Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

Second Scene:

He took away my opposable thumbs.

He folded my hands into fists and then wrapped them with vet wrap until I had black paws at the ends of my arms instead of human hands and informed me that I had ceased to be a member of the primate kingdom.

It made me growl.

There is something to be said for being outclassed.

When in a scene, I don’t want to escape, don’t want to avoid, don’t want to hurt, and so I will not fight unless I cannot win.

My girlfriend disagrees. “What’s the point?” she says, “of fighting when there’s no chance that you’ll succeed.”

“I win,” I say, “by giving everything I have and losing. It’s not so often that I have to truly admit I’m powerless.”

Playing with him makes me aggressive. You wouldn’t think there would be space in my head to be both aggressive and submissive at the same time, but there is.

The first time we played, it was an accident. He wanted information that wasn’t mine to give. I told him he couldn’t have it. He said he could get it out of me. I dared him to try.

Exquisite pain. Wonderful violence. Agony at the very edge of control. Defiance was my motivation, and knowing that I was safe in his hands, that he would hurt me but not damage me… I won.

I had bruises in the shape of his hands for days, and he still doesn’t know what it was I refused to tell him. It was insanely hot.

Playing with him brought out the animal in me. It felt almost like being two great cats. He might be the apex predator, but I was a hunter in my own right. We both had teeth and claws.

So I proposed scene two, and ended up with no hands.

It was strange to see black pads at the ends of my hands instead of fingers. It put immediate distance between my mind and the normal world.

Then he told me to fight.

What ensued? Violence- teeth, claws, and impact. Struggle- pinned down and resisted with extraordinary strength. Pain- to which I refused to give up.

At the end of the scene, covered in sweat, bite marks, and bruises, exhausted and exhilarated from the workout, he went to get a pair of scissors to release my hands.

As he reached for them, he saw me start to remove my bonds myself, laughed, and told me I was welcome to try.

I had my thumbs back in under a minute, and smirked as I threw the wrappings down onto the floor.

“Next time,” he said, “I’ll have to wrap them tighter.”

Next time? I thought, I can’t wait.