Chapter Thirty-seven
She looked up in confusion when I set the papers in front of her the next night.
“What’s this?” she asked.
I gave her a pen, took my own papers, and sat down across the table. “I want us to redo our checklists.”
“Us?” She smiled, eyes dancing wickedly. “Why? Did yours change?”
I returned her smile with one of my own. “Mine? Not so much, but I think yours might have. In one or two areas, at least.”
She took the pen and filled out the header. “I can mark a few more things as experienced.”
I checked off the first few items on my list. “I suppose you can.”
“You’re still out of your mind if you think long-term sexual deprivation is ever going to fly with me.”
I chuckled. “Just fill out the list, Abby.”
For the next few minutes, only the sound of pens scratching paper filled the kitchen.
“You know,” she said, “I don’t think you had kissing listed as a hard limit.”
Damn it. I thought we’d already discussed that.
I pretended not to hear her. “Hmm?”
“If I’d looked at your list after you collared me, you might have had some explaining to do.”
I looked up at her so she would know the truth of my words. “Had you questioned me on anything, I would have had some explaining to do.”
“You’re the dominant; it’s not my place to question you.”
I set my pen down and took her hand, needing her to know how much this meant. “I was wrong, Abby. And yes, it is your place to question me. Why do you think I told you to speak freely at the kitchen table? Why do you think I gave you the library? In the future, please tell me what you feel in those places, okay?” Her eyes went wide with understanding. “I want to know. I need to know. We’ll never grow if we don’t talk.”
Her thumb stroked my knuckle. “Okay,” she said, but I knew we had more to talk about.
“Let’s finish the checklists and we’ll talk some more.”
I finished my checklist quickly and watched as she filled out hers. Every so often, she would nibble her bottom lip, start to mark something, and then tap her pen on the table before making a decision.
She’s so inexperienced. You can’t f**k this up again.
“Okay,” she finally said. “I’m done.”
We exchanged lists and I read over hers, comparing it in my mind to the one she had filled out before. Some of her limits had changed and some hadn’t. I looked up to find her running a finger over my list, probably trying to line it up with hers.
“Do you have any questions?” I asked.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Should I go first?” I asked and, at her nod, I continued. “You should know, I will never violate your hard limits, and I’m not trying to get you to change them, but I have to ask—what’s your problem with canes?”
“Are you asking because you have it marked as”—she looked down at my list—“like it a lot?”
“Yes, and I want to understand why canes are a hard limit, when so little else is.”
“There was a case I read about one time, in Singapore. You know they cane people there?” She didn’t wait for me to respond, but continued. “It’s for punishment. It sounds frightening. It bleeds and leaves scars.”
I stared at her, confused. “You think I would beat you until you bled, leaving scars, and enjoy it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just . . . didn’t want to try it.”
“Didn’t?” I asked, picking up on the operative word.
“I need to know more about them first.”
“Okay. We’ll leave it as a hard limit for now. See if we can find a way to teach you more.”
Fucking hell. I was shaken that she thought I could use her like that. I needed to think about how to introduce canes to her so she wouldn’t find them so scary.
“Breath play?” she asked, looking down my list. “Hard limit?”
“Yes. Always has been. Always will be.” While my hard limits had changed over the years, controlling someone’s ability to breathe, to choke them, was something I’d never do.
“I just wondered what it would be like.”
“It’s too dangerous. I don’t feel comfortable doing anything like that.” But there was more, and this was a perfect opportunity to talk and show my new honesty. “Beth wanted to try breath play, so I read up on it, spoke to a few dominants, even watched a scene once.” I looked up and caught her eye. “I know my limits, though—I just couldn’t . . . I can’t take that kind of risk. I’m sorry, Abby.”
She shrugged. “No big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” I countered. “After my failure with Melanie—”
“Wait a minute.” She held up a hand. “What’s this about your failure with Melanie?”
“I failed her. I couldn’t be what she wanted.”
“Look at me, Nathaniel,” she said, and her eyes were livid. “You didn’t fail Melanie. Why do you think it was all on you? No, you couldn’t be what she wanted, but she couldn’t be what you needed.”
“If I had just tried harder.”
“You both would be miserable to this day,” she said, and the wicked sparkle returned to her eyes. “And where would that leave me?”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Where, indeed?”
“No more talk of failing Melanie,” she said, picking up the papers and tapping them into a stack. “Now, where were we?” She looked over the list again. “Oh, yes. Breath play. Won’t ever happen. Any more questions about my list?”
