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“That bothers you?”
“Yes.”
He let me go, and I hissed and held my scalp for a second.
“I’m sorry?”
Axl laughed. “You’re not, and he doesn’t care. He likes making you do it.”
Truth. An uncomfortable truth.
“We’ll experiment and find out what makes us both tick. Sound okay to you, Emme?” Cautiously, I nodded. “Good.” Grayson indicated Axl. “We’re just indulging ourselves, acting out fantasies same as you are. If it gets too much, say.”
“Okay.”
I was shaken, though. How would they tell if I really wanted out? If it was easy to tell, where was my boundary where enjoyment became too much mindfuck or too much pain?
I let the bumps from the road lull me and watched the pedestrians and the cars roll by as if from another world. The models of the cars, the signs in another language, and the slight differences in architecture reminded me I was in another country. Did that matter? What was I doing with my life? Nothing useful.
It wasn’t until we entered an underground garage beneath a hotel that I was jarred from my musing, because Axl spoke.
“We have an…” he glanced at his Rolex “…an hour before dinner starts at the club. We have a dress for you to wear, Emme. Shoes are yours to choose. No underwear.”
The no underwear was the one strangeness, and the one thing that also said normal kink.
That was when I realized how selective was my kink. Notions were all I had been running on previously. Inklings, hints, and possibilities.
When else had I tested my erotic fantasies? Never. It took so little for me to feel dull and normal, even though for most people into this it would be a thrill to be commanded not to wear underwear, maybe to have a remote-control vibe stuffed into their pussy. Me, I wanted to have my panties torn from me and stuffed into my mouth while they reamed me over a sofa.
To put it mildly, my kinks were probably always going to be haphazardly fulfilled.
