#being hurt in public

My date with Lioness was amazing and a little bit scary. I was doubly nervous. Nervous because she’s a woman, and nervous because she’s very toppy/dommy. I was right to be nervous.

She selected a ramen place for us to go to and picked me up at the train station. As we drove, we chatted about our days and various other topics. She told me she prefers driving manual, “because I like control,” as she smiled at me. She nodded and said that most girls are like that when I informed her I don’t have much experience with women. I told her about my first date rules. She wasn’t at all bothered, and when we got out of the car,by he said that she liked that I had those rules.

As we walked to the bank for her to get cash, she punched me in the arm and asked “Does that hurt?” I don’t think any of the men who use me would ever dare to do that in such a public setting. [It’s both useful, because I enjoy being hurt in public, and concerning, because abuse happens in same-sex couples (and to men from women) as well, and the idea of abuse as something men do to women can get in the way of victims seeking help.] I dutifully told her that it did hurt, but the other side hurt more. I also told her that my left calf still hurts when I walk. If someone wants to use me that way, I should tell them those sorts of thing so that they can either avoid them, or, more likely with the way I should be treated, focus in on them.

As we walked out of the bank, I told her that I like being hurt in public and having to pretend everything is normal. Throwing myself under the bus, per usual. She liked this, and soon started grabbing me and digging her nails into my skin. She pulled my hair some, and pushed me around, as well. In the middle of walking down a not exactly empty city street, in early evening. It was painful, unsettling, and fascinating. I was worried about what other people thought, and tried to make only quiet noises. She enjoyed hearing my little squeaks and whimpers as she pinched me, pushed me, grabbed me, and dug her nails in.

When we got to the ramen place, I walked up the stairs ahead of her, which allowed her to grab and squeeze my left calf, making me help and grab the railing to avoid tripping. She gave me a grin as we put our names in and, as she had warned me would probably happen, were told there would be an hour long wait. I would normally never wait that long, but they had a system and she gave them her number. We headed out to get a drink while we waited.

We went across the street for cocktails and sat at a table. She started doing the most upsetting thing she did all night: maintaining eye contact. Whenever I looked at her, she was looking right at me, her dark eyes watching my discomfort. I told her it made me uncomfortable, which got a “Good.” in response. We started talking about ourselves and kink, and at some point during the conversation, she told me “I’m like a big cat,” which made me grin, thinking about her nickname, “Lioness.” I told her about that, and she liked it. She told me that I was her prey, and I realized that exactly how I felt. I wanted to impress her and behave in order to appease her. The look in her eyes was the look of a hungry predator. None of the men in my life look at me like that, even the sadistic ones. She was looking at me like she wanted to eat me. When I said that, she smiled at me and said, “I do.”

At some point during the night she said I was like a “little mouse” and started calling me that in an affectionate and dangerous way.

We continued talking and discussed what she enjoys. She very much likes control of all kinds. She really likes to hurt people, both physically and mentally. She informed me that she likes crying, and bringing people to “Yellow.” Somewhat proudly, she told me that she had played with a woman who was known as a heavy bottom and she brought that woman to use her safeword. When I told her about the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to orgasm, she seemed mildly interested, but not at all bothered by it. That was a relief, since I was concerned how a dominant woman might react to something like that.

When the topic of limits came up, I told her I don’t so much have any anymore, especially with MLAM. I mentioned scat and vomit, which she said she was also not into and then I mentioned “other people’s blood.” That made her give me a smile and a look, and then she asked, “And what about your blood?” I looked away, as kept doing the whole night and looked at the wall as I told her that was something that I’m interested in, but that it scares me. She told me that she would tear my back up with scratching. Basically guaranteed. That’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with, as men, or at least the men I’ve played with, aren’t so much for the scratching. I don’t know how I’ll deal with it. Of course, as MLAM reminded me earlier today, what I can take isn’t the point. I’ll take what Lioness dishes out.

I was feeling antsy and a little overwhelmed, but she did reassure me of several things, which made me more comfortable, although actually being comfortable was not in the cards for a little mouse out on a date with a lioness. She said she definitely wants me to use my safewords when I need to, and that at least the first few times she checks in what some might consider “too much.” I don’t mind that at all. MLAM does similar things, and it makes me feel safe letting go and pushing myself. She also told me that if I ever wanted to just hang out and talk, or have sex without kink, that was fine, too. She gets “lots of play,” so if I’m not up for things some evening, we don’t have to do them.

When we finally returned to the restaurant for our ramen, we were seated at the bar, which was relaxing for me, since it meant way less eye contact. Relaxing at first, that is. Then she started hurting me. She put her hand on my lower back, under my shirt and dug her claws in, scratching up. It hurt in a stingy, long-lasting way. I squirmed a bit much and she did stop. She told me that was an example scratch and asked how I liked it. I told her it was a lot, and I wasn’t used to that sort of pain, and that I’d probably take it better out of public. She understood and switched to other ways of hurting me for the time being. At one point, she dug her nails in deep into my left thigh, lifted and pulled, shook it several times, lightened her grip so I thought it was over, and then she shook it again. It was all I could do to keep semi normal in appearance. That nail dig left marks. Luckily the ramen place was both loud and dark. 

Eventually we finished and walked back to her car. She started smoking a cigarette, and when we got to her car, she said, “You want to be my ashtray, huh?” and we discussed what that might look like. Tapping ash into my mouth, of course, and possibly leaving cigarette burns elsewhere on my body. She drove me back to the train station and, of course, hurt me along the way, including slapping my tit. She told me that she enjoyed our time together and wants to see me again. She informed me, in a matter of fact way, that she almost never asks for a second meeting. “Most people bore me,” she said. I don’t bore her. That’s both good and bad for me. It makes me feel special and eager to please, but of course, what she finds not boring about me is that I’m fun to hurt.

