by Xan West
Ernest ran through his usual litany as he was getting dressed, what he always reminded himself before play. He wanted this. He was choosing this. He had decided to tell her about the crush. He had asked her out on a date. He had negotiated this scene. And he could change his mind at any time, including before it started. He could withdraw consent at any point, and so could she. If that happened, they would probably talk about it, if they could. If they couldn’t talk right then, they could talk later on. A safeword was perfectly okay, and wouldn’t mean everything was over. It just meant no for right now. And she depended on him to say it if he needed to. She was trusting him to do that. He had promised. So he would, if it came to that, and it would be okay.
The familiar words were the kind of mental rehearsal Ernest needed so that he’d be able to say his safeword, if necessary. If he pictured himself saying it, told himself it was okay, things went better. Because he had created the space for it inside himself, inside his imaginings of how this might go. If he didn’t create that space ahead of time, then before he could safeword, he would have to make that space, and that took longer, was more difficult. Submission wasn’t about giving up all responsibility; it came with its own set of responsibilities, and this was one of the most important ones, to make sure he could end play if needed. It was good to have a clear set of directives, to know what doing a good job looked like, and this was part of that.
When he got to Nora’s doorstep, he couldn’t help but remember how upset he’d been the last time he was there, how he’d run away. He was hoping to create new memories this afternoon. Better ones. He took a few slow breaths, then rang the bell. His heart was pounding as he got in the elevator and he tried to press his boots into the ground, but that never worked in elevators because the ground was moving. So he grabbed his own thighs, gripping them tight, and started singing the first showtune that came to mind, which turned out to be the rather apt “Cool,” from West Side Story. It echoed in a satisfying way in the elevator.
The song was kind of a hilarious choice, because if there was anything Ernest wasn’t, it was cool, especially when he was singing showtunes. He was pretty damn terrible at hiding his reactions to anything; when he was nervous his whole body showed it, just like it showed his giddiness. Right now he was a twist of both, and some joy tossed in there, mostly because he was singing. The thing is, Nora didn’t want him to be cool, she’d been pretty damn clear about that. She wanted him to feel like he could be all of himself, and she’d said she was looking forward to playing with him and seeing what kinds of responses she could draw out of him. So he was going to try trusting her on that.
Ernest did a bit of the classic Jerome Robbins choreography in the hallway after getting off the elevator. He’d played Action in eighth grade, the first boy role he’d ever gotten in a show, and had worked really hard on this number in particular. He still had a grin on his face when Nora opened the door.
He just stopped in the doorway, looking at her. Oh my, she was pretty. Nora wore this lacy black overshirt over a bright blue cami, a short flowy teal skirt with fishnet tights, and rainbow Docs. Her hair was up, and she wore blue and silver magen david dangly earrings that drew attention to her neck. She matched his grin with one of her own, and held her arms out to him.
The warmth of her, the dizzying closeness, her firm hand on the back of his neck. It took everything he had not to drop to his knees while she was hugging him hello. He felt like he’d been aching to be under her hand for so long.
He was trembling, when she released him, and then he noticed that there was music playing. How had he missed that before? He didn’t recognize it, this sultry voice and a swing beat, with guitar and piano. He needed to wait for directions; she had made that clear in their negotiation. So he waited, bouncing in time with the music, attuned to her movements as she made her way to the couch. She was big again, so big in all the ways, and he was filled with gladness at seeing it.
Nora used a remote to turn off the music, which was probably a good thing because it was a lot to process, but Ernest was also a bit sad to have it go, because it felt like this glimpse inside her that he hadn’t had before. He didn’t know much about the kind of music she liked, and he suddenly really wanted to know why that music now, what it was about it that made her decide to listen to it right before they were going to play.
“You have a question, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes, But I’m trying to wait, like you said to.”
“You’re doing a good job, waiting. Come here, and kneel in front of me.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
It felt so good to kneel. Ernest just let himself relax into that. His job was to kneel, let the dynamic flow between them, and let himself sink into submission. The position alone helped, but when her hands began to stroke his hair, that made it easy. They were firm, claiming, the kind of touch he liked the most. He felt dreamy already.
“What question did you want to ask, Ernest?”
Oh. He needed to make words. Okay, he could try.
“Music. Want to know about music. Why,” he said slowly, knowing it wasn’t full sentences. Who could make sentences with hands in their hair? Ernest certainly couldn’t.
“Why I turned off the music?”
Ernest shook his head.
“Why I was listening to this music before we play?”
Ernest nodded.
“Oh. It’s Candye Kane. I love her. I was playing my song, the one I’ve been using since I was a novice, to rev myself up and get into domspace. It’s a bit of a problematic fave, the lyrics kinda imply that you can show somebody else how to love. That part isn’t what makes it my song, I change the lyrics in my head to be about dominance. More like…you need a great big woman to tell you what to do.”
She sang that last bit, and it made him smile. He liked that she changed the lyrics in her head. He did that all the time himself. In fact, he bet that if she played it for him, he would hear her lyrics instead of the original ones.
Nora continued, “I was feeling a bit nervous, so I had it on repeat. I’m clearly a bit nervous now, as I’m rambling.”
