Truth By His Hand

by Casey Cameron

  I thought about it for a minute, watching the whorls in my cup as I slowly stirred my tea. “I guess…I guess I don’t. I kind of resent that my readers are making me change what I’m writing—as the creator, I feel like I have the right to take the story wherever the hell I want to. But…I see the readers’ point when they say I’m presenting an unhealthy dynamic. I do want to keep writing these themes, and if I do that, I should really do it in a way that doesn’t reinforce negative stereotypes.”

  “That sounds like the responsible way to approach it,” Tea said, nodding.

  We fell into a semi-awkward silence, and my mind wound in circles like the liquid in my cup, thinking about the storyline of the comic, and where it had gone off the rails, and what I had been thinking at the time. I couldn’t pinpoint any specific point at which the tone had changed, but I could see quite clearly that there was something of a correlation between the amount of kneeling, slapping, and bondage in my comic and the drastic shift in the type of pornography I usually watched.

  I wondered what effect my recent exploration would have on the story. I didn’t think my time with Brandon had changed how I approached anything, apart from that one panel I’d partially redrawn. It hadn’t changed anything about me, that’s for sure—except for the creeping sense that there was more out there that I wanted.

  When I thought about Ellison, though, his fingers in my hair, his thigh solid under my cheek, I definitely felt…maybe not changed, exactly, but like I was on the edge of something. Some glimmer of understanding wrapped in the simple pleasure of a touch from someone who got me. Ellison didn’t judge my desires—he just worked out what they were and then satisfied them.

  I worried my lip between my teeth, glancing up at Tea. Their blue hair swept elegantly over their forehead as they looked down at their mug, dark lashes shadowing their eyes. Tea was gorgeous, warm, and witty, but the more I looked at them, the more I realized I wasn’t feeling any spark. I wasn’t hoping we’d be unable to contain ourselves and adjourn to one bed or another so I could get my hands on every inch of skin I could uncover.

  I was just trying to imagine myself sitting on a cushion at their feet, my head resting on their thigh…and the image wouldn’t come.

  “Look, um…” I scrubbed my hands down my face with a sigh. “It’s becoming more apparent to me lately that maybe the kink side of things is…less negotiable than I thought. I’ve really enjoyed texting with you, and I enjoy your company, but in the interest of being open here, I don’t think this date is going to go anywhere.”

  Tea nodded, brushing the hair out of their face. “I’m a little relieved you feel that way. I think you’re nice, but you’re…not really my type.”

  “How am I not your type?” Not like it really mattered, but part of me couldn’t help but get defensive. And then a bigger, uglier part of me wanted to know what my flaw was so I could obsess over it later and use it as evidence that I never deserved love.

  “I generally like my men taller.”

  “I—” I looked down at myself, my mouth open. “I’m six feet tall!”

  They gave me a helpless shrug.

  Well, I probably deserved that. Karma’s a bitch.

  “Okay, so do you think you could find it in your heart to be friends, even though I’m hideously stunted and unworthy?”

  “Are you kidding? I love the little people,” Tea said with a grin.

  “All right, that’s settled,” I said, rubbing my hands together briskly. “Well, you said you’re an anime fan, right? Want to come to my place and watch cartoons?”

  “Now you’re speaking to my heart,” they sighed happily.

  Conversation got a lot less awkward once we’d both agreed it was no longer a date. We finished our drinks in record time and headed back to my apartment, chatting like old friends the whole way there.

  Tea made a pleased little noise when we walked in the door. “Your place is so cute!”

  I glanced around the place as we both stepped out of our shoes, faintly wondering if that had been sarcasm. Honestly, there wasn’t a whole lot to see here. It was a one-room studio containing all my earthly possessions, but since my tastes tended toward minimalism, that didn’t amount to much.

  “Thanks. It’s not much, but I like it here.”

  Tea wandered over to my desk and dragged their fingers across the surface, grinning. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?”

