by Nikki Sex
Reese thinks it’s a great idea for me to marry Emily. In typical Reese fashion, he’s always there to say things like, ‘Oh, what a good idea.’ ‘Yeah, man. No problem.’ Nothing really fazes the guy. Sometimes I worry that Emily’s older brother has been doing too much weed. I haven’t seen him for over three years, but I’ve still asked him to be best man at our wedding. He promised to be there.
Meanwhile, Emily and my conflicts never intrude on our D/s relationship. I’m very careful to keep my need for dominance and control as separate from our normal life as possible. And our sex life? That’s one area that just keeps getting better and better.
Emily’s education is advancing. She’s reading current and modern literature, the classic slave and sub fantasies, such as ‘Story of O,’ ‘The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty,’ Laura Antoniou's ‘The Slave,’ and ‘Carrie's Story.’ I have also gotten her educational books, like ‘SM 101,’ and ‘Pucker Up.’
I want my little rabbit to always have her mind open to new ideas and to keep learning. Now that I think of it, I want that for me, too. But Emily has already taught me so much. Until Emily, sex for me was all about control. Now, it’s still about control, but it’s also about love and fun.
In or out of bed, the woman makes me laugh.
Emily’s gone on Fetlife to chat with others in the lifestyle. We go over everything together and regularly visit The Basement, our local fetish club in Portland. Emily’s made friends there with fellow subs, who also provide information and support.
Men tend to be visual, while women are more tactile and cerebral. As André explains it, “Desire begins in a woman’s mind.” That’s why there is so much pornography out there, tailored toward men, and so much literature geared toward women.
That’s also why I gifted Emily with her own Kindle HD, pre-loaded with sexy books. Novels don’t do it for me. I’m a guy. For sexual stimulation I’m into graphic visual images. I check out erotic literature because books do it for Emily.
Everything that does it for Em is a source of interest to me.
I encouraged her to read romance with a BDSM twist. She naturally began to highlight passages that made her hot, like scenes that involve hair pulling, spanking, certain commands the Dom says, or the way he flogs or binds them.
From time to time, I’d sneakily check those passages out and incorporate them into a scene.
Emily had no idea.
In one story she highlighted, the woman had a vibrator buzzing away in her ass and her cunt, while spread face forward on a Saint Andrew’s cross, getting a sensual flogging between her legs and on her tits. When I acted that scene out, she finally caught on.
The look in her eyes when she put it together was priceless.
Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to burst out laughing when they are right on the edge of a climax?
Em managed it. She laughed her madly vibrating ass off. All of that time when I was reading her ereader highlights, my naive little rabbit thought that I could read her mind.
I’m good, but not that good.
Now Emily intentionally highlights things for me to check out. She once highlighted something that was a serious turn off for both of us, just as a subtle form of humor. Let’s just say it involved diapers and urine.
In response to her attempt at playing this practical joke on me, I kept a straight face and went for it. I set the scene and pretended that I was into it.
Freaked her right out.
It was worth it to see the look of shock and revulsion in that hilarious moment. The joke’s was on her. That memory still makes me chuckle.
After enjoying a good book, Emily sometimes tells me the plot and why it did it for her. While I’ve never been a big talker, I do enjoy listening to some of the crazy fantasies that these authors come up with.
Many women love capture / abduction / rape scenarios and Emily’s no exception. That’s cool, because I like them, too.
These novels keep my girl perpetually on edge, aroused and inflamed, when I’m not around to do it myself. But she isn’t allowed to masturbate or climax without my permission. Emily’s only allowed to come by my command.
That’s why erotic stories are also an excellent training tool for orgasm control, and for turning her into an even more sensual, sexual animal. This keeps her attention on sex and submission. I want her to be a creature of endless appetite, mindless in her desire.
Em isn’t a pain slut, but she easily fulfills my darker needs. It’s not as if I have to beat her bloody to get off. Her willingness to take what I want to dish out thrills me. And I always make her submission worth the price.
I reward her with pleasure… and with my cock, which she now considers a privilege and a special gift. I send her off into subspace and make her fly.
Why do I like to hurt her? It’s super exciting for me. Her helpless, trusting submission is such a turn on. I love the sounds she that makes, her whimpers, sighs, screams and groans. The way her body writhes and twists in agony, makes me so damn hard.
Then there’s the spike of fear in her eyes when I threaten to go further.
During an intense scene, I’m high in Dom space, powerful and in control. And Emily? My little rabbit is in agony. Intoxicated, drunk on endorphins, overwhelmed and exhausted by an overload of emotion and sensation.
Tears stream from her light blue eyes.
God, I love her tears. I love to watch them flow over her beautiful face as it contorts while she struggles to take the pain for me.
Together we arrive at such a heady place when she no longer resists, when she totally surrenders and gives everything she has to me.
I feel it then and it fires my blood. I know it deep in my soul. Emily is mine.
After an intense scene like this aftercare is profound. All of society’s masks and personal barriers have been stripped away. It’s a timeless moment of deep connection for us both – body, mind and soul.
