For #TherapeuticThursday, I wrote several posts this month to get ready for Camp Nano next month. I hope you enjoy them!
Fiction or non-fiction? Sex/BDSM scene? All, both, or none of these? I admit to questioning these things as I prepared the file to write this piece; I was totally unsure about how I wanted to precede. With my work in therapy (spending time with a Cognitive-Behavioral therapy workbook my therapist recommended), I'm reminded of how my Master has encouraged me both with simple comments and BDSM orders to do what the workbook has me doing- thank goodness, since I've been able to think “Yeah, the author of the book seems like a jerk, but I'll just listen to my Master better.”
So even though I still need to approach these “core beliefs” with my therapist, I'm going to consider what/how my Master has already turned them into an affirmative statement at some point, using the power of being the dominant in the relationship to work on convincing me that my core belief is incorrect.
A. I am worthless.
“You're awesome, you know that?” “I'm so lucky that you aren't like non-gaming wives or girlfriends who make other guys feel bad about going to the gaming store.” “I love most anything you cook.” “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Those are just a few things my Master has either said to me or posted on social media about me. One would look at that list and say, “Then why do you still hold your core belief?” As I ponder that question, I also think of how I have to print this out for my therapist LOL. The other thing I ponder, why did I leave them in the order I wrote them in when my therapist assigned this core belief thing to me- look ahead to section D.- that one does a good job explaining A. and B. My Master has had about 19 years now working to undo the results of my mother's abuse; sadly, I had to get to a point where I was ready to cut ties with my parents (and only did it this January before my 40th birthday)- if He thought it would have worked, He would have ordered it years ago.
B. I can't do anything right.
Reprising “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Yeah, this is another “I couldn't do what my mother wanted.” She wanted a popular child, not an infamous one. She wanted a friendly child, and a studious one. My Master? He wants to hold me with He sleeps, enjoy a steak when we can afford one, enjoy two bologna sandwiches every work shift, decently clean house, and clean clothes- especially socks and underwear. Yes, His wants are practical and possible.
C. I will never be conventionally attractive.
I don't want to be conventionally attractive; my Master doesn't want me to be conventionally attractive. Hm, maybe I should have hit this point as “why do 4 of 5 points have something to do with my mother?” But like if we start with weight/size. According to an “ideal body weight” scale I saw, I should be 95 pounds; according to body mass index, I should be 103 pounds. My Master doesn't agree with either number; He's recommended, “If you'd like to lose your little belly, you should set your goal at 125 pounds. I like them small, not skeletal.” I went on my first diet at 6 years old; I followed my mother's yo-yo dieting until it become serious anorexia as a teen. Maybe one of these days, I should try to get a full picture of me :D Most of my selfies are head/chest.
D. I will never be what my mother wants.
You know, I'm not sure exactly why I put this one down. When my daughter came out as transgender back in 2015, I texted my parents, “Lose this phone number.” Because they couldn't back off, I sent a card before my 40th birthday this year, stating that I'd call the cops if they ever set foot on my property. Yes, I will never be what she wants. I'm sure a small part of me would actually like to have a healthy relationship with my mother, but that's just not reality.
E. I will never belong anywhere.
When I first seriously began to interrogate this core belief, my first thought was, “Why am I discounting my online life? I rail against people who consider online friendships, queer-platonic relationships, and romances as less than physical ones.” Of course, that might be the indirect response to this core belief; my mother is of a generation before the Internet even existed and she never became comfortable in its use even for the most basic of things- looking up a phone number? Finding show times at a movie theater? I also remember “before the Internet,” but I think part of my difference is that speaking is often painful for me so a place where I can socialize in the written word? My goodness! Yes, please! LOL
Summarizing paragraph here :D (I know, I'm not supposed to announce that or something.) Connecting this topic to my writing? If a reader considers that pieces of an author show up in most of their characters, you can locate all 5 of these core beliefs in my characters- sometimes even all in the same character. I was just trying to think of specific character examples for the core beliefs and realized that it's hard not to find a character of mine that doesn't fit into at least one category.
Enjoy a recent selfie- I'm just wearing my chest binder on the top. Ah, being agender and comfortable in my skin.
While I have posts written ahead, scheduled even, through July, I wanted to get this post started while it was fresh in my head. I just saw my med manager, who questioned when I said, “I'm so messed up.” Her comments went to the notion of everything I've survived and I'm still here; I admit, my first thoughts about statements like “I'm so messed up” are usually of the dark sarcasm sort. As she was walking me back to the lobby, she commented about all sorts of people need help.