  “It’s where…something happens, I guess,” I said as I bent down to tuck Tea’s shoes onto the shoe rack next to mine, tapping the heels quickly to line them up. “I would hesitate to call any of my work ‘magical.’”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Tea said as they leaned over the desk.

  I fought the urge to run over and throw my arms over the half-finished comic page laid out there. I hated when people looked at my work before it was done—until the final inks had dried, the piece was still in flux, still subject to my re-interpretation. I hated the idea that someone would walk away with an impression of my work before I’d figured it out myself. Obviously I couldn’t entirely control the narrative once it had left my hands—my forums made that much abundantly clear—but this part of it, at least, was under my control.

  Well, usually. Tea was still inspecting the page, a smile on their face. “I wasn’t just stroking your ego when I said I loved your art. Objectively, this stuff is great, even if it isn’t to my taste.”

  “Thank you,” I said, grabbing the remote control. “So, you want to, uh, come over here and watch TV?”

  Tea looked worried as they straightened up. “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

  “Only a little,” I lied. “I just don’t really show people my art before it’s finished.”

  “Sorry, that was nosy of me. What are we watching?”

  We settled ourselves on the couch and decided on a show—something flashy and without much substance, because I wasn’t in the mood for many more deep thoughts tonight.

  As I settled in to watch the show, a little spark of restless yearning flared up in me, and I glanced over at Tea, who was arranged comfortably on the end of my couch, watching the screen with a rapt attention. I envied how at-ease they looked, and grew aware of a sense of being…adrift, somehow, with nothing to ground me. When I poked at that feeling, I realized that it was something like loneliness—which made sense, really. Dan and I had been split up for almost six months now, and I’d only just started dating again. It was natural for me to be craving some kind of connection, some kind of meaningful relationship beyond just getting held down and fucked.

  Now that I thought about it, I realized that Brandon and I had never even kissed. Sitting at Ellison’s feet while he stroked my hair had been far more satisfying, far more like genuine affection than anything Brandon and I had done, and I wanted more of it.

  “What are your thoughts on totally platonic foot rubs and cuddling?” I said, hesitant. God, I hoped that didn’t make me sound utterly desperate.

  “I’m generally in favor,” Tea said with a smile.

  “Perfect.” I shifted on the couch to present my lap and patted it invitingly. “Put ‘em right up here, as long as you’re willing to reciprocate.”

  Tea sighed in pleasure as my thumb pressed into the arch of their foot. “I know it’s kind of sad, but this is now officially the best date I’ve had in months.”

  “I thought we agreed it wasn’t a date.”

  “That, my friend, is why it’s sad.”

  I chuckled softly. “I can relate. My last date was a disappointment too—no foot rubs at all. And I’m not expecting any on my next one, either.”

  “Next one, hmm?” They gave me a sly look. “Already got someone lined up?”

  The back of my neck prickled with heat. “Yeah, this Dom I met at a party. We’re planning to get together this week, and I’m just…shockingly unprepared.” I glanced up at them. “Uh, sorry—is this something you don’t want to hear about?”

  �
��It’s fine. Just maybe don’t go into much detail on the spanking and tying up stuff.”

  “Noted.”

  It didn’t take long before the TV was forgotten, reduced to nothing but a background glow as Tea grinned and wisecracked at me while I did my best to explain just what the hell was going on with Ellison Fitch.

  6

  I was almost 15 minutes early for my date with Ellison, which gave me plenty of time to agonize over every detail of…pretty much everything. I debated whether I should be waiting for him inside or outside the restaurant, whether or not my clothes looked stupid, whether I’d put way too much product in my hair or not enough, and whether or not I should even be here in the first place when I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

  I’d opted for a long-sleeved shirt to make myself look a little more like I’d dressed with care than wandered in from a tattooed hipster convention, but now I was wondering if I’d gone too far to the conservative end of things. I tried rolling my sleeves up and tried to catch a look at myself in the restaurant’s windows, then decided that just made me look like a total douche, so I rolled them back down. Now they were all wrinkly. Damn it.

