Fear comes in many levels and forms, but there is one uniquely terrifying format it takes; the fear of what is within one's self. It's a thinking being's fear, some might say; a fear borne of being self-aware to a detrimental degree. Once you know what you're capable of, there's no way of
un
knowing that little bit of information And at that moment, if you discover you're able to do something darker than you had prior thought yourself possible of even processing let alone acting upon, you're left in quite a conundrum - a conundrum which can be summed up in a single, simple sentence:
What the hell is wrong with me?
I found myself here with Babydoll. Sometimes I'd find myself gazing upon her rich caramel skin and her beautiful lips and feeling like some sort of monster. She was, and is, my dream girl personified, everything I'd ever wanted in a woman. She's feminine beauty incarnate and a friend who makes me laugh when nothing else could bring me a smile. Angels look upon her eyes and weep at the glory of it all. And still, to have the sadistic desires I do when it comes to her made me wonder if there really were a few loose screws in my mental machinations. How the hell do you look at anything, let alone a woman, that perfect and smart and lovely and think "god, I just wanna fuck it all up"?
Fortunately for me, we're of a similar wavelength.
She asked me once if her desires when it came to sadism and masochism made her some sort of irregularity, a freak of nature, and seemed sincerely distraught by it. I was stunned she'd even ask, and for a moment really couldn't respond. But when I could we'd talked about how society in general could make one feel so outside the norm that it was hard not to internalize feelings of how what we liked must be wrong, and how we'd both felt the same way every so often. That put my mind deeply at ease, because if even this glorious manifestation of power and radiance could feel insecure about her desires, I was okay with a bit of it on my own part.
It also made me realize something rather important; I was being unfair to her. I had let fear make me feel so insecure about myself I hadn't been completely honest with her. I had given her portions, pieces of me. But she deserved better than that. She deserved the true me, even the parts of me I wasn't always so beamingly proud of. She deserved the full package deal... she deserved the real me. And she deserved to know that.
I sat her down and told her as much, and she actually laughed a bit. "That's a relief..." she said, before abruptly hopping into my lap and throwing her arms around me. "I was worried for a minute there. I was here thinking there was something wrong with me, and you'd only pretended to like what I liked..."
I shook my head, sighing softly. "I just wasn't sure how far I was willing to take this..." I admitted, sighing into her neck. "You're just so damned perfect, is the problem. I didn't want to risk ruining it by showing you what I really am. Believe it or not, I was worried I might scare you away, or ruin what we have. So, I've been holding back."
I felt one of those nimble, elegantly-crafted hands caress my cheek... then grab a fistful of my hair and pull me up to lock eyes with her. I saw a glimmer of anger in her face, but mostly a stern, almost maternal look. It was that "Her Highness" look - regal, powerful, and capable of wilting stronger men than me in seconds.
"Who the hell gave you the right to do that, hmm?" she asked. I simply looked on, confused and focused on trying to keep my heart in my chest, as she continued. "Darling, men and women throw themselves at my feet daily. They beg for my affection, my attention, and offer to do horrible things in order to get it. You know that already, don't you?"
I nodded.
"And yet, even with my status as a goddess to them... I chose to give myself over to you." She sighed and took a deep breath, and her face softened. "I decided I was going to be yours, didn't I? Didn't I call to you, collapse into your embrace, and melt into your hands?" She took my right hand and kissed the back of it, for emphasis. "For me to be this mortal and vulnerable with you... it's not something I'd do if I didn't want the entire package. Good, bad, ugly, I don't care - so long as it's yours, I want it. All of it." The hand that had been gripping my hair tightly began to caress it, lightly tangling itself in the locs as she smiled softly at me. "And if you do give all of that to me... I'll give you all of me in return. And isn't that just what you want..?" she trailed, of, then leaned into my ear and whispered this final word:
"
Daddy?
"
I visibly shuddered as a chill shot through me like winter's wind. I felt stripped to the bone, laid bare before those beautiful dark eyes, and the wellspring of emotions I felt made it almost impossible to focus on anything. I leaned against her again and breathed in, inhaling the scent of her and letting it calm me. My eyes closed and I felt the singular focus I needed returning as the rush of thoughts reached a manageable flow. My lips latched against her neck, then made their way to her ear.
"You 'bout to fuck around and get just what you asked for, baby girl..." I growled into her ear.
She giggled and ran one hand up and down my chest, nails digging through my shirt and into the skin. "I sincerely hope so, Daddy~"
We spent at least 30 minutes after that talking about fetishes and kinks, setting up safe-words, and exchanging blushing glances and nervous laughter. I felt a strange relief, a release of excess pressure almost, from the honesty... even as I felt my mind reeling in fear that I'd go one tic too far into my kink pantheon and send her scurrying off. But she stayed, resting her head against my chest and then on my lap, countering each of mine with one of her own and then shyly looking off, sometimes muttering sheepishly with the most adorable nervousness.
"We... are fucked up," I said after a while, words accented by the type of laughter that follows realizing that you spent days worrying about something that was never a big deal.
"Yes we are!" she affirmed, raising her hand in solidarity.
"But we're fucked up together," I added, leaning over and kissing her before continuing to speak. "I prefer that, in all honesty. Better to be out of my mind with you than sane with anyone else."
"You'll make me blush, Sir," she said with a coy smile, returning the kiss with one of her own. "I agree though. Shared weirdness like this feels pretty good."
We were exhausted, emotionally speaking, so we passed the rest of the night with movies, popcorn, and a bit of booze - wine for her, beer for me. Surely enough though, by the time she was done with her first glass and I was halfway to the bottom of my second bottle, our arms began intertwining like ivy along latticework. The screen went on making noise and lights, mostly ignored, and we couldn't keep our lips or fingers off each other for very long at all.
"I want to make love to you tonight... and rip you apart tomorrow," I admitted with one hand up her shirt and the other rubbing her outer left thigh. "Is that weird?"
She paused as if contemplating my words, then nodded before running her tongue across my neck slowly. "Doesn't mean I think you shouldn't..." she chimed in after a while.
My hand slipped off her thigh and rested on the waistline of her jeans, patting her slightly-exposed stomach as I began to manhandle to soft flesh under her bra. "So... you'll be my lover tonight..." I half-said, half moaned into her ear, "my princess tomorrow morning... and my little fuckdoll by sunset?"
"Mmm... I'll be your whatever, whenever," she assured me, rubbing my cheek with one hand while the other guided mine to the fastener of her pants. "Your goddess, your queen, your depraved slut, your sweetheart - I'll be all of that, whenever you need me to be any of them. Just as long as I get to be
yours