No defense – no pretense – no deceit. Nothing hidden. Nothing held back. That intimacy, that perfect honesty of self is what I crave. That’s when I take care of her. I speak loving words of awe and praise, ease her hurts and tenderly kiss away the tears that she’s cried for me.
Her tears are cleansing for us both, washing away the banal and leaving the profound. I can happily spend hours during aftercare, soothing, petting and adoring her.
Just me. Just her. Just us.
I love Emily day and night, every minute, every moment. My own identity is wrapped up in her now. She’s the only person I’ve told all my secrets to. She knows all of my stories, the ones I’ve experienced and the ones I’ve always told myself.
Emily knows me better than anyone in the whole world. She’s not in love with my face or my body. This thought makes me smile, because actually, she is; but that’s not the point.
What’s important is that Emily sees me. All of me, inside and out. Her greatest desire is to please me. She accepts my control, my domination and pain for me.
Never is this more glaringly obvious than after an intense scene.
My little rabbit loves me.
I rely on logic, control and reason in life. That’s who I am. But during aftercare with Em, I feel. My heart swells with devotion. I adore her with everything that I have and everything that I am.
I love Emily all the time, but I feel it most during aftercare.
Chapter 32.
“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love.”
– John Lennon
~~~
I wake up this morning with Emily’s warm, sweet-scented body wrapped around me. I bask in the sensation, knowing that the alarm will go off at any minute.
My little rabbit now wears my collar. It’s a nice, wide, black leather one, with a silver buckle, just like my belt. She only wears it when we play or visit the Basement. She calls me ‘master’ now, when we scene.
I call her anything I want.
The only time she doesn’t wear her collar during sex,
is when we act out a fun scenario. Sometimes we dress up and have props for fantasy role-play. We’ve enjoyed ‘naughty nurse and doctor,’ ‘tortured spy,’ ‘Victorian maid and master,’ ‘bad cop and innocent,’ ‘pirates’ or ‘chase and rape.’
‘Chase and rape’ is a blast for both of us and we don’t have to dress up for that. It’s a game we play spontaneously anytime and we play it often. It can be rough and fast, or fun and teasing, with lots of laughter, wrestling, tickling and begging for mercy.
I adore hearing Em beg for mercy in any case. I also love to hear her laugh.
I’ve still never tried breath play with her, nor have I really let go completely. I could take Em further, but I’m not sure that I want to completely unleash the Beast. What if I lose control? What if I really hurt her?
I have too many bad memories of screwing things up.
Emily knows my concerns. The woman’s been brutally honest and open with everything that she thinks and feels. I can only be the same.
The rest of our life together has been moving along, as well. My dad’s finally out of hospital, and he comes in to work, from time to time. That hasn’t made too big of a difference in our lives, except that I rarely make Emily orgasm in my office anymore, sadly.
I was afraid that my dad would be upset about employing Reggie, but he was okay with it. The kid’s always ghosting about but he’s been really useful. He stops by my desk and reports everything. He’s smart and has a good eye. The other day he noticed some holes in our security system, which were soon plugged. I swear he’s going to be a spy or a cop when he grows up.
Emily’s mom actually has a boyfriend now so she isn’t as high maintenance as she used to be. The woman was a basket case after her divorce. A bottomless pit of need, some sort of depressive leech that was sucking the life out of Emily.
I don’t know how Em suffered through three years of that shit.
I swear that if she’d the chance, her mom would’ve used my sweet girl right up. I know I’m being slightly overprotective and holding a bit of a grudge, especially since her mother was mentally unwell.
But Em is so kind, generous and giving. Hell, she didn’t think twice about sacrificing herself or every aspect of her life for her mother.
A happy buzz fires through me and I grin. If there’s any suffering or sacrificing to be done, my girl will be doing it for me.
Emily and I have moved in together, to a nice area that’s about thirty minutes out of town. It’s a tidy, older home, and the first place that we can call our own. That means something to both of us.
Even better, it happens to have a soundproof basement where Em and I can play until our hearts and bodies are content when we’re not at the club.
Emily recently won first prize in a photography contest in Portland. She’s really talented, and I encourage and support her fully in this endeavor. While someday, I imagine her to be at home, barefoot and pregnant, I also want her to have what she wants in life.
I think it’s important for her to purse her own dreams rather than always pleasing others, including her mom and even me.
One thing that she’s told me is important that she wants to improve her physical fitness. I want that too, but for a different reason. I want her to be fit enough to keep up with me in bed.
Like lots of women, Em is probably more focused on her figure or some such shit.
Personally, I think her body is perfect.
I want her to be stronger, so she can take more of what I dish out. If she increases her aerobic strength, we could play so much longer. The healthier and fitter she is physically, the further I can take her when we scene.
So, at least three times a week, Emily and I go jogging together, usually before work.
I recently took up Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, hoping to take André on again sometime and kick his ass. Seriously, the way André was able to whip my butt so effectively and quickly got me thinking. I’ve been overly confident in my ability to defend myself. It blew me out of the water, to see just how wrong I was.
I refuse to be vulnerable, weak or to feel out-of-control.
