Status Updates From Story of L

“Yet no matter how much of life L considers through the filter of Cassandra’s ownership, she is still her own person. Because without personage, submission is nothing more than obliteration.”

“But you know what?” L gazed at Cassandra as she posed the question. She hoped Cassandra could see the gratitude and devotion she felt. “When you fisted me that night, the Void vanished. Totally. It hasn’t returned. And you opened me to something I’d never felt before: actual submission.”

“L took them and pulled like a rider reining in a headstrong horse. She kept her other hand anchored in Cassandra—the pommel to the reins.”

“The once imperious voice sounded more like Marilyn Monroe about to come.”

“She went to him and knelt before his elevated place. His penis had stiffened yet his cunt glistened with want. A scent came to her, the familiar wetness of a woman but mingled with musk. She had once heard it described as the smell of mancunt and, inhaling it, L found it intoxicating.”

“There, amid a thick thatch of hair, sat a womanly familiarity that L could easily plunder, yet with it, a more masculine companion. Here, hormones had transformed his center of pleasure. His clit had elongated and had become a micro-penis.”

2/2

“Reese complied as if by the routine. L gazed at him, drinking in the manhood singular to a transman. A mastectomy had reshaped his chest and hormones had hardened and squared what had once been soft curves. Yet lower, where bio-men bore the essence of their gender, he bore a different being.”

1/2

“And, on his knees, his hands clasped behind his back, his back to her and his face obscured by a full leather hood, waited Reese. But not, exactly, the Reese L had come to know. She did not find the capable, self-assured, task-driven Reese before her. Nor did she find the helpful transman who had guided her through her questions and concerns. The Reese who knelt there struck her as submissive.”

“But now? It’s grown old. Hell, I’ve grown old. I’d gladly swap infamy and adulation for something older and wiser. Like stature. I’d rather have stature.”

“Open it up,” she said gently, reminding L of her childhood self, looking through photo albums with her mother.”

“She did not know what to do with herself. L had become so adept at following Cassandra’s commands—and Cassandra had always kept her occupied enough—that she did not know how to fill the time in Cassandra’s domain on her own.”

“Against C’s rhythm, L had no chance to lick and none to suck. But it hardly mattered. Slipping into submission, L existed for the moment. She was mouth. Receiver. Thing.”

“Your courage engaged me. In all my previous relationships, whether they were attempts at love or not, I hid part of myself behind my dominance. Sometimes, it protected me—like with Cur’s defection. But too often, it kept me from the very thing I sought.”

“I thought ‘well, if she can pass my tests, then I’ll know Reese was right.’ That it was time to give up pretty, little women for someone of experience and substance.”

“No, this was not what she expected. She had come to always imagine Cassandra on top, definitively directing every cadence of her movements. She had not expected reward in the form of egalitarian lovemaking.”

“L felt as tethered as Gulliver. In a dead pharaoh pose. Why? Brief panic seized her.”

“Throughout, she journeyed like a Johnny Appleseed. But where he sowed apple seeds, she exuded love.”

“No, no exotic settings for outrageous scenes. No estate “grounds.” Just a common backyard, the personal space of a single, real person living a real life.”

2/2

“Memory flashed: L’s parents, engaged in a similar ritual, their newfound hobby after she had left for college. She remembered the scene as blithely domestic—and one of unequivocal enjoyment. Cassandra’s yard implied much the same. It was the stuff of real living, not the wishful thinking of countless BDSM novels.”

1/2

“Had Cassandra herself conducted the test, L would have pleaded for more like a cat in heat.”

“If fog comes on little cat feet, she thought as she stretched under the blanket, then sunlight likes to brush its tail affectionately against one’s leg.”

“How she had grown from twitter-pated, greedy bottom to a willing, giving submissive.”

“Where one had to thrive on the knowledge of a job well done and find the motivation to continue from within. Then, to embrace that internal discovery and make it an operational default so one need not rely on the praise or notice of a mistress. Because the mistress’ happiness relied on suiting her whim and your proficiency, not on your need for reward and attention.”

2/2

“In the hush that followed, L saddened at the lost opportunity Sunderland represented: the chance to engage in something many submissives dreamed about, the total immersion into a slave existence. Where rules meant struggling against one’s own ingrained behaviors. Where failure meant punishment and success might be greeted with indifference.”

1/

“Was this how she sounded, L wondered, when confronting challenge? She gulped. It smacked of withdrawn affection. Something her own mother had employed in anger.”

“The fuss of feminization should have sent L into the headspace of objectification, that strange netherworld where identity and awareness fade into obscurity, but as the girls carried on with their angry work, L felt like she’d stepped into a snake pit instead. They treated her like an imposition, their resentment clear and unmistakable.”

“While one worked on her hair, the other sank onto a stool and started a pedicure. L had no idea what went into such an activity; she had never considered lovely toes a necessity.”

“They might have it right, you know. There’s something to be said for fuck buddies, soul mates, and those crazy poly-configurations. Maybe that’s better than our old way, our ‘cult of the self.’”

“Love? But you hardly know her! But what I do know of her is exactly what I need, L told the countering thoughts. And what I give her is exactly what she needs. Besides, love’s found less a foundation than that, she argued.”

“Reaching down, she cupped her mons, a habit born of a long-ago need to self-soothe, and despite the plaintive twinge that answered her touch, L was too far spent to consider its message.”