Waking Kiss

by Annabel Joseph

  I probably should have said “Thank you” or something similar but I was losing my ability to speak. His hands were all over me but they didn’t feel smothering or scary. They felt wonderful. I was turning all liquid inside, growing hot and wet. He cupped my breasts and then he yanked down the bodice of my leotard and ran his thumbs across both my nipples.

  My breath stuttered in my throat. “You’re—you’re t—touching my boundaries.”

  “Yes, I am. They feel beautiful.” He nuzzled his face against my neck. “You’re coming tomorrow?”

  I gasped as his fingernail flicked one of my nipples. “Yes, Sir.”

  “What time?”

  “Noon.”

  “What happens if you’re late?”

  I could feel the heat of his lips against mine. “Punishment,” I whispered.

  He brushed my hair back and feathered kisses across my brow. “Don’t be late. We have so many fun things to do.”

  “N-No. I won’t be late.”

  He gave me one last, mesmerizing kiss. “Happy New Year, Ashleigh.”

  I could hear everyone out in the auditorium exclaim as the clock struck twelve. It was the very last thing on my mind.

  *** *** ***

  She rang the doorbell promptly at twelve. Which was fine. If I wanted to punish her I could find a thousand reasons to do it that were more creative than “Naughty girl, you’re late.” Honestly, I wasn’t out to punish her. I was trying to fix her, even if my motives were more and more a mystery to me.

  Ashleigh had dolled herself up in a plum-colored knit dress, dark lipstick, and a braided, intricate updo that must have taken her forever to create. Mem fluttered over it, running his fingers all over her head—he was really into braids. I touched her cheek and told her she looked pretty. She looked stunning, but that carefully arranged hair would have to come tumbling down.

  We were getting naked today. Together. Happy New Year.

  It was part of the plan, the process. I’d already seen her down to her panties, of course, and in a variety of tight-fitting leotards and costumes. I didn’t know how she’d feel about being completely naked, though.

  I led her upstairs and sat her on the edge of the bed, then I sat behind her so she was between my legs. I took her hair down, lock by lock, braid by braid, while we talked about safe, uncomplicated things, like our STD screenings and how much clothespins hurt. We joked a little about sweaty, used toe shoes and touched on New Year’s resolutions. We both agreed they were stupid. By that point her hair was unraveled and unbraided, and she seemed relaxed enough for us to move on.

  I turned her to face me. “This afternoon I’d like to talk about consent. Give and take, negotiation and reading signals. Let’s start the conversation with a question. If I do something to you in this room and you want me to stop, are you allowed to stop me?”

  “No. I’m supposed to obey you. No matter what.”

  I sighed. “That is…the wrong answer.”

  “I meant no. No, Sir.”

  I gave her a warning glance. “You’re not lying to me now, are you?”

  “Yes. No! I don’t know.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Now I’m confused. I forget what you asked me.”

  “Don’t freak out. Think back to what I told you last week. Can you stop me if I’m doing something you don’t like? If I start doing something you’re not okay with?”

  I saw when she hit on the answer. “Yes,” she said. “I can leave the room.”

  “Right. You can walk out the door. Even if you’re the submissive in a scene, you have power. You’re consenting to be here.”

  “But you’re the one in charge, right?” She looked confused again. “I mean, you’re the dominant.”

  I stroked my hand up and down her arm to soothe her. “That doesn’t mean you can’t leave. I’d be unhappy about it, and I’d stop playing with you if I thought you were manipulating the system. But I wouldn’t ever grab you by the arms and force you to stay once you’ve told me you want out of here. Even if you’re tied up…if you tell me you’re done and you don’t want any more, I’d have to untie you and let you go. Otherwise I no longer have your consent.”

  I reached for her hands and squeezed them between us. This was the touchier part.

