“Oh, Kitten. What a strange pair we are. I’m… a little speechless. You know what I like. I don’t just like dominating you—I love it. But it’s difficult to turn it on and off. It’s… different.”
Livvie tugged at the sheet between us nervously.
“I know. But… couldn’t we try? We’ve sort of been doing it. Like… just when we’re having sex. Couldn’t it be like that?”
My brain felt like it was expanding in my skull. She was offering me control, but only under certain circumstances. It was a big concept for me to grasp, but one I was eager to thoroughly comprehend. My dick was fully erect just trying to understand it.
“So if I were to say to you, ‘Get down on your knees.’ You would say?”
Livvie let out a deep breath and smiled. She slid off the bed and onto the floor.
“Yes, Caleb,” she whispered and blushed.
My heart leapt.
“I think… I’m going to like this. A lot.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
February. Things were changing. Again. Some of the changes, perhaps even most of them, I enjoyed.
My favorite development had to do with Livvie’s thirst to be dominated. Since “The Laptop Incident” and our subsequent pact to be more forthcoming with one another, Livvie had no choice but to break her silence on the subject.
Some of it hadn’t been surprising. The sex we’d been having had been undoubtedly familiar to me. I knew Livvie enjoyed being spanked, chased, held down, and occasionally f**ked in her ass. What I hadn’t anticipated was her desire for what she called games and I referred to as reenactments.
It had been my hope that upon finding Livvie again, we would start fresh and pretend the past had never occurred (it sounds asinine when I read it back). However, all freshmen are required to take psychology and Livvie seemed to take to it like a duck to water. She wanted to experiment with Exposure Therapy in the hopes that by reliving some of her experiences in a safe environment, she would no longer fear them.
Needless to say, I thought it was a bat-shit crazy idea (that’s the technical term). The last thing I wanted was to reprise my role as Livvie’s captor. What if it didn’t work and she ended up hating me? It took a great deal of convincing from Livvie, but ultimately I’d agreed to some of the less… disturbing moments.
One morning I made us breakfast, put it on a wheeled cart from IKEA, and took it into Livvie’s room. Livvie had taken the time to prepare herself while I cooked breakfast, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to find her wearing one of my white button-up shirts and a dainty pair of kitten ears. I understood the significance of the shirt. The ears were a nice touch. I felt that touch center mass.
“Should I take my shirt off?” I asked. History dictated I should.
“If you’re over your self-indulgent modesty,” she whispered. In the past, I would have found her words incendiary—another time, another place—but in our reimagining I found them to be… charming.
I’d removed my shirt, enjoying the way Livvie’s eyes lusted instead of feared. I took a chance and played along.
“It’s a pity I have nothing to bind you with. I’d be hard-pressed to recall anyone who looks as good as you do in a collar and shackles.”
Livvie turned and brought me a box from beneath her bed. Inside I found a jeweled collar, a leash, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. I laughed.
“Oh my, you have been a busy girl. When and where did you get these?”
Livvie blushed and the memory was further reshaped.
“I ordered them online,” she said timidly. Her hands were already behind her back and she swayed gently from side to side.
I kissed her. It was a light meeting of lips, a token.
“Turn around,” I ordered. Livvie shivered and a small sound escaped her lips. She complied quickly.
As I fed Livvie breakfast while she knelt at my feet, I was struck by several thoughts. First, I realized the power of forgiveness. Second, I found Livvie’s game enticing. Third, I could never leave Livvie. Fourth, I never wanted to leave her.
For better or worse, Livvie had been irrevocably altered by her experiences with me. She was a nineteen-year-old with proclivities no one her age would understand and a vulnerability any creep like me could easily spot and take advantage of. She was strong, smart, willful, and driven, but she was also soft, trusting, and needy where her heart was concerned. Livvie needed taking care of.
