Spanking, yes.
Could I leave marks? God, yes, please.
Dorian, apparently, never slept, because I’d fall asleep messaging him and then wake up to messages like:
DoriNYC:
What are your hard limits?
Me:
What are yours?
DoriNYC:
I asked you first.
Me
Yet I’m in charge, so…
DoriNYC:
Fine. Hard limits include scat, incest roleplay, knives, and permanent marks or branding.
DoriNYC:
Your turn.
I stared at his list. I sent back:
Me:
Ditto.
DoriNYC:
Seriously? Nothing else is offthe table for you?
Me:
Let me think about it.
And I did. I thought about it.
I wanted to give him my list of hard limits—things I wouldn’t do in a scene. But as soon as I tried to think of something I wouldn’t do, my brain hit a wall. It was like it physically wouldn’tletme have hard limits.
I’d spent so long sayingyesto everything Shawn wanted me to do, my tongue tied itself up in knots around the wordno.
I bitched about it to Ophelia. She was half dressed, getting ready for a night out at the Seekers Club. As she drew a swooping cat eye, she said, “You could come with me to the club tonight. Get some ideas.”
“Yeah…pass. But thank you.”
Ophelia sighed. “Look, hard limits are easy. Just think of the shit you really don’t want to do.”
“Well, yeah. I knowthat. But it’s like…okay. I can tell him a hard limit, don’t shit on my chest. But that’s not really what I care about.”
Her eyes flickered from the mirror to me. “You don’t care if he shits on your chest?”
