Shy Guys Make Good Boys Pt. 02

And even though it was a question for a choice, it felt like a choice she didn't have to give me and her voice still commanded that I be respectful. "Yes, please, Mistress."

Of course, I think there were two reasons why I didn't feel as much fear as I should have. The first one was one I had already started to realize, the one that finally made me see the picture formed of all those little puzzle pieces. It was another idea I had written in a dozen different ways, the fact that there were differences in levels of submission. There were all different kinds and they all struck me as beautiful and fascinating, even if I was reversing the gender roles of my stories from my own fantasies.

There were submissives who wanted to play light scenes, to have fun, like most people did with their loved one. They just wanted to let go for a few hours and to feel the stress fade away. There were others who wanted it as an integral part of their relationship, ones who wanted the dynamic to be a background static sound in a way. Not in the sense that they wanted to obey all the time, but more in the sense that they wanted it to be a possibility all the time. Then, of course, there were some people who wanted to indulge a fetish that had nothing to do with submitting. There were masochists who had submissive tendencies and masochists who just needed the release of torment and pain. There were all different kinds, as many as there were people. I'd done hours and hours of brainstorming for different story possibilities, researching as many real life accounts as I could, asking people online who might be willing to talk about it under mutually anonymous tags, with, of course, permission and respect.

But I think I was something else to her, something that she didn't define and didn't intend. I had the realization that sometimes a person's role in a relationship was defined by their heart and maybe wasn't even mutually agreed upon. Because I think my role to her was something she hadn't chosen at all.

It didn't seem to matter. I think it started as soon as she gave me the option to let her choose the dates we went on, to let her tell me when to hold her hand. I think it started with the realization that this was who I was and this was the most stable I had always felt. It came with the realization that approval from someone like Christopher Love who, by his own admission, valued obedience meant that I really was well behaved for Mistress. It was the approval that came with being a good reflection on her. But it was still more than those things, too. It was the fact that I wasn't escaping the subspace I was in, not fully, because I didn't want to. I wanted her to tell me what to do to her heart's content. I wanted to serve her in any way that would help her or give her pleasure because that was the thing that made me most fulfilled and happy.

If you combined all of that, I was fairly certain the end picture was not of a submissive... but of a slave. It had nothing to do with chains, cages, or collars and everything to do with the fact that I hadn't been able to say a safeword for a long time by then.

It really does sound so romantically dark, in some way. In some deeper way, maybe it was a little bit of a dark self realization, to understand how deep submission ran for me. I was still thinking about it when we played chess, too, when I watched Mistress dress me to her liking after shaving me, shivering with how it felt a little strange to be so shaved. The embarrassment had faded in favor of happiness that she was so obviously pleased. I grinned when she fixed my cage back, nipping her when she allowed me to give her a kiss.

It only got better from there, though. If that was the moment where it struck me, then the morning after when she woke me up to solidify the morning routine she had started with our dating was when it started to really sink in. She had already started these threads, with things like our bathing together, where she had taught me how to turn her under the water and how to warm her to make her feel a relaxed pleasure. Now, she added to it and it wasn't the splotchy pieces of playing that had come from dating, but the beginnings of strict ritual that started as soon as I woke up.

Her touch was light when she stroked me awake, when she manipulated me to command me in a sleepy voice, "Start with kissing my waistline." Devious excitement pulsed through me and it only got better with every small instruction. I obediently started at one side and kissed my way down her leg, until I got to kiss her toes, and then worked my way back up the other leg. It even felt a little like a religious ritual, when it was so slow, so reverent, and I thrilled to the thought of her being my goddess. By the time I reached back up, her sleepy voice was more awake and filled with an excitement of her own, especially when she finally grasped me by my hair and lowered my face to her pussy, breathing, "Suck." And I knew what to do. I knew from how she had trained me how to eat her out in the ways she loved most. I worked my tongue, touching her in the ways she liked to be held, hooking an arm around her leg when she liked the touches of romance.

