by Nikki Sex
There’s a long pause. Reggie’s breathing is short and fast. Adrenaline has kicked in, his heart must be pounding.
“I’d like to kill them,” he says in a low, gritty voice. “I want to kill them all.”
Reggie’s whole body leans forward, rigid and defiant. He stares right into my eyes. I can see how strongly he feels about this powerful desire. If I suggest that killing these guys isn’t a good plan, he’ll be furious.
I’ve had that hate inside me, too. I know exactly how it feels. I’m not going to patronize him or disagree. But how do I defuse this?
“Good,” I say, definitely. “They deserve to die. I’m in.”
Reggie didn’t expect that answer. Can he see the truth in my eyes? His tension lessens.
A long moment passes before I admonish him self-righteously, “But no killing anyone until you finish school. You know how important I think getting an education is.”
Reggie is a solemn sort of kid, but even he can’t help himself. Together we both laugh and laugh and laugh – much more than is fitting for the extremely poor quality of my joke.
We’ve cleared the air and we both feel better. Except now my wound hurts from all the movement.
“You’re pretty cool… for a white guy,” Reggie says.
I look back at him. “Yeah? Thanks. Hey, while I think of it, what does WMD stand for?”
Reggie’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Weapons of mass destruction, of course.”
Ah, I muse. Of course.
~~~
Rose Dunlop went to see Emily at ‘Jarman’s Food Mart.’ My kind and ever courteous rabbit sat down with my ex and listened to the entire tragic story. Apparently, Rose’s mother had been mentally unstable for years. The woman went off of her medication during menopause and that triggered some sort of psychotic episode.
Rose told Emily that there never was a baby. Her mom’s psychosis had conjured up its existence. Her mother became fixated on me. Later, once the billboard went up, her obsession included Emily.
That was why Rose came to see me that day at work, to tell me that her mom was unstable but was getting help. Rose’s mom presented well, so the health professionals didn’t believe she needed hospitalization.
True to form, Emily assured my ex that we didn’t blame her. It was no one’s fault. By the time Rose left, Em assures me that Rose felt better.
I wish I’d taken the time to see Rose that day, though I’m not sure that it would have made a difference.
They say that just before death your whole life passes before your eyes. I didn’t find that to be the case. For me, it was after my near-death that life passed before me. But not so much my life, but every person I’ve ever known.
Everyone came to visit me in the hospital. Family, friends, staff, colleagues, and acquaintances. Many of my good friends from the Basement stopped in, of course.
My best friend growing up, Emily’s brother, Reese stayed in Lincoln City for a week. I think he was high most of the time. As I was buzzed on drugs myself, I couldn’t really point a finger.
My good friend Jai even flew over from the U.K. It wasn’t that much of an imposition for him since he’d apparently been trying to escape his relatives anyway. Jai and I met in San Francisco when we were both House Doms. Later we traveled together. He was there the first night when we met ‘Candy,’ aka Emily in Cabo San Lucas.
André Chevalier visited, bringing me a huge bouquet of white and pink roses. White roses to represent humility, a personality trait which he felt that I could perhaps explore.
Pink roses apparently represent femininity. André says that he brought me pink flowers to help me get in touch with my feminine side.
If I have a feminine side, I’m not so sure that I want to know about it. As for humility, I ask him, “What’s the point of being modest and having low self-esteem?”
André flashes me a wide smile. “Mon ami, I comprehend most fully, but it is as I have said. The error – it is in the fixation. The inability to change quickly and often. Of a certainty, be strong and confident, oui, oui, of course. Yet humility, it is also a most powerful tool. It is unwise at all times, to be too sure of oneself. For the strongest may weaken and even the wisest make mistakes.”
I’m glad to have him alone to discuss the revelations that I’d had while dying. André became ‘much excited’ by my news. In typical André style, he gestured wildly with his hands, and spoke volubly in French, which he is prone to do when he becomes emotional.
