It’s just kind of the best when a cutie reaches out on
Feeld and says something like, “You can practice your ropes on me if that would
be helpful?”
It was! I was superexcited to work on the back of a harness
for once, having worked on just me for a while. And what a sweetie pie he was,
deferential and kind, calling me Ma’am in nearly every sentence, once I offered
him the option. He was very, very good. He had the floppy hair and wholesomely handsome
face of a Disney prince. It’s a thing I said to him: “I’ve never tied up a Disney
prince before!
I liked the bright flash of his green eyes, just a momentary
glimmer. So pretty.
(I’m maybe a little more chatty than the average Ma’am,
and maybe a little too sweet? I don’t know.)
There’s a certain kind of casual date I associate with
post-pandemic life, where the boy under my hands just kind of…needs a rest. A
relief. A little cloud of peace to live in for a while. Okay, wait, I just
explained submission.
After I decorated him (“This is more ropes than I
expected…” he said. Guilty as charged.) he asked if I would tie his hands. I
don’t usually restrain anybody on the first date, but he asked so nicely! And I
liked putting a chain stitch onto those pretty wrists! I liked how he
obediently clasped his hands behind his back before I even asked him to. I
would’ve gone for tying in the front.
Then he lay down on the bed on his tummy, ready to be
petted. “I like being your little pet” he said. He was so good at it!
I didn’t let him be restrained for long! Yes, I was concerned
about safety, but really I just wanted his hands on me.
“May I worship your tits, Ma’am?” I mean, it’s only
one of my favorite things! He pulled my lacy purple bra down enough to get my
nipple into his mouth while he played with the other one. It felt so good that I
curled up into a human comma around him and yowl-moaned.
As good as it felt, I wanted no part of me losing
control. I told him to turn over for a spanking, and he obliged. I pulled his
underpants down just enough and spanked and spanked, leaving cute red circles
on both of his sweet, soft cheeks. Then I felt the relief too, like a string of
tension inside my body had been loosened, if not untied.
I wanted no part of the bonding chemicals my brain would
give me if I let him get me off, so I regretfully told him we wouldn’t fuck. He
lay next to me and got himself off, good boy.
When he did that quick-zippering-gotta-go thing after,
it didn’t make me sad the way it usually might. (Oh aaaaggggony of The Shy One’s
quick zippering the last night we were together. Sometimes my whole heart just
wants to write a small opera about that moment. Eventually several paragraphs,
at least.) The other night though, I felt like, “Oh, this is great, I can
finish my library book that’s due.”
Besides that pleasant good-job-everybody feeling, there
was another feeling, oddly pleasant as well: the Not Yet feeling. The deep,
kind acceptance that I’m not ready to open my heart again, that it might be a
while. The knowledge that while my mind might be antsy to move on to my next
loves (Or even, come on! Likes!) my body, heart, and soul still belong to the
Shy One(s), I don’t know for how long!
That’s the person I am, and the only person I have to
be. No wonder taking my time feels good, it’s love. And loving myself.
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