Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
He wasn’t the same man I’d had in my house the other day. The one who’d hummed to “Purple Rain,” had to sample from everything we’d prepared for dinner, bitched under his breath when we’d watched the latest Star Wars movie, and had one of the sexiest laughs I’d ever heard. He’d been carefree with me—and I wasn’t saying he wasn’t carefree now, but the man clearly loved the strict rituals that came with certain fetishes too. This was the primary part of Walker McKenna.
A low murmur traveled through the audience, and I could sense everyone’s anticipation and excitement.
I was a spectator looking into a world in which I didn’t belong. But there was a chance Lane did, if only a little. So here I was, ready to get inspired and learn a thing or two.
Would Lane ever want to kneel like those three subs did? He’d told me he wanted some elements of D/s structure in a future relationship. Which made perfect sense. People with autism and ADHD were generally drawn to structure, whether they implemented it themselves or followed it. BDSM was a stronghold for spectrum folk, and same went for the military. Some of the most brilliant engineers I’d had working for me in the Air Force had been undiagnosed Aspies or a combination of several conditions.
I’d never forget Malik, an autistic kid from Chicago who’d climbed the ladder at a mad pace. By the time he was twenty-four, he’d joined my team at Langley and spoke a language most people didn’t understand. He could prattle off the makeup of the JDAM kits fitted for a B-2’s bombload in his sleep but struggled to order a soda in the cafeteria if the wrong staff was on duty. He’d turn on his heel and walk out.
Colt and I had offered to grab whatever he might’ve wanted, to which he’d muttered sourly, “This is between me and my alphabet soup disorders, sir, but thank you.”
I’d loved that kid’s crude sense of humor. Never met a more honest guy either. He’d really fucking depended on the structured lifestyle the Air Force had offered, though. Without it, his life turned into chaos.
Lane was a milder version. Rough play provided an outlet for pent-up frustrations, and D/s uncluttered his everyday life. But to what degree? Because as far as I knew, that component was missing.
I scratched my eyebrow and paid attention to how the three subs were kneeling differently. It was what Lucian was currently talking about. Macklin had his knees parted, his hands gathered behind his back, and his head tipped backward in what they called a display pose. Chelsea sat more modestly on her knees, head bowed, hands resting on her thighs.
“…and as you can see, my Cam is putting as little pressure as possible on his kneecaps,” Lucian went on. “Once you get past consent and continuous communication—which we can’t stress enough—there is no right or wrong when you set up your own version of a high-protocol relationship. You modify the poses and rules to fit you and your partner.” He combed his fingers through Cam’s hair. “As the Master, your submissive is your most valuable possession, so it’s obviously important to accommodate for their abilities. Cam, for instance, has an old break-dancing injury that prevents him from adding too much pressure on his knee for an extended period of time—so that was the first thing I eliminated when we got started.” He turned to Rio and gestured for him to speak. “I’ll let the good doctor add a couple things here.”
Rio grinned a little and squinted for the spotlights. “Right—before Lucian gets into the wonders of intentional discomfort and endurance training, we want to highlight safety.” His accent wasn’t entirely American. I wouldn’t rule out that he’d lived in Australia at some point. “To the Tops out there, I want to recommend being involved in your sub’s health and well-being. During events or demos like this one, or even at home, depending on your dynamic, our slaves often sit in the same position for quite a while—and that adds stress to joints and muscles. If the goal is perfect posture and being able to kneel for, say, an hour, you want to get there in baby steps. Not everyone can or should use a certain position because it happens to look good. That sort of strength training takes time, and we need to be kind to our bodies.” He paused while he tapped Chelsea’s shoulder, and she suddenly parted her legs, pushed out her chest, and tilted back her head, exposing her throat.
My eyebrows went up.
“It’s also important to change positions every now and then for the blood circulation,” Rio said. “In short, when you search for BDSM photography online and see a sexy pose, it’s okay to have goals. But for the safety of the submissive, modify the positions according to what they can handle, not what’s hot. Just like with pain for masochists, there’s good discomfort and bad discomfort for our TPE slaves.” He cleared his throat and cocked a brow at the crowd, something that made a handful of boys and girls giggle. “Last but not least, to the subs. Many TPE slaves—whether they also identify as brats or Littles or switches—tend to have a strong urge to please. Which is wonderful, of course, but if you keep quiet about something that’s hurting you, you’re not pleasing your Owner. There’s nothing pleasing about nerve damage or joint issues. Are we clear?”