"I...I don't know," I said, stammering over the words. "Did...have I?"
"Have you what?" He was lounging back in the chair again, but at the same time, he
seemed on the verge of springing up and grabbing me. Goosebumps were rising all over my
skin.
"Disappointed you?"
"Yes," he said, standing up suddenly. I jumped a little. He came over to me, then
walked around so he was standing behind my back - so close I could feel the heat of his body,
but not touching me. "But not the way you think."
I felt his voice against my ear, and shuddered.
"You want an easy way out," he murmured. "Don't you? Absolution. You want me to
do something to you that will make the guilt melt away. You're submitting to me for all the
wrong reasons."
Clenching my fists at my sides, I felt the tears spring to my eyes again. His fingers
brushed against mine, and I realized I was holding my hands behind my back. A moment
later, those same fingers clamped down around my wrist. I let out a small noise.
"That's not how this works," he whispered.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know how to tell you as...myself."
This was absurd. I was just as much "myself" when I submitted to him as when I didn't, but
there was simply no other way to put it.
A derisive snort of laughter. He'd slipped so far into the role now that I hardly
recognized what was real and what was just a show, and that both thrilled and unnerved me. With another sudden movement, he pushed me towards my drawing table. I went
forward, confused.
"Sit," he said, letting go of my arm. I did.
"Draw me a picture," he said. "Draw me a picture of how I make you feel."
This time, the burning started all the way down the back of my neck. Somehow, with
everything we'd done, this seemed like the most intimate request he'd ever made of me.
I started to draw. Without knowing what I planned to do, or how I planned to do it, I
put pencil to paper. He stayed behind me the whole time, just inches away, and I kept
expecting him to lay his hands on my shoulders or - something.
Shapes and shadows began to form. I thought of pain and pleasure and rising, always
rising up, higher - I thought of wings. I thought about the feeling of sunlight on my face after
a long winter. I wasn't doing a very good job of drawing any of this, but at least it was
something. At least I was following his order.
At least I was doing something for him.
When I was finished, I set my pencil down and stared at what I'd created. Somehow,
the collection of abstract light and shadows and shapes had evoked....something. It didn't come
close to capturing what he'd asked for, but it was a start.
"Are you finished?" he asked, softly. I nodded.
He reached down over my shoulder and picked up the paper, lifting it up so it was
behind my head.
"Thank you," he said. "Now you've given me something for Valentine's day. Nothing to
feel guilty about anymore."
My stomach sank a little. Was that really it? Was he going to leave me hanging, after that little mind-game?
"Have you what?" He was lounging back in the chair again, but at the same time, he
seemed on the verge of springing up and grabbing me. Goosebumps were rising all over my
skin.
"Disappointed you?"
"Yes," he said, standing up suddenly. I jumped a little. He came over to me, then
walked around so he was standing behind my back - so close I could feel the heat of his body,
but not touching me. "But not the way you think."
I felt his voice against my ear, and shuddered.
"You want an easy way out," he murmured. "Don't you? Absolution. You want me to
do something to you that will make the guilt melt away. You're submitting to me for all the
wrong reasons."
Clenching my fists at my sides, I felt the tears spring to my eyes again. His fingers
brushed against mine, and I realized I was holding my hands behind my back. A moment
later, those same fingers clamped down around my wrist. I let out a small noise.
"That's not how this works," he whispered.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know how to tell you as...myself."
This was absurd. I was just as much "myself" when I submitted to him as when I didn't, but
there was simply no other way to put it.
A derisive snort of laughter. He'd slipped so far into the role now that I hardly
recognized what was real and what was just a show, and that both thrilled and unnerved me. With another sudden movement, he pushed me towards my drawing table. I went
forward, confused.
"Sit," he said, letting go of my arm. I did.
"Draw me a picture," he said. "Draw me a picture of how I make you feel."
This time, the burning started all the way down the back of my neck. Somehow, with
everything we'd done, this seemed like the most intimate request he'd ever made of me.
I started to draw. Without knowing what I planned to do, or how I planned to do it, I
put pencil to paper. He stayed behind me the whole time, just inches away, and I kept
expecting him to lay his hands on my shoulders or - something.
Shapes and shadows began to form. I thought of pain and pleasure and rising, always
rising up, higher - I thought of wings. I thought about the feeling of sunlight on my face after
a long winter. I wasn't doing a very good job of drawing any of this, but at least it was
something. At least I was following his order.
At least I was doing something for him.
When I was finished, I set my pencil down and stared at what I'd created. Somehow,
the collection of abstract light and shadows and shapes had evoked....something. It didn't come
close to capturing what he'd asked for, but it was a start.
"Are you finished?" he asked, softly. I nodded.
He reached down over my shoulder and picked up the paper, lifting it up so it was
behind my head.
"Thank you," he said. "Now you've given me something for Valentine's day. Nothing to
feel guilty about anymore."
My stomach sank a little. Was that really it? Was he going to leave me hanging, after that little mind-game?