Other changes in our relationship I didn’t enjoy quite as much. As part of our pact, Livvie and I discussed our fears, hopes, and aspirations for what our relationship could be. She wanted to know more about my past, Mexico, and the less gruesome ways I’d spent my year away from her.
Also, I wasn’t comfortable with Livvie’s writing. However, aside from the time we spent with Claudia and Rubio—or having sex—there seemed little else occupying Livvie’s and my time. Apparently, I’d inspired her to go “back to the drawing board.” She wanted to incorporate more of the facts I’d given her.
Suddenly, there were days when she wouldn’t speak to me because she’d just finished rehashing some traumatic event involving me. There were some moments neither of us wanted to re-imagine. At first I tried try to seduce her away from her thoughts, but after the first few times she began to see it as manipulative. Soon after, I decided to make myself scarce during her periods of… well, her periods.
Other days, she took to cornering me on the sofa or at the dinner table to ask me invasive questions about my past. These usually ended in an argument over my “evasiveness” or sex. Sometimes we had both—an argument first, and sex right after. I worried that if it kept up, I’d get an erection every time she looked upset with me.
Yet, as with our sexual games, I began to see the merit in expressing myself through my conversations with Livvie. I began to realize I wasn’t as upset by her questioning as I had been before. In slow gradations, I found myself offering information she hadn’t asked about. I told her about RezA and how guilty I had felt for not warning him Narweh was dead. He’d been such an optimistic person. He hadn’t enjoyed his slavery any more than I had, but where I’d been rebellious unto my own ruination, RezA had navigated his situation with grace.
“Do you think he could have escaped? I mean, I’ve heard that gun go off. The whole neighborhood probably knew someone had been shot. Couldn’t he have heard it and escaped?” Livvie asked.
This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but… it hadn’t f**king occurred to me! It really hadn’t. I’d been out of my mind. To this day, whenever I recall the moment of my first kill, there is no sound beyond the beating of my heart and the high-pitched wail of adrenaline in my veins. I remember the heavy weight of the gun. I remember the look of disgust on Narweh’s face. I remember shutting my eyes and squeezing the trigger. I remember something wet splattering on my face before I hit the ground. I remember the silence.
I sat up and I heard nothing. I stared into Narweh’s cold, empty eyes. I remember thinking the soul must be real. Something had been keeping Narweh alive. That something was gone. There was only meat, blood, and bones left behind.
I remember an acute feeling of anger and sorrow that I had not been brave enough to keep my eyes open. I remember thinking: I should have made him beg for my forgiveness. I should have made him plead for mercy. I should have raped him with the cane he used to beat me.
“I… don’t know if RezA could have escaped. I suppose it’s possible,” I said. I was dumbfounded. “Rafiq said he burned the building down with Narweh inside it. I guess… I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”
“Why?” Livvie’s hand rested on top of mine.
“I wasn’t sure Rafiq would like it,” I said simply. “I figured if he could burn a building full of people down and chat about it over breakfast, I had no business getting on his bad side.”
“How old were you?”
“I’d have to do the math. When’s my birthday?”
“James. Seriously?”
I laughed.
“Give me a break. I’ve never had to remember before.”
“You’re twenty-seven.” She smiled a little sadly. I let myself think for a moment.
“I guess I was… twelve, maybe thirteen?”
Livvie sat back in her chair and stared at me.
“Jesus.” She shook her head and wiped at her eye.
“I’m fine, Pet. At least… I think?” I didn’t mind opening up to Livvie (much), but afterward there was always the worry she would see me as weak. I didn’t want her pity. I only wanted her to understand why it took so much effort on my part to give her what she needed. Though I was beginning to learn that what I thought Livvie needed and what she actually needed were sometimes two different things. Not often, but sometimes. There were days I could take my job as Livvie’s protector overboard (drunk college boys should watch their mouths if they value having teeth).
“You’re better than fine. I’m so damn impressed with you. I feel like… the more I learn about your past… I had all these feelings I couldn’t process in Mexico. When I tried to explain them to Reed or Sloan, I could see on their faces how ridiculous they thought I was.”
