Author's note: this chapter was written to show my appreciation for feedback in the form of constructive criticism - to those of you who've taken the time to leave it. Thank you.
*****
(Piglet has just left us alone; she's gone back to town check on things at her apartment. You and I are sitting on your porch. It's a beautiful, golden-fall evening we're silently watching the sunset together. My mind wanders aimlessly.)
Just like most worries, I expect that most sexual fantasies never happen. They never come to fruition. I expect we really wouldn't want them to. We imagine coercive situations where our consent is not asked for and is even not implied... but how terrifying when an actual rapist clicks the handcuffs tightly around your wrist.
If I keep my fantasy in my mind where it is safe and painless, I extract only the pleasure and if I'm lucky- my excited brain sends some blood flow into the desired organ. In my mind, I bring the statuesque vixen to life and she strikes my tender backside with her cane, this image tricks my neurochemistry and I feel no actual pain- just the throbbing pleasure of an erection.
We survive such terrifying scenes in our minds only to fantasize progressively more gruesome scenarios than the last- situations we'd do everything in our power to avoid in waking life. In this way, we might push ourselves to the extreme.
I'm no Puritan and I guess I consider myself 'a man of the world.' But I've always looked askance at people who go around wearing their sexuality on their sleeves. Sometimes I've even been quietly judgmental about them. I guess I can be a rather judgmental person. Pretty ironic when you stop and consider these bizarre fetishes I've so recently developed- at your behest.
Not that I'm a homophobe... but lets just say that I'd never want to participate in anything like a 'gay pride parade.' Here's why though: it's just because being so PUBLICLY sexual does not appeal to me. Something inside me doesn't like parading ANYTHING about myself. I'm not 'out;' my sexuality is happily closeted. I'm a private person- shy and quiet. I value the dignity of keeping a few harmless secrets from the world at large- my sexual proclivities are MY business (and my Queen's business). I don't like locker rooms. I'm not an exhibitionist- public nudity- strangers seeing me naked- facing their stares- the risks- the humiliation- It's just not my type of kink, and even now after encountering my Queen... just not one of my fantasies.
So how do I like this change from vanilla to- well my ass is on fire so I guess we'll call it 'cinnamon?' Well: I do love it. I love being made my Queen's sexual object, her possession- constantly reminded of her. What it is that turns my crank so much about her taking control of me is that I know that the sexual charge she's getting from my submission is the genuine article. If I had to ask her to do any of this humiliating stuff to me, the magic would not work. My mind would know she's only acting a role. But this was all her idea- her fantasy even. And the result is a sexual magic like I've never experienced- it's highly intoxicating.
Anyone who has ever stoked a fire instantly understands the metaphor. To see a flame grow brighter with your own breath is to be aware of this same ability in the mind of your lover. My sexuality is just a flame and nobody has ever been able to make it dance like my Queen- Amanda.
"Thomas," You say pulling me out of my reverie. It is the first time I've heard my real name in several days. It comes as quite the shock.
"Yes, m-my Queen," I stammer in reply showing my alarm.
You look at me with a new and sudden softness, "You can call me Amanda if you like- for now- just for now. I want us to step out of our... 'roles' - just a little while- and have a talk."
You see my perplexed look.
"Don't worry, you haven't done anything remotely wrong, I just realize that I don't know your life or your history. There are some things I'd like to find out about you so I can continue to toy with your psychology- only in ways that won't cause any permanent damage. Because I- I mean it- I really care about you, Thomas... I wish I knew more about you."
We both realize that this is you reaching for a whole new note of vulnerability. It's as if you're asking me to wake up from a state of deep hypnotism. You look away slightly as if you half-wished you hadn't laid this card down before me.
But I want to encourage you. I say, "It's alright, a- Amanda." It feels so strange to be saying your name.
I've opened the floodgate of what you have to tell me.
"I had this nagging fear that I might do something to you that you would not find erotic in any capacity- or worse- that it would be an ugly abuse or a breach of the trust we've been building between us. That's not what I'm about... so I need to know... for instance what's in your secret stash of fantasies... and what isn't... So far I've been trusting my own intuition and desires because I sense- I'll say- correctly that it's hotter for both of us if I don't have to stop and ask your permission for every little thing I do. What an unpleasant wet blanket that would be!"
