He nods, his fist resting under his chin now. “Correct.”
“I don’t want that. I … The videos may have made it seem like I …” Frustration bubbles inside of me. “I am not usually so flustered. I prefer to be blunt.”
“Take your time,” he tells me. “I’m not in any rush.”
“I am possessive. I don’t want to be jealous. And I’m not, if it’s an equal sexual act. But using another woman to punish me … I am … I don’t care for it at all.”
“Cuckolding as a punishment is far different from your kink of exhibitionism and swinging or swapping partners. There’s a difference in act, in emotion, in intention. I understand that you can enjoy one and despise the other.”
All I can give him is a small nod and a whisper in return. “Thank you.”
“So … cuckolding is off the table, is there anything else?”
“Bodily fluids in general,” I answer.
“Including spitting?” he questions and my body should not at all react as it does.
“No. I meant … I meant …”
“Blood, urine and scat.”
Pushing my hair out of my face, the frustration turns to infuriation. I am stronger than this. I am capable of answering bluntly and without hesitation.
“I am detail oriented with this information. I understand if you haven’t been asked about this before. There is no shame in that.”
Again I nod, my lips pressed in a thin line.
“When we enter a scene, I will inform you if there is anything new to us, or anything we haven’t already discussed. There will never be any surprise discipline either. Those are the only times I will prepare you. You must use your safe word or even tell me you are considering using it whenever you feel unsafe or an action is unwanted. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And your rewards will be pleasure. Excessive, freely given pleasure. I will test your boundaries, and I will discover what you prefer myself. That is my reward.” His voice is firm, and drips with sex appeal. Any negative emotions are quickly burned away by the primitive need that takes control of every piece of me. “You will not dictate your reward, is that understood?”
“Yes,” I answer in a whisper.
“Do you have any questions?”
“When will we do scenes?” I ask immediately.
His answer is unexpected. “To start, always.” His rough laugh is subdued and a deadly sound. “You’re surprised?”
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Yes.” Although I’m slightly shocked, my body blazes with an eagerness to begin.
“You have your safe word, pink. Now I must find those limits in all things. It is best to stay in play for as long as you are willing and I am able.”
Adrenaline rushes through my veins and I find myself picking at the tips of my fingers.
“When do we start?”
“When you no longer have questions and acknowledge that you are now mine. My submissive. And I am yours. Your Dominant.”
“There’s one. I have … one more question.” With his eyes closing slowly, he nods and peers back up at me, still very calm, very soothing in his nature.
“And what is that?”
“Would we record anything?”
He searches my expression, his body stilling. “Like the videos of you I found on the internet?”
“No. Not the … not the punishments and rewards. That’s not what I was thinking about. Although, I think that’s a separate conversation. I mean our sessions. Where we talk. Can we record those?”
“With what intention? You wish to play them back?”
“I want to share them on my social media. Like us talking through it. Not … not the rewards and punishments. But the therapy sessions. I want to show people how I’m getting through it. The good and the bad. I want to help them too.”
“I think we should move through some of the harder topics before we get comfortable with inviting people in. I will consider it, though. I will review first.”
A huff of humor that’s mostly genuine leaves me. All the men want to review everything. I remind myself that they’re protecting me. And I nod although the semblance of a smile slips as I realize something.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” My focus whips back to him and his stare directed at me holds a possessive intensity that catches me off guard. My answer is immediate and spoken without conscious consent. “My voice.”
With a narrowed gaze, I answer more thoroughly before he pries. “It’s different than it was before. Scratchier. It sounds different, and they’ll notice.”
“I see.”
There’s a small beat in time that passes before he says, “I want you to tell me something about why your voice hurts. Anything at all.”
Dread chills any desire I’ve had over the last hour.
He adds, “I only want one fact but if you want to tell me more, you can. At least one, though. You can do that.”
I speak without thinking at his urging, just to get it out there. “I regret it.”