Page 31 of Scary In Love
Slowly, I raise my hand, and when he gives me permission to speak, I remove the fabric stuffed in my mouth.
“You may speak,” he says.
“I’ve never…” I stumble over my words and take a deep breath. “I’ve never done anything there before. But I’d like to try.”
“It’s not something we would rush into,” he says matter-of-factly, scribbling a note in the margin of his paper. “We’d need time to take it slow and prepare, so maybe that’s something for another night. I’m sure we can find a middle ground. Now put your panties back in your mouth.”
I do it without hesitation, and when he calls me‘good girl’, a thin whine seeps out of me.
“Toys?” he continues, running through a list of types. I nod along with all of them. “I want you to know that everything I use will be new and sanitised. Hygiene is important to me. I’ll use condoms, but Ihaven’t been with anyone since my last test results were clear. Anything I should know about there?”
I shake my head. It’s been a couple of years since my last test, but I haven’t been with anyone since then, either. Thank God I didn’t break that dry spell with Peter.
Mason keeps going with questions about blindfolds, and restraints, and temperature play. In the long, drawn-out pauses between, my mind runs riot trying to imagine what he’s plotting with this information. I want to know everything, but it’s also exciting that I don’t.
The thought of walking into this house, knowing full well I’m about to get railed by a man who creates scare haunts for a living, is just…
Honestly, what the fuck is happening to me?
When he asks about fisting, my focus flicks down to his hands. They’re big, and I’ve never tried it, but I’m curious about the sensation of being stretched and full.
That’s the beauty of Mason’s plan. We’d have plenty of time to play, and zero interruptions. Like anal, I’m sure we could work our way up to it, but my head is swimming with the reality.
I shake my head, and he doesn’t bat an eyelid.
He lists off names he might call me.
Whore.Nod.
Bitch.Nod.
Slut.Nod.
When his questions turn to edging and overstimulation, I feel like I might come from the lack of air and constantly clenching around nothing.
When I masturbate, I often force myself to push through the sensitivity. In the dark quiet of my room, I imagine my partner growling in my ear, demanding I give them more. Orgasm denial is the oppositeexperience, but the allure is still the same. Someone else taking control of my body and my pleasure, focusing solely on me, all give and no take. The thought is unbearably sexy.
I cross my legs, rubbing my thighs together, hoping for a little relief. My eyes flutter closed when I find it, but it’s not enough. Shifting my legs the other way doesn’t help, either.
“Jenna, are you okay? Do you need a break?”
My moan comes out all muffled, but when I look back at him, he licks his lips and smirks. He knows this is driving me crazy, and I think he enjoys watching me squirm.
“Exhibitionism,” he continues. “Are you interested in having an audience?”
I think about it for a while before raising my hand and waiting for his permission to speak. I can’t tell what’s wetter, the panties in my mouth, or the back of my skirt where I must be soaking it.
“I like the fantasy, but in reality, I’d get too self-conscious and worry about what people think of my body. So not for this.”
“That’s good. And anyway, I want you all for myself. You’re fucking hot, by the way. For the avoidance of doubt.”
He says it like it’s the most casual statement in the world, not an open declaration of his feelings towards me. Never has a man been so open and direct before, and I feel it throughout my entire body.
“I take it that’s the same for group activities?”
I nod, and put the gag back in without being prompted. Mason keeps going, guiding me through the rest of his questions, elaborating on a few.
When he’s finished, he talks me through his own limits and boundaries. Hearing him describe the things he enjoys is a rush, and though it’s clear he’ll be in charge, it’s reassuring to know what makes himfeel good too. Consent works both ways, and I don’t want to be second-guessing anything in the moment.
