“Oh my gosh, yes. I’m fine. And the two of you are infuriating. I’m not a child, and I’m not that easily broken. If I were, I wouldn’t be here trying my darndest to get over this. Instead, I’d be curled up on my bed, pounding energy drinks and ice cream while holding my eyelids open so the nightmares couldn’t consume me. Can we just get on with this?” she huffs, throwing up her arms in exasperation.
I take one step toward her, careful not to be too menacing and trigger another episode. “Got that out of your system?”
She nods.
“Good. I don’t like taming brats, so that better be the last outburst you have tonight. If you want my help, you will fully submit to my rules. Is that clear, pet?”
“Yes, sir,” she says without hesitation, and I can feel a rush of blood travel south as my cock thickens in my pants. Jesus Christ, what is it about this girl?
“I’ll leave you to it,” Alyx says, backing away. “Try not to bring her back the same way you did last time, eh?”
Before I have a chance to respond, he’s gone, and I shut the door in frustration. I hear her gasp and notice her cowering slightly in my presence. There’s a war inside me as I debate how to handle this. The humanitarian in me wants to rush over, scoop her up, and assure her that everything will be fine,that I’d never hurt her. But I’ve seen too many fucked-up parts of this world to believe that bullshit. The last time I gave in to that urge to do good, it got me into a mess that I’m still trying to clean up.
Instead, I listen to the devil on my shoulder that’s shouting, “Good, you should be fucking scared of me. I’m not here to get attached. I’m here to make you submit.”
Getting involved in this lifestyle has been the only thing that’s helped me calm the beast inside. I take domination very seriously. It’s not about hitting people until one or both of you get off; I never use it as a way to take out my aggression. That’s what the gym is for. Being a dom has its own code, its own set of rules dictated by the person submitting to you. Finding my submissive’s limits fuel the fantasies I won’t allow myself to partake in.
She stands stock-still, seemingly waiting for my instruction or permission to speak. Maybe she can be trained.
“You have permission to speak, pet.”
She peers up at me with those big eyes, opening and closing her mouth. “I don’t have anything to say.”
“Bullshit.”
All I get is a shrug in return.
“This isn’t going to work if you’re going to continue to brat.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I feel like you’re going to make me share things I’m not comfortable admitting.”
“I’m absolutely going to push you out of your comfort zone, but that’s why you have a safe word. You can use that when I push too far.”
“I don’t want to talk about the nightmares.”
“I’m not here to psychoanalyze you, but I need to know what you’re dealing with so I don’t trigger you again, and I’m going to need you to answer me when I ask you something, even if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She lets out a sigh. “Okay.”
I walk to the corner of the room and pull the lounger to the center, rearranging the wedges so she can lie flat on it. “Strip to your panties and lie face down.”
Ever so goddamn slowly, she pulls off her top, revealing a black lace bra. She reaches behind her with one hand while the other holds the front of the bra in place, making eye contact with me the entire time like she knows what she’s doing to me.
She arches a brow when she releases the bra, and it takes all my willpower not to bite my fist or reach out and touch her. As she carefully shimmies out of her pants, her tits jiggle with the movement, and my cock decides that now is the time to make himself known. I’ve gotten aroused during sessions before, but it never manifests this quickly, and it’s never resulted in me coming in my pants until her.
After she’s positioned herself on the lounger, her forehead resting on her forearms, I stalk around her, making slow circles like a lion about to devour its prey. “What does the man in your dreams do to you?” Maybe if I know, I can work her up to similar positions once she feels safe with me.
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“Is it not? I presume this is why you have issues with men touching you, no?”
“I think it’s a man, but I never see his face. He has a deep voice, but I never hear much of what he says.”
“And what did I do to remind you of him?”
She’s silent for a long time. “You cracked your neck. He does that… in the dream.”
The way she hesitates makes me think this is more than just a dream scenario, but I don’t want to press her for more. “Thank you, pet. You are such a good girl for me. I’m going to reward you with my touch,” I say, letting her know so she isn’t startled, and then I gently caress the back of her neck.
