Ignore The Warning Label Pt 02

Author's Note:

This is NOT the kind of Part 2 that is designed to stand alone. You will be very lost without having read Part 1.

I had an outline of things I wanted to describe in Part 2, as well as some general guidelines for how I want the next sections to unfold. However, in putting Part 2 together, it ended up somewhat shifting into two episodes. It's still the events I wanted to have as the second instillation, but... well, you'll see. I think of them as parts 2 and 2.5. I think it's worth mentioning because it may impact how people space out reading this.

As before, I love feedback. Thanks a lot to all the people who have reached out to me so far. I'm very much trying to figure out what works and what doesn't in my writing. It's hard to know unless people tell me.

EDIT April 16, 2019: Edits and helpful guidance provided by EGRI.

*

Malcolm had to leave early the next morning to get back across the city to an office hours review session for Cyber Security Compliance. It was sweet, the way he eased himself out of bed, trying not to disturb me, and attempted to dress without turning the lights on. But I work out early anyway and I wasn't about to let him sneak away without saying goodbye, so I hugged him from behind and made a show of feeling up his chest while "helping" him with his buttons.

Malcolm yawned mightily. He's useless until he's got some caffeine in him. Mumbling a farewell and intention to see me online later, he rushed out the door without realizing I'd hidden his tie under my pillow. I had plans for that tie.

But first, leg day. Everybody moans about leg day, like they'd rather be banging their heads against a wall. Those are the people destined to walk around with flat asses forever. It's easily my favorite workout.

Half of it is for the looks. The looks from all the gym rats and muscle monsters who see me pull up to the squat rack and assume that they're going to have to waste their time waiting for me and my bitch weights. Then they notice my ass. Purely lecherously at first, but slowly taking in my glutes and quads as I load up the bar. I imagine them thinking "all right, maybe this chick can actually lift." Then, when I start getting into it, with full downward motion and perfect form despite my height, those maybe-s turn to definitely-s. That transition is what does it for me. The little nods of respect from people who started out looking down on me.

The other half is personal satisfaction. There's nobody in the world I'm more competitive with than myself. I love seeing the weights on the bar in the mirror as I squat down and lift them up again. I love feeling my muscles strain as I work myself, just a little bit harder than last week. I love the feeling of lightness that comes, despite the exhaustion, right after racking the bar. It's exhilarating! I spend most of my professional life writing code or analyzing data sets on a computer screen. Being able to really use my muscles, sweat buckets and feel my heart thud hard inside me makes me feel deliciously alive.

As I went through the familiar routine of circling the gym floor to hit each muscle of my legs, visions of last night played over in my head. It had all happened so fast! Malcolm had arrived last night as my best friend and left this morning as my... lover? Boyfriend? Dom? Still best friend but also those other three? Fuck labels, it had been fantastic and I wanted more.

Had I really been nervous about it? About asking him, about performing as a submissive, about facing down rejection? I grinned at myself in the mirror, remembering. Of course I had been, but it had all gone so well that it was hard to even imagine feeling anything negative.

It took all of two minutes to walk home from the gym. That's why I chose that tiny studio to live in; location. I could have gotten a bigger space for less money, but the proximity to work, food and entertainment was worth some sacrifices.

7:40. '

Perfect.

' I quickly peeled my sweat drenched clothes off, grabbed my scissors and bush trimming mirror, and set about fulfilling Malcolm's shaving command. Shaving cream and a supply of razors were my weapons of choice for keeping my legs and pits smooth, but I was bushier than I'd expected, and it took time. 8:10... 8:15... '

Not so perfect. Oh well, being on time to work is overrated anyway.

' It's a very high-risk area to be using a razor! Surely my boss would understand.

A quick shower, then I grabbed Malcolm's tie and remembered that I had no idea how to tie it. '

Shit!

' Seems I'm not the only one who's father never taught them, as googling "how to t" suggests "how to tie a tie" as the first result.

'

Right! Shaved: check. Naked: check. Tie: check. Showtime.

' I set the timer on my camera and posed, thrusting my hips forward to show off my newly extremely naked pussy while cupping my breasts close around Malcolm's tie. I wanted to get the look just right. '

Horny and mischievous, playful enough to let him know you're fun but serious enough to show him you want his cock.

