Chapter 12 #2
“Experiment. If putting your little in pink makes you feel like you’ve spilled a bottle of Pepto Bismol, put her in black, or latex, or a cat suit. The limit’s your imagination.”
“What if what I imagine is really . . . bad?”
Mac shoots me a side-eye. “Define bad.”
I shake my head. I can’t admit the things I want to him.
Dressing Cynnie up like a cat and making her eat out of a bowl on the floor and use a litter box?
Chaining her naked in my den wearing just a fox tail in her ass?
I saw one when I ordered the butt plugs, and it was all I could think about for hours.
Take that adorable baby girl out of her floral dresses and fringed dusters and make her do those things? She’d report me to the cops.
Mac huffs out a few breaths. “Max, who taught you about the birds and the bees?”
“Huh?” My mother certainly never said a word about sex or girls to me, although I learned more than I wanted to from listening to her with my many “uncles.” Uncle Max pounded the importance of safety and condoms into my teenaged brain, and gruffly told me one day to make sure I took care of my partner before I took care of myself.
Otherwise, it was all playground bullshit. “I guess I just picked it up.”
“Right. Society’s filled your head with ideas of what sex should be. But they don’t fit anymore, do they?” When I shake my head in agreement, he continues, “Let all that noise go. Focus on what feels right. What you want. I promise your fantasies aren’t any darker or weirder than anyone else’s.”
“Jesus, sir, how can you know that?”
Mac chuckles. “First, stop calling me sir. Second, I can guarantee you haven’t fallen deep enough down the rabbit hole yet to top some of the things I’ve seen and done, so stop beating yourself up. I know you, Max. I don’t have any concerns about your fantasies.”
We’re coming up on my apartment again, so I drop to a walk and put my hands behind my neck, stretching out my chest and popping my back. Mac matches my stride, puffing a little.
“Need to do this more often,” Mac says. “I’m outta shape.”
I give that comment the snort it deserves.
“My knee’s killing me,” he continues. “You got an ice pack?”
“Yup. Come on up.”
Once he’s settled on the couch icing his bad knee and we’re both rehydrating, I slowly spill the worst of my guilt and shame over how things ended with Cynnie. I sit with my head bowed, my hands between my knees, waiting for Mac’s judgment.
His heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
“Maxie, I wasn’t there. I don’t know how it went down. But if she didn’t use her safe word and didn’t seem distressed, then she was probably fine with it.”
“She said I keep second-guessing us. That I make her feel bad for wanting what she wants,” I tell him miserably.
“I can see that,” Mac says. “Was she distressed?”
“She was crying.”
“Yeah, afterwards, when you argued. I’m talking about during the scene. When you pinned her down, was she crying, flinching, lashing out at you to defend herself?”
“No, but I was holding her down. I probably outweigh her by a hundred pounds.”
“Focus on her. Think through what you saw and heard and felt. Was she in distress?”
“No,” I admit, as much to him as to myself.
“She’s an experienced little. She has a safe word. She wasn’t in distress. You didn’t do anything she didn’t want. If you can’t trust your own instincts, then be guided by her responses. She believes in you. Do you want to try again?”
More than anything. “Yes.”
“Then let go of your doubts. Trust yourself.”
I roll my water bottle between my palms, still not able to meet his eyes. “Sir, I need to know . . . the worst you’ve done. Or seen. Whatever you can tell me. I need to know that what I’m doing isn’t wrong.”
“Stop calling me sir,” Mac says absently.
“Worst thing I’ve done wouldn’t help you.
But I’ll tell you one of the more extreme scenes I’ve done.
Did it at a club in Florida, with a nurse monitoring.
I had my sub lie in an ice bath for fifteen minutes, then warm up a little, then back in the ice bath for ten minutes.
She was blue when she came out. Cold to the touch.
I had her suck ice chips before I fucked her mouth.
Then I fucked her with an ice dildo before I took her pussy.
I had her lie completely still while I was fucking her and close her eyes.
Closest I’d want to come to fucking a corpse.
” Mac shakes his head. “It was an experience.”
I stare at him.
He chuckles. “Told you your fantasies were nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Thi-this was with your ex?” I ask, because I cannot see his poised, polished, bitch of a wife having sex for any reason other than procreation, much less simulating necrophilia.
“I’d rather not say. Part of the divorce. But I’ll say that it was while we were married, and I was never unfaithful.”
So that’s a yes. Mind. Blown. “Fuck, Mac.”
“Here’s the important thing: we negotiated that scene for weeks.
We both knew how it was going to go, what to expect, what the risks were.
She had two safe words. One in case she needed the nurse to check on her and one in case she needed me to stop.
I checked her core temperature several times during the scene to make sure it never went too low.
There were layers of safety built in that allowed us both to be comfortable and focus on the experience.
You don’t have any confidence in your safety net, Maxie.
You don’t trust your sub to use her safe word when she needs to, and you don’t trust yourself to know when you’ve gone too far.
I’d say those things come with time and experience, but you’ve jumped right into the deep end with this girl.
Unless she’s willing to move back into the shallow end with you, then you need to figure your shit out and fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir.”
That’s never going to happen. I have far too much respect for this man, and I’ve been calling him sir for nearly a decade. I’m not sure I can reset my thinking.
Maybe that’s my problem. I need to reset my thinking about sex and I’m not sure I can. I’m too set in my ways. At thirty-one. How can I be too entrenched to experiment at thirty-one?
“I’ll try,” I tell Mac, but it feels far more like a promise to myself.