Chapter 13 #3
"Littles are usually anxious," I went on.
"They worry about getting things wrong. Or letting people down.
They think everything is their fault, even when it isn't. And they want to do well so badly it hurts.
" I blinked, trying to put it in words that didn't sound pathetic.
“They like rules, because the rules mean you can't mess up if you just do what you're told.
Sometimes…sometimes they're really lonely, but they don't want to be a burden, so they don't ask for what they need. "
My throat went tight.
"They like soft things. And food that's easy. They like to be told they're good, because most of the time, they're convinced they're not. Even if they do something right, they're just waiting for it to be taken away again."
Felix was so quiet I thought maybe I'd said something wrong.
I tried to fix it, but it just tumbled out.
"They're not trying to be babies. They're not trying to…
be helpless. They just want to be safe. Like maybe if someone cares enough, the bad stuff can't get in.
"I wasn't sure if I was breathing or not. My cheeks were burning.
Felix's hand came up, smoothed the hair back from my forehead. "That's a good answer, baby," he said. I went loose all over, like he just cut the strings holding me upright. I hadn't even realized how much I wanted to hear that until he said it.
"They're kind of obsessive," I added, quieter. "Holidays, or cartoons, or even just a favorite mug. You hold on to it for dear life." He nodded, like he understood. Maybe he did.
"And sometimes," I went on, voice barely there, "they don't sleep well unless they know someone's right there.
Or they can't eat if they think they're in trouble.
Or they just…don't know how to ask for help, even if it's something stupid, like remembering to take medicine.
They're not stupid. They're just stuck, sometimes. "
Felix didn't say anything for a long time. His hand didn't leave my hair. He just sat, like he had all the time in the world for me to finish.
"And?" he finally asked, soft as you please. "What else?"
My stomach was in knots. "They like being told they're good," I whispered. "Or that they did something right. But they never believe it, not really."
He hummed, low and approving. It did something to me, hearing it. "You're describing yourself, baby," Felix said, not mocking, just gentle. "You know that, right?”
I shook my head. “I’m not Little. I don’t play with toys. I don’t wear a diaper.”
He was quiet for a moment. “How long have you been involved in the scene?”
I thought about that. “Fifteen, twenty years on and off.”
He rubbed my back gently, then huffed, and in a quick move I was on his lap.
So shocked, I couldn’t even speak. “You were too far away,” he said in a mild voice.
“Fifteen years,” he said approvingly, “then you’ve seen a lot of submissives.
” I nodded. “Then the same question. Describe a submissive to me if I didn’t know what one was. ”
"Well, a submissive wants to please their Dominant, mostly," I said, but even as I spoke, I could hear how flat it sounded.
"They, uh, like rules. Or maybe just the feeling that the Dom is in charge.
They want to feel safe, maybe? Not have to make the big decisions because there's someone else who does it for them.
" And for most people, that would be enough, but I didn't even believe myself, not really.
I tried again. "They…follow orders, that's the main thing. Obey. Or, at least, that's what you're supposed to do. Some like punishment, but a lot don't. It's more about the praise. Like, if you do a good job, you get told. Or maybe you get a reward."
Felix hummed, encouraging. His hand cupped my knee, thumb drawing little half-circles right through the fabric. It rooted me in place, made my thoughts slow down a little.
"But that's not all. Because I know some subs who…
they're bratty, you know? They want a fight.
They want to be punished. Or there's the ones who are shy, and get overwhelmed, and just need to be left alone to settle, and there's others who want to talk the whole time, or be a service sub and do stuff around the house, or even just be quiet and float for hours.
" My cheeks went red, because I wasn't making any sense.
"You get a lot of types. There isn't one way to be a sub, sir.
Sometimes it's about not having to pretend to be better than you are. Just being enough is…enough."
I chewed on that. It felt like if I kept talking, eventually I could get to something true. Felix let the silence hang. He was letting me work it out for myself.
"And some subs like pain, and some don't. Some like to be tied up, or spanked, or on their knees, but plenty don't. Some need to feel useful.
Or needed, or like they belong. I think that's what most of them want, really.
Not just the sex stuff, but…belonging. Like if they're good, someone will keep them.
" My voice trailed off, thin with embarrassment.
"Some people just want to be useful. Or to make someone proud. Or just…to be needed."
I didn't look up. I could feel Felix watching me, but I didn't feel judged. If anything, I felt…understood. The hand on my knee was warm, steady.
“So would you agree with me when I say that there are many different sorts of subs?”
“Yes,” I latched on to that gratefully because I knew I was probably spouting a load of nonsense.
He brushed a kiss on my lips but then leaned back. “And I would guess there’s as many different types of dominants?”
“Definitely,” I agreed with some feeling. He was silent for a beat, and I focused on him.
“Then why would you think there’s only one type of Little?” I stared at him, my mind a complete blank.
He waited. I felt the weight of it, hot and heavy on my chest.
“Baby, there are Littles who like plushies and cartoons and sippy cups, and there are Littles who just want rules, or naps, or to know someone’s proud of them. Some like bedtime stories. Some don’t. There’s no one way to do it. Just the way that feels good for you.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
He reached over and cupped the back of my head, gentle but so sure of it, and I melted instantly. “You don’t have to be what anyone else is, or match someone’s idea of a label. If you want care, that’s enough. If you want routine, or food, or just…someone to tell you you’re good? That’s enough.”
I sucked in a breath, air shuddering through me. I’d wanted this my whole life. But—
“What if I get it wrong?”
He smiled at me, soft. Patient. “You can’t. If you try and it doesn’t fit, we’ll try something else. I’m not here to grade you. I just want you to feel safe. You want to try calling me Daddy, you can. Or not. I’m here either way.”
My face went hot. “I…don’t know if it fits.” But I was lying, I wanted that desperately, which made my face even hotter.
“Doesn’t have to. We’ll work it out. You don’t even have to call it anything, if that’s easier. But you have to let me look after you.”
I nodded, fast, not trusting myself to speak.
“Okay. Tell me one thing right now that would make you feel safe.”
My first thought was embarrassing. Stupid. But I didn’t want to lie. “Could you just…maybe hold me? For a while?”
He pulled me in even tighter, arms like steel bands, and I collapsed into his chest. It didn’t matter that we were both grown men or that I was too old for this, or that I was already on his lap. I just let go, letting the ache settle into something smaller, letting him take the weight.
He stroked my hair, slow and steady. “That’s the whole point, baby. You need more? Ask. You need less? Tell me. We can call it whatever you want. It’s not about the word. It’s about what you need.”
I went limp against him, all the tension leaking out in a rush that left me breathless. My face was pressed to his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind.
“I like the rules,” I said, muffled. “I like knowing what I’m supposed to do. That’s why my job was so easy. All children know exactly what Christmas should be like.”
He made this low, approving noise. “Then you’ll have them. But you don’t have to pretend to like anything just because someone says you should. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. We’ll figure it out together.”
His hand cradled my head, heavy and careful. “You did well, telling me all that.”
It hit me, sharper than anything else. Praise. I buried my face even deeper and felt the tightness in my chest start to fade.
“I want to be good for you,” I whispered.
“You are, baby. Always. Even when you get these ridiculous ideas you’re not enough.”