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It’s also the same moment I took down all photos of my cock.
I didn’t want what was between my legs to be what enticed nor scared away someone, when I was craving to connect on a much deeper level.
No pun intended.
Now, I slip off my black-and-gray-checkered Vans and get up on my knees, grabbing the remote that controls all the mechanical parts of my truck’s interior. I push a button that should distract the little sub while I remove the rest of my clothes until I can sit back down in a less intimidating position. As I predicted, her attention turns to the cushion that rises at an angle, a special hinge with hours of upholstery work that turned the back of the driver seat into an adjustable headboard of sorts. Or maybe the seat back of a throne, depending on the scene we play that day. Whatever the case may be, as it clicks into place at the angle I like, one that will keep me mostly upright but tilted just enough to look down my body and see—
“Holy shit,” she breathes, and I turn my head quickly from where I had undone the string of my joggers and pushed the waistband and my boxer briefs halfway down my thighs, expecting to see her eyes wide with fear at what I just revealed.
But instead, they’re wide with wonder… as she still stares at the seat cushion.
“That is so cool!” she chirps, a big smile spreading across her face just as she tilts her head back to look up at me at the same moment I sit down and slide to rest my back against the soft leather.
I feel myself growing harder by the second, but I use every ounce of self-control I possess not to have a raging boner the first time she catches sight of me. I tug my clothes the rest of the way down my calves and off my feet, keeping the fabric between her and my lap as I fold all of it up, blocking her line of vision. It’s not until I set all my clothes in a stack on top of my shoes next to hers that I give her a clear shot of my half-erect cock.
But I shouldn’t have been so worried, because she does something that makes much more sense for her. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she begins to fidget again, messing with her watch, then straightening the waistband of her panties. I cut all of that off, though, because I don’t want there to be enough time for her anxiety level to rise any higher.
With my back against the cushion, I stretch my legs out straight and then spread them shoulder-width apart. “Come here, little one,” I command but keep my tone soft, an order that sounds more like an offering. At that, her head lifts, and her eyes catch on my thick cock hanging between my thighs for only a moment—so quick I would have missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so closely—before she focuses her eyes on the center of my chest.
There’s a period where the world seems to stop, and it’s a very rare occasion in which I lose all sense of time as I wait for her to make the next move. I hold my breath, willing even my heart to stop pounding to give her all the stillness she requires to make her decision. I zero in on her every microexpression.
The smallest flare of her nostrils as her breaths speed up again.
Her full lips starting to twitch, just like she described in her messages after I saw her this morning.
Her eyes going almost glossy as she stares at that same spot in the dead-center of my chest, so fixated I have the urge to glance down to see what exactly she’s focusing on, but I don’t. She hasn’t even blinked, and that’s what clicks it into place in my mind that she’s dissociating.
If we were an established D/s couple who knew each other much better than we do at this point, her ability to dissociate would be an amazing attribute to play with. It’s that capability that allows someone to enter subspace, which not every submissive can reach. And I wonder if she knows it’s her disorder she hates so much that gives her this incredible superpower.
But that’s something we’ll have to discuss later, and it’s a power she’ll have to flex later on as well, because right now, I need her all here in this moment. Because while it’s a mechanism that’s infinitely positive, it’s also the defense someone’s mind uses when they want to escape a situation. It’s how sexual assault victims become survivors, by dissociating from what’s happening to them during that perilous event, protecting their mind while there’s nothing they can do to protect their body. In some cases, the survivor will remember very few of the specifics that happened while they were dissociated. And that carries over to those who can do it even when they’re not in a fight-or-flight state—where a chunk of time just seems to have disappeared from existence, no memory left behind.