As masculine as the French Dom is, he certainly is in touch with his feminine side.
André once told me that I would need to work hard ‘to become worthy’ of Emily. I believe that he made it his mission to help me with that task. With my recent realizations it seems that I’m moving in the right direction.
My half-brother Colton also came to visit. Being such a gentleman, of course he brought me a gift. I took off the wrapping and found some strange looking gun-metal grey slabs of what seemed to be dense fabric.
My brother, noticing my confusion, starts laughing.
“What the fuck is this meant to be?” I ask.
He keeps laughing as he answers, “It’s from Harley Davidson. It slips into your motorcycle jacket. I’ve been given to believe that you need protection. Are you certain you have no idea what it is?”
I shook my head.
“It’s body armor,” he explains with a grin.
Ha ha ha. It is funny though. Colton really feels like a brother to me now.
Emily and I end up postponing our wedding for a couple months. Who cares if it’s a November wedding? The weather is always nice in Hawaii where we’re going for our honeymoon.
Three weeks after arriving in the hospital, I am discharged. Remarkably, I suffer no permanent damage from being shot. Em arrives to drive me home. I remember André’s riddle: ‘What would have to happen for you to give yourself to Emily completely?’
I know the answer now, but it’s not something I can tell her. This is something I have to show her. Meanwhile I’m looking forward to escaping hospital food and constant noise. God, I want to sleep in my own bed and cuddle up to the woman I love.
“Ready?” she asks, carrying both bags of stuff.
I sigh dramatically and gaze down at my wound. “Thanks to my injury do you know what this means?” I ask her.
“What?” she says with a serious frown.
“I doubt if I’ll ever be able to play accordion again.”
Emily stares at me with disbelief and amazement. I slant her a mischievous look and wink. The comment is so ridiculous that we both laugh our asses off.
I admit that I thought that stupid joke up before she got here. It was the best I could do. Honestly. My brain feels like morphine mush right now. Pretty sad really, but I wanted to make her laugh.
Can a bullet impart a sense of humor?
I do think that waking up to discover that I wasn’t dead took the edge off my usual inclination toward seriousness. I escaped death. If that doesn’t put me into a good mood then nothing will.
I leave the hospital feeling irrepressibly cheerful. Emily’s good nature is rubbing off on me. I feel naturally happy now.
Maybe that’s what happens when someone’s in love.
Chapter 48.
“Some truths can be only be found when one looks with the heart, not the eyes.”
– André Chevalier
~~~
EMILY
While I enjoyed going down on him almost the moment he left hospital, Paul wasn’t up for much more than that. It took a few weeks for him to get back to normal, sexually speaking, that is.
My crazy insecurities about Paul being unfaithful to me have faded into the background. I almost lost the love of my life. The thought of him cheating on me doesn’t even come close to the fear of him dying. I’d rather he be unfaithful than dead.
I can’t stand the idea of a world without Paul somewhere in it.
Seeing my strong, powerful man red
uced to an unconscious, limp body struggling for survival… Well. Let’s just say I can’t imagine anything tougher to deal with. It rocked my foundation. I’ve never been so afraid. At least all that hell helped me put things into perspective.
Tonight Paul takes me out to a romantic dinner. Although I can’t quite put my finger on it or even find words to describe it, there’s something about him that’s different ever since he was shot. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he was nervous.
When I question Paul, he admits that he has a surprise waiting for me at home. That’s all he’ll tell me.
“This surprise is something for both of us,” he says, slanting me a look as he drives.
Oh, the man is driving me crazy! After a couple basic questions while playing the ‘Twenty Questions’ game, I figure out that it’s not vegetable or mineral so it must be animal. “Can I put it in my mouth?”
He snickers. “Yes.”
“Can a person wear it?”
Now he laughs harder. “You could, but I don’t recommend it.”
When I try for another question of the ‘Twenty Questions’ game he refuses to play. “You’ve got to wait for it, Em.”