But the best part about it and the thing that made it sink in? The details she gave me in her commands made it clear that this was something I could look forward to every morning. That was how I would wake her, while wearing my cage, and it would never have my release in it when she wanted me to start the days after I spent the night with the thoughts of her pleasure and nothing else. If I'd been anywhere within saving after falling off that ledge the night before, I wasn't when she started every little thing that she would start with me.

I only had one fear left, though. I had written about slaves, too, you see, and the facts of them as I had learned in asking questions was that they weren't the fantasy people thought of. They required a lot of care and a lot of structure. It took a special kind of person to be a Master or a Mistress, to even have the real desire to enjoy that level of control over another. Of course, I thought Mistress was every bit that special kind of person.

But I hoped I didn't displease her with how submissive I was. I hoped I wasn't a stressful kind of partner for her to keep, even if I did have a slave's heart for her, even if I was struck with the realization that I had never been able to be just her boyfriend. To that end, I didn't bring up what I thought was the state I found the most fulfillment in to her. I just bowed as she wanted, enjoying every routine she would give me and grateful that she did. I did make sure to apologize in the smaller, quieter ways I could think of, in my kisses for instance. I hoped to give her the fantasy of it that everyone seemed to like, with a lot of love, and to never make her worry about the rest.

So I just let go. I accepted. I adored and it was wonderful.

Of course, if you know anything about BDSM relationships and communication skills... well, you might see where the logic was incorrect and unfair. You might see where I had been playing a dangerous role all along.

--------

Sonya

Courtney always had this philosophy that she liked to talk about a great deal, when she was such a romantic at heart. Her idea was that every relationship that involved some form of coexistence had some kind of flaw, by nature. She started with the idea that human characteristics were neither inherently good nor bad. Her favorite example was the characteristic of "selfishness", when it was often paired with negative connotations. The idea went that it wasn't negative. It was just a trait. The positive side of selfishness was that a person with that trait would find ways of survival that someone less inclined to it wouldn't think of or be capable of. The negative was that they didn't easily put other people before themselves and oftentimes overlooked the wellbeing of people they wanted to care about.

So, with the logic that all things had a good and bad side, her idea was that when you combined two people with their own set of traits, there would always be some sort of flaw that would become apparent. Two people who were easygoing and got along incredibly well might easily fall stagnant in their relationship, for instance, when neither of them felt the ambition to make it more than it was.

I can't speak on the idea with much experience because I've always genuinely been horrible with any relationship. I can't give myself easily to another, not in the ways that most people would like. I can't share my thoughts easily, let alone my emotions, and if I do share, then I balance things out with being a suffocating bitch. Ryan, on the other hand, was somehow so incredibly submissive that it made my suffocation something he enjoyed, so much so that I couldn't keep from opening up. It just went with the trade of control somehow. People think that Doms or tops are robotic or these distant entities in fantasies sometimes and it's not true.

The real truth is that Doms feel as much as anyone else and that no one knows a Dom as well as their submissive, especially if the submission has an intense depth. No one knows someone as well as a person who craves to please that person and it's stupidity to underestimate the things that a submissive will notice.

I was stupid enough to underestimate those things and to think that my emotions made me lesser, which would lead to my flaws with Ryan. For months, I held back some last part of myself and the infuriating thing is that it wasn't even a meaningful part. There wasn't a good reason for me to hold that last little bit. There really wasn't because I knew what was happening between us. There was no way I could watch him start to wake up before I did in the mornings and feel him kiss me automatically, these slow, perfect kisses that made me smile in excitement with the pleasure he could give.

There was no way I could cry out in orgasm so that he lifted back up my body where I could stare into his eyes while he happily said, "Good morning, Mistress," so that I laughed without knowing where this was going, how deep it was getting.