  “Ashleigh, what your father did to you as a child…there was no consent involved. You weren’t allowed to say no, you weren’t allowed to leave the room. I think some part of you remembers that feeling of powerlessness. When someone like me, who means you no harm at all, climbs on top of you intending to give you pleasure, that feeling overtakes you and you turn into that scared little kid. You feel trapped and disgusted, because that’s what sex was to you for so long.” She held my gaze, even when her eyes started filling with tears. “That’s what I think, anyway,” I finished gently. “And I hope your dad burns in hell when he dies.”

  She stared at my chest, then back at me. “I think you’re right. About that feeling. I do feel that way. I feel…” She let go of my hands as she searched for words. “Frantic. Like something really bad is about to happen, even when I want it very much.”

  “So, our next step is to help you realize that you don’t have to feel frantic, or trapped, or disgusted. You have the power to stop things whenever you want, no questions asked, no matter how intense things are. No matter if I’m on top of you, if my dick’s inside you, no matter if I’m going to come five seconds down the line. It doesn’t matter. You can stop me. You can stop anyone you’re having sex with.” I waited, studying her face. The sheen of tears was gone, through some well-honed method of control. “Does that make sense to you?” I asked. “About consent?”

  “Yes, it makes sense. At least in my head. We talked about all this in counseling, but whenever I get to that moment…”

  That was her problem, that moment and her conditioned response to it. It wasn’t something I could fix through conversation. I think she realized that too. I stroked the skirt of her pretty purple dress and squeezed her leg. “What I would like to do now is lie down with you on the bed. Both of us are going to be naked, but I don’t want you to feel weird or nervous. I don’t want us to make any plans about what we’re going to do. I just want you to remember that you have control.”

  She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and worried it between her fingers, but she didn’t say no. She didn’t start undressing either. “Why don’t I go first?” I said, unbuckling my belt.

  She watched me undress with bashful curiosity. It aroused me a lot more than I thought it would, especially when she was trying so hard not to look at my cock and ended up looking anyway. It was all I needed to start going stiff. Before I finished she was twisting around to reach her zipper. It was always easier to get naked when someone else was naked. I helped her pull the dress over her head and then buried my face in her soft, floral-scented hair. I could feel her trembling against me as I reached behind her to unhook her lace bra. She inched down her panties, blushing but wonderfully obedient. No arguments today.

  Oh, Jesus. It was hard to stay in control standing so close to her beautiful naked body. I suppressed a groan as I guided her to the bed and eased down next to her. We lay on top of the covers, propped against a pile of pillows.

  “Comfortable?” I asked, even though I was not at all comfortable.

  She shifted a little. I couldn’t blame her. My cock was reaching monster-size proportions against her leg. “It’s gonna get hard,” I said, readjusting it so it wasn’t flat-out poking her. “I don’t want you to stress about it. It’s natural, and most men have control over their sexual impulses.”

  “Well…what do I—? Do you want me to—?”

  I put an arm around her, drawing her closer. “You don’t have to do anything about my hard-on. I just want you to relax and lie here with me, and talk with me about some stuff. Because the nakedness”—I waved a hand over our bare, intertwined bodies—“does not mean anything. Not if we don’t want it to. It doesn’t compel you to do anything at all.
Got it?”

  She stared at my dick. “It’s getting bigger.”

  “I’m aware,” I said, palming my balls. “It’s because I think you’re hot. You can touch it if you want.” I stopped her when she reached for me automatically. “It’s not a command. You can touch me if you want to.” Not the sexiest chat up ever, but I didn’t want her to feel pressured or threatened. That was the whole point of this exercise—to teach her that she had control.

  After a few moments she reached out to stroke a hand down my extremely stiff length. It was hard not to react, not to grab her hand and make her stroke me harder, faster. She circled the head with her fingers. “That feels good,” I said in a soft, encouraging tone. “You’re really making me feel good. I could stroke you too, stroke your clit for instance, and make you feel good. Know why I’m not?”