He’s using that Dom voice which silences me instantly. I don’t mind at all.
The first thing I learned as a submissive was patience. I’m actually good at waiting …now. I trust Paul completely when we’re together. I know that he always has my best interests at heart.
“I will say this,” he says quietly. “It’s important, okay?”
When we get home, he tells me to stay in the car for ten minutes so that he can prepare the surprise. After my somewhat excruciating ten minute wait, I walk in to the living room and get the shock of my life.
Paul is naked, on his knees in a submissive position. He’s wearing a collar, ankle and wrist cuffs. Eyes lowered, he silently waits.
Holy shit. He wants me to be his Mistress tonight?
Well. He did say he had a surprise. I stare at him in utter disbelief. Definitely bigger than a breadbox.
Paul on his knees. My brain can’t fully accept what I’m seeing before me. It can’t be… but it is.
I’ve been in this position myself countless times, kneeling when my Master enters a room. When I’m naked and on my knees feelings well up inside of me. Not just lust, even though that’s there, too.
It’s all wrapped up in what it is to be submissive. It’s an intense desire to show my devotion, obedience and respect. Many times what I feel is almost spiritual. It’s a peaceful sense of knowing one’s place in the world.
It’s a giving of myself completely to my Master, my dominant, and the one that I love.
Paul is on his knees, for me.
Emotion swells up from somewhere deep within me, from my heart or my soul. Maybe both – I have no idea. Tears spring to my eyes and my breath catches. I simply can’t get over it. My Master is giving himself to me?
I throw down my handbag and walk right past him, down the hall and into our bedroom. I shut the door and silently cry my eyes out. Can anyone explain my overwhelming emotions? I don’t think I’ve ever felt it or anything like it before.
I am touched. So deeply touched. My love has reached within my heart and warmed me. He’s touched me in a place that has never been touched before.
How can I describe what I’m feeling? This powerful and profound joy? A poet might find the words.
Paul is giving himself to me.
No other woman has received such a gift. In my heart of hearts, I know that no other woman ever will. My Bo Bo is a total control freak with every cell in his body. He lives and breathes dominance. He kneels to no one.
Yet he’s kneeling to me.
After a long happy cry, I get myself under control. My emotions have had full rein and now my thoughts begin to take over.
Maybe what I think is not what’s really happening. Maybe he just wants to try being a sub. Maybe like some Doms, he wants to try pain. But why would he kneel for me in a submissive position?
Confused and uncertain, I walk back out through the living room and into the kitchen. Paul hasn’t moved. I open a bottle of wine, sit down and drink. I also stare at my Master. I’m glad his eyes are lowered. This will be easier if he’s not looking at me.
I have no idea how to dominate him. I’m not used to being in charge in the bedroom. From this side of the fence, it seems tricky. How do I start? I cast my mind back to the books that I’ve read.
The question that I have to ask myself is, if I am a Mistress, what do I want?
I go back to our bedroom and find the cane. A cane can be light and sexy or hard and scary. I walk back and position myself in front of him.
“Stand, slave,” I say. “Keep your eyes lowered.”
He complies instantly. “Yes, Mistress,” he says.
I check out his semi-erection. Usually he’s hard as rock. I’m not surprised. This is not what he’s into. We are both out of our comfort zones. But why? Why is he doing this? Is he giving himself to me?
Paul doesn’t have a submissive bone in his body. Mastering a woman is what gets him hard.
Serving my Master’s needs and desires fulfills me. It’s what gets me hot, too. So if Paul wants me to dominate him, then dominate him I shall.
I close my eyes and summon my imaginary inner Domme. I lift my chin, straighten my spine and try to think imperious and confident thoughts.
“What’s your safeword?” I say.
“T5 Blackie.”
I snicker. “Of course it is.” I tap the inside of his thighs with the cane. “Spread your legs, I want to see your cock and balls.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he says.