Livvie tugged at the sheet between us nervously.
“I know. But… couldn’t we try? We’ve sort of been doing it. Like… just when we’re having sex. Couldn’t it be like that?”
My brain felt like it was expanding in my skull. She was offering me control, but only under certain circumstances. It was a big concept for me to grasp, but one I was eager to thoroughly comprehend. My dick was fully erect just trying to understand it.
“So if I were to say to you, ‘Get down on your knees.’ You would say?”
Livvie let out a deep breath and smiled. She slid off the bed and onto the floor.
“Yes, Caleb,” she whispered and blushed.
My heart leapt.
“I think… I’m going to like this. A lot.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
February. Things were changing. Again. Some of the changes, perhaps even most of them, I enjoyed.
My favorite development had to do with Livvie’s thirst to be dominated. Since “The Laptop Incident” and our subsequent pact to be more forthcoming with one another, Livvie had no choice but to break her silence on the subject.
Some of it hadn’t been surprising. The sex we’d been having had been undoubtedly familiar to me. I knew Livvie enjoyed being spanked, chased, held down, and occasionally f**ked in her ass. What I hadn’t anticipated was her desire for what she called games and I referred to as reenactments.
It had been my hope that upon finding Livvie again, we would start fresh and pretend the past had never occurred (it sounds asinine when I read it back). However, all freshmen are required to take psychology and Livvie seemed to take to it like a duck to water. She wanted to experiment with Exposure Therapy in the hopes that by reliving some of her experiences in a safe environment, she would no longer fear them.
Needless to say, I thought it was a bat-shit crazy idea (that’s the technical term). The last thing I wanted was to reprise my role as Livvie’s captor. What if it didn’t work and she ended up hating me? It took a great deal of convincing from Livvie, but ultimately I’d agreed to some of the less… disturbing moments.
One morning I made us breakfast, put it on a wheeled cart from IKEA, and took it into Livvie’s room. Livvie had taken the time to prepare herself while I cooked breakfast, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to find her wearing one of my white button-up shirts and a dainty pair of kitten ears. I understood the significance of the shirt. The ears were a nice touch. I felt that touch center mass.
“Should I take my shirt off?” I asked. History dictated I should.
“If you’re over your self-indulgent modesty,” she whispered. In the past, I would have found her words incendiary—another time, another place—but in our reimagining I found them to be… charming.
I’d removed my shirt, enjoying the way Livvie’s eyes lusted instead of feared. I took a chance and played along.
“It’s a pity I have nothing to bind you with. I’d be hard-pressed to recall anyone who looks as good as you do in a collar and shackles.”
Livvie turned and brought me a box from beneath her bed. Inside I found a jeweled collar, a leash, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. I laughed.
“Oh my, you have been a busy girl. When and where did you get these?”
Livvie blushed and the memory was further reshaped.
“I ordered them online,” she said timidly. Her hands were already behind her back and she swayed gently from side to side.
I kissed her. It was a light meeting of lips, a token.
“Turn around,” I ordered. Livvie shivered and a small sound escaped her lips. She complied quickly.
As I fed Livvie breakfast while she knelt at my feet, I was struck by several thoughts. First, I realized the power of forgiveness. Second, I found Livvie’s game enticing. Third, I could never leave Livvie. Fourth, I never wanted to leave her.
For better or worse, Livvie had been irrevocably altered by her experiences with me. She was a nineteen-year-old with proclivities no one her age would understand and a vulnerability any creep like me could easily spot and take advantage of. She was strong, smart, willful, and driven, but she was also soft, trusting, and needy where her heart was concerned. Livvie needed taking care of.
Other changes in our relationship I didn’t enjoy quite as much. As part of our pact, Livvie and I discussed our fears, hopes, and aspirations for what our relationship could be. She wanted to know more about my past, Mexico, and the less gruesome ways I’d spent my year away from her.
