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“What do you get out of this?”
“Control. Obedience. The sweet struggle before you inevitably give in.”
Not to mention the way my chest tightens and flutters when he’s in the throes of pleasure.
“What if I’m horny all the time? What if taking care of me is too high maintenance?”
Looking him over, this is the first time I think I’ve seen his hard shell start to crack.
“I’ll figure out how to meet your needs. That’s what today is about. Your needs. Your boundaries. We need a place to start before we explore.”
Finally, his body starts to relax, and I draw my hand from his pants slowly to keep from startling him.
“Obviously you like it when I touch your cock. Should I assume that’s a free pass?”
He rolls his eyes. “You make me sound like a slut. Who doesn’t want their cock jerked?”
“Fair point. Speaking of, how do you feel about degradation?”
The sheets rustle as he adjusts his hips. “Like?”
“Like me calling you a slut. Or a dirty whore. Anything like that.”
He bites down on his lip but immediately lets go when I swat his thigh. Even if we aren’t playing, he’s still mine. For now.
“We can try it. I’ll tell you to fuck off if I don’t like it.”
I smack his thigh again, and he winces.
“That won’t work. I expect you to fight me, to be a brat and tell me to stop. But here’s the thing: I don’t think that’s always what you want. I think that you think you shouldn’t want things, so you fight them. So we’ll need something a little stronger than ‘no’.”
“Stronger than ‘no’?”
“Pick a safeword.”
He blinks. Frowns.
“Seriously?”
“I can let you figure out the hard way that you need one if you want.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Oh, but how I want you to be, sweetheart. Afraid in the most primal, masochistic way.
“Let’s turn this into a game then. When you answer my questions, you’ll get a reward. And if you’re struggling to find one, well…” I trail off and give his thigh another tap.
“You’ll spank me?”
“Until you come up with a safeword. Because I promise, Shiloh, that I can make you beg for me to stop, and then some. I need to know where your lines in the sand are. If you don’t know or aren’t comfortable sharing,” I shrug, “then I either draw it out of you or we stop right here.”
An out. I’m giving him an out. A chance to re-think without horniness and desperation clouding his thoughts.
He props up on his elbows, staring down at his lap.
“It’s been a bad day,” he says softly, tapping his temple. “You swear you can help?”
There’s a part of me that wants to reach out and cradle his face in my hands. A part that wants to be sweet and doting. He’s trusting me to know what he needs, and what he needs from me isn’t comfort. Not yet.
