She stands in front of me, hands clenched behind her back, eyes cast down. She's trying to look submissive, but she doesn't really know how, and it's so goddamn cute that my Beast-brain is raging at me to just throw her down and take her hard.
Patience. Control.
I slap the leather riding crop onto my palm with a crack! and she flinches just a bit, the light sundress whispering deliciously across her curves. She has been instructed to wear only her naughtiest pair of panties underneath, and I can see her nipples straining against the sheer fabric, begging for attention. I can smell her arousal and fear in equal measure, and both are intoxicating.
"Slut," I say gently, putting the end of the crop beneath her chin, "Look at me."
She meets my gaze reluctantly. I can see the chaotic mix of emotion in her eyes. She thinks she knows what she wants, but she doesn't know how to get there. She's spent most of her life being the most competent person in any room, especially her bedroom. She's had a succession of yes-men do all the things she tells them to do, but none of the things she can't ask for. She wants to let go and be helpless, wants to not be responsible for what happens, but she's afraid of what that means.
I'm going to teach her how to have her cake and eat her too.
"You want to be dominated, and you're afraid that it lessens you as a woman. You're afraid of giving up control. You're afraid that it means you don't really have power. You're afraid of not getting it back."
Her eyes go wide, and she nods just a fraction.
"Submission as a part of sexual play works best when it is an explicit acknowledgment that you have to have power in order to give it up temporarily. You do have power. You can have sex where you call the shots, but you want something different. Getting what you want is your power. You're just letting me use it for you."
She takes that in, nods again. Something has softened in her eyes.
"Dominance as a part of sexual play is best when I am finding what a submissive wants and exploring, even pushing the boundaries of that. To do that, we have safe words, so we know where the actual boundaries are, and we communicate. My safe words are 'yellow' and 'red.' Yellow means hold up; we need to talk about something. I've got a cramp, you're on my hair, I need this scene to go a different way, whatever. Red means hard stop, scene over, cut the ropes. Do you understand?"
She nods a third time, and the Beast-brain growls at me. I will soon cure her of that.
"Do you consent?"
She looks at me for a long moment, deciding whether to trust me. I haven't asked her what my ex told her - oh, we'll get to that - but it brought her to me asking questions.
One last nod and the Beast takes over snarling, "On your knees, Slut."
I can see the immediate hesitation. I've been waiting for it, and the crop flickers out to snap! at a nipple behind fabric, not enough to really hurt. Yet.
She stares at me in shock. I've always been such a quiet guy, such a nice guy to her back when I was with her friend. She's never met the Beast.
I give her nothing, just a flat stare. "On. Your. Knees." She drops her gaze again and sinks gracefully to her knees. I can almost hear what she's thinking will come next, but she's wrong. My pleasure comes later.
"Knees apart. Sit up straight. Present your chest to me. Hands in your lap, wrists crossed. Now."