I know I have major control issues. I have to be in control. I only really trust myself. Who knows why?
The alarm goes off and I reach over to silence it. It’s still pretty dark outside, but neither of us waiver. We both get up, get dressed and hit the streets. We move along at Emily’s pace. Becoming more fit is her goal and this is how she wanted to achieve it.
I’d have to run twice as fast and twice as far, for our daybreak jog to tax me. But I’m quite happy to keep my little rabbit company and let her set the pace. I enjoy watching Em’s shapely legs and ass as she jogs, so I usually run a few yards behind her.
Today during our morning run, the unexpected happens.
Just as we’re crossing a street, a car arrives from out of nowhere. It doesn’t have its lights on. When I hear the car coming, I look toward it.
Terror and adrenaline flood my veins. The damn thing is speeding and I swear to God, whoever’s driving it, is trying to run Em over. The car’s headed straight for Emily. She has no idea.
“Emily,” I scream.
With her full attention on me, she stops in her tracks and sees me running toward her. Confusion lights her face. I can only imagine what she thinks of the fear in my expression.
I crash tackle into her, dragging her out of the way and onto the curb. It’s close. Very close. Way too close, but the car misses us both.
My mind clouds with sudden and intense rage. I’m going to kill that bastard!
Irrationally, I jump up and chase after the car. It’s a white Civic. Only the last three digits of the license plate can be seen: 723. There’s no way that I can catch up to see more. The car is speeding the entire time, since I first glimpsed its rapid and dangerous approach.
Breathless from the adrenaline rush, I suddenly remember Emily.
What the hell am I thinking? I left her alone, possibly injured, on the sidewalk to run after a fucking car.
Panting from a storm of panic and fury, I run back to her as quickly as I can. Emily is brushing herself off as she sits there on the curb.
Emotions blast through me like my mind’s in a blender. Impotent rage at the person who could have killed her, fear for my love, who I could’ve lost so easily and guilt for abandoning my girl. I want to kick myself.
“Are you okay?”
She gazes up at me, all wide-eyed and a bit dazed. “I’m fine.” She looks down at her leg. Her knee is bleeding from road rash. I bend down for a good look. It’s not too bad, but I know it probably burns like a bitch.
Her brows furrow. “I could use a bandage and disinfectant, but considering that I almost got run over, I’m in pretty good shape.”
I pull her into my arms and realize that I’m trembling.
“Jesus, I could’ve lost you.” Saying this out loud, the concept is devastating. It sends me into a complete tailspin. I can’t even think, I’m so freaked out. My gut twists. I honestly fear that I might throw up.
I must be in shock. I’m amazed that I’ve reacted this way.
I’ve been in bar fights. I’ve had my life threatened. I’ve felt fear, anger and helpless rage before. But I don’t remember ever falling apart quite like this. Not for anything that’s ever happened to me.
“I’m okay.” Emily wraps her body around me. She pats my back, stroking and comforting us both. The woman isn’t stupid. She’s perceptive enough to know that I’m freaking out inside. I feel like a pussy, but I can hardly contain my physical reaction. She’s the one who got hurt, but here she is, soothing me.
We go home together, holding hands all the way. We’re both still reeling. It hit me harder than her. I saw the danger unfold before my eyes. Em just saw me coming at her. She only realized what happened afterward.
Shit. I can’t live without Emily. I wouldn’t even know how.
We return home, get ready and go to work. Often after a morning run we have sexy, sweaty s
ex. I’m so worked up that we don’t even have a quickie in the shower. This nausea is killing me. I still feel as though I may throw up.
I didn’t know it then, but that was only the first attempt on Emily’s life, and my own.
It wouldn’t be the last.
Chapter 33.
“Feelings are never stupid, they just make us feel stupid sometimes.”
– Laurell K. Hamilton
~~~
Emily is grateful and attentive. “My hero,” she says on the drive to work. The vigorous purr of my new car, usually so comforting, doesn’t help.
I’m a tense ball of nerves and can’t say anything.
“Nothing happened,” she says. “I’m okay. Really. You need to let it go.”
I still say nothing.
“Bo Bo?” she says, rubbing my arm soothingly. Bo Bo is a strange and silly endearment that Emily uses from time to time. I haven’t a fucking clue where it came from.
“Listen,” she says. “I’m safe. I’m here. Nothing terrible happened, because you came to my rescue. You’ll never let anything bad happen to me.”
My frustration and carefully contained panic upsets her. She wants the put the whole incident behind her but I’m just not there yet. I can’t get there either.
I sigh. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” I say, and I force a smile at her. “I’ll get over it. I love you, you know? I just wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you.”
“I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice is reassuring. Em continues to hold my arm, but she says nothing more. That’s one thing she understands about me.
She’s here for me when I need to talk. I appreciate that. Yet there are times when I just need to be quiet and deal with shit on my own.
This is one of those times.
I’m still completely wired when I get to my office. I have a temper, but the threat to Emily’s life really puts me on edge. It’s just going to take some time for me to come down from this fear-fueled rage. I suspect that the only thing that might stand a chance of chilling me out right now would be an intense scene.