Page 69 of Border Control

In response, I imagine him on his knees, black silk blindfold in place, as I day dreamed this morning. My mental hands rove up his arms, and he bites his lip in my mind.

“That,” he says aloud. He drops to his knees with a bang, and I can't help wincing. Damn, he's going to seriously mess up his knee caps. “I want to explore this new way with you, Law-rah. That’s what I want.”

“That’s good. Thanks for telling me. But the next time I order you to kneel, you'll do so slowly. I want to see every muscle flex, every movement controlled. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Law-rah,” he whispers. Dust settles around him, golden despite the shadows of the abandoned building.

“Good.” I settle my hands on his strong jawline. “How’s your—Arik’s—arm?”

He glances to his right side as if he doesn’t know. “His nanites have done their work. The pain’s gone.”

“Good.” I slide my hand down, caressing his throat and neck, and his breathing hitches. I press my palm over his chest, his hurried double beat firm and strong.

Next, personas. “What would you like to be called?”

“My designation is 8774 dash 3D0M.”

A mouthful. “You want me to call you that?”

He doesn't say anything, but conflict churns in his thoughts, muddy.

I can provide clarity. “What if I call you clone? How does that feel?”

A wash of deep shame surges over him.

“Tuber?” I try.

The pain turns sharper, too real.

“Um…” This isn’t working. I switch tactics. “What do you need right now?”

His head lowers. “Anything you want to?—”

“No.” I tip his chin up so I can meet his eyes. “I'm asking you to tell me.”

Because this is part of it too. Watching him war with himself, with what he knows he wants and what he feels he can admit. Baring himself is harder than anything else I could imagine.

He stares straight ahead. If we weren't connected, I'd say he was perfectly composed, but inside he's a writhing mass of unspent desires and longings, pressures pushing down on him, one unvoiced scream away from breaking.

“I… I need to feel… oblivion.” He closes his eyes tight as if he's leaning over a precipice.

“Then that’s what we’ll aim for,” I say. I run my fingers over his shoulders, the rounded muscle relaxing as soon as he feels my touch. My fingertips bump over each scale like train tracks, ka-clunk, ka-clunk, ka-clunk. I walk around to his back, watching his muscles flexing as he prepares himself.

Unravelling the black silk blindfold from my pocket, I lift it up and over his head from behind. He tips his head back to see it, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Stroking his hair with my ring and little fingers, I lower the blindfold. An image of a golden hoop flashes into my mind along with a jab of ice cold fear sinking into my gut, before Dom pulls it back and murmurs, “My apologies.”

I drop the persona completely. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, I come around to his front and hold it out to him. “Don’t be sorry, this is only a blindfold.”

He eyes it, scales flushing pink. “I see.”

“It goes over your eyes. Watch.” I wrap it around my temples, the silk cool against my nose and cheeks. Holding it closed behind my head, I lift one side and peek at him from underneath. “See?”

He nods once, swallowing hard. “It… The fabric coming from above my head reminded me of something else. I am deeply sorry.”

“That’s fine. Now I know things coming from above you is totally a lavender moment.” I don’t know if I’m doing this domme thing correctly, but reassuring him like this feels right. “Do you want to try it, or lavender?”

“I… I think I can do it if you’re here.” His lilac eyes shimmer briefly. “If that is what you also desire.”