“I think we may scene.”
The words appeared on my phone during a text conversation with Mr. Kink as we discussed our upcoming trip together. It has been too long since we’ve fucked each other silly, and at this point, I’m questioning our ability to make it out of the airport without being arrested for all sorts of explicit groping. I’ve imagined the moment I see his wicked smile as we come together between the North and South terminals in great detail. I’ll run to him and he’ll catch me, kissing me passionately and inappropriately by public standards. Just like The Thorn Birds but better. Then we’ll fall to the ground because of the strain on his back and I’ll probably break a bone, because I’m fragile. Hot right?
The things we intended to do to each other were always a regular topic before our visits, but he had never used ‘scene’ before and it glared at me brazenly. It half dared me and half taunted me to respond, but I wasn’t sure what to say exactly. I admit I panicked a little, worried that he wanted me to morph into Super Domme, complete with thigh high leather boots and harsh words. That’s not me. Then I had to ask myself if he was just caught up in the heat of the words flying back and forth, or maybe my eyes were deceiving me. But when I put on my glasses and read them again, they remained unchanged. I swallowed hard, wondering if he fully understood that a scene meant his complete submission and trust. But he knew. To be honest, I should have seen it coming.
Lately, Mr. Kink has expressed his desire for me to push him farther, domme him harder. During our last visit, I did exactly that. It was nothing more than words really, but they had an incredible impact and his response was amazing. It wasn’t a huge leap, but it was somewhat of a turning point for both of us, blowing the doors wide open to becoming more defined in our roles. And as much as he wants more, I want to give it to him. He’s still discovering his needs, though, and I’m still learning how to satisfy them. As we discussed our plans for the trip, it became clear that he has certain expectations for our time together. I was uncertain what to do with that realization and it sat heavily on my shoulders, doubt rolling through my veins begging another question.
Am I capable of giving him what he wants?
I wasn’t sure at first, but as I thought back over the past year, it was apparent that this is where we’ve been heading from day one. We’ve evolved together and I now know I was meant to be on top. The dominant in me was there all along, it just needed to be freed. So, to answer the question of my ability to meet his needs, fuck yes I can. But because he will read every word I write, I must be vague about my design. I will say this, though. I’ve researched and purchased new fetish toys for his my enjoyment. After careful consideration, I’ve decided against wearing my steel plug on the plane, because let’s be realistic here. When was the last time you saw a TSA Agent with a sense of humor? Exactly.
I can’t say much more about my carefully planned menu of hot, kinky sex without spoiling the surprise, but I did buy knee socks and watch hours and hours of femdom footage for ideas. In my opinion, the majority of it verges on ridiculous, but I did snag some fantastic ideas. I refuse to copy their cookie cutter style, though, and I won’t wear a latex catsuit under my strap-on harness. It must be as hot as Satan’s balls in there with no room to sweat, and that’s just not sexy. But the main reason I don’t like them is because neither one of us is willing to sacrifice the intimacy of skin to skin contact. I will, however, wear a wifebeater and thigh highs with bows as I make him beg over and over again, because as I’ve said before, I’m fucking girly.
I can barely contain my excitement about this weekend and my emotions are all over the place. They’re too scattered for me to put into words. Heather even sent this back to me three times wanting me to articulate how I’m feeling, but I’m having a difficult time focusing on anything. I trust that when we’re together, I’ll level out and slip easily into my role as dominant. Until then my nerves will remain a tight ball in the pit of my stomach and at risk of sounding cheesy, my heart will race wildly. SO STOP NAGGING ME, HEATHER!