' I tried my best to duplicate the erotic expression Reddit's Gone Wild models wear so naturally. It took several tries before I was happy with it.

I sent the picture to Malcolm's phone.

Devyn: you forgot something sir

Devyn: i think ill wear it to work

Devyn: like my outfit?

Devyn: :D

'

That's right, we're fucking sexting now! Get on my level!

' It was totally worth being late.

Malcolm did get on my level, but not quite in the revealing selfie way I'd expected. And maybe hoped for, just a little. Instead, over the next few days, he gave me homework. That's how he presented it -- "Homework."

"Some educational material to dispel certain bedroom myths." It wasn't porn. Contrary to what one might expect given the start of our friendship, it certainly wasn't porn. In fact, it was a very far cry from what we'd shared before. He sent me articles on the effects of power exchange play on internal chemistry and the brain. Long essays compiled from Fetlife users about the ins and outs of spanking, being tied up, things like that. The intention was to talk about what I liked and was interested in trying

I've read far more than my fair share of smut. These articles were certainly far from erotica. They were more informational and emphasizing reality. It brought home a sense of just how real this all was. Like, Malcolm was sharing spanking information with me because we were talking about him spanking me. Actually smacking my physical ass in the real world. It was a hard shift to wrap my head around. Fantasies feel safe and let your imagination run wild. After all, they're not real and there's no expectation that they'll ever be real. Reading this stuff from my Dom, imagining what it would feel like took on a very different tone. I'd know firsthand very soon.

Before our first night, I'd been worried about being able to do what he would want me to. I wasn't anymore. It was easy. As obvious as it might sound, all I had to do was obey. I often drifted back to how closely connected I'd felt with him as we gazed into each other's eyes. Me kneeling under him, his firm grip in my hair, so incredibly open to him while he was his perfect full self for me...

I wanted to feel that again. More. In every possible variation. We were supposed to be setting limits, but so many things sounded appealing to try! Everything that would involve his hands on me and that look of delighted pleasure on his face was something I was open to. That to-do list expanded much faster than the turn-offs and limits.

Aside from wanting to enable Malcolm's dominance, one thing I was especially interested in was marks. There's a certain kind of kinky image that had always been my favorite. The image of a submissive woman, smiling and happy and proud, showing off the marks on her body she's received from whatever she's just endured. I like the positivity, bruises on somebody who's clearly miserable don't do it for me at all. I wanted to be one of those strong, determined women I was attracted to, someone who could take a whooping and wear her bruises as trophies with a genuine smile!

But as much as I read and we talked, it quickly became clear we'd need some experience to set benchmarks. For example, although I liked the idea of doing it with Malcolm, I'd never been spanked before. How much was a heavy ass beating to me? 5 spanks? 50? 500? I had no idea. Similarly, I'd never even experimented with handcuffs before. Would I freak out feeling any restraints like that? On the other extreme, would I enjoy being covered in ropes? At that point, it was all just theory.

We crafted a scene together. Well, he planned it out in his head. I mostly contributed excited affirmations when he suggested certain themes. It was very exciting! The process felt kind of like we were making a stir-fry. We went shopping for the ingredients together, then he cooked them into something delicious for us to share.

This would be our first time. Our real first time. I'd convinced him that last time didn't really count because we hadn't fucked. He laughed and asked how the 'sex' part of 'oral sex' didn't count, but let himself be talked around.

Thinking about it made it hard to keep my hands off of myself. Remembering his mouth on my clit, his hands squeezing my tits, and thinking about everything that might come next got me very worked up.

But Malcolm's first rule to me had been that my sexuality was his to play with, my orgasms his to control. It didn't come up again, but I hadn't forgotten, and I was determined to keep to it. It would be my special sauce contribution to our stir fry, arriving to the scene already wet and horny for him. Well, even wetter and hornier for him than I normally would have been.

He would be busy with study sessions and paper writing that week until Friday, so we decided to meet over the weekend and have a proper romantic date then go to his place and... have some fun. A small, nagging voice in the back of my head whispered that I was forgetting something. Something important. Maybe it would have clicked if I'd looked at a calendar. Or hell, even if I'd just thought of it as the second week of the month instead of three generic days away. But I didn't. All I thought was: '

Three days!?! What the hell am I supposed to do to make three days pass?

