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I reach for the band of my briefs to slip them along with the packer down my legs, but that earns me a swift slap to my right thigh.
“Keep the underwear. Just take out your toy.”
I squirm, and he holds me flush to his body with an anchoring hand on my abdomen.
“It’s not a toy.”
Lips touch my shoulder. A heavy exhale on my skin.
“Would you like me to do it for you?”
No.
I’m comfortable with my body. With or without my packer. But I’m already feeling antsy. Vulnerable. It’s like a layer of protection between me and the awful thoughts that want to break in.
“Do you need to safeword, sweetheart?”
Fuck no.
I’m fine. He hasn’t done anything yet. But I don’t want to listen. I just want him to hurt me already.
His tongue—warm and wet—travels up my neck, and then his fingers take hold of my chin and bring our eyes together in the mirror.
“We’re going to add a second safeword. Yellow if you need to slow down or for us to talk. Do you need that?”
Each breath feels like inhaling sawdust. The longer I watch him watching me, the more an overwhelming sense of frustration makes me grind my molars together.
“I need you to spank me.”
No outward response, but his fingers slide to my throat and tighten. Not enough to impair breathing, but enough that I feel the pressure of his palm with each breath it.
“Who said I was going to spank you?”
I try to turn, but he holds me tighter.
“You have three options. Take it out yourself. I take it out. Or you safeword, climb into your bed, and lay down until you feel you can have a conversation with me. Understand?”
If he isn’t going to give me what I want, why am I even humoring this?
Because it feels good when he talks down to me.
I swallow down the word that would get me out of this and lean my head back on his shoulder.
“You do it.”
Just like that, my last defense is stripped away.
I see exactly who I am in the reflection. No barriers. No facades. Just Shiloh in his barest form.
“Please,” I whisper as darkness licks at the edges of my mind. All of the nasty words that tell me how awful I am; all of the horrible things I’ve done to the people I love; the things that have been done to me that I’m no longer allowed to drown in pills and alcohol.
“It’s coming, sweetheart. Be patient.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I buck against his hold because I need him to turn it off. Make it stop. Before I’m too far gone for his games to save me.
A harsh smack to my thigh. Not once but twice, and then he pinches the red, burning skin between his fingers.
I gasp and arch, but he keeps me still.