Now later and pondering the appointment, including telling my daughter and Master about it, I'm thinking wider about mental health, disability activism/culture, and reclaiming slurs.
After all, reclaiming slurs was the heart of my point about the people in my household- it feels like we're all in a place where “reclaiming slurs” related to the issues we have is okay. When my Master jokes that I'm crazy, I hear the affection meant in His joke, that He accepts me as I am, not as “society” or my mother might want me to be; I don't take it as unkind because He admits that He doesn't function in ways that are considered “good” or “mainstream” often enough.
Is the statement “I'm so messed up” inherently negative? I really don't know if it falls under the idea of “reclaimed slur,” but it doesn't feel inherently negative to me. While I can talk about how I've survived so much, when talking about my challenges, does saying “challenges” and using terms like “neurodivergent” really change my statement so much? Is “I'm so neurodivergent” merely pretty up the phrase so it isn't so uncomfortable for others to hear? Okay, typing “hear,” my mind's now going with, “I should ask my D/deaf friends if the words mean so much in ASL/written communication.
“I'm so messed up.” “I'm so neurodivergent.” Maybe it's a matter of register or situation. Although, now I look at what I typed, I'm not sure that “I'm so neurodivergent” makes sense in the way in the same way.
So Elliott Henry's dick pic led me to thinking of another dick- namely the male man character in my “Laura and Jack” trilogy. Because I've been told so many times that “women readers don't want to read about a guy masturbating,” I decided to share this ponder that won't be appearing in the completed novel (which I hope to finish in July, during Camp Nano).
I'm working on the second book, “Laura Learns,” where Jack and Laura are experimenting with ageplay. Laura is the Little and she's naughty so she goes to bed with no “Big Girl time.” Jack, however, still has adult needs to tend after she's asleep in his bed.
Jack flipped the page of his book before closing it and setting it on the floor. “Why couldn't she just behave?” He rubbed his hand over the crotch of his slacks, adjusting his cock and balls through the fabric. He crossed the living room to turn on his stereo and picked a Vivaldi CD.
From the top of his book shelf where no one else could see, he grabbed the pornographic magazine he'd bought recently. He looked at the ceiling and listened for either Laura or Mike; with no noises loud enough from the sleeping pair, he returned to the couch.
“What kind of magazine did I buy myself?” He studied the glossy front cover. His fingers traced over the lacy dress the woman on the cover wore, her large breasts pushing at the low neckline. He leafed through the pages with glances at the women covering the pages. At the centerfold, he stopped; the model had quite a few things in common with Laura.
He found the paragraph of her likes and dislikes. Likes: Mature men, smart dressers, long walks, potted flowers. Dislikes: small cocks, pet dogs, boring sex. “Heh, well at least I'm just looking at her.” With the open magazine resting on his shins, he undid his slacks and moved them down his hips until he was able to ease his semi-hard cock out his boxer's fly.
His gaze grew hazy as the model's features mixed and melded with Laura's beauty. The hair grew darker and more wavy. He touched his cock with gentle strokes. Turning the beginning of her section, he looked at her lounging on the grass, on a white chaise lounge, before skipping a page ahead to where she had less clothing covering her.
With a big smile on her pink lips, she tugged on her knee socks; the next picture focused on her naked legs. With her short black skirt pushed up to her hips, showing off the silvery white g-string, she knelt in front of the camera with her tongue sticking out.
He spit into his palm. His slicked hand moved up and down his shaft as he looked at her pink tongue. Her g-string lowered enough to show a shaved mons pulled his gaze to the next picture. A growl slipped from his parted lips. His thumb worked over his frenulum and he pushed his feet against the couch's far arm.
“Daddy,” Laura's sweet voice replayed in his memory.
He ejaculated hard, his breath catching with his surprise. “Haven't come like that since I was a teen.” He clasped his cum in his cupped hand. Relaxing into the feeling of well-being, he rested his head on his couch. His stereo system made a few clicking noises as it moved on to the next song.
“My Little girl.” He grinned. “Time to clean up and hold you as we sleep.”
And now you should go enjoy the other #MasturbationMonday hoppers- who may or may not have written from the inspiration picture.