Nora was nervous, too. And she told him so. He breathed that in.
“Me too,” Ernest said.
“How about we do this. I will put the song on one more time, while you rest your head in my lap, close your eyes, and listen.”
“Please.” That sounded really good. He laid his head in her lap, enjoying the silky feel of her skirt against his cheek.
The drums began it but the piano was the center at first, the guitar following. And then that amazing voice started to sing. He’d been right, his brain just automatically inserted her lyrics instead. Once they came to the end of the second verse, it was really clear that the song was a fat pride anthem. How had he never heard it before?
Nora’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck, and Ernest worked on matching his breath to hers, on letting the music wash into him. It was intense, relentless, with a driving beat, a fast piano, and a growly alto holding him still as it wrapped around him. Powerful. Just on the edge of sensorily overwhelming, but Nora’s hand anchored him, along with her slow even breathing. So instead of getting flattened by the music, he felt it thrum along his skin like electric anticipation.
That thrumming stayed with him as the song ended, and Nora gripped him by the scruff and lifted his head. She seemed different, now. Even bigger than she had before, pulsing with bigness. She was smiling, and it made him a bit dizzy. Then she pulled him up, gripped both sides of his face, and kissed him. He just about melted into a puddle from the way she took him over with that kiss, went all pliant and languorous and full of yes, Ma’am.
When she eased back and patted his cheek, telling him it was time to get ready, he couldn’t remember what she’d said ready was. She didn’t mind that he forgot, just reminded him to strip down to his A-line shirt, but stay in his boots and jeans. Ernest’s hands were so clumsy that it took forever to unzip his hoodie and u
nbutton his shirt. Nora simply sat back and watched. Her gaze felt like bolts of lightning on his skin. Before he could kneel, she directed him to a buffet against the far wall, telling him to open the top drawer and pick which rope he wanted to be tied up with.
Oh, wow. The drawer was a rainbow of color, and of course he was drawn to the jewel tones, like always. His hand hovered just above the rope, but he wasn’t sure she wanted him touching all of it. Were his hands even clean enough to touch it?
He must have mumbled that out loud, because she said, “Very good, boy. Go wash your hands. When they’re clean, feel free to handle the rope before you decide. After all, it will be touching your skin.”
Ernest thought about this task as he washed his hands, noting that she had unscented soap, very soft big towels, and a thick rug in the bathroom. He tried to remember the magic purple harness—how thick had that rope been? What had it been made of? He wanted to try something similar this first time with Nora.
He brought the sensory experience of the harness back in his mind. Yes, it had been fairly thick, and oh so soft. He would try to find rope like that. He felt himself moving with more purpose now that he knew what he wanted. There was a glorious sapphire blue rope, but it was scratchy. He couldn’t do scratchy today. And a lovely ruby that was soft, but too thin, he thought as he held it. No, that wouldn’t do. Here was an ivory rope that was exactly right in terms of thickness and texture, but Ernest wasn’t that muted tone, he was color. Ah, underneath the ivory, this would be perfect.
Ernest brought Ma’am the teal rope, kneeling to present it. She smiled.
“Well, then. You want us to match, do you?”
He nodded.
“Alright. As we discussed, I’m going to sit here, and I will direct you to move when I need you to. You can close your eyes if you want, or just soften your gaze, whatever works best for you. Just know that you don’t need to use your eyes right now, that you don’t need to do anything except breathe and relax, and let me wrap you up in the rope you chose.”
Ernest rolled his shoulders, rotated his head, and then took a slow breath. He was glad for the quiet, the low light, the way he could just focus on breathing. Nora’s touch was firm as it held him still or turned him into a new position, and the rope glided along his skin like a cat, marking him along its path as it went. Soon it was firmly in place, and then the tugging began, wrapping him up, better than any binder, bringing calm like a blanket. When she murmured that he was doing so well, being such a good boy for her, her words were sunlight along his skin, and he lifted his face to it, a sunflower in her presence. She raised his hands, and wrapped them around a cold bottle of water, and he drank, thirstier than he’d realized. When she took the water from him, and stroked his cheek, he leaned into her touch.
Then she continued, and the rope began to feel like it was holding him close in the best hug in the universe. He felt so warm, so held, like his chest was exactly right as it should be, like he could withstand whatever storms might come, like he was safe. Nora hummed in satisfaction as she finished tying the harness, and that was just as good as the sunlight praise, because he knew that sound, knew it was a sign she was particularly pleased. It felt so incredibly good to be in the harness it became a fluttering in his chest that stole his breath, and he was trying to stay still but his hands wanted to flap so much that he whimpered as he tried to keep them still for her.
“I’m here,” she said. “You look wonderful in the harness, Ernest. Now, you have been kneeling a long while, why don’t you move about a bit, do some stretches, see how it feels?”
Free to move, his hands took over the fluttering, and he just let them go as fast as they needed to. It was such a relief to let them go that he didn’t try to move in any other way for a few minutes, just kept his eyes closed and fluttered, the movement in his chest easing. When he was ready to move, he had no idea how to get up from kneeling, which was silly because hadn’t he done it so many times before? But somehow it seemed rather impossible, so he decided to just let himself fall carefully to the side, and go from there.
