, but first we’ll talk. I’m sure talking will hurt too.”
Minty’s nostrils flared. I thought he might protest again, but he took a seat at the edge of the sofa, legs together primly beneath his short, lacy skirt, and the end of the matching lace tie in his hair trailed down over an exposed shoulder. The sleeveless t-shirt was a rather butch addition to his otherwise very feminine outfit, but it worked with his general androgyny and the hyper-masculine cowboy boots on his feet.
He clasped his hands together on his knees, reminding me of church and fervent prayers. I didn’t know if he was sending some up or not, but he certainly looked the part. The anxious expression.The tension in his shoulders.
“Your father raped you,” I stated. There was no room for beating around the bush. “That makes some of what we’re doing here together emotionally fraught.”
“Don’t get academic on me now. I don’t want that.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you want, does it? I’m the Dom here, and you’ll listen and talk to me about what I want or—”
“Or I can go? What if I do go?” Minty stood then, challenging me. “What then?”
“Then you’ll go, and you’ll find some other way to hurt yourself that won’t be nearly as good as what I can give you, and you’ll probably get yourself killed in the process.” I crossed my arms over my chest and sat down in the chair opposite the sofa. “Go on, then. Go.”
Minty wavered. I could see his brain turning it over and over. “Kyle wants me back. He’s begging for me.”
“Go to him then,” I said. “I’m sure what he gives you is better than the whips I had planned for you today.”
His jaw clenched and released. He contemplated my words. I could see the temptation to leave in a fit of bratty defiance warring with the temptation of the promised whips. “You swear you’ll use them? You won’t back out of it if I stay?”
“I promise to use them, and I promise to make you scream.”
“Until I cry? And beg?”
I felt the sadistic smile creep across my face. “Until you break.”
His eyelashes fluttered, red rose in his neck and cheeks, and he sat down again with a soft, breathless, “Okay.”
That was what I thought.
“Your father raped you,” I said again.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Isn’t once enough?”
“It’s certainly one time too many.”
His eyes clouded, and he looked away. “I’m sorry about what happened last time I was here. I really didn’t expect that I’d saythatduring…” Minty looked up with a fragile expression in his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“Like what? A masochist?”
“I guess. I don’t know why I like to get fucked like I’m being raped.” He said that last so quietly it was almost as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear him. “I shouldn’t want that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because Iwasraped and… and…” He shivered. “That was horrible.”
“Of course it was.” I paused, waiting to see if he was going to say more. When he didn’t, I said, “You know, it’s not unusual for people who have experienced sexual violence to be drawn to BDSM. Some even want to recreate their rape in the safety of a scene. It’s a way to take control, make strength out of something that once left them feeling powerless.”
