Huh. It was cute, the way he tensed up with worry right away. He didn’t take his thumb pad from where it had been casually pressing against my rim, though. Probably the reason I couldn’t find a position that didn’t keep me hyperaware of my ass and the gaping hole he’d admired for way past what was considered polite, while bemoaning the fact that we couldn’t have our phones up here.
“Good.” I licked my lips. I was parched, but I didn’t want to move, and I didn’t want him to stop holding me, either. It wasn’t urgent. “You were perfect.”
“Yeah?” Santos tilted his head to the side. His light eyes glinted while I’d bet he was pretending his cheeks weren’t flushed with the softest pink hue. “I can take constructive criticism, you know?”
“You’re always perfect for me,” I rebutted.
“Uh-huh.”
I frowned. I had a feeling that he was just teasing me, and I was falling for it, but he was perfect, dammit. Like, before, I didn’t once have to tell him he was going too hard, or too soft, or too anything. He knew when I needed him softer and sweeter and filling me with promises of forever and safety, and when I needed him harder and making me cry out and feel too close to passing out.
“You did so good today.”
I snorted.
Maybe he didn’t quite know when I was not in the right headspace to receive compliments for the sake of it.
“I did all right.”
“You did,” he insisted. “It’s not your fault there was a shitty person in the audience.”
“I don’t think they were shitty,” I said. I meant it. I had thoughts on how I could’ve expressed myself clearer and brought up better points, but I didn’t have a problem with them. “It’s important to have difficult conversations, and you have no idea how many creeps are out there when you try to find people into feminization.”
Santos hummed. It didn’t sound like the sort of humming he made when he was half asleep or agreeing with something. I wasn’t sure I had the words to explain it better, even now, when it was just the two of us.
My mouth started feeling dry with the anxiety that came with that worry, but Santos didn’t add anything. He just squeezed me to his side.
“Do you want to come?”
I shivered. “Not without the cage.”
I wanted to stay in the headspace that came with muted orgasms and with being trapped and at his mercy. I appreciated that he always asked, that he’d always check in, and it was a truth the two of us knew and owned, but I just wanted to bask in the haze and the slight discomfort and blurriness that came with it.
“Y’know, I found this guy’s online journal thing. He talks about his journey with chastity and with his Mistress. I think he’s in a TPE dynamic like how you told me Erika and Eli are.”
I nodded. “Is it a guy with a golden septum and a tattoo of a collar on his thigh?”
Santos propped himself up on one elbow. It dislodged me from him and took his thumb off my ass, which was disorienting. He was hovering over me one second later, though, a smirk taking over his features.
“You follow him?”
“Yeah.” I blushed. Santos’s blonde curls fell over his face, adding shadows and an extra layer of nuance to every line and soft wrinkle. “I’m subscribed to their channel, too. They uploaded a new video last night. It was hot.”
Santos cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you were doing when you took forever in the bathroom?”
“Maybe?”
Fuck. I loved talking about shit with him, but I also hated what it turned me into. A shy, bubbling mess who didn’t know what to do with himself. It didn’t help when he tilted my chin up and forced me to hold his gaze as if I wasn’t scrambling to find a way out of it.
“Can we make it a rule that we watch stuff like that together?”
I resembled one of those bobblehead toys with how fast I started nodding.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I’m into that.”
Santos grinned. “Good.”
