Page 58 of Bartholomew
“I’m not sure it’s something one becomes, more the understanding of who one is,” he explained with thoughtfulness.
“Am I a submissive?” I asked, filled with so much apprehension my stomach clenched.
“That’s not a question I can answer, Delilah. Do you enjoy when I take more control of our sexual encounters?” he asked. There was none of the typical sexual prowess and charm that he normally used when discussing such things. No, this question was blunt and to the point.
I mulled over my answer, but thought back to our encounters last night. How it had felt to have him guide me and show me the new delights of that part of our relationship. How it had felt when he had held my orgasm in his hand, urging me to wait just a little longer before I went careening down over the edge of all thought and reason, straight into the bliss that he gave me.
“Yes,” I whispered. My voice was small, soft, but my confidence was not. I knew it deep down in my soul that what he had described, described me. At least on some level. Where that road ended and what it all meant, I was unsure of, but I knew that giving over at least some control to him in the bedroom made me feel more alive than I had ever felt in all of my twenty-five years.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, leaning forward. His eyes roving over my face intently.
“The way your words made me feel… it’s indescribable,” I whispered, my eyes lowered to my hands in my lap.
“Tell me,” he whispered. That voice was back, the one that gave me chills and seated itself directly between my thighs. Exactly where his fingers had been last night. And his tongue. And his —
“What are you thinking over there, little firefly?” he toyed with me. Toys. I slapped my hands over my face, hiding my blush behind my fingers as I felt it creep over my cheeks and down my neck and lower still.
Quick, think of something to distract him!
“I’m confused on why you’ve been asking me to be my authentic self, basically asking me to take a stand for myself and be more vocal, and here you are now, saying that you want me to submit.” The words flew out of me in a rush.
“Because a submissive does not mean the same thing in the kink world as it does in Zion. Being a submissive in Zion is all about being silent, being invisible, and being as close to a robot as possible. Being a submissive in the kink world is about being a strong and independent human and then choosing to hand that power over to a Dominant you trust. That, that right there, babygirl, is a true and incredible gift.” Ollie spoke with such passion, it was hard not to feel entranced by his words.
“And what if I don’t know what I want?” I asked, my voice feeling rougher, sounding lower.
“Then we can learn, if you want to.” He was leaning closer to me. All I wanted to do was reach out and kiss him. To erase the drama and strife of the day and replace it with the amazing things he had made me feel last night. But I also had enough wherewithal to know that this was a serious question, underneath it all.
“How do we start such a thing?” I asked, once again looking down at my hands, absentmindedly picking at a nonexistent piece of fluff on the blanket’s edge.
“Talking,” he replied, taking my fidgeting hands in his larger ones. “Hey. Delilah, look at me, please.” My eyes lifted and found his. Mercy, did he have to be so stinking handsome? He wasn’t even stinking handsome. He smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and something clean and sharp. “We talk.”
Taking a deep breath, I built up the courage to say the words I wanted to say; the words I was equally too scared to say and too scared not to say.
“Ollie?” I whispered, making sure I had his full attention, his eyes on mine, before I continued. “Let’s talk.”
“What do you want to feel, Delilah? What do you want to learn?” he asked with a serious tone.
“I want to know what it can be like. But the whole beating thing?” I made a face, showing him I wasn’t so interested in that.
“What is it about the beating thing that has you tripped up? Out of curiosity. Is it the pain, or something else?” His thumb moved over the back of my hand slowly.
“Yeah, the pain!” I shouted with an incredulous laugh. “I don’t want to be beat up!”
“Would you let me show you it doesn’t have to hurt?” he offered.
“How could you beat me up and not hurt me?” I asked, not understanding.
“Would you let me spank you?” There was something in the way he said it, something in the look in his eyes, that had me pausing. Spanking? Like a child?
“I don’t know, maybe? Wouldn’t that still hurt?” I asked, genuinely curious at this point.
“Nope. It won’t hurt. Not like that. Pain during sex can be sweet. It can be welcomed. Just like you arched into me when my teeth tugged at your nipple last night,” he reminded. My face flushed as I recalled the moments when he had done just that. When his teeth had grazed my sensitive flesh and made me see stars. It had been sharp, but like he said, oh, so sweet.
“Show me,” I whispered.
“I will,” he promised. The grazing of his fingers over my hands slowly turned more sensual as we spoke. “First, I want you to know about a few things. You have power, Delilah. All submissives do. There are things called safewords that, when spoken, will stop the scene. We can get into that at a later date, but —”
“No, tell me. Please. I want to know,” I all but begged. This part of him, this part of his life that was obviously so important to him… it felt like a hunger for knowledge burning inside of me. I needed to know. I needed to understand.
