The Experiment Pt. 05

He leads us out from the wall of steamy glass blocks, and grabs a black towel that he wraps around me. I'm swaddled in his arms while he gently pats me down, making sure to pat around my more erogenous parts. I tell him he's dripping on the floor; he gives me a narrowed grin before he steps back and grabs another towel and begins to brusquely wipe himself dry. Except I realize the sight of him wet and naked was over too quickly when he tucks the towel around his waist and runs a comb through his hair.

Reminded of my own soggy braid, I undo the stretchy silicon band and begin to unravel my braid. My hair comes out in these pleated waves that I try to comb my fingers thru, creating this wild look. Damian puts his comb down when he watches this process through the mirror, seemingly fascinated by my messy dark hair. He studies me thoughtfully, brushing his hand over my ear before taking me in his arms. Still wrapped up in the towel, I'm giggling when he lifts me but fumbles to get a good grip on the lumpy folds of fabric. Once I'm secured, he exits the bathroom with me in his arms.

Logically, our destination is the bedroom, or rather the large bed placed by the far corner of his loft. He sets me down on the soft, fluffy comforter, giving me a quick kiss before he pulls back. I prop myself up on my elbows as he stands at the edge of the tall bed, gazing at me. Another moment of stillness, the kind of moment that Mr. Damian would employ to be sure he has my attention, a moment of anticipation. But this time I think I see the true purpose of his pause, his eyes gazing at me with profound reflection, to understand how far we have come from the little bench I once kneeled at. And I think that perhaps those pauses were the beginning of each decision he made, to debate and then choose what he would do with me. Decisions that irreparably changed our fate.

I keep his gaze as I unfold my towel, always enjoying the way it feels to reveal myself to him, the feeling of offering myself up. He snags the towel out from under me, but there's another pause. He leans down, placing his arms on either side of my hips and rests his hands on the mattress.

He stares at me with intention. "You will sleep in my bed tonight."

It's a serious statement, but he's so good at teasing me I'm not sure of the true meaning. I nod my head with a quiet, "Ok."

He keeps staring at me, giving further instructions. "You will behave yourself in my bed."

"Yes, Daddy," I promise, trying not to grin.

"And," he pauses, "you will always be safe in this bed. You are always respected, and heard in this bed."

My eyes tear up as he makes this vow with a look of such deadly earnestness that I cannot speak. I only nod my head in acknowledgement, smiling as I crane my head up to meet his lips. He kisses me tenderly, cupping my face in his hand, as I try to reign back my tearful emotions. His hand goes down to his hip, unfolding the towel around his waist and letting it fall to the floor. Finally, he crawls up on the bed, curling his naked body around me. I nuzzle into his chest and feel his heart beating, I feel that he means every word he said and more. I have no more suspicions, no more doubt.

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The loft is now home. Our separate living spaces only lasted one more week after I met Damian's family, until he invited me to stay by bluntly stating one morning that I was "already home". Moving is always a pain to coordinate, especially when I don't own a car, but it's simpler to just be in one place. And it's far more pleasurable.

His apartment was clearly designed for sensual exploration, items that are slowly being revealed to me one day at a time. A few odd hooks in the wall, a ring that hangs from a corner of the ceiling. A low steel post that is affixed to the floor. Items that all pass as workout gear to the untrained eye, but my body knows better.

There is still some lingering jealousy when he goes to work at the Dungeon, but I trust him. I trust both him and Mr. Damian. And now I realize it is not always a fun job. He will come home in occasional exhaustion and certain dark moods. I can tell by a look in his eyes that I need to give him space; a chance to unwind from being Mr. Damian. Usually a quick shower and then a meal, sometimes a glass of wine. When he is ready he will give me a kiss, an embrace of thanks that I understand.

He saves his Mr. Damian for me on our Friday nights that are now sacrosanct. He cuts his last appointment off at 5:00 pm on Friday, and I never book any social outings in the evening. I prepare myself before he comes home, waiting on my knees to be coveted for his sadistic designs. For everything he has done to me, I am never afraid, and I have not yet used my safe word. Mr. Damian is so careful and creative in his cruelty that I forget how I once was so terrified. Even when my bottom burns the next day or my stinging nipples chafe against my bra.

In turn, he seems to enjoy a certain amount of defiance on my part. Miss Siena loves to please him, but he knows I am not his slave. And I don't think he would want someone who blindly obeys his every command; he likes a challenge. He'd rather break in the horse than accept the perfectly behaved pet.

There is more that I want to share and explore, but I am trying to be patient. Something he is very good at, something he is teaching me. For once in my life, I'm happy. A true happiness beyond the bleak and passionless life I used to envision. I have even figured out a way to explain to others how we met without revealing the vital detail of his services. He gives private lessons, like a personal trainer. I booked an appointment, then another one, and after the 3^rd lesson I was hooked. He taught me so much that I realized the teacher had answered a question I had not asked; the true answer of my experiment.

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The End...for now.