Also, I wasn’t comfortable with Livvie’s writing. However, aside from the time we spent with Claudia and Rubio—or having sex—there seemed little else occupying Livvie’s and my time. Apparently, I’d inspired her to go “back to the drawing board.” She wanted to incorporate more of the facts I’d given her.
Suddenly, there were days when she wouldn’t speak to me because she’d just finished rehashing some traumatic event involving me. There were some moments neither of us wanted to re-imagine. At first I tried try to seduce her away from her thoughts, but after the first few times she began to see it as manipulative. Soon after, I decided to make myself scarce during her periods of… well, her periods.
Other days, she took to cornering me on the sofa or at the dinner table to ask me invasive questions about my past. These usually ended in an argument over my “evasiveness” or sex. Sometimes we had both—an argument first, and sex right after. I worried that if it kept up, I’d get an erection every time she looked upset with me.
Yet, as with our sexual games, I began to see the merit in expressing myself through my conversations with Livvie. I began to realize I wasn’t as upset by her questioning as I had been before. In slow gradations, I found myself offering information she hadn’t asked about. I told her about RezA and how guilty I had felt for not warning him Narweh was dead. He’d been such an optimistic person. He hadn’t enjoyed his slavery any more than I had, but where I’d been rebellious unto my own ruination, RezA had navigated his situation with grace.
“Do you think he could have escaped? I mean, I’ve heard that gun go off. The whole neighborhood probably knew someone had been shot. Couldn’t he have heard it and escaped?” Livvie asked.
This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but… it hadn’t f**king occurred to me! It really hadn’t. I’d been out of my mind. To this day, whenever I recall the moment of my first kill, there is no sound beyond the beating of my heart and the high-pitched wail of adrenaline in my veins. I remember the heavy weight of the gun. I remember the look of disgust on Narweh’s face. I remember shutting my eyes and squeezing the trigger. I remember something wet splattering on my face before I hit the ground. I remember the silence.
I sat up and I heard nothing. I stared into Narweh’s cold, empty eyes. I remember thinking the soul must be real. Something had been keeping Narweh alive. That something was gone. There was only meat, blood, and bones left behind.
I remember an acute feeling of anger and sorrow that I had not been brave enough to keep my eyes open. I remember thinking: I should have made him beg for my forgiveness. I should have made him plead for mercy. I should have raped him with the cane he used to beat me.
“I… don’t know if RezA could have escaped. I suppose it’s possible,” I said. I was dumbfounded. “Rafiq said he burned the building down with Narweh inside it. I guess… I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”
“Why?” Livvie’s hand rested on top of mine.
“I wasn’t sure Rafiq would like it,” I said simply. “I figured if he could burn a building full of people down and chat about it over breakfast, I had no business getting on his bad side.”
“How old were you?”
“I’d have to do the math. When’s my birthday?”
“James. Seriously?”
I laughed.
“Give me a break. I’ve never had to remember before.”
“You’re twenty-seven.” She smiled a little sadly. I let myself think for a moment.
“I guess I was… twelve, maybe thirteen?”
Livvie sat back in her chair and stared at me.
“Jesus.” She shook her head and wiped at her eye.
“I’m fine, Pet. At least… I think?” I didn’t mind opening up to Livvie (much), but afterward there was always the worry she would see me as weak. I didn’t want her pity. I only wanted her to understand why it took so much effort on my part to give her what she needed. Though I was beginning to learn that what I thought Livvie needed and what she actually needed were sometimes two different things. Not often, but sometimes. There were days I could take my job as Livvie’s protector overboard (drunk college boys should watch their mouths if they value having teeth).
“You’re better than fine. I’m so damn impressed with you. I feel like… the more I learn about your past… I had all these feelings I couldn’t process in Mexico. When I tried to explain them to Reed or Sloan, I could see on their faces how ridiculous they thought I was.”