  Her hand stopped moving. “No, I don’t know.”

  “Because I’m not sure yet about your signals. I’d probably start with something like this first.” I brushed my fingers across her hip, tracing the delicate curve. “I’d wait for some signal that you were warming up. That you wanted more touching. Movements or sounds, or words. You could ask me to touch you, as long as you asked really nice.”

  She laughed a little, her fingers curving around my cock. “What does that mean, ‘ask really nice?’”

  “You can’t throw orders at me,” I said, grinning. “I’m a dominant, I don’t like orders. But you could probably figure out a sweet, deferential way to ask for what you wanted, if you wanted it bad enough.”

  She gave me a look that made my cock buck in her hand. She dropped it like it was on fire and then I laughed along with her. “See what you do to me?”

  With my other hand, I traced the graceful slope of her shoulder. She continued to play with my cock, stroking, touching, making lazy forays into my thatch of pubic hair. “That feels so great,” I sighed. I moved my arm a little so I could reach to caress one of her breasts. I started lightly at first, just a tease of sensation. She pressed her face into my neck when I raked over her nipple with my thumb. “You like that. I remember.” I nuzzled the side of her head and toyed with her until she forgot all about my cock. Her body tensed against mine.

  “Maybe… Please… Can you touch me…?”

  “I’m already touching you,” I said, giving her nipple a quick pinch. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Can you touch me…please…between my legs?”

  “You want me to touch your pussy?”

  She trembled against me, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it was from pleasure, not fear. “I— Yes, please.”

  “Tell me then, very pretty. I adore begging. ‘Please, Liam, will you touch my pussy?’”

  “Please, Liam, will you touch my pussy?” she whispered.

  “Show me where. Show me with your body where you want to be touched.”

  She looked up at me, confusion clouding her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “Show me. Spread your legs. Turn toward me. Open for me and show me that you want me to touch you. Be responsive so I can read you.”

  She let out a long, slow breath and shifted against me. I moved my hand down her waist, across her thigh. I wanted to feel her wet heat so bad but I couldn’t grab her the way I wanted to. I couldn’t grope her and thrust three or four fingers up there so she moaned and fought me. No. Those were the other girls. This was Ashleigh, who was looking a little more scared now.

  “Jesus, baby.” I slid my fingers over slick, bare skin to part her pussy lips. “You have no idea how much you excite me. You’re shaved bare. It’s so pretty.”

  “We…we have to be bare,” she stammered. “For dance.”

  “Well, I like it. Your pussy is beautiful. So soft and wet.”

  She made a stifled moan of a sound as I found the hood of her clit and massaged beneath it, to her thrusting little pearl. “Ohh,” she said. Her whole body arched off the bed.

  “I wish I had some clothespins to put on your nipples,” I whispered. “And on your clit. I think you’d like that even more.”

  “They hurt,” she sighed.

  “Like this?”

  I pinched one of her nipples—hard—at the same time I manipulated her slippery button. Her mouth fell open and I pinched it harder. She pressed her body against mine, seeking the roughness at the same time she tried to push my fingers away.

  “No,” I said. “Let me.”

  I pinched the other nipple just as hard, caught up in her sweet stuttering breaths. I almost kissed her, but then I didn’t. This was power exchange, not romance. No strings attached. I held her close and stroked over her clit again. “I can tell you enjoy that, baby. Do you want me to make you come?”

  I almost said “Do you want Daddy to make you come?” because I was with a lot of girls who got off on that, but I’d retained just enough sanity to catch myself. “Let me make you come,” I whispered. “I can tell you’re close.”

  She opened her legs a little more, thrusting her hips against my side. It was criminal that this sensual, responsive woman had gone so many years without the pleasures of sex. I hoped she didn’t stop me or ask me to do something else to her because I really, really wanted to bring her to orgasm right here, right now. I could feel her draw up tighter, hear her breathing intensify the closer she got.

