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He called me his girlfriend. Not his plaything. Not his Domme or his friend. His girlfriend. Like that didn’t send fireworks through my blood stream.
I shook my head, trying to pull him down against me so I could grind against my cock.
“Margaux.” That voice. His Dom voice. The voice that told everyone not to argue with him. Also the one that made my pussy weep, even if we were both equals. “Strip.”
“Gideon, I said no. Don’t make me end this before it starts.”
His fucking eyes. A wide expanse of an evergreen forest, fathomless with the upset that broadcast in the furrowed brow and wrinkles around his eyes.
“My dove.” He took me by the hand, leading me to an open area near the bed. “Why do you push when people try to get close to you?”
“I don’t take orders Gideon, I give them.”
He continued his sensuous assault, circling me, running his lips along any piece of skin he came in contact with. Each soft suckle, damp lick, and caress wound me tighter and sent me reeling into a heady existence where all I wanted to do was tell him yes.
“That’s the thing, sweet dove.” His fingers cup my jaw and pull me toward him for a kiss that quickens my pulse and makes me forget to breathe. “I don’t think you stripping has to do with power. Not fully. But the Dom in me sees the struggle, and I desperately want to help you get over that struggle.”
He ran his hands all over my body. His fingers weaved through my hair, caressed my jaw, set my shoulders, ran his hand in the cinching the bustier created to cup my ass. Every movement was soft, but intentional. There were arguments on my tongue. I had millions of daggers to throw to fight him. But his fucking eyes. Something about the deep wells of empathy I saw reflected there. It took the fight out of me.
“Who broke you?” he whispered. “What did they do to make you push when people want to pull you close?”
He must have felt the deep breath I took ready to read him the riot act. Instead, he began to speak quietly, so as not to disrupt the reverent space he’d created.
“This room? I own it with my ex. Brooklyn.”
I knew Brooklyn, sort of. There was a tiny circle of Dommes at Club Sin. She tended toward sissifying and degradation, so our circles didn’t run close, but I knew her.
“Everyone tells me that pursuing another Domme after Brooklyn was a suicide mission. But, I think Brooklyn and I got off on the struggle. It was the fight between us that turned us on. It was a constant battle for who topped. Eventually the sexual battles leaked into our personal life. Who decided on where to eat dinner, what car to buy, where to live, whether we wanted to have kids? Every decision became a battle. And one day, I was just tired of the fight. It was messy. I’m still a bleeding wound. Healing. Slowly. But sometimes those kinds of battles leave you with deep wounds.”
His pain was palpable. I could feel it in the tone of his voice, his intonations. I saw it in the set of his shoulders and the worry lines around his eyes. All I wanted to do was erase that pain.
“You’re different, my dove. I believe that’s why you need to be in control. Because with the power to punish, to detach; you have built an impenetrable wall that no one can get past.
No one can hurt you. You’ve protected yourself from confirming a fear that exists deep down in a crevice you may not want to acknowledge. That belief that a number on a scale, or some arbitrary standard the beauty, fashion, and diet industries set for you the moment you picked up your first beauty magazine, determines your value. That men’s desire for you equates to an unattainable standard. And it’s simply not the case.”
“Don’t you dare.” I hissed, “You have zero idea what you’re talking about.”
It wasn’t until Gideon teetered and fought to maintain his balance, I realized I’d pushed him. The lock for the room disengaged, distracting me from Gideon’s assertions for a moment to see who dared interrupt us.
“Lazlo, Dax, you’re just in time.” Gideon walked to the door and greeted his lovers warmly. “If you don’t mind disrobing completely and come stand next to your mistress.”
They stood on either side of me, and as soon as they received a nod from Gideon, they pulled arm bands from the wall and affixed me to them.
“Let me fucking go.” I spat, “This is an act of complete disobedience.”
Lazlo and Dax looked at me with blank stares. The words I said landing on deaf ears.
“We know you hold back, Margaux,” Dax finally spoke, pushing the hair out of my face.
“Strip.” Gideon commanded them.
The two of them were out of their street clothes in seconds. Each ran their hands along my body, nuzzling my cheek and wrapping their arms around me before dropping into a wait pose—on their knees, looking at me.
“My little dove.” Gideon stripped as well. Continuing to speak as he disrobed, “Fights, screams, tries to fly away rather than allow someone to tend to her broken pieces.”
He stood naked between Lazlo and Dax. Each of their cocks jutted proudly, jerking occasionally in time to their pulses.
“I’m not looking to harm you, Margaux,” Gideon continued. “I want to help you heal.”