'

----------

The enemy Draven stealthily made his way into the brush at the far end of our lane. Foolishly thinking himself concealed, he waited for Lee Sin to make his way through the jungle to gank us. Sitting in our respective apartments seven miles apart, Malcolm and I grinned in unison. We moved together, Malcom's Alistar diving in headfirst to stun Draven against the wall before tossing him into the air while my Jinx blasted him down. We laughed together over Discord as the Draven player complained in chat about his support not keeping track of our wards.

It was a small thing, but it felt meaningful to me. Call it confirmation bias or whatever, but I swear we were flowing together better. Before, maybe he would have wasted a second saying something like "I'm going in," or I might have burned time reacting to him rather than anticipating. We were a well oiled machine in bottom lane and Draven and Thresh were our bitches.

I found it difficult to describe, even to myself. Parts of our relationship were changing as we became more sexual, but other things stayed the same. Like this. Something as simple as connecting together to play League of Legends, poke fun at each other and gossip about our days. It was just a thing we did. Something we'd done for years, but still, the ease with which it continued into our changing dynamic made me happy. Very, very happy.

It wasn't like I'd been worried we'd become so weighted down by sexual tension that the friendship part of us would fall apart. Alright, maybe just a little concerned... But no, instead we felt tighter and more comfortable relaxing together than ever.

"You were telling me about inviting Nicole over?" Malcolm prodded me to continue my story.

"Oh yeah, like I was saying, she kinda invited herself over. She found me on Facebook and we were messaging. She asked what I was doing, I said 'Nothing,' and she was like 'Great! I'll bring some beers over.'"

"Oh yeah, that's definitely Nicole. You must have really made an impression on her."

"I don't know what I did! I was a little shocked, I mean like, the fuck? Who does that? But it turned out fine. She's really easy to get along with."

***

"I come bearing gifts!" Nicole said, proudly presenting a six pack of some craft beer I'd never heard of.

"Hey. Thanks! Come in."

Dressed casually with a Rolling Stones t-shirt and cargo shorts, she wasted no time cracking open two of the beers and offering me one. "I figured you for a lager type girl. If it's crap, I'll happily double fist these."

"Am I that obvious?" I took a speculative sip.

"Nah, it's just my super power. I see a sexy lady and I just know how to get her drunk." It wasn't crap. Whatever it was, it was actually pretty good.

Nicole cast a critical eye around my one room apartment. I'd done a better job cleaning up than I had for Malcolm. Perhaps not exactly "tidy" as such, but there wasn't anything too embarrassing laying around. My mother might have objected to calling my bed "made," but it was neat enough to pass millennial's standards. "Give me a tour?" she asked.

"A tour? Five hundred sixty square feet, what you see is kinda what you get."

She smiled warmly, "Indulge me."

She was interested in everything. Well, not quite everything. She was willing to accept that much of my furniture was Ikea crap that every twenty-something year old starting professional is obliged to own. However, She stopped to investigate everything that represented some aspect of myself. Nicole latched onto my bookshelf, pouring over each title with the enthusiasm of a kindred spirit.

"Oh! You like Terry Pratchett too!" she exclaimed. "And Mistborn? Name of the Wind... Uprooted... Foundryside..." She appreciatively ran her fingers over a few of the more worn titles. "But very little set on planet Earth. One might almost think you like worlds of fantasy more than real life."

***

Malcolm laughed, "she might have you there."

I rolled my eyes, briefly forgetting that he couldn't see. "Everybody should prefer fantasy. The real world just doesn't have enough epic quests and magical powers."

"Did she give you her Harry Potter rant?"

"No. What's that?"

"Nicole's famous literary thesis on why Harry Potter Seven is the worst book ever written."

"Wow, that's bold. Not just the low point of the series, but actually the worst of all time?"

"Yep, she's actually quite convincing. Don't worry, keep hanging around with her and you'll hear it soon enough." I filed that away for later. It seemed like a good conversation starter.

***

Nicole sat at my desk and reached for various things on it, like she was trying to get a feel for me by immersing herself in my natural habitat. I took the opportunity to eye her up a bit. '

Only fair if she's going to be investigating all my stuff!'