A situation out in public caused me to feel off-kilter; dressed up in my sunblock garb to take a tricycle ride, I was returning home when I had someone obviously taking my picture as I crossed in the pedestrian crosswalk and he jogged at me when I made it to the other side of the crosswalk. I peddled as hard as I could to get away; I didn't know if he wanted to talk or to attack me. I couldn't take the chance. That situation? It's just this week's situation; I could tell you quite a few stories of blatant discrimination. At least my characters can't physically hurt me.
One of several diagnoses I have is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); yup, I've experienced enough trauma in my life to have PTSD even though I've never seen combat. Sighs, I got through the first paragraph and the former sentence and my ability to focus on the topic evaporated. Of course, the rehearsal of writing this post before bedtime last night isn't coming back to me. Trying to pick up the threads- I said to a friend today, “While hypervigilance is listed as a symptom of PTSD, what if my hypervigilance is reasonable?” If I leave my house, I really don't have feel I have a guarantee of my personal safety; if I'm with my Master, who's a big man, I feel a bit more relaxed.
I tried to at-home therapy things and I'm wondering if any of my characters would be helped enough that I should include them in a story. Skin brushing and EMDR.
Skin brushing is also something called a brushing protocol. I've found a named one after Patricia Wilbarger. Since Sensory Processing Disorder isn't in the DSM yet (praying for that to change), there's no way to get insurance to cover occupational therapy. Thus I'm doing skin brushing on my own to work on tactile defensiveness; I don't want to hope that it might decrease my sun sensitivity- an anti-depressant that's helping other issues isn't helping with the sun. I bought a pet grooming glove and have been using it on myself (way more often than the recommended “every 2 hours awake,” but I'm hoping my use will encourage my cat to let me use it on her too).
Circling around specifically to the PTSD, I went looking early one day this week for treatments that could help PTSD. I eventually hope to get a service dog, although my family is too poor for one currently, and my med manager offensively called them “a crutch.” I'm already working on Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy with my therapist and it's slow going. The mass of behaviors, symptoms, and such that she found in my 39-year-old self was a lot; she and my daughter just got me through another nervous breakdown and I do hope CBT can get me somewhere. However, I wanted something to use alongside CBT; I really look at any and all possible tools to help me function better. The tool I found was EMDR.
EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. On YouTube, I started off searching “EMDR” and then found “EMDR self-administered”; I recommend you doing the same if you have had any traumas in your life. So I read on one page that an average session of EMDR with a therapist is 60-90 minutes; I'm not able to focus on most things that long- the 5 to 10 minute videos I've found are working great right now. I just spent some time with one video because my daughter wanted my attention and that distracted me too much to get back to writing; she's 19 and it's seldom life-or-death matters she's bringing to me. Before that, I tried a longer video to work on a core belief (Writing down 4 core beliefs was a CBT-related assignment from my therapist; I came up with 5 and they'll be the subject of a #TherapeuticThursday post in July). My mother did a good job planting the belief that I'm worthless; now 40-years-old, I'm still trying to uproot that false belief.
So what do you think- EMDR and skin brushing used by a character in a story? I have some ideas flitting in my head :D
Trying a new sleep pattern- went to bed at 12:30am, woke to kitty demanding attention at 5:30am, once this is posted, I'll be going back to sleep, hopefully no later than 7:30am.
It seems ironic to me that the inspiration picture didn't quite inspire me; I'm a nudist as are several of my characters and “going commando” is such a thing as not to commented on. In fact, as I type this up, I'm naked. However, with a roommate who was raised by repressed Christians, as far as I can tell, and is a “Thirty-something gamer guy,” I now have to wear clothing- when he's home- and I hate it!
“Master, could I please have laptime?” I swished on my feet and tugged at a curl.
“Are you wearing panties?” Master asked in disbelief.
“Well my nakey is terrifying.” I giggled and turned around to rub the cotton of my new purple-and-white striped panties against His comfy pants-covered crotch. “Count as a chair dance?”
“Count as a sentence?” He laughed.
“Of course, Master! Whole sentence happened in my head.”
“Come here.” He held a hand out and I accepted His help to set onto the chair between His legs before settling on His thighs.
I settled down onto His lap and rested my head on His shoulder. “Love You, Master.”
“Love you more.” He kissed my forehead.
My thoughts whirled in their usual stimming, but I paid slightly less attention to them. Releasing a soft breath, I closed my eyes. He rocked the chair and rubbed my temple. “Hey! That's cheating, Master,” I lazily argued.
“But you're falling asleep.”
“I was gonna... gonna... um, beg... sex!” I blinked my eyes as I tried to fight His calming touch. I wiggled my butt against His crotch.
