Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Marina was so short she couldn’t look out the window in the kitchen anymore.
“Let’s move this to the living room,” I said. I extended one of the bowls to him, and then I grabbed the bread I’d picked up on the way home.
“Wow, this looks amazing.”
Best soup I ever had. I wasn’t what one might call great in the kitchen, but I had some signature dishes I’d perfected over the years—by following Ma’s recipes step by step. Otherwise, I stuck to what I knew. Meat and salads. The occasional baked potato, ’cause that shit was gold.
Wanting to give Lane some space, however briefly, I sat down on the smaller couch in the living room so he could take the big one. I needed him comfortable if I wanted him to relax and open up more. And given that our…current relationship…was perhaps a little awkward and unfamiliar, I didn’t wanna be the guy breathing down his neck. I’d do that soon enough. Literally, in a few minutes.
“You can greet Tank later,” I said, amused by where his attention lingered. Two seconds on the interior, then the rest on the terrarium across the room, way behind him.
He turned around again and smiled sheepishly.
Before I tucked into my food, I lowered the volume on the music some more, letting it fade into the background.
Lane nodded at the notebooks on the table and planted the bowl in his lap. “Will there be a test?” he joked.
I cracked a smirk and broke off a piece of bread. “I’m the student here, so no.”
That made him curious. “So that’s really it. You wanna learn about D/s?”
I shoveled a spoonful of soup into my mouth and weighed my answer with half a nod. Technically, I understood D/s perfectly well. Before my ten-year-long break from kink, BDSM had been a way to blow off steam when I wasn’t working and I didn’t have Marina. But even when I’d been out of the game, I’d still enjoyed reading and learning. The mental aspects of kink had always fascinated me.
“It’s more applyin’ new perspectives to old knowledge,” I amended. “I wanna see D/s in an interactive setting, a step up from just readin’ about it or watchin’ buddies.”
“Huh. I guess that makes me your service sub?”
I laughed. “Exactly.”
He grinned and got started on his supper.
It felt like we’d broken the ice, so that was good. If anyone was uncomfortable now, it was probably me. All these protocol bits about D/s structure didn’t come naturally for me, which meant I had to cherry-pick more. In a vast sea of options, only a few elements drew me in—but if I saw them from Lane’s perspective, I wanted a few more for the sole reason that they would help him thrive. And that was obviously something I craved.
I’d divvied them up into before play, during play, after play, and everyday lifestyle. AKA, the D/s components he might want in his everyday life.
“This is damn good, Ty,” he mumbled around his food.
I nodded, too busy chewing, and dipped a piece of bread in the soup. Now was a good time to make the first move, while we were still eating. “So the way I come at kink, I wanna establish a good vanilla spot, or however you wanna phrase it, for when the playtime is over,” I said. “That’s why I wanna begin with aftercare—to show my partner what’s waitin’ on the other side of a takedown or whathaveyou.” I scooted back in my seat a little and parted my legs some more. “Mind comin’ over here?” I pointed to the rug, which definitely gave me his attention. “Let’s pretend this is after our play on the island. But instead of cuddlin’ it up below deck on the boat, we’re right here. Bring your food too.”
Lane stared blankly at my hand while chewing what was in his mouth—before he scrambled to his feet and kept his gaze averted. My analytic brain registered every reaction, much like it’d done in Florida. Because Lane had his own signs, and they weren’t too visible. He didn’t blush or squirm. He did, however, say a lot with where he fixed his stare and what he did with his fingers. Now he was holding his food, so he had nothing to fidget with.
“Get comfortable on the floor,” I encouraged. “With the way intense sessions can mess with your head, I reckon aftercare is a good place to make your world smaller. Give the sub less to focus on, less space to get lost in.”
I held my bowl close as he maneuvered himself between my legs and sank down on the floor, folding his legs underneath him. Then he set his bowl on the coffee table and snuck a quick glance my way, and I could tell he was rattled. Not in a bad way, necessarily, just that I’d shaken him out of his comfort zone a little.