Of Being Yours[another way 2] (18 page)

I wanted him to shake me and kiss me and demand that I let him fuck me, because that would make sense. But he didn’t do any of those things, and I wasn’t sure of this game, where to put my feet to avoid the minefield we were crossing.

Maybe he understood that I wasn’t ready for one big info dump of everything he had to say. After all, it had taken some time for it all to make sense in his head. I needed time to absorb things bit by bit as well.

It took several days and more excruciating conversations to figure out just what was going on in his head, and even then it didn’t really all make sense to me. He had spent a lot of time in therapy, that much was clear, and more time than that alone with his thoughts. I wasn’t sure which one was most dangerous.

With the road behind us almost too painful to contemplate, moving forward was the only other option.

So that’s what I did.

Chapter 12

T
HE
tone of our therapy changed in the time Will had been away. We seemed to have moved past the accident and the application of blame and now focused on the core of our D/s relationship. I’d never before been forced to consider just
why
I was a submissive and what it was about Will that made me want to submit to him.

These were parts of my inner psyche that I would have been happy to leave alone rather than share with a shrink, letting my dark secrets be picked over for her perusal. The only thing that was getting me through it was the fact that she was doing the same thing to Will.

I still hadn’t got used to how this woman, so perfectly upper class in a pale-pink pantsuit and her elegantly styled hair, knew so much about both the BDSM community and the specifics of gay D/s relationships. We had gone through bears and gimps, pony play and puppy play, anal fisting and the leather scene. It was more than disconcerting.

“Have you ever been tempted to switch roles?”

I laughed shortly. “No,” I said. “Not at all.”

Dr. Smith raised her eyebrow at Will, who shrugged. “Maybe,” he said softly. I turned my head sharply to look at him. “I did mention it once before….”

From a corner of my mind, I dug out that conversation, so easily dismissed at the time. Clearly it had meant more to Will than it had to me. “You want to sub?” I asked him.

“I want to sub for
you
,” he corrected.

Well, that was a revelation. I let the idea roll around in my head for a moment, but it didn’t seem to want to stick to any particular reaction.

“Jesse, how do you feel about that?” Dr. Smith said in her calm, even tone.

I wanted to roll my eyes at her but refrained. Just. “Confused…,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure if I can do that. I’m not a very dominant person. And I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to,” Will said quickly.

My frustrations easily switched from being focused on Dr. Smith to being focused on him. Unfortunately the years together had made me aware of nearly every way he was able to wind me up. “If you want it, I’ll try,” I said. “I can’t promise how well it’ll go, but I’ll try.”

We all decided to be okay with that.

It took a few days for me to build up the courage to go through with the session. Instead of us having a conversation about his limits, Will filled in the same sheet I had marked out for him when I first started subbing for him. One column listed a range of different activities next to which he could write “yes” or “no,” and “red” for hard limits, “green” for things he wanted.

As a substitute for a proper conversation, it was a poor one, but we still weren’t communicating well.

He was facing away from me when I walked into the playroom. Kneeling, with his hands folded neatly in his lap and his head lowered, his naked back perfect in the soft light. From my position away and slightly above him, I could see his back moving with his deep, regular breathing. That was good.

Before heading upstairs I’d dressed in a pair of my favorite jeans—no shirt, no shoes, no underwear. I didn’t feel like a Dom, not at all, but Will was obviously trying to get into a submissive frame of mind, so I’d try too.

The first thing I needed to do was what I always needed from him, especially in the beginning—to show him that he was loved. Shutting the door behind me, I steeled myself, then crossed the room to him and gently ran my fingers through his hair.

Will didn’t move, but I hadn’t really expected him to.

My hand cupped his cheek, and only then did he break his position, twisting his head to kiss the pulse point on my wrist. I smiled at that.

As I stood in front of him, some of my fears started to dissipate. I was still Jesse. This was still Will. We would be okay.

“You may kiss me,” I said in a soft voice, expecting him to reach up to find my lips.

He shocked me by leaning down, bracing his hands on the floor, and pressing one soft kiss to the top of my foot, tickling the sensitive skin there, then repeating the gesture on my other foot. When he returned to his previous position, I could hear my own breathing, my blood pulsing in my ears.

After I’d composed myself, I said, “You need work on your positioning.”

He nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Not wanting to lean down to correct him, I selected a crop from the wall and used it to correct the angle at which he held his arms behind his back, firstly clasped low, then at the back of his neck. I dictated how he should flex the muscles in his arms so I could admire them, and how he should rock his hips forward to allow me better access to his cock.

The soft leather loop at the end of the crop was the perfect weapon with which to gently pat him into position for me, but no more than that. We’d discussed already how uncomfortable I was with the idea of inflicting pain, and besides, the first session between a new Dom and sub was not usually one where pain play was included. It was about control; me taking it and him giving it freely.

“Unbutton my jeans.”