“Tease!” He cupped one boob through my lacy camisole.
“Yupper, Master!” I giggled and wiggled my butt again.
“Yes, sometimes, Master. But right now, I really really want you to fuck my cunt!” I grinned up at Him. I scrambled out of His lap, focused on not hurting Him or stepping on His computer- I really shouldn't do that.
“Ouch! That was my toe.”
“Sorry, Master.” I toe-jogged my way to the bedroom with Him close behind. With a grunt, I landed on my stomach when He pushed me onto the bed. I squealed happily as He yanked off my panties. I arched my back to help take off my camisole when He flipped me onto my back, grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head before using His other hand to yank my shirt so it covered my face.
“Don't move!” He stopped touching me.
I thought I heard the sounds of Him taking off His clothing. Before I could do more than a moment of questioning His order, my body sung with contentment to feel His weight pushing down on me. I moaned into my shirt as He pushed my legs apart with a knee.
“No need to beg. I wanna feel you come,” He growled.
“Hmm!” I moaned, my lips closed against the fabric. His cock drove into me and I wrapped my legs around His waist, my feet pressing against His upper thighs. After thrusting into me for some time, He pulled out and propped my legs on His shoulder. As He pushed back in, I had went I expected was my first orgasm of this use.
He pressed His cheek against the sole of my foot.
My fingers wriggled against a pillow above me. My chest struggled to expand as the position and His weight made it tricky to breathe in. Nails longer than usual, my fingers curled in tight and pushing into my palms, they gave me a delicious taste of pain.
He pulled out again and I found myself moved. A folded pillow pushed under my hips and my legs pushed apart again. He thrust back into my cunt.
I screamed with cumming in this wonderful position; porn changes position too often for most women to orgasm? I'm glad I'm agender and not like most of those assigned female at birth.
Wrestling my shirt off, He then pushed my hair aside when I turned my head to breathe and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“Yes, Master.” My toes pushed down into the piled blankets. I stretched my hands out and moaned when He wrapped His fingers into them. I pushed up hips back so His cock went farther into me.
This time when He pulled out, He moved behind me and rolled me onto my side. He grabbed my left leg and thrust into my cunt from behind.
The orgasm was immediate and almost overwhelming; thank everything that's holy for G-spot orgasms and spooning!
“Where you want my cum?”
“In my cunt, please, Master.” Please not too many questions that I think I answered in a full sentences, but didn't. I reached back to grip His hip.
With my arm out of the way, He slapped the side of my right boob.
My orgasm fluttered and continued.
“Like being my fucktoy?”
“Yes, yes, Master!” I release His hip and grab the side of the bed.
My arm moved again, He pushed my upper body onto the bed. His hand tight on my hip, He pounded into my cunt.
My toes curled when He grunted His own coming.
We lay panting, our bodies tangled.
“Love you, Master.”
“Love you more. Good fucktoy.”
My dear Audrey started talking at me as I tried to come up with this scene; she suggested that she and I try it, since I'm using AAC in a slightly different way with my Master currently.
When I finished this piece, I debated if I would break it in parts, but there was no natural break so you get a long scene. It makes more sense if you consider part of Audrey's comment in my memory. If you want to know more about AAC beside seeing it used in this post, I recommend you read my first #TherapeuticThursday post here.
Audrey's voice traveled through my memory: Just because you've never been formally diagnosed with anything warranting AAC, never fitted by a professional doesn't mean it won't make our lovemaking that much better. Yes, using AAC can take longer than speech; that'll just be time to make our lovemaking be a longer time together.
I placed the last word on the board, pressing it down well at the corners to make sure it stuck. Grinning, I studied the words and pictures I'd chosen for this board. Audrey, me, me, Audrey, both of us.
“Such gorgeous pecs,” she murmured as her index finger traced over the picture of my chest in my white sports binder.
I tapped on the nipple of her breast pictured.
“So let's take your board to my bedroom.” She grabbed my empty hand and urged me to my feet. “You need a dry erase marker like with your shopping board?”
“Nah,” I murmured. I continued to hold her lovingly moisturized hand as we journeyed down the hallway.
“You gonna let me enjoy learning this board on you first some? We gonna use the ASL YES/NO eyebrows?”
I giggled and nodded. “Both!”
She snatched my board from me before tugging on my sundress and making her eyebrows go upward. Keeping her expression the same for a long moment, she lifted her shoulders to add to her question.
