We don’t use a safe word. Angus believes that a good dom knows when something is too much, too intense or frightening for his sub. So, when my screams overwhelmed the gag, he immediately stepped back and withdrew his finger probe. He wiped his finger on a nearby paper towel then released me from the handcuffs. He found my robe on the back of a dining chair then wrapped me like he was swaddling a baby. He checked my face. The singular tear making its way from my soul down my cheek startled him. “Come sit down,” he said. “Clearly you aren’t as ready for this as originally believed.”
He let me take the ball gag off myself but took it out of my hand and stashed it along with the other toys in the duffle as if it never made an appearance. Angus escorted me to the couch, careful in his guidance for I was shaking, in a full-blown flashback. He had seen me like this before - the first time being the night before our wedding. I felt racket each time it happened. Although I was suffering from daymares of a sexual assault during my early teens, I’ve been through enough therapy to know that the helplessness felt by someone watching it, particularly if they love you as he loves me, is also devastating. I am pleased he didn’t apologize – very unbecoming of a dom. But kept the role-play going, allowing me to keep my dignity. “I wish to never to disappoint you, your Grace.”
He sat on the end of the couch and patted the seat next to him. “It is my job to help you along this journey. That there are bumps in the road is expected.” He smiled slightly, doing a good job of managing his concern. He thought a moment then seemed to have an idea. He reached in the back of his jeans and pulled out one of his hair ties. “Sit down and hold your hands in prayer position.” Still shaking and feeling more than a bit dizzy, I started to kneel, but he caught me and pulled me on the couch. “No, I just want you seated with your hands together but your fingers apart,” he corrected. I complied. He wrapped the clothe rubber band to bind my pointer fingers.
I looked at them then smiled at him weakly. “Thank you, your Grace.” It did feel good, like a small oasis in the desert. I lay my head on his lap and he stroked my head. “This is a setback.”
He sighed but said nothing initially. For several months, we had been working toward him fucking me while I was bound. To Angus, being able to do so would be a sign that the trauma no longer ruled me. Such would mean that there was nothing between me and my true self, symbolized by blissful surrender to someone completely dedicated to me. Doing so would not only be a sign of his trust in our relationship and him but in myself. Last month, he had been able to slip two fingers inside my ass and I had a fairly satisfying orgasm. He said it was “brilliant” and I looked “amazing”. I know he’s looking forward to applying a stronger, larger tool. “We didn’t’ meet last month, remember? These things take consistent attention. We have two weeks now. I’m sure we can get back on track.”
“I don’t know why this is so important to me,” I whined like a child who didn’t get what he wanted for his birthday. “It’s not like the sex isn’t good otherwise.”
“You once said that there are corners and undercurrents to this relationship, all of which you wanted to explore,” he responded plainly, still petting my head.
“I know,” I replied. Why an abuse survivor would want this was a complicated question. It's like the assault turned on a switch that wasn’t meant to be triggered just then. Truth is I love to be of service. There is such power in knowing and accurately responding to the needs of another. It is a game that calls on a deep sense of your master’s mind and Swiss precision to fulfil his calls before he even imagines them. I loved to catch him just slightly off-guard with his favourite pretzels or that file he has been looking for. I’d tried to rid myself of this joy, need to serve another but unfortunately, I’m the guy who saves the drenched kitten in the tree across the street because his girlfriend is worried animal control won’t arrive on time. I’m no wimp or doormat but the smile on her face when can back with that cat was truly worth nearly breaking my neck.
“The knot must be helping,” Angus interrupted, “for I see you’re back in your head. I swear you must have a fully furnished mansion in there!”
“With you and a rabbi in every room!” I turned my head and offered a bashful grin.
“Only if her name is Rebecca and she’s laying around completely naked.” He was referring to a girl from my study group he saw during his October visit. I’d convinced him to come to a student lecture.
I was feeling better. Getting past these quickly is a good sign, even if I wasn’t recognizing it as such. “If memory serves me, you were the one doing all the flirting.”
Angus was researching the Glamorgan legends, trying to identify which crazy tale his father told him as a child were actually true and to fill in some black holes in the clan’s history – like what was behind the druidic spell that bonded my family to his in perpetuity. “She seemed keen on our family history and our connections to the Crown.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now?!” I smiled. “And yes, I am feeling better.” I raised up my fingers bonded like a ponytail on an old Barbie and added, “Being restrained so efficiently, who wouldn’t feel safe and secure!”
“Cheeky aren’t we!” Angus pulled the rubber ties off my fingers abruptly. “Sit up! Where’s my tea?”
I sat up immediately and went back to the kitchen. Lifting the lid off the slow cooker, I said, “Lamb stew? It should be done in a bit.” I took a tray out of the frig. “Rosemary and feta cheese? These will only take 10 minutes after I heat the oven. We could nibble and watch a movie? I think 3:10 to Yuma is coming on TCM, 1957 version, of course.”
“Deetz,” he said, in a soft, earnest tone. “Let the stew cook. I’m not hungry just yet.”
“Oh! Okay,” I said putting the tray back in the refrigerator.
“Deetz,” he replied, “I did miss you. I missed you a lot.”
I looked at my husband letting his neediness rest like a glob of cum on his shirt sleeve. “I missed you too,” I said in my best ‘aw shucks’ manner. “We have to plan better . . . the only way this is going to work is if don’t let anything hinder this time together.” It wasn’t his fault or mine last month – Parliament’s session was extended and the deadline for my article was changed – we just didn’t juggle things right. “But I assure you, you have my full attention over this break and, during this time, you can have me any way you want.” I was back to feeling bold again. Nothing like being needed. He looked at me as if he wasn’t sure, so I added, “I’m okay now. Thanks.”
“Don’t over-promise,” he settled on. “Now, I am hungry. You know it is always better for me to eat before sex.” He leaned over to grab the remote off the coffee table.
Liar. The carb crash after he eats means he’d be asleep before the movie’s over and he knew it. He just didn’t want me to feel obligated, trying to make up for the sex we didn’t have. I turned back to my tray of unbaked pretzels. “I reckon I’ll pop these in the oven.” I did so and realized that I was rather chilled in nothing but a bathrobe. “I think I’ll put my sweats back on.”
“You’ll do such thing!” he barked, a bit unexpectedly. He stood up and shed his shirt, socks, and shoes. “Turn up that heat and you’ll be fine.” He sat back down and crossed his legs. “Make me one of your martini’s,” he said waving me on and leaning back in his seat. “This stupid remote is irritating me,” he growled.
I undid the ties and flashed him. “Oh my! I’ll get right on that, your Grace!” I turned up the heat to 27 C. The nice thing about being married to money is them always reminding you that that money is now yours as well.
Back in the kitchen, I had just started pouring the olive brine in the mixer when I said, “I’m sorry. I know these flashbacks are . . . troublesome.” I couldn’t look at him.
“Mate, I’m the bogeyman haunting your unconscious fears. They see my love coming, so they racket up the pressure,” Angus replied. I looked back and he was still fumbling with the remote. When he reached TCM and the movie, he turned to me and affirmed in a tone I can imagine would have been familiar to Geoffrey of Monmouth, “Your fear will not overrun this marriage. I won’t let it.”
This is what you get when you marry a peer of the realm. Who said chivalry was dead?
THE END
No comments:
Post a Comment