“I like that you’re cuddly,” he said. “It seems like your nature.”
We’d been talking about bondage and domination, sadism and masochism for the past couple of days. He wasn’t into it, he said, although he could see the objective appeal. I thought he would make a great top, hoped he’d come around to it. “It’s a lot to ask to be the sub,” I told him, “Doms are incredibly generous by nature if you think about it,” I added, appealing to the nurturing alpha provider ingrained in his masculinity. The best tops are incredibly romantic, I should have told him, the pinnacle of sensitivity.
“I think it is in my nature,” I looked up at his pouty French lips from where my head lay on his smooth, broad chest, “but I’ve been fighting it for awhile now. Force of habit,” I smiled.
“Don’t ever lose it,” he said almost sternly, his countenance quickly melting into a smile, “It’s irresistible.”
That momentary sternness was all it took for me to imagine him tying my limbs to the bedposts neither of us have, learning the topography of my shoulder blades and rib cage lovingly as I wait in anticipation for the ferocious smack of his broad hand.