“I don’t mean switch like that.” I snicker. “I’m always going to be the Domme here. I just meant we could go to your place if that’s better.”
“My place.” Rocco takes a long breath and looks away.
“Um...what does that mean?” I ask. “Yes to your place, or no?”
“I...I don’t know about that.”
“Is there something wrong with your place?”
“No one...no one ever comes over. I mean, no girl ever has.”
“You don’t want me there.” For a moment, my chest tightens, and I have to fight back that feeling of rejection.
“It’s just...different,” Rocco whispers.
“And different is hard. I understand that, and it’s okay. We can use my place.”
“That’s different, too.”
“Hmm...” I think about it for a minute. “Is it hard because you don’t know the place or something else?”
“Everything.” He shrugs, and something else occurs to me.
“What if I just said I’m coming to your place, and you’re going to deal with it?”
Rocco tenses but only for a second.
“That’s...better,” he says. “A little, anyway.”
“How about we deal with that when the time comes.”
Rocco nods, relieved.
“I don’t know where this will go,” I say, “but I’d like to at least give it a chance. You aren’t the only one with issues, Rocco. I told you that before. But I also think if we’re really going to try this, we need to be more open.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you don’t want to tell me about what happened to you,” I say, “but how about if I tell you a little about me? Would that be okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Rocco’s voice sounds distant.
“Are you positive?” I ask. “It’s as fucked up as a story gets.”
“Do you want to tell me?” he asks.
“I don’t mind telling you. I can’t say that I want to do it because that means reliving it to some degree, but I’ve told this story before, so I can handle it.”
“All right.” Rocco shifts slightly, rubbing his cheek against my breasts as he settles down.
“I’ll start by telling you why I like to be the dominant one in a relationship.” I wait until Rocco looks up at me. “I’m not sure how many dominants you know. Most of them are just regular people who just happen to like that kind of control. Just like subs, most of them like to let go sometimes. For other people, like me, there’s a deeper reason, a...well...a darker reason. I’m like that. I’m a Domme because I had a shit childhood. Everyone’s got something, but mine was particularly shitty. That’s what happens to little girls whose daddies are pedophiles.”
I feel his body stiffen as I say the words. I steel myself a little before taking a long breath to get me through the next few sentences.
“My mom was never in the picture. My father always said she died of cancer when I was a baby, but I’m not sure if I believe that or not. The truth wasn’t a concept that concerned him, and there’s really no way of knowing. All I know about her is that her name was Karen Summers and that no one can figure out exactly what happened to her. Maybe she left him. Maybe he did something to her. Maybe he told the truth. I don’t know. I’ll get back to that later.”
I feel Rocco shift against my chest again as I lean back and stare up at the ceiling. He moves his hand down my arm until he gets to my wrist, then slowly laces his fingers with mine. I sigh a little. I doubt it’s the sort of thing he would do with just anyone, and I’m glad he took a little initiative. I would focus on it more, but I have to get through the rest of the story.
“My father started raping me when I was really young. I’m not one of those who uses the word ‘molested.’ I call it what it was, and it was rape. I don’t remember the first time, so I’m not really sure how old I was. He used it as a form of punishment, and that was normal, as far as I knew. He’d make up infractions, of course. I couldn’t do anything right, and that’s how I was disciplined. When I hit puberty, it was clear I was too old to be appealing to him. I was just glad it stopped, but that didn’t last long. He couldn’t hold down a job, and we never had enough money for necessities. Eventually, he started renting me out to random men when he needed money for booze.”