It didn't stop there either. He started doing more intricate decorations with my nails when he loved the softer forms of submission, the kind he definitely felt as the most intimate. He loved it when he got to touch my hair, the rare moments I left it down, and he stroked me so that I couldn't help but close my eyes. He always ended up breaking and begging me to let him brush it or to teach him how to braid it, in such a timid way that it made me nod. With every passing night he stayed with me, the sex became secondary and the control became everything. He loved things like getting to play with massage lotions to discover what relaxed me most and I loved feeling his leash in my hand while he did it.

The flaw? The flaw was part of the same characteristics that made sure he was the one person I would open up to, the same characteristics that made that rare and beautiful when I couldn't open up to anyone.

Because that fear that held that one last part back, that didn't call our relationship what it was, was part of me and the submission that made up everything about him wouldn't allow him to so much as speak a word against it.

Even when he finally beat me at chess after taking my queen sacrifice, having watched the moves I loved most so well, I didn't break that line. Even when he bowed to everything, his eyes sparking with happy contentment when I told him what I wanted to do to him, I didn't. I started to take him to Sulfur's, playing humiliation games that made him shift in fear when I decided I liked the idea of seeing him degraded in the main dungeons, where anyone could watch.

Thank God for friends, though. Sometimes those are necessary to let you know how much of an idiot or coward you're being. In my case, it was a little bit of both.

--------

Ryan

I got outed for misbehaving at Hall's summer party.

Nathan tried to keep me from people for as long as he could, but eventually he called me on the work phone he had given me. "Alright, I was trying to wait for this one because Dr. Hall and his wife are pretty chill and their guest listings seem to keep Dad occupied the most. But do you mind?"

"Of course not."

Huh. Wow, I really meant that too and thought about the fact in my office at work. Sonya had started to enjoy Sulfur's fetish club more and more and somehow, being made to bow to her when her friends were around had made social situations seem a little less, ah, intimidating.

Nathan paused. "I almost thought you sounded cheerful about it, but that can't be it."

I laughed. "Well, it's not so bad anyway." Besides, Sonya was always on Mrs. Hall's guest list, since she worked for her. During one weekend, my Mistress had taken me along to one of her events, making me hold her arm when it was fitting, a small and wicked smile on her face whenever I obeyed those small commands. Somewhere along the line, control had turned into sex for me and it felt like being teased where anyone could see when she gave me commands like that.

My method of writing had been fun but suddenly I was getting a little eager to get out so long as she was with me. So, when it came to the night of, she drove us to Hall's house while I was actually getting... excited.

"Little boy toy." Mmm, I had once worried that she might not want to give me the levels of control I craved, but whenever she looked in my eyes and saw my submission, she seemed all too content to rattle me by my collar somehow, to call me a pet name or give me a command when she could. And people always seem to think that these relationships are somehow less human in some ways, as if a Mistress and slave can't flirt. Maybe for someone else they are, but it wasn't at all like that with her. "So, is Kara Rhys ever going to publish again?"

Ah. She knew the answer. She knew everything, when I couldn't find it in me to ever even attempt to keep a secret from her, goddess that she was. It would feel innately wrong somehow. Well, she knew almost everything except for that one small piece I didn't want to bother her with. "I'm... not for sure. I have the ending to the story her muse wants to post and it's finished, but I was hoping that finishing it would be enough for her. She still won't let me get back to writing what I have outlined though." That was some of the truth, anyway. The rest of it was a little deeper than I thought my proud goddess might be comfortable with and it didn't matter so much anyway.

Sonya rolled her eyes over at me and I grinned at the exasperation. "Well, the good thing about being a submissive, Ryan, is that you have someone to blame for things like this. Post it."

"Yes, Mistress." My grin widened. We'd had hours of conversations where she told me things she loved about being a top and one of those things was that she loved being the bad guy.

"I love getting to tell someone to do it and face the consequences for them. Seriously, it's fun. If someone gets angry at them for the decision that I made, I always take credit and then watch the person who had a problem when they realize they're arguing with me and not the usually introverted person they thought." She'd been talking about being an R&D manager, which had made me laugh. I had gotten to start visiting her at work with her permission and it made me thrilled to see my small statured goddess turn her eyes to someone who wanted to give her an issue. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She would say.