When we stopped at the station, I got my things and then shyly asked if she wanted a kiss. She said yes, and I leaned in, expecting a nice, soft girl kiss. Stupid little mouse. She bit my lip and my tongue and grabbed me hard. Eventually it stopped, but she kept a grip on me with her nails. I asked in a small voice, “Do you want me to get out of your car?” She responded, “Get out of my car” in a dismissive voice. Before I walked away, she told me to let her know when I got home safely. I boarded the train full of subby, happy, somewhat overwhelmed feelings

When I got home, I saw that MLAM had texted me, and I told him a bit about her and the date. He asked how she handled my first date rules, and I reported that nothing seemed to phase her, including the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to cum. I also told him that the Lioness is the person who I’d told him about who smokes and wants to use me as an ashtray. His response was to say “tell her I’d like to talk to her.” Gulp.

I asked if he could tell me what he wanted to talk to her about, or if it wasn’t for me to know. Of course he said, “None of your business, bitch. Let the adults talk.” I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I liked that. A lot. It worked well, considering they’re both older than I am by a decent number of years, and since she’s a woman, “Let the men talk” or something similar doesn’t work. Plus, calling me bitch and pointing out that I’m not a real adult was a good mix of name calling, condescension, and insulting both my intelligence and maturity. Being counted as not one of the adults and being condescended to reminds me of my physical and mental inferiority and makes me feel submissive.

I gave her his contact info this morning and she told me she would text him later today. She also called me “little mouse” again, and it’s just so perfect. Normally I’d say I’m “nervcited,” about two people collaborating in topping me, but with the these two beautiful, intelligent, and most concerning of all, sadistic, people, it’s more like scared and nervous and curious and anxious and feeling stupid that I’m excited. My life is going to get a lot more interesting, fun, difficult, and painful.

Last week, I texted Legolas and invited him to go to a vegan event that was happening near us. (He’s also vegan.) I also texted The Teacher, who I hadn’t seen in far too long, and invited her. I made plans to pick up Legolas, and he offered to make us breakfast, which I accepted. He makes excellent oatmeal. When I arrived, he finished making the food and we went upstairs to eat and catch up with each other. Right before it was time to go, he gave me a look and climbed on top of me, grabbing my tits and playing with me. I made little noises and felt my hips move a little. After a minute or two, he sighed and asked, “We should probably leave, shouldn’t we?” I nodded and we reluctantly got up and left.

We met up with The Teacher and her girlfriend at the vegan thing and walked around with them for a while. They had been there for a while already and it was hella hot out, so they went to a nearby restaurant while Legolas and I continued exploring. We’d gotten some delicious vegan nachos when we first got there, but we got some awesome cookie sandwiches and tried various samples. I decided I wanted a shirt, and tried to buy the first one I saw, but Legolas strongly suggested I not do that. (He totally told me not to and I loved it.) We explored a little more and then I got the one I wanted. By that time, we were both kind of tired, so we headed to join The Teacher and her girlfriend at the restaurant. I had a fantastic time there, catching up more with The Teacher, talking with her and her girlfriend and her group of friends, complaining about things, drinking beer, and eating two kinds of fried potatoes.

Legolas and I left in the early afternoon and headed back to his place. We took the train part of the way, and it was pretty crowded. We couldn’t get seats, so we grabbed on to the bars. Legolas put his arm around me, helping me not to fall. I liked that move. It was sweet and I appreciated it. About halfway through the train ride, Legolas leaned in to me and said, “You know I really want to finger you right now, don’t you?” I got embarrassed and looked down, but of course I was also turned on. Having someone tell me what they want to do to me, or even just that they want me, is a big turn on. Knowing that I’m desirable and wanted, and that someone else has been thinking of me, and thinking of me like that, is an amazing feeling, even beyond just hearing those kinds of things said out loud, which is wicked hot in and of itself. I said that I hadn’t known, but that I would like that. He continued, talking about wanting to just have me on my knees sucking his cock, and that people wouldn’t mind, since he’d brought enough to share. The idea of being used like that in public and passed around made me a little weak at the knees.

Finally, as we got closer to our stop, we were finally able to sit. I slid into the seat next to the window, and he sat next to me. He looked at me and put his hand between my legs, rubbing my cunt through my panties. My eyes opened wide and I looked around, but of course no one could see what was happening, or if they could, they didn’t notice. Legolas told me he could tell how wet I was, and I got embarrassed again. At the same time, I was grinning like crazy over the fun we were having. He slide his hand out from between my leg and put it on my inner thigh. Then he pinched it hard and with his nails. It was a real challenge to keep my face calm and not make loud noises. I love being hurt in public, and that’s a big part of why. Having your body sending you flight or fight signals, having to quiet your noises and keep your face and body language normal, all while the sadist next to you is grinning with delight at your suffering.

When we got back to my car, as soon as we’d both sat down, he put his hands between my thighs again, playing with my cunt. I was soaking wet by this point, and he could feel it. As he played with my cunt, he told me, “I want to fuck you bad.” I was feeling impish, so I said, “You mean badly?” He gave me a look and grabbed my thigh and squeezed it hard. I squeaked and apologized. He messed with me a little while longer, and then I drove us back to his place, full of anticipation.