"You're right, Amanda, that's... actually very true. It's hotter for me when you just make me do something or do something to me without asking."
"What about when I whip you or cane you- and leave bright red marks all across your ass? Is that in your secret box of fantasies?"
"Yyyyyyyes. And in-fact, it's even hotter in hindsight."
"What about when I lock up your cock in a tight, steel chastity cage and wear the key around my neck to tease you? Do you like that?"
"Yes. I never would have gone through with the Prince Albert if I didn't find it highly erotic to turn over that control to you."
"What about the diapers? You seem to find them very degrading."
"I know, there's still something about that flavor of humiliation... I think what makes it hot is the intimacy of it- your direct attention- maybe the helplessness... gets me off."
"I should have probably asked you this much sooner... but here goes: were you ever molested as a child?"
I look up at you with a start because it's such a 'real' question.
"No. No I wasn't. Not even vaguely, but I came very close to being molested and I'll tell you why I say that. When I was in middle school- I went to church back then- my family was actually pretty religious. Anyway it was one of those big evangelical Christian churches with over a thousand people in the congregation- mostly upper-middle-class white people with lots of money. My parents encouraged me to get involved with the youth program there because I was on the shy side- the kind of kid that needed encouragement to find friends."
"You're still kind of shy aren't you?" You say with a sexy wry smile.
Encouraged by your warmth I proceed, "Yes. I am. And back then I was especially. But anyway there was this assistant youth pastor there that invited me and a few other seventh-grade boys to join him for a Bible study. I felt honored to be included in any kind of exclusive club and I loved getting into deep discussions about religious matters and the challenges we'd be facing as we became men... That group lasted for almost a whole year before my parents got a call from the police. They needed them to bring me down to a place I'd never seen the inside of- the police department. They needed me to answer some questions about our friend the youth pastor. Huh... I honestly thought that this must have been a case of mistaken identity and that's exactly what I told the officer that questioned me- 'they had the wrong guy.' Well despite my honest defense of him, that youth pastor was convicted of several counts of sexual assault on a minor. And as far as I know he's still in prison to this day...I guess he must have molested at least one of my friends, but not me... If I had to guess why, I'd say he just had too much respect for my father to commit such a crime against his family... I rarely think about that youth pastor... now but when I do, it's usually with some kind of pity. I never had the stomach to ask any of the other boys what happened to them..."
Your mouth still hangs open and you're looking at me uncomfortably seriously.
"Thomas, do you trust me?"
Your question hangs awkwardly in the air. Just when I've been this open with you, you respond by putting me even more on-the-spot and we both know it. And yet, I feel I can't answer you with anything canned or trite. Finally I find these words, "Yes! I just told you about a very repressed traumatic experience for me- I trust you... but I know there's still so much more to your life that I don't know anything about... Also, maybe I just have some 'trust issues' in general."
"I'm beginning to understand why... I'm just glad you weren't molested- I do feel for your friends though and I even feel for the youth pastor- think of the fucked-up childhood he must have had to become that way... maybe."
"Yeah- but that's too somber a thought- can we make this about me again?" I try to joke.
You smile warmly to show you're pleased with my honest vanity. Your upper lip curls and your smile turns from warm to hot. Your spell of seduction is as potent as ever at this pregnant moment- with your bright eyes all lit up and curious about me.
"Don't you know, Thomas, that I've been just as busy psychologically profiling you these past few days as I have been busy keeping you in a heightened state of sexual arousal? How could I be the queen of all your dreams if I didn't know the best way to unlock your delicate box of secret treasure- your very particular kinks and fetishes? And yet- that is exactly what I've been able to do thus far without even asking you to confess them!"
"I guess that is pretty amazing, Amanda. So... if you've got me all profiled... do share... what is my profile? What are my kinks? Tell me what you know about the inner workings of my mind." I say this not without a hint of irony because I know you wouldn't have made such a declaration unless you had something good prepared.
