I'm in my bedroom changing outfits (again). I thought I had settled on what to wear tonight, but now I'm thinking something low-waisted would be cuter. Without thinking, I shimmy out of my red Palazzo pants and dive back into my closet. I completely forget Tommy is on the bed behind me scrolling through his phone.
"What the fuck is that?" he says sounding alarmed.
For a half a second, I'm afraid Tommy can see the outline of the plug Daddy told me to wear out tonight through my panties. Then I realize he means the back of my thighs and spin around to hide them even though it's much too late for that now. "Nothing."
Tommy is up and off the bed. "Don't nothing me, bitch. Turn around. What happened to your legs?"
"It's not as bad as it looks."
It is exactly as bad as it looks. My caning was a week ago tonight, and the marks have had time to settle deep into my skin. I am one solid, uninterrupted bruise from the back of my knee to the middle of my ass. It doesn't actually hurt too much anymore although going to the gym this week has been its own fresh hell. At night, I can't keep my hands off myself and finger the bruises painfully while thinking about Daddy hurting me. I like to look at the marks he left on me in the mirror, turning this way and that to admire them from every angle. This will sound fucked up, but I love them so much. It was a punishment at the time but now feels more like a gift. That's not the right word, but I don't have a better one. My marks make me feel connected to him when we're apart, and I'm going to feel a little melancholy when they're gone.
I have fantasies about wearing a skirt out, nothing too short I don't want to make it obvious, but maybe if someone looks at my legs as I pass they might catch a glimpse and wonder what happened to me. Maybe it has to be a stranger for the fantasy to work though, because I am mortified about Tommy seeing. Shyly, I turn to show him my legs.
"What did that?" he demands with a horrified expression.
"A cane."
"A cane?
He
caned you?" Tommy never calls him Jack only
he
or
him
. "What, like a thousand times?"
"Forty-four."
"Forty-four?" he repeats. "Why forty-four?"
"I dropped a penny," I say, realizing that's only going to lead to more questions.
Tommy might be the picture of domesticity now that he's met James, but he was plenty slutty once upon a time. He was never especially kinky but dabbled here and there, and I'm pretty sure he tops James in the bedroom although they don't think about it in those terms. So, Tommy can talk the talk even if he isn't especially interested in taking that particular walk himself. He's known about Jack since before I even met him, back when he was still just a weirdly intimate textationship. It's been really nice to be able to confide in someone although I realize now that I stopped updating Tommy weeks ago. How am I supposed to explain that I call Jack, "Daddy" now and sleep in a dog crate at the foot of his bed? Better to keep it vague then worry Tommy with the details.
"Are you being safe?" Tommy asks, taking my hand.
"Yes," I say but he looks unconvinced. "Yes, I promise."
"Look at me and say it."
I lift my eyes from the floor where I hadn't realized they'd been. "I'm being safe."
He still looks doubtful. "Can I ask a question without you getting mad?"
I nod even though I hate that shit - how the hell am I supposed to know until I hear the question if I'll get mad?
"Look I am not one to kink shame, but would you even know if you're being safe?"
It's a harsh question and from anyone else I would be furious on general principle, but it's Tommy, and he has earned the right to ask whatever he wants. Plus, he has a solid point. Safety first has never exactly been my credo. How many risky situations have I put myself in with men? How many strangers have I fucked sight unseen, showing up at their apartments or hotel room doors and just rolling the dice with my life? And I may or may not have goaded a group of college friends into gangbanging me at a wedding in Boston not a month ago. So yeah, I think it's fair to say that my sense of self-preservation is not FDA approved. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a little that Tommy feels he has to ask.
"This is different," I say.
"Yeah," Tommy agrees, staring at my legs and ass. "Hard agree."
"No, I mean this is
different
," I insist and run my thumb along the links of my collar for confidence.
"How?"
"Because Daddy accepts me," I blurt out and regret it immediately.
Tommy doesn't try to hide his surprise. "Daddy?"
I blush furiously. "Jack, I mean Jack. He understands me."
"Mac, he's using you."
"Yes!" I say, excited that Tommy finally gets it. "He's using me."
"Jesus Christ, that's not a good thing," Tommy says, throwing his hands up in disbelief.
I realize then that I simply don't have the words to make Tommy understand. Thing is though, I have a pretty solid vocabulary, so it also occurs to me that maybe if I don't have the words that's because there aren't any. That maybe Tommy is right.
"Well, it is for me," I say and hate the note of apology in my voice.
He looks at a loss for words. "So, what's going on? Are you in love with him?"
"No, I thought I was at the beginning. But it's more than that."
