[adult content] Belief 2

Continued from Part 1:

He stands and leaves the room.  While he's getting the ice, I wonder how this is going to play out.  He's no dominant, doesn't play in the bondage or sadism neck of the woods - at least as far as I know.  But, good god, the pain and his hand around my wrist like that...

When he comes back, I've got myself marginally under control, the wax picked away from my palm.  The skin's reddened, tingling.  He sits beside me, setting something cold on the palm of my hand.  Some icecubes wrapped in a dishcloth.  It's cool against the heat that sings in my skin, and I shudder at the sensation.  The dishcloth is rough-textured; I can feel every thread, or at least tell myself that I can.

"I believe that you seek pain," he says heavily.  His hands carefully wrap my fingers over the bundle of cold; a gentle touch now, not that iron grip around my wrist that unwound me as much - maybe more - as the heat of the wax.  The remains of the hunger roused by that grip has flagged, but there's enough of it left for me to crave the harder grip again.

"Pain's part of it," I say, trying to keep my voice level.  I don't want him to know how strong the reaction was.

"There are other aspects?"

"Dominance," I say, almost reluctantly.  God, if he asks me to demonstrate that on top of the wax....

He raises an eyebrow.

"I like to...comply, I guess you could say.  I like to please.  Or be made to please."

His hand closes harder around mine, making me grip the ice harder.  It hurts: my skin is so tender, the ice is hard and the cloth abrasive.  I whimper a little, and he releases my hand.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says, and I shake my head, just a little, rejecting his words; there was no way that tightening of his grip was accidental.  He recognises my expression, and looks a little - shamefaced?  Rueful?

"Maybe that's why I'm asking," he said.  "If you seek pain, seek to please... others must seek the opposite side of the coin...."  His voice trails off, and he looks away.

"Yes.  People who give pain, who dominate."  My tone is neutral; I think this is the point of the conversation we've been having.  Not my drives, but his.  "They're out there, of course.  I think it's harder on male dominants sometimes; that whole thing boys - men - are raised with about not hitting women, treating them with respect."  I smile a little.  "Makes it hard for them to treat specific women - me, say - with disrespect, when that's exactly what I want."

"The line between this," he says, nodding to my hand, "and abuse--"

"Is a wide one.  Consent.  Trust."  With my good hand, I reach for his and place it to my throat.  "I can do this," I say, knowing he can feel the vibration of my voice against his palm, "because I trust you.  I know you won't harm me.  You may have those drives - dominance, sadism - but that doesn't make you a danger to me, or to anyone else."

His hand rests, warm, against my throat.  I sit, calm, my eyes half-closed, my pulse beating against his palm...