“You tell me what to do and I do it?” I’m not sure what he wants me to say here.
“In the most basic way, I suppose you’re right. Yes, that is what the letters, B-D-S-M stand for. But it’s all so much more than that. The submissivechoosesto hand over control to the Dominant. Can be just in the bedroom, at certain times they choose or 24/7, where those involved are always in those roles. The Dominant is in control, but it’s actually the submissive thatholds all the power, because she can alsochooseto take it all away or change things up.”
I nod, trying to process what he’s telling me. “You said we’ll be in our roles all the time. Is that what you prefer?”
“Yes,” he answers plainly and my heart rate spikes at the thought that he’s probably done this with other women. Why does that thought make me nauseous?
“How long has it been since you’ve donethis24/7?” I don’twantto pry. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help myself. I have to know.
We’re sitting in the same spots as earlier, when he agreed to teach me, and the way he’s leaning back in that chair, with one leg crossed over the other, has me wanting to crawl right into his lap. When he starts rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, like he’s contemplating his next words, my attention is drawn right back to those pillowy lips of his that I want to kiss. My thighs clench at the dirty thoughts trying to invade my brain. If I’m not careful, hewillnotice that I’m starting to lose focus again.
“I’ve never done this 24/7 with anyone.”What?“I’ve helped train submissives in the past, and I’ve had some regular scene partners, but I’ve never done anything like this–ever.”
“Why me?” I can feel my mouth go dry as I ask.
“Doing this takes a lot of trust, Arabella. Trust on both sides. The submissive needs to trust that the Dominant will always have their best interest in mind and that they won’t take advantage of the gift that is their submission. The Dominant also needs to trust that they won’t be taken advantage of. Depends on the type of relationship they have.”
“You–trust me?”
“I have a basic level of trust with you, yes. As I hope you do with me. Hopefully, we can build on that trust as we go.”
I give him another nod, in agreement. I wouldn’t have asked him to do this with me if I didn’t already trust him.
“Good. Now, I have something for you.”
By the time evening rolls around, Ryker is at the club and has instructed me to stay here to work on a limit list and choose a safeword. He gave me an extensive list of kinks and types ofplayto help guide me, but said I could add to it if I want. I tried telling him I’ll do whatever he tells me to, but hewas nothaving that. I was promptly schooled on the importance of knowing one’s limits.
When my phone rings, breaking the silence, I jump.Fuck! It’s Mom.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I sigh. “Hey, Mom! How are you?”
“Arabella? Where have you been?” Shit, something is off. I can hear it in her voice.
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve just been busy. Are you feeling okay?”
I can hear her breathing heavily over the phone for what feels like forever, when she finally speaks, “Y-you never come s-see me anymore. Do you not love me?” Ok, she’s crying.
“You know I love you, Mom,” I let out a long, slow breath.
“If you say so. It’s fine,” she sighs loudly. “I know you have your own life. You don’t need your old, boring Mom weighing you down.”
“What can I do for you, Mom?”
“Well,” she huffs. “You’re so clinical and harsh with me, dear. I just miss you and want to see you.”
My mind wanders for a moment, recalling the recent conversations I had with both AxelandWrinley. She’s an adult. She can take care of herself.
“I’m kind of busy right now, but we can set something up for next week, if that would work.” Not catering to her every whim is a daunting task. She’s so quick to jump to the negative side of things. It’s hard to know how she’ll react, but I’m instantly filled with pride that I didn’t just offer to run to her right away.
“Fine,” she bites back. “I was going to ask you to help me with a couple things in the house, but I guess you’re too busy for me. It’s fine. Live your life. Don’t worry about me.”
She’s just trying to guilt you. Don’t fall for it.
“Okay, Mom. I’m happy to help you next time I come over,” I promise. “If it’s something you can’t do by yourself, just make a list and I’ll gladly help you with it, the next time I’m there.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, leaving me to bathe in the uncomfortable silence like she’s trying to see if I’ll cave. I won’t. Not this time.Be strong, Arabella.
“Why can’t you just comenow, Arabella?” She asks, her tone now firm and commanding as if it’s not an actual question, but an order. A judgy order.