“Di di di di di. You wanna undress me?” I spun a circle.
With a quick movement, she caught the bottom hem of my dress when it spun out. Before I could find my balance, she had the light fabric off me and I fell to my butt on the floor.
“Love you!” I surged forward to kiss the tops of her pretty feet.
“Oh, you! Love you, darling.” Both her hands grabbing mine, she helped me to my feet and pulled me into a tight hug.
I hummed against her, relaxing in the touch and the smell of her. Light, light vanilla. Some nutmeg, like she was making cookies. Oh, almost too cold. I pulled her onto her bed with me.
“Hmhm. Still gonna lay back for me?”
I nodded and scurried backward to place my head on her fluffy white pillow.
“I like that you didn't shave before our time together.” She tapped her short purple nail on “Hair” on the board.
I touched “Go.” I held my breath until she touched the shaved part of my head; I hadn't thought to specify hair-where. Relaxing into her touch, I let my hands slip off my hips and onto the bed.
“That's good. I agree with Shaman. This style is quite fetching on you. I enjoy the dichotomy of shaved and long curls.”
A smile spread across my lips. Passive voice, passive voice! My fingertips tingled as if she said I could stroke her short layer of recently shaved cotton swirls. Twist out! So beautiful.
“Yes, lovely pecs.” She pressed her fingertip against the pecs side; after I nodded, she took both hands and pressed them against my pecs, the skin of her palms just touching above the edge of the sports bra binder. “Binder stays on today?”
I lifted my right hand to sign YES.
“I do love how YES looks like a nodding hand.” She touched “Lower” and raised her eyebrows, their delicate, rich black curves drawing me into her gaze.
Shuddering against the bed, I forced my lips apart even as I pointed to “Go.”
“Good girl,” she purred as she started to draw random shapes across my belly. “I like the idea of you holding up the board 'cause where I hope to be going, I'll need your help to see.”
With a high pitched whimper, my mind caught her teasing hint. I tapped away at “Lower” before grabbing the board and holding it up awkwardly on the bed.
She aimed one finger at “Vulva” with her lips pressing against my lower belly just above where my pubic hair started.
Both my hands tried to move in YES, even the one holding my AAC board up.
“I can't tell if you're signing YES or CAN.”
I gasped; she'd learned some more ASL. I stilled my left arm and signed YES again before tapping away on “Lower, Vulva, Lower.”
“Would it be cruel of me to ask you to speak some of these words?” She smirked.
I let my lips tremble as I strained to make my eyes wide open while blinking my eyelashes at her. I nodded slowly.
“Don't pull that innocent act on me.” She chuckled. “I know you are far from innocent, dearie.”
Snorting, I wrinkled my nose.
“Are you gonna use your words to tell me you don't like dearie? Or maybe point to stop?”
“Don't like use my words,” I snarled and jabbed my finger against “Stop.”
She brushed her finger over “Lips” and “Go” before lifting her eyebrows.
“Yes,” I shrieked.
Tracing the tip of her tongue over my labia majora, she repeated the gesture four times, up and down, before prying them apart to do the same to my labia minora. “Ba ba ba!”
She lifted her mouth from my body and stretched to touch “Bound Clitorophallus” on my board.
I pounded my finger against “Go.” I melted into a long groan as she sucked my clit between her lips. As my breathing slowed again, I poked at “Fingers” and then “Cunt.”
Her eyes pulled up at the corners to show her smile. She shifted until her right hand rested underneath her. Her thumb circled around the opening to my cunt.
Whining, I tapped against “Go” repeatedly. I released a gasp when one of her fingers slid into my wetness, pressing against the inner wall of my vagina. My fingers tightened on my AAC board as I struggled to keep it upright in the midst of my pleasure. “La la la la.”
She hummed against me, the buzz working its magic on my unbound clitorophallus. She moved her hips and her bound clitorophallus pressed against my leg.
“Ta ta ta ta.”
Lifting her mouth from my body, she asked, “Touch? You want my bound clitorophallus to keep touching you?”
I shook my hand “YES!” My toes curled down into the rich brown comforter.
“I wonder if I can find your g-spot now that you're so very turned on. Should I try to encourage a g-spot orgasm for my sweet girl?”
My finger randomly moved over “Go,” “Harder,” “Lower.”