  I was still patting at my sleeves, trying to smooth out all the wrinkles, when Ellison showed up right on time, dressed almost exactly like he’d been the last two times I’d seen him. His clothes hugged his slim form like they were custom-tailored for him, and the dark curls on his head were clearly-defined and tidily-arranged.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Hello, River. You look nice tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, kind of hating how his casual words made me squirm inside with shameless pleasure. Nobody had been able to undo me with a “you look nice” before. “So do you.”

  One corner of his mouth pulled up like he was almost smirking—like he knew perfectly well how he looked and didn’t need me to affirm it. I couldn’t decide if that confidence was sexy or irritating or both…or if I was reading way too much into it because I was anxious and that anxiety was racing away with every little thought that crossed my mind.

  We ended up at a high-backed booth near a corner of the restaurant; the place was dim and cozy, and the looming booth backs made me feel a little enclosed, like we were somehow isolated from the rest of the restaurant. I sat down and busied myself with inspecting the drinks menu, because I desperately needed something to settle me down before I vibrated right out of my seat or blurted out something I’d really regret, like, “God, I hope you fuck me tonight.”

  Ellison ordered tonic water with lime, and I felt a little foolish because I’d just ordered a ridiculous blue concoction with about seven different liqueurs in it. “You don’t drink?”

  “Not much,” he said, “and never the first time I play with someone.”

  How the hell had “play” become an erotic word? I could feel my heart speeding up already. “So you do want to…‘play’ tonight?”

  “It is why we’re here, isn’t it?” Ellison’s voice was smooth, with an amused tone that made the back of my neck prickle with heat.

  “Yeah, I mean…I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to…you know, jump right into that.”

  “If you’re not comfortable, I don’t have any expectations,” he said, so cool and reasonable it was almost infuriating. “But yes, I’m prepared to do that tonight.”

  It was really hard to pinpoint exactly how I felt about that. On some level, I’d been hoping that we could start off with a more traditional date—the kind where two people got to know each other, and then maybe had some regular old vanilla sex. Sure, I knew that kinky stuff was non-negotiable with him, but that didn’t necessarily mean we had to do it all the time, and maybe some nice, uncomplicated mutual getting off could help me feel a little more at ease with the whole dominance and submission thing.

  On the other hand, the promise in his voice was undeniably compelling. He was offering something that I was pretty sure I wanted, and images of that play party kept resurfacing in my head, visions of sitting on that cushion with his fingers creating an unbroken point of contact. I could definitely enjoy doing some more of that.

  Our drinks showed up, and I dove into mine with some pretty transparent desperation. I was glad Ellison at least waited for the waiter to leave the area before he said, “What can you tell me about your hard limits?”

  Some of my drink nearly went down the wrong pipe, and I cleared my throat hastily. “Uh, so…” I dug into my memory for the list I’d given Brandon. “No rape role play. No serious marks or bruises, and no breaking skin. No watersports. And no blindfolds, gags, or ropes. Or like, handcuffs or anything.”

  Ellison nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do you object to any bondage at all? Would I be able to use leather cuffs or bondage tape on you?”

  What the hell was bondage tape? I didn’t bother asking; I was pretty sure it would be a no-go anyway, and I’d had enough of looking inexperienced and clueless in front of this guy. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “You mentioned being restrained before, though. Pinning you down with my body would be okay?”

  I did my best not to snicker at the suggestion that he could even do that—it seemed a bit rude. “Yeah, that’s fine. I just don’t want to be restrained with anything…you know, inanimate.”

  His cool blue eyes glimmered softly in the low light as he examined me. “What is it about restraints that bothers you?”

  “You’re not going to talk me into it,” I said, bristling with faint annoyance.