I run the cane along his genitals, very gently tapping his semi-hard dick and testicles. Not to hurt him, more to scare him. He’s certainly scared me enough times.
I use the cane to rhythmically and repetitively tap his body. Thighs, calves, abdomen, hips and buttocks. As I grow more confident, I strike him with a little more force.
His breathing changes to shallow, fast breaths. When I look down, I see that Paul has a straining erection. Interesting.
Now he’s turned on. I completely understand. This kind of thing doesn’t hurt, it only heightens sensation. A person goes through life ignorant of so much of their body. A cane commands your attention. When it hits your skin you expect and prepare for pain. Instead you get sensation. Nerves, muscles and flesh that one is usually completely unaware of, suddenly wake up after a lifetime of sleeping.
Your whole body becomes hypersensitive, hyper-alert and alive.
When I’ve covered every part of his body with the cane, I realize that what I really want to do is to touch him. I don’t think that I’ve ever just touched Paul just anywhere I’ve wanted, freely and without permission.
I stand in front of him and command, “Open your mouth.”
When he does, I put the cane between his teeth. “Hold this for me,” I say and he does.
Now my hands are free and I happily use them. I start with the scar from his wound, gently running my fingers over it and then kissing it. This is the point that the bullet entered. This is how my love almost lost his life.
I put both of my hands on his pectorals. When I glide my palms upwards to his collarbone and neck, he trembles. I suppose he’s getting an eyeful of my tits. He likes what I’m doing, but that’s not what strikes me.
My attention is no longer focused solely on him. I’m thinking about what would please me. Maybe this is what it’s like to be Paul and to dominate me. Right now, he is my plaything.
Well, what do you know? I feel like playing.
Chapter 49.
“To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.”
– George MacDonald
~~~
EMILY
I find myself seriously aroused. I’m in heaven. I feel like a kid, set loose in a candy store. At first I was uncomfortable. I had no clue what to do. I was even scared. I’m past t
hat now. I’m thrilled to let loose. To play strictly for my own pleasure and for his. Oh man, can I enjoy this. Yum.
I sample Paul’s flesh with my tongue and teeth, savoring his smooth healthy skin, the taste and the feel of him. With my palms, I caress up his chest and along his shoulders. I circle him slowly, taking in every part of him.
I run my palm up his neck and along his throat. I can feel his heartbeat thundering under my hand. It’s strong and steady, the pulse of a healthy male animal: thud, thud, thud.
A tug of desire pulls at my sex. I love seeing Paul and feeling him under my hands. Man, he’s so damn beautiful.
I’m gaining an understanding as to why my Master so often does this to me.
I love drinking in his perfect body. So firm, so masculine. I study the dark hairs on his arms and his chest. His hair increases as it moves towards his crotch. Beguilingly, it directs my eyes lower.
As I stroke, I relish Paul’s harsh breathing and how his chest rises and falls so rapidly. He’s a man and can’t help himself. Harsh breathing and muffled sounds come from him with that cane between his lips.
“Shush, shush, it’s okay,” I soothe. “I’ll take care of you, slave. If you’re good I’ll make you come. Would you like that?”
He mumbles a yes through the cane.
I explore every part of him, reveling in his firm body, running the tips of my fingers along his back, down his spine and over his buttocks. I press my body up against him, rubbing him with my breasts.
I firmly grip and examine his buttocks. For a moment I recall how these muscles contract, clenching and releasing as he thrusts inside of me. His flesh is soft and smooth, but underneath his wonderful skin, he’s so solid. His physique along his spine is firm and muscular, too. His back strains, laboring hard whenever he fucks me.
His hands fist in his desire to touch me and he breathes harder. His cock drips. This is a kind of torment for him, which in a twisted way, I enjoy.
How many times have I been on the receiving end of this sweet torture? I can see the appeal in either role now. Anticipation can be uncomfortable, even painful, but it makes for such a powerful, explosive release later.
