In a burst of clarity, I remember Nikolai’s words from yesterday. I won’t rape you, Allie, he had said when I’d asked about safe words. I had assumed that he had arrogantly thought that I’d be willing to throw myself at him. Which happens to be true, but perhaps that isn’t what he’d meant. Perhaps he was telling me that I needed to show him I wanted him.
Courage. I need it in bucketfuls for what I’m about to do.
I’m still wearing the same skirt and shirt I threw on for my walk. No matter. I slide down from the couch, and I crawl over, the two steps or so to get to Nikolai. I don’t say anything. I just kneel by him.
He doesn’t break the silence. The TV still flickers and the sounds of sword fights fill the air. Nikolai hasn’t moved. He doesn’t pull away in surprise and shock, but he doesn’t invite me closer either.
I want to look up and meet his eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking. But I keep my eyes lowered, and instinctively, I stay still. The moment needs to unfold as it will. I can’t rush it.
Minutes pass, and I remain kneeling. The movie plays on, but I have my back to the television. Finally, his hand reaches out, and he nudges my head onto his lap, his fingers winding in my hair. I nuzzle against him, content.
I’m not meek. I’m kind of brash and loud. I act before thinking. I don’t ache to serve my master, or any such nonsense. I’m firmly a child of my generation, a proud, unapologetic feminist, who believes women can and should be able to do anything they want, whether it be fighting on the front lines of battle, rocketed into space, or staying at home. Different people, different choices, but it’s the ability to freely make them that I care about.
Yet when it comes down to it, if Nikolai is interested in me sexually, I’m not conflicted about kneeling in front of him. The things we do in the bedroom, the things that turn us on - those aren’t the only things that define us.
I still find myself taken by surprise at the feeling that runs through me when his fingers stroke my scalp. I feel cared for. Cherished. I feel like a kitten rubbing her face against her master’s knee, purring in contentment as her master pets her. I feel peaceful and serene. If my audition was at that moment, I’d pass it with flying colours. My walls are down, and my emotions are pouring through, but they aren’t a stormy mess. With each stroke of Nikolai’s fingers, they settle into peace.
We stay like that for the rest of the movie, which lasts another thirty minutes or so. At the end, his fingers grip in my hair, and he inclines my head so that I’m meeting his gaze. “What do you want, myshka?”
I want you, I want to reply. I want you for real. I want all of you, and I want you to want all of me. I want to see what this is. How it works to open myself and allow in the possibility of love, need and hurt.
I lower my eyelashes. Too much. I don’t have that much courage, but I do have a little. Not enough to speak the words and ask aloud, but enough to bring my hands forward on his zipper.
He doesn’t stop me. He makes a noise in his throat expressing pleasure, and that emboldens me. I pull his dick out. He’s erect and hard, long and fat, and I lick my lips in anticipation. There’s a drop of precum glistening on his smooth, purple head. I lean forward and with the tip of my tongue, lap at it, and I thrill to hear his groan. “Allie,” he mutters and my entire body aches when I hear him say my name. I want him so badly.
I wrap my lips around his cock and suck. My tongue laps at him. My fingers encircle the base of his dick, until his fingers brush against mine. “Put your hands behind your back,” he orders.
I obey, loving how out of control I feel as I bob forward on his dick. My pussy aches, yearning for his touch, but I push my own need back and focus on him. He didn’t have to take me in and help me, but he did. I have no doubt that he’s enjoying seeing me naked and compliant, but it doesn’t change the gratitude I feel.
He groans. His head is thrown back on the couch, and his eyes are clenched shut. He looks like he’s experiencing pure pleasure, and I love that I’m causing this reaction in him. His hands wrap through my hair, hard enough that I can feel it in my scalp, but not so hard that I’m in pain. I whimper, and he looks at me.
“You don’t have to do this, myshka.”
I pull my mouth free for an instant, just to reply. “I want to,” I tell him.
He smiles at me, his hands stroking my hair. “I’m not going to take it easy on you,” he warns.
“I don’t want you to.” My tone is heartfelt. “Nikolai, already, I’m playing better. This thing you are doing, it’s working.” I don’t talk anymore. There’s a tidal wave of emotion rushing to the fore, and I lower my head on his dick again, and, as ridiculous as I know it sounds, I channel all that emotion into my blowjob.