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WillDive4Plants:
Don't you dare!?? I now have 18k left! Hunkering down.
No boys allowed in the women's locker room.
Meds have engaged!
K bye.
Wanting to give her enough peace of mind to be able to concentrate on her work, I finally respond.
RomanticSadistLL:
No, I wouldn't. It's CNC, not just NC. No means no. Maybe you'll change your mind and let me know we can play. Enjoy your day, little one.
She asked me several questions about CNC—consensual non-consent—scenes for her research, and in that back and forth conversation, it was easy to pick up on the fact she was interested in it not only for the book but for herself. The idea that such sweetness desired such darkness was enough to send me into the shower of the men’s locker room that day to jack off. And knowing she was just right across the hall, in the women’s, made me come within mere seconds.
I focus on driving and my workout in order to force her to get her work done. The app tells us when the other has read the message, and I saw she opened my last one right after it went through. I closed out the app on my phone before she could type out a response. Whatever she sent, it’s telling her I still haven’t read it, which will be easier on her intrusive thoughts than if I read it without replying. She’ll assume I’m busy and just can’t check my phone, which is the boundary I’ve put in place so her anxiety won’t eat her alive.
When I finally do check the app after a few hours at the hospital, a blissful feeling envelopes me like a hug. Message after message from her, with pictures too. She thought of me a lot in my absence, and I love that she makes that known instead of trying to hide it.
The first one was sent just a minute after mine.
WillDive4Plants:
Had to go and hit me with the “little one” ??
The next was sent an hour later, as if she couldn’t stop thinking about something and had to go in search of it for me.
*screenshot of Kindle page
This is from my very first book in a nine-book BDSM series
I click on the photo and see she has a paragraph highlighted where a male character is calling someone “little one.” I grin, since I know she wrote that book almost six years ago. That long ago, and her imagination had her hero character using the same endearment I’ve been calling her in my head since she sat in my lap the night I got her out of the dumpster.
Has it really only been two weeks since I touched her? It feels like years I’ve been craving to put my hands on her again.
Her next message came in an hour ago, which makes me smile again, because she obviously could not get it out of her head that I called her the same name her heroes have used.
WillDive4Plants:
*screenshot of Kindle page
And also in book 4 ??
It’s clear the nickname resonates with something inside her. The desire to be seen as small and fragile? As something to be cherished and taken care of? Or is it more about the person who is calling her that name? Does she crave someone who towers over her, who could take her, make her do things against her will because of how much bigger and stronger they are than she is?
If her curiosity about consensual non-consent is anything to go by, I’d bet it’s more likely the latter.
I smirk as I begin to type out a message for my little author, knowing my words excite her even though that’s her specialty.
RomanticSadistLL:
Adorable. But you haven't felt the full effect of that name until I gently place the edge of my finger under your chin to raise your eyes to mine, lean in to give you a sweet kiss on the cheek, and then whisper into your ear “You please me greatly and make my heart smile. I am happy you're mine, sweet little one.”
I press Send and tilt my head back to rest on the back of my leather office chair, closing my eyes and picturing what I illustrated in the message. In my head, she’s on her knees, legs spread, her arms crossed behind her back as she grips her elbows. I’m knelt before her but still have to tilt her chin high because she really is a little thing.
Her eyes glisten with pleasure from just being in my presence, her anxiety about meeting in person long gone after all the training I’ve given her by then. I’ve barely even touched her, and I can already see her need for me as if it’s written on her lightly tanned skin in bold black ink. I kiss her cheek just as I told her I would, taking in the softness of her skin there, the scent of whatever she put on that makes her seem to glow. And when I whisper those words in her ear, I focus more on her body’s reaction to them than anything else in the world.