His fingers went to my fly and carefully threaded metal through denim once, twice… four times until all that held my jeans up was my hipbones. I was finding it hard to believe that Will had never been a submissive before this; his every move was quietly deferent, practiced, and precise. When he had completed an action, his gaze returned to the floor, and he waited for his next instruction.

“Will.” He didn’t move. “Will. Look at me.”

The image he made—this strong, powerful man on his knees, his cock hard and leaking, his eyes blinking as they looked up at me—was enough to make my heart stutter in my throat. He wasn’t going to do it without a direct instruction.

“Suck my cock.”

Rather than laughing, which was what I had expected, Will swallowed and wet his lips. With his hands held behind his back, he leaned forward and licked from the base of my shaft to the tip, then stopped to lick around the head before working his lips over the end and sucking. Fuck me, did he suck.

I had to decide in a split second whether to stop him or come in his mouth. I wanted nothing more than to see him swallow around me, but I would probably lose any desire to continue if I’d already orgasmed. When I pulled back from his mouth, he gasped a little, drawing a deep breath, his tongue swiping at his swollen bottom lip.

“Position,” I said, and for a moment he looked like he was going to argue. Then he slipped back into the submissive mind-set I could tell he’d been working hard on.

This wasn’t easy for either of us. But then again, good things rarely were.

I walked back to the wall and replaced the crop. For a moment my eyes skimmed over the various toys that we had acquired over the years we’d been together, each cared for and selected precisely for its use on me. It felt wrong for me to want to use anything on him; that wasn’t what these things were there for.

Frustrated, I scrubbed my hands over my face and screwed my eyes up tight. I felt the movement of the air around us rather than heard his rise to his feet. Only then could I hear the soft padding of bare skin over worn floorboards as he crossed to me.

Moments later I was folded up in his arms.

“This isn’t going to work for you, is it?” he said softly.

“I’m trying,” I insisted. “It’s just overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming how?”

I stepped back and gestured to the room in general. “I don’t know how to use any of these things. I don’t know what your limits are, or your pain threshold, or how to hit you in the right way.”

Will nodded and looked around, seeming as though he was trying to see the room through my eyes. After a moment he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the back of the door and pulled them on. “Let me show you,” he said.

“Show me what?”

I couldn’t help but be slightly pissed off at his reaction. Being dominant wasn’t something that came naturally to me, and I had tried to be what he needed. Now the situation was back in his control. Although, really, it had been about him from the beginning.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, but this time there was a flogger in his hand. With his chin gently resting on my shoulder, he transferred it to my hand, then wrapped his fingers around mine. The warm weight of his palm flattened across my belly, anchoring me against him.

Slowly, he began to swirl the leather falls in a figure eight formation. There was a certain weight and balance that I felt immediately. I had heard Will talk lovingly about certain implements before, but I’d never really had a chance to use them for myself.

“You want to make contact on the downstroke,” he said as we found a lulling rhythm to the movement. “Flicking it up can mix things up a bit, but what you’re usually trying to achieve with a flogger is a certain evenness.”

He cupped my hand in his and turned it palm upward, then changed the angle of the flogger so it hit our joined hands over and over. It was a feeling I was used to, although not on this part of my body. Still, I got the idea of what he was trying to show me.

Will gently tugged the flogger from my hand and replaced it on the wall.

“Canes are different,” he said, bringing over a thick bamboo version. “There’s nothing to say that they have to hurt, it all depends on how you use it. And different areas of the body lend themselves to different types of implements; I mean, I use a flogger on your back and your ass, but I wouldn’t use a cane on your shoulders. Same as I wouldn’t really use a flogger on your thighs—it’s too awkward—but you can do some nice things with a cane on your thighs.”

It wasn’t what either of us had planned for the session, but his impromptu show and tell was actually really interesting. When I was subbing, I didn’t really pay a whole lot of attention to
how
he used whatever it was he was using on me. I was usually more focused on how it felt. Seeing things from his perspective gave me a whole new appreciation of what he did.

“You can work it on your hand and arm,” he said. “It gives you a better idea of the sensation that a particular implement will give. Floggers with pointed tips hurt more, and leather feels different to suede.”

I stepped away from him, curious, now, about leather floggers and using them on myself. It was an act of defiance, but more than that, one of curiosity. If I could hurt myself in the same way he hurt me, well, maybe that was a way of ending this stalemate.

He watched, frowning, as I picked one of my favorite floggers from the wall. It was heavy; the long leather falls were thicker than the other floggers, and it had those pointed tips that really did pack a punch.

I couldn’t watch him as I began to swing it as he’d shown me, then reached my arm out so the weight fell onto my forearm.

It hurt.

I did it again. And again.

Will was still frowning as I looked up and, after a moment, boldly offered him the polished wooden handle.

He took it and rolled it between his fingertips.

“Please,” I asked in a small voice. “I need it.”

The rushing of my blood sounded loud in my ears as I waited for his response. Time stretched on until I watched him visibly crumple with the weight of what I was asking him to do.

“I’m sorry, Jesse, I can’t.”

The flogger made a substantial thud as it landed on the floor, and he bolted from the attic.

Chapter 13