  “Please,” she said. “Please, try now.”

  “Try what?”

  “Sex. Please, I want you inside me. Please, Liam.”

  Damn her for the begging. It was a weak spot with me. “Are you sure?” I rasped. My cock was aching, about to explode.

  “Yes, please.”

  Her eyes were closed. I studied her. Worried a little. “Look at me. Eye contact.” She opened her eyes but she wasn’t really looking at me. When I pressed deeper between her folds to finger her pussy, I could see I was losing her.

  “Tell me to stop if you don’t want it. Just tell me.”

  “Don’t stop. Please! Please just make me. Make me do it!”

  It was like a bucket of ice water. I sat up on the bed beside her, shaking my head. She looked about to shatter.

  “Why are you stopping?” she cried. “Just make me.”

  “No. You know I’m not going to do that. I’m never going to force you, I told you that from the beginning.”

  She burst into tears. I rubbed her back and then I pulled her to me and hugged her. “I know,” I said against her ear. “I know you’re angry, I know you’re frustrated. I know you want me to keep going, to force you to do it, but I can’t. If I’m trying to help you, honey—” She pushed away from me but I held her tight. “Look at me. If I’m trying to help you, why would I do exactly what your father did to you? I’m trying to give your sense of safety back, not make things worse.”

  “You don’t understand,” she cried. “I just need to— I just need to get past it. Then I think everything will seem better.”

  “Oh, you think that? I think everything will seem worse. Because then Liam Wilder is Daddy with a different face.”

  She struggled away from me, ran to the corner and started to dress. “I have to go. I can’t do this.”

  “It’s okay if you have to go.”

  “Yes,” she said over her shoulder. “Consent, right? Great. But you’re not helping me.” She flailed behind her, trying to reach the zipper of her dress. I pulled on my jeans and crossed to her, but she batted my hand away. “Leave me alone.”

  “Let me help you,” I said.

  She slid away despite my best efforts and yelled at me from across the room. “I don’t need your help. All of this is stupid and pointless. Stupid games that mean nothing!”

  “Games?” My temper flared. “I’m doing what you asked. You asked me to help you, sweet pea. Remember that?”

  “I asked you to help because I thought you’d actually help me.”

  “I’m trying to do the responsible thing, trying to protect you.”

  “And I have no say in anything?
Oh, that’s right, because I’m the fucking submissive in this—this—ridiculous farce!”

  Ridiculous farce? Oh, even better. “You wanted the D/s,” I reminded her. “You practically begged for it.”

  “Because I thought you’d know what you were doing, but you don’t. You’re too wishy-washy. Too soft.”

  The longer she stood there screaming insults at me, the more I questioned what the fuck I’d ever hoped to accomplish in these sessions. What on earth made me think I was qualified to help her?

  “Fine. Go,” I said with a dismissive wave. “Let’s not waste any more of each other’s time.”

  “Get out of my way then. You’re blocking the door.”

  I gave a mocking bow and moved to the side, resisting the urge to grab her and hold her down and make her take all her words back. I let her go without trailing along after her, because the whole purpose of my “consent talk” was to teach her that leaving was okay. Mem would have heard the yelling from downstairs. He’d intercept her, calm her down and see her back to her place.

  As for me, I didn’t know my next step. I knew this process wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but I didn’t think it would get so wretched by the second session. I felt protective toward her, too protective, too involved, and I hated that feeling. I could run a company providing services for thousands of clients, but I couldn’t bear to feel connected to this one tormented girl. I could play with dozens of “crazy” partners and feel nothing, but playing with Ashleigh…

  I sat at the table and stared into space, steeling myself against hurt feelings. No strings attached. That was the only way I’d survive this. I wasn’t going after her. I couldn’t force her to return for another session, any more than I could force myself between her legs.

  I heard a quiet knock at the door. I wished it was Ash, but no, it was Mem’s signature tap. I looked over my shoulder at him.