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This isn’t his first time with safe words. I hate the way my stomach knots at the thought of him with other women, doing this.
“Talk to me,zhena.”
“You know what you are.” I keep my eyes on the paper, on the description for dominant. The word fits Aleksander to a T.
“I know exactly what I am.” It isn’t just the descriptions he’s referring to. There is no apology for either one.
“How did you figure it out? Is this like, what you…” Words won’t come, I’m asking a question I’m afraid to get the answer to.
“I’m going to need you to clarify what aspect of the question is the most important to answer first.”
How can I ask it when I don’t even know what I’m asking for? I go with the one thing that scares me most. “Do you want women who get tied up, crawl to you, to spank them?”
Shame hits me all over again. Seeing the wordscrawl,tied up, andpetscared me at first glance. My first reaction was praying he didn’t want it. So why the hell doessayingthem have me wet? Do Iwantto crawl to him? I consider it; no. Do I want him toorderme to crawl to him? Oh god, I do. And I would crawl to him. I would be wet while I do it too.
“I want a woman who is unafraid of me and sex. That’s it.” A finger is under my chin, drawing my eyes to his again. “I don’t know the first thing about rope but if you want it, then it’s what you will get. I can learn how to tie a knot. I’ve never raped a woman. Holding a woman down while she pleads for me to stop fucking her doesn’t make my cock hard. If the thought of me forcing her to take my cock and come while she does it makes my woman wet, then I’ll do it.”
He's telling me he will do it. That he doesn’t want to rape me but he will. He’ll do it because it’s what I want. How do I want that? What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be up off his lap, running as fast and as far as I can get. Yet, all I want to do is curl up in his arms and let the world and the spinning thoughts die—none of it exists outside of Aleksander’s arms.
“Look at me,zhena.” The words are soft. The command in them is not.
I don’t dare refuse. What I see has me melting into him.
“All of this, these boxes, these descriptions, do not define you or me. The things we do in the privacy of our own home are not for anyone else. No one matters but you and me. I need you to set that as a cornerstone moving forward. This questionnaire is only for you to see what’s out there—what others need means it’s not just you. These are guidelines, not rules, for people who are new to this and need guidance navigating the world. Their needs make them vulnerable, and there are always going to be people who attempt to take advantage of them. These are to say, it’s not okay and set terms before juices start flowing and reason gets lost in a scene.”
“What’s a scene?”
An exhale of air comes out of him, almost like a laugh but not quite. “The whole reason I left this world.”
“You don’t…”
He shakes his head. “No. Because I’m a fucker who believed all of this was too much of a pain in the ass. A scene, my dear wife, is when you come to an agreement on how you both are going to proceed in whatever it is you both need. You don’t simply show up when it comes to rope play or a flogging. A woman I was seeing introduced me to it. At first, it was…” He considers his words, “fun. Gradually, it became more trouble than it was worth, it wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t need any of this to come. So I broke off things with her and I never went back to it.”
I’m so confused.
“Talk to me,” he commands.
“I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand why there are these descriptions and scenes and why you didn’t like them and why I need to know them now if—”
His hand is rough as it goes into my hair and yanks my head back. “Breathe,zhena, breathe. In and out. In and out. Slower. There. Good girl.”
My stomach twists and heat buildstherewhen he says “good girl.”
He grazes his cheek with mine. I tremble at what it does to me. My nipples are tightening painfully, my core demands I rock to soothe the heated flesh. “Do you see what a simple touch does?”
I don’t see him flicking his wrist, suddenly the shirt I’m wearing is torn open and my hard nipples are on display beneath the thin cotton white shirt. My breasts are heaving with the desperate need to pull in air to starving lungs. Velvet soft, his tongue runs up my neck. “Being touched wakes up your brain, turns on all your senses, everything becomes heightened wondering is the touch good? Is it bad?”
Large hands cup my breasts gently, almost adoringly through the shirt. Oh god, all the bones in my body melt. “Then it clicks if this person is someone you want touching you or not, and if you do thenzhena, everythingscreamsmore.”
The hands become rough, almost violent. I don’t understand why it pulls a moan from me, has me squirming, I’m too swollenthere. It’s too much, and not enough. “Your body becomes greedy, desperate. It will take a moment for the pain to go from pleasure, from pain then to scary and by then it could be more than pain, it might take you over.”
He's hard, so hard, I feel him under me. Please, oh god, please, I need more.
His hands are gone from my breasts, they turn into clamps holding me in place on my hips. “And that’s why there are guidelines. You know what’s at the end. An amazing death that reminds you you’re alive. That washes away all the pain and lets you float in nothingness. There are drugs created to compete with an orgasm—none of them quite compare. Knowing it’s there just out of reach, you’d give away everything, forget a safe word, plead for things you don’t want, would find abhorrent, things that could break the bond you created with your partner. That’s why you plan it out ahead. In case they want something you don’t.”
I’m hearing the words, only they don’t make any sense. “Please.” I moan.
“Please, what?”