Laughing, her mouth reclaimed my clit as her fingers moved within my cunt's top wall, searching for that elusive g-spot. Her gaze remained on my face. Her pupils dilated when she found it.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I held my hips tight so I wouldn't buck and move her finger off that glorious pleasure spot. Love that I indeed have a g-spot that my loves can find. Verb tense change! My ability to hold my hips still broke and I pushed down on her fingers until an orgasm roared through my body and out of my mouth. So much, too much. I tapped on “Slow.”
“That's my girl.” She kissed my bound clitorophallus. “I just wanna cuddle and hopefully soon we'll explore more words on your board.”
Words need added. “Love you.” My eyelids wavered closed.
Her lips brushed across my cheek. She drew on the bony part of my chest with her fingertip, “I love you.”
I'm still struggling to wake up, but I wanted to be all responsibility. I may be months into recovery from my nervous breakdown, but producing 1000 words or more a day is still the exception, not the rule. That said, I'm planning ahead for Camp Nanowrimo in July. I have 10 posts planned between #MasturbationMonday and #TherapeuticThursday; unfortunately, I've only managed to finish 2 of those planned posts so far. But I'm going to give you a taste of the mutual masturbation scene that'll post on the first Monday in July.
With the last candle lit on the far book shelf, Taryn switched off the overhead light. They turned toward the pair of bean bags they'd set up for this evening.
Holpa looked up from her book. “I suppose I shouldn't try to read in this low light.”
Taryn laughed. “Probably, since you have a paperback.” They settled into the purple silk they'd draped over their bean bag. “Was there anything you needed?”
“Weren't we going to share a drink first?”
“Heh, yeah. I'll be right back.” Taryn poured a finger of vodka into each tall, clear glass before topping it off with sparkling water and a dash of mango juice. “There you are,” they said they handed Holpa's drink to her. “Before you start drinking, let's agree to what we're doing.”
Holpa nodded. “This first time, we wanted to watch each other masturbate. At the same time, but not as a race. We agreed that friendship and vanilla sensuality comes before any BDSM.”
I'm feeling really off-kilter today; don't ask me why. Interesting inspiration picture, but after writing special scenes for my Master focused on anal plugs, I'm feeling tapped out on the subject. I could easily blame my feeling off-kilter on a bunch of things. Sighs. At least the heatwave of last week broke; at its worst, it got to 92 degrees Fahrenheit in my house. Hey, maybe that means there should be ice in my piece for today :D
Lady Audrey reclined on the blanket, her forearms holding her up.
“Thanks for spending this time relaxing with me, my Lady,” Didier murmured.
“Since you asked for cuddles outside, I had to see what you were thinking, my boy.” She pressed the soles of her feet against his.
“I was watching this episode on Ash Hardell's YouTube channel and it made me think, my Lady. Outside, a nice blanket, ice cubes, and closeness. It's just on the side of wanting cuddles, my Lady.”
Audrey laughed. “Well, outside of AC. I could stand cuddles from you any time you're willing.”
He lowered his eyelashes and blushed, the heat coming in small circles in his cheeks. “Thanks, my Lady.” He spread his toes so she could press hers between his.
“I love your aesthetic choices when given permission for moments such as these.” Her gold nail polish catching a glint of sunlight, she traced bowl's rim as the ice cubes clinked against each other. “Might I use one of these ice cubes on you?”
“Yes, please, my Lady.” His shoulders twitched in delight.
Clasping one cube between her thumb and index finger, she stroked his lips. “Let me know if anything gets too sexual for your comfort.”
“Yes, my Lady.” His pulse increased with her caring respect.
Drops of moisture leaving a trail on his bronzed skin, she pulled the ice down his shoulder and onto his bicep. She repeated the gesture oh so slowly on his other arm. “Your toes aren't feeling ticklish today, are they?” She backed up onto her knees just beyond his feet.
“You know the question always makes me feel ticklish even if I wasn't already, my Lady.” Didier grinned. “Not that I'm begging you to stop.”
“Though maybe not your toes need ice.” She pressed the ice against the sole of his foot.
“Ah!” He threw back his head, his shaggy black bangs moving away from his eyes.
She drew the ice cube away and moved it over her body, clad as it was in a tempting yellow string bikini. Her skin sparkling with beads of moisture, she asked, “How about that cuddle now?”
“Yes, thanks, my Lady. Thanks for understanding me without needing to hear specific words.” He moved onto his side and entered her embrace as she entered his. He rested his fingers against the nape of her neck as the coolness and heat of her moved over him. “Love you, my Lady.”
“Love you.” Lady Audrey pressed a kiss to Didier's forehead.