We went over a few more things, not so much to change anything, but to get a better understanding of why certain things had been marked the way they were. I explained the reasons for my hard limits and she talked about things she wanted to try.There was still so much to talk about, but after going over the lists, I drew her into my arms and took her into the living room to watch a movie.
It felt odd.
It felt strange.
It felt good.
The next night, we regrouped at the table to discuss the whens and hows of our relationship. I started by telling her I had no interest in her being a submissive seven days a week. I wanted her as my lover just as much.
“Can we do the weekend thing again?” she asked.
It had been what I wanted to try, and I felt relieved she had suggested it herself. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“And during the week, we’re Nathaniel and Abby.”
“I like it, but it’s going to be hard. Going from Nathaniel and Abby to dominant and submissive.” I had spoken to Paul earlier in the day about what he and Christine did. “I think it would work best to have set start and stop times and rituals for when I collar and uncollar you.”
“Collar and uncollar? Why would you take your collar off me?”
“Because we’re just us during the week,” I said, repeating her words. “I could collar you every Friday, let’s say at six, and take the collar off Sundays at three.”
“I wore it every day last time.”
“But things have changed.”
“I’m not arguing with that, but by wearing it every day, I would keep that connection between us.”
My heart swelled with pleasure at her words, but it wouldn’t be a good idea for her to wear the collar during the week. I had seen firsthand how she acted wearing the collar, and I didn’t want her to be in that frame of mind during the week.
I lowered my voice. “I understand why you want to wear my collar every day, but will you listen to some advice? From someone who has more experience?”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Are you going to play the experience card often?”
I swallowed my laugh. I had lived the lifestyle of a dom for more than ten years and she wanted to know if I would play the experience card?
“Yes,” I said simply.
She huffed and sat back in her chair.
“Abby, listen. Whether you admit it or not, the collar puts you in a certain frame of mind and I don’t want you in that frame of mind during the week.” I had wanted her in that frame of mind during the week before, but not now. Not this time. “If I ask if you want peas or carrots for dinner on a Tuesday night, I want the answer to come from Abby, my lover, not Abigail, my submissive.”
“I know, but . . .”
I had her. I could see it in her eyes. “I’m not giving you a meal plan or an exercise routine or stipulating sleep, or—”
“Thank goodness for that. Because insisting on eight hours of sleep would severely limit our weekday activities.”
Fuck yes, it would, and I planned on a lot of weekday activities.
“Agreed,” I said. “But to get back to what I was saying, if I want to have sex on a Wednesday and you’re not in the mood, I want you to feel free to say so. The collar”—I shook my head—“it will limit you. Even though you think it won’t.”
“Okay, weekends only.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Now, what was it you were saying about rituals?”
I talked to her about how a ritual would help get us both in the necessary frame of mind for Friday night and how it would ease the transition back to everyday life on Sunday afternoons. Repeated enough, Paul told me, it would become a signal we would learn to respond to.
“Are you sure you want to play the entire weekend?” I asked, once we’d agreed on times and rituals. I wanted to offer her options. “Maybe we could just scene a few times. That way you wouldn’t be serving me the entire time.”
“You mean, like cooking and waiting on you?”
“Right. If you don’t want to do that . . .”
I would try. It would be completely outside of what I was used to with my submissives, but I would try. For her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I rather like doing things for you. It’s actually quite the turn-on.”
My c**k hardened at her words. “Really?”
“Mmm,” she replied.
Well, okay, then. If she liked it, we’d do it. And if it turned her on . . . I’d have to give some thought as to how to work with that one.
Later, though. We had more to discuss tonight.
“We need to set up safe words,” I said. “I always used yellow and red in the past, and I think those are good choices for you. When—”
“Two? You’re giving me two safe words?”
“It’s a commonly used system.”
“But last time—”
“I already explained my error in the way I set things up last time, Abby. I won’t have you walk out on me again.”
She took my hand. “I’m not leaving. I just don’t know why I have to have two safe words.”
“Because we’ll be pushing your limits,” I said, thinking back to the things she wanted to try. “If you say yellow, I know I’m pushing, but can continue. Red stops the scene completely.”
“But you’ve never had a sub use a safe word before.”
“I have now.” I kissed her hand. “And I want you to feel completely safe and secure anytime you’re with me. Even when I’m pushing you.”
“Yellow and red.” She thought them over. “Like a traffic light.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And since I’ll be pushing your limits, the safe words will also help me.”
“You?”
“I can push, knowing you’ll say yellow if I need to slow down,” I explained. “You trust me, and in turn, I trust you’ll use your safe words if I push too hard, too fast, or too far. It gives me peace of mind.”