It turned out she could thrive in a resistance fueled work environment, something that I admired. But then I had realized that it fit everything I knew about her. Seeing it in person had made me bow lower to her that night when we got home together, though, when something in it just made me feel more submissive than ever. My voice had been both aroused and subjugated when I knelt in the doorway like I was supposed to when we got home together, where she leashed me and left me to bow in meditation. It was the ritual for me while she fixed what she wanted to eat for the night. Sometimes it was the same thing she made for me, depending on if it was something I could neatly eat from my pup bowl.

Just thinking about every small ritual made me burn anymore. It didn't matter if she gave me release often during a week when everything made my skin feel like I was hot all the time, when release only made me feel all the more needy to please my goddess. Even then, when we were on our way to a party I had once hated, I was in a state of pleasure, when I lived to serve pleasure at her knees so often.

"So, why does Nathan keep up with you so closely for these things?"

"Oh, that. He makes sure I never have to attend data conferences, so long as I have the spreadsheets ready and annotated for him so that he can translate them on my behalf. It doesn't give him much problems to do so, from my understanding, but sometimes his dad gives him a hard time that I'm not there. So he found these kinds of parties as a compromise."

Sonya finished pulling into Hall's, parking off away from the house in their lot, and then stared at me. "Wait a second... Ryan, he translates those for you just so you don't have to face his dad?"

I followed her lead to get out of the car, nodding. "Yes, Mistress."

"And then messages you like this right up until you bother him for permission to leave?"

Uh oh. Mistress seemed to find that both irritating and endearing in some way. Her eyes were narrowed and she hadn't gotten a chance to use me for release before she left. Instead, she had been forced on a schedule and had given me commands for our clothes. She'd been in an aroused mood even then, enough so that she'd allowed me to dress her, watching me kiss the boots she'd chosen while she stroked my forehead with a riding crop.

I shifted on my toes, getting excited when I knew that fire and knew that it hadn't been satisfied, when I knew that desire she would get for more control, one that held hands with the endearment she could feel. She had already realized how antsy I could get in social situations and I also knew her preferred way of making me be still.

I had even more trepidation when I realized we were mostly shadowed and to ourselves. I couldn't keep from a small exhale of excitement when, sure enough, she caught me with a hand in my hair, her face alive with her playfulness when I couldn't keep from grinning. "You're going to stop that, goddammit. That man deals with enough bullshit and evidently plays the part of your bloody babysitter on top of it, so you're going to stop adding to it. From now on, you'll behave yourself, understood? Leave Nathan alone and stop bothering him for permission to leave these damned things."

It gave me the sensation of wanting to wag a tail again, when anytime she acted like this made any aspect of life better. It made everything more enjoyable, even something I had hated, like social interactions. It was a game that had ceased to be a game when I couldn't leave her control anymore, but that still didn't stop how enjoyable it was. I exhaled happily when she shoved her fingers in my mouth, thinking of the cock toy she'd had me practice on for the past few months. She loved to take me to Sulfur's and to make me take it over and over, calling me her good little cocksucker so that I burned in humiliation. When Courtney was there, it was all the worse because her friend would laugh with sadistic delight and give Mistress encouragement to bring me all the lower.

"Yes, Mistress." I said those words more than any other now and I liked it that way.

"You bother him anymore and I'll leave you in your cock cage for a few weeks."

That made me moan because I knew what that meant. I wore my cage almost all the time and the moments when she released me were moments I'd learned to thank her for even while I started to feel anxious when being without it. It was an awful threat though because it meant I would take that strap-on of hers every night she had me stay with her while being locked in pain, whimpering with every stroke when I loved how it felt for her to fuck me so much. She was usually kind enough to let me out of it when I took her like that, keeping me locked once a week as a reminder. Sometimes, she would leave it on twice if she was feeling like she needed more control and that was all the more torturous, to be the vessel she used to comfort herself with.