Riot Gear

I roll a condom over the end of the police baton while she watches. Her eyes get big. Real big.

////

I’ve got her tied to the bed in a way where she can’t get her knees closer together. She’s spread before me, unable to hide. The effect is deliberately lewd.

I know it’s embarrassing for her to be exposed that way and I like it.

////

On our very first date, I discovered something about Holly: she’s a blusher. She stumbled over some words and blushed furiously, right to the roots of her hair.

Oh shit, I thought. I’m doomed.

Now there is nothing more erotic to me than seeing that blush on her cheeks and knowing I put it there.

////

I snap the badge onto my belt. “Here are the rules: you don’t ever have to respond to me as if I’m someone else, and you don’t ever have to respond as anybody else but yourself.”

Holly nods. She hands me the collar and I put it on, kissing the back of her neck. From behind, I grab her hair and pull her to me, whispering in her ear the same thing I always say when I collar her: “Do you promise to be truthful, forthcoming, and obedient?”

The answer is always the same. Yes.

///

Holly doesn’t like roleplay, and it took me over a year to realize it. I thought she did, because she has a very well-established “little girl” side that I adore.

She wishes it gone, but I don’t. So many adults are cold and dead inside. The fact that innocence and wonderment has survived in her is miraculous, a splendid thing. I would never wish it away. I never want Little Girl to go. I would be bereft without her.

What I didn’t understand at first is that it’s not a role — it’s part of her.

She’s not roleplaying.

///

But sometimes I am. I don’t have many roles that I feel are really “me.” Sometimes, with Bryce, I play “little girl,” but it’s most certainly a role. For good or ill, I’m all grown up. Whatever little girl I had is long gone, off on the endless ribbon of the past.

Hell, sometimes I feel like Me isn’t really me — that if I really wanted to, I could just slip away from everything I am and be something else, someone else. Maybe the role that is me is role play itself.

Today I’m Bad Cop.

///

As it happens, Occupy Providence is directly in front of The Biltmore, my home-away-from-home in that town. The mayor has issued an eviction notice this very night, and I slap the baton against my palm to the sound of drums and chants. (Sometimes the Universe wants to scene right with you).

I’m fully dressed — heavy leather boots, denim, a black t-shirt. She’s completely naked. The baton is so frigging big — if it were hanging on a belt at my waist it would extend below my knee.

I watch her face as I penetrate her with it. Placid. The face of a Madonna.

Oh hell no, that won’t do.

///

City Hall is directly next door to the Biltmore. For those of you who don’t have a New England sense of scale, sometimes we have fun pretending to flash the mayor’s office. What separates the hotel from City Hall is a narrow two-lane street, and now it’s filled with cruisers.

Sirens join the mix of drums and chanting. The cops are trying to separate the protesters from City Hall. It’s so loud!

I keep trying to find the spots. Angling the tip upward — if I can get a g-spot orgasm with a riot baton I’m gonna give myself a medal.

She groans and twists in the rope.

I’m still fully clothed. I push my hips against the bed, fucking her with the riot baton as she groans and struggles.

Part of it is erotic, and part of it isn’t. I could really hurt her with this thing, I think. I need to be careful. I hold myself back in more technical play; I can’t abandon myself to it.

I’m careful. And I reach up and put my hand around her throat and order her to touch herself. “Do it, bitch,” I say.

My politics couldn’t be more opposed to what I’m doing. I’m a supporter of the Occupy movement. But it surges through me, the dark, seductive energy of being the one with all the weapons and all the power and all the privilege. The uniform. The badge. The radio connecting me to my own private army. The very power of the state itself to imprison and destroy.

I’m big. And I’m bad.

Very, very bad.

///

Sometimes she wants to cover her face when she comes. Now there’s no point — how much more naked could she be? She arches right up off the bed, straining against the ropes.

If there’s noise outside, I don’t hear it. I am very far away.

Tonight you are more than mine. You are my prisoner.

///

Later she says to me, “In the middle, I thought, ‘She could kill me with this thing.’ But then I thought, ‘This is Lily. I can trust her. I trust her.’”