He was stiff, so it turned out to be rather a good strategy, because he could stretch out his legs, and arms pretty easily when lying down. Each movement drew his attention back to the way the harness held him, grounded him, kept him safe. Each time he had to remember to breathe slow, let the wave of that move through him and dissipate. It was more intense this time than it had been at the conference, but that made sense, because everything with Nora was more intense.
There was no lead, no collar, and yet, he felt tethered to Nora by the harness. Attuned to her. He was very aware of her gaze on him, her quiet watchfulness and the waves of contentment coming from her. Contentment and…claiming. This wasn’t just rope, it was Nora’s rope, and she had marked him with it, with every stroke of it along his skin, every tight tug until it wrapped him up in a matching color. She didn’t need to have her hand on the back of his neck when there was rope surrounding his chest and gently tugging just below that spot. And oh, it was going to be so hard when she took the harness off, he could feel it already.
Thinking about that was just going to make him spiral out, so he concentrated on tensing and releasing his muscles in turn, one right after the other, in a sequence as familiar as scales. When he was done, he stood, and did some bigger stretches, like she’d instructed. The more he moved in the harness, the more it felt like it became part of him. Good. Now he might actually be able to do a service task, like they’d discussed. He might even be able to make words.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Good. So so good. Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Good enough to bake me the cornbread you promised?”
Ernest grinned. “Yes, Ma’am!”
“Alright, boy. Most of the ingredients are on the counter, and the cold ones are in a bowl in the fridge. I am looking forward to this cornbread.”
This was basically the best thing ever, as far as Ernest was concerned. He got to bake as service, while wearing the harness! He gathered all the ingredients together, pulled up the recipe on his phone to check the baking temp, and pre-heated the oven. Ernest was humming as he got things together, he may have even twirled. The harness was just there, every time he bent, or reached, or lifted his arms, reminding him that he was wrapped up, connecting him to Nora.
Ernest had thought she might do something else while he worked, but she just lay down on the couch and watched him from there, focused on him. Daddy would have read a book or something. That was his way; he cared about the results of service more than the process. But Nora seemed riveted, smiling to herself as she watched him. After a few minutes she called his name, and he put down what he was doing to see what she needed.
“You may sing, Ernest, if you want to. I like the humming just fine but if you want to sing, that would be nice, too.”
Oh. He had been trying to be quiet, without even really deciding to. But singing would be nice, he thought. So when he got back to the kitchen, he started from the top of Guys and Dolls, a musical he adored. He even danced with the spatula a bit as he sang “The Oldest Established.” Now the cornbread was in the oven, so he made his way back to Nora, letting her know it would be about twenty-five minutes. She told him to prepare the salad, using the ingredients in the metal bowl in the fridge, and get things ready for the chili, giving the kind of specific instructions that are a service boy’s dream.
Which really made it clear that Nora had planned this out, done prep work. Had invested herself in their play. Whoa. He took a slow breath and hugged himself, before starting to chop the cucumber. He thought about the food, all her careful questions to make sure he would be able to eat it. About her giving him the job of deciding how to chop the veggies, so he could make things work for his food needs. About how she had made it so easy for him to succeed. About how she made it clear that she knew the song was problematic and changed the lyrics in her head, so he wouldn’t think she wanted to “show him how to l
ove” or anything. He paused in chopping to get himself a glass of water, because it just felt like he was so held by her, in a way that felt really precious and tender.
After the water, he felt more able to finish getting dinner ready. He plated everything for Nora, with all the chili fixins on the side in small dishes, and placed it on the tray table, bringing it out to her. The chili smelled amazing, and the cornbread was still rather hot from the oven. Nora told him to get seltzers for both of them and when he’d returned, he realized that she hadn’t told him to get food for himself. Just seltzer.
Nora ordered him to sit at her feet and oh did it feel amazing to be there, to lean against her leg and have her pet his hair as she drank some seltzer and got the chili ready to eat. And then she took a chunk of cucumber, and held it to his lips.
* * *
Oh. Oh wow. Ernest had never been hand fed before, though he’d fantasized about it. About preparing a meal for his dominant, sitting at their feet, and having them slip bits of food into his mouth as they ate. This had been woven into their negotiations, so she knew he wanted it, it just…this whole scene was so much of what he’d yearned for already that he hadn’t dreamed it would also be this.
The cucumber was perfect, this wondrous crunch and the tang of balsamic; it felt like his whole mouth was alive, eating the food Ma’am decided to feed him. It felt so intimate he could barely breathe. So it was good that Ma’am ate the next few bites herself, doing that delighted wiggle she did when she found something delicious.
The whole meal was full of these amazing textures, these tastes that made his mouth sing, and the tremendous luxury of being at Ma’am’s feet, having her hand feed him as she ate the meal that he’d prepared for her, and thoroughly enjoyed it. When she tasted the cornbread, she actually groaned, and then stroked his cheek and called Ernest her good boy. He felt full of light, his hands fluttering a mile a minute. After the meal was done, she seemed content to sit with him at her feet for while, and they both seemed to settle into a bit more solidity.