Amusingly, the difference in our heights meant her heels dangled inches from the floor and she had to slouch forward to reach my keyboard and mouse. Up close, the light from my desk lamp caught her red hair and made it shine. She idly played with her ear piercings as she tried, unsuccessfully, to find some kind of order in the chaos of stuff scattered in front of her. She had chosen red metal hoops, which seemed to create a natural flow of warm color all around her face.

I wondered what she might look like if she went all out with the theme. Red nails, maybe some kind of fiery outfit. The Rolling Stones' red tongue and lips on her shirt matched quite well, but I was thinking or something deeper and more flowing.

"You know,' Nicole turned and grinned as she caught me staring, "if Sam found my desk this cluttered, she'd spank me."

I laughed, "she likes turning you into your Firefly mode?"

"Yeah," she giggled mischievously, "maybe that's why I never seem to remember to clean up."

***

"You know," Malcolm said thoughtfully, "Samantha might have a good idea there. You might really benefit from some incentive to be more organized." My gut lurched in panic.

"No fucking way! We can't do that, your hands would fall off. Besides, I volunteered the information, doesn't using it against me violate the Bill of Rights or something?"

"Nope," I could hear the smile in his voice, "that's not how the Fifth Amendment works. Once you've said it, I'm free to do whatever I want with the information."

"Curses. Well, as my lawyer, you should have advised me of that."

"Not graduated yet. You're still on your own."

***

She settled on the couch as I fetched another pair of beers for us. "You have a lot of open wall space," she observed.

"Yeah, I've never really got around to finding anything I really like to hang up." Her face lit up like I'd given her a quest. "I donno... I spend most of my free time either at the gym or on the computer, I never really felt the need to decorate."

"You lift, brah?" She flexed and tried her best frat douche imitation, which clashed hilariously with her feminine voice and puffed out breasts.

"Totally dude," I laughed. "You?"

"Nah, I prefer being outdoors."

"Isn't that hard living in the city?"

"Yeah. There's not really to much within easy driving distance, but I do get to have some adventures on long weekends." She shifted gears abruptly, "speaking of adventures, how did your night with Malcolm finish up?"

My eyes unconsciously flicked across the room to my bed. I wasn't sure how much I wanted to share with her. As much as she made it easy to feel comfortable around her, we had really only just met. She changed her mind, though, and saved me from having to decide.

"Wait, scratch that, that's starting the story at the very end. Let's go back to the beginning. How did you two meet? Malcolm told some absurd story a while back about his best friend and a high school project?"

I grinned knowingly, '

absurd, eh?

' and told her.

***

"I bet she loved that," said Malcolm.

"She fucking died laughing. Apparently, it was either the most or the least romantic thing she'd ever heard, and she couldn't decide which. Seems your version left out some of the better details."

"I was trying to make it believable! They already couldn't believe you didn't run away screaming." Well, to be fair, if I'd been anybody else, they probably would have.

"What?" I teased, "Doesn't everybody have a perv friend sending them kinky porn all the time?"

"By 'perv porn obsessed friend', are you referring to me or to yourself?"

"Touché"

***

"That's excellent," Nicole slowly recovered her breath from laughter, "so now, at long last, you two got together?"

I clucked my tongue in mock disapproval, "Quid pro quo, Clarice. Your turn to tell me a story."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dr. Lecter. But my origin story isn't nearly as cool as yours." I gave her an encouraging smile, settling in to listen. She tilted her head and bit her lip, looking very cute as she gazed off into space thinking of where to begin.

"Senior year of college, I needed to find somebody to split rent with in like two weeks. I'd had the same room mate for three years, but things got weird when I came out to her. I think she felt guilty about her own homophobia and she tried to be good, but neither of us felt comfortable in our own home after a while so we split. She was a bitch anyway. PMS like you wouldn't believe.

"Sam just so happened to be the first one to answer my Craigslist post. We decided to meet up at a Starbucks to see if we liked each other enough to tolerate splitting an apartment. Now, I had pretty much decided I'd take her no matter what. I mean, rent was due very soon and I was broke. Still am pretty much broke as a matter of fact, but such is life." She took a big gulp of beer, tilting it skyward to get the bottom of the bottle. "Another for you?"