  “I wasn’t trying to.” He squeezed the lime wedge into his drink, and I was even more annoyed to realize I missed his eyes on me. “But the more I understand about your limits, the better I can avoid inadvertently breaking one neither of us realized you had.”

  Well, okay. That sounded reasonable. “I, uh…let me think.” I took a sip of my drink, wishing it wasn’t quite so alcoholic and could do a little more for the anxiety-induced dryness in my throat. “So…if it’s a person holding me down, even if it’s someone a lot stronger than me, I can imagine that I might be able to escape. I could fight dirty if I had to—knee them in the balls or something. Or, you know, reason with them,” I added sheepishly.

  Ellison nodded. “You can’t exactly reason with rope.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” I said. “It’s that there aren’t any options—I’ve completely lost control of the situation if I’m tied up or wearing handcuffs.” I scratched my head in thought, and only realized several seconds after the fact that I’d done it without touching the top of my head—I was finally starting to get used to the haircut. Of course, now that I’d noticed, I had to do it anyway. I stubbornly looked at the table so I didn’t have to see Ellison being mildly amused at me. “I mean, I know that losing control of the situation is kind of the whole point here, so that doesn’t entirely make sense, but it’s what I’ve got.”

  “No, it makes sense. Even if you’re happy to give up control, you still have the power to stop the scene with a safeword—but a safeword won’t get you out of the rope. You have to wait for someone to do it for you.” He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “And even if it was a totally irrational phobia, it would still be my job to respect that limit, no matter how much I like tying people up.”

  “You like that, then? Tying people up?”

  “Very much,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But it’s not something I require. There’s no shortage of other ways I can torment you.”

  The way the corners of his mouth twisted slightly could really only be described as a wicked grin, and it did weird fluttery things to my stomach. I had no idea what these “other ways” he was talking about might be, but suddenly I really, really wanted to find out.

  “Tell me about the blindfolds,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more conversational and a little less boner-inducing. “Is that part of the same thing, or is there something else you don’t like about them?”

  “I’m not scared of the dark, if that’s what you’re askin
g,” I said with a weak laugh. “It’s, um…I don’t like the idea of…not knowing what’s about to happen, I guess? When I can’t tell what’s going on, I tend to imagine the worst. It makes me feel powerless, in a really bad way.”

  Ellison watched me for a long moment, his head cocked slightly to the side as his eyes bored into me. Eyes like that, I thought, could made me give up all my secrets if they watched me long enough. I glanced away before he could pull me apart with his gaze—this was supposed to be sexy fun time, not trauma processing time.

  “That’s all,” I said with what was probably a thoroughly unconvincing shrug.

  “Thank you,” he said, and it gave me a little thrill the way he said it, like I was giving him a gift. Like he truly wanted to know all about me, about the way my brain worked and the twists and turns of my thought process.

  Boy, was he in for a treat if I ever got wine-drunk and maudlin around him. He’d learn all he ever wanted to know and more. I quietly added that to the list of things to never, ever do.

  “Are those all your limits?” he asked, voice slightly skeptical. “Nothing else you’re unwilling to do?”

  “I mean, nothing I can think of,” I said, shifting in my seat. “I don’t have a lot of experience here. There’s probably other things it hasn’t occurred to me to consider, but how would I know?”

  Ellison nodded, watching me with that measured smile again. “How about I list a few things?”

  I swallowed, my throat tight. “Sure, go for it.”

  “Oral and anal sex?”

  “Obviously fine,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Not that obvious,” he said mildly. “It’s a limit for some.”

  “Well, not for me. Next?”

  Ellison chuckled. “What about throatfucking?”

  Oh fuck, I really hoped there weren’t families with little kids in either of the booths next to us. “Yeah, that’s…good. I like it.”

  “Choking?”

  “I’d be willing to try it, I guess.” Gathering up a little courage, I added, “I mean, I already know I like choking on cock.”