Ravil massages the back of my neck, strokes my hair. I find myself leaning into him, drawing his strength, the comfort he offers. And despite the logic, despite knowing I’m still his prisoner, and he’s keeping me here against my will, I’m grateful to him for bringing me here to this class. I never would’ve seen a video like this without him. Wouldn’t have known about water births and the beauty of them. Wouldn’t have researched home births, or hypnobirth or any of this alternative information.
And while it’s not me, I feel far more capable of having a baby than I did a week ago. I have more trust in my body and nature and the beauty and miracle of birth.
I look over at Ravil.
I have more trust in him.
I’m playing the game to get him to trust me, and yet, I’m the one falling under a spell. Because all I see is kindness. Good intentions. Heart.
I reach out and rest my hand on his thigh. He draws me closer with the arm around my shoulders.
I turn my face into his neck and lay a tentative kiss there.
Ravil goes still.
Carrie slides a glance at us. “You’re lucky,” she says. “I wish I was having this baby with someone I love. But hey, it’ll be me and baby, and we’ll love the hell out of each other.”
My eyes pop with tears again. Not because she’s made the wrong assumption about us. But because a week ago, I was in her shoes. Planning on doing it all, all by myself.
And now I’m suddenly being waited on hand and foot. Cared for. Pampered. Massaged. Having my toes sucked. My body played like a fine instrument.
Do I really think I’d be so much better off alone? My old life suddenly seems so empty.
So sterile.
And that’s what I’d be bringing a baby into. To a sterile, empty apartment with a nanny to feed my baby by bottle while I work my ass off all day trying to make partner at my dad’s firm.
None of that feels right any more.
Watching the videos made the idea of a baby seem so much more real. A tiny, miraculous being that would come into my life. That should be celebrated and honored. And birthed naturally in peace.
Christ, did I really just think that? I must be crazy.
But I am thinking it. I am considering what it would be like for my sweet, sweet baby to come gently into the world in Ravil’s salt water hot tub. With him behind me, massaging my shoulders and weeping with me as I lift our son reverentially from the water.
Ravil
I GO HARDER than stone the moment Lucy places her hand on my thigh. It’s the first time she’s touched me of her own accord, and my body comes alive as if she’s the one who commands me in bed and not the other way around.
I’ve been fantasizing about having her lips around my cock. About ordering her on her knees and feeding my length into her smart mouth.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My goal is keeping her stress-free and pleasured for the benefit of our baby. Holding her prisoner is plenty stressful. And while she’s been willing to receive my punishment and pleasure, it’s different than forcing her to reciprocate, even though it’s common sex play with submissives.
But now all I can think about is getting inside her. Not for her pleasure but for my own desperate need.
I can barely get her out of there fast enough when class is over. We get in the elevator going up, and I’m ready to fuck her right there, but sadly, we’re not alone.
“Hi, Mr. Baranov.” One of the kids in the building is in the elevator with his mom in full soccer gear, holding a box full of chocolate bars.
“Hello, Nate, coming from a game?”
“No, just practice.” He holds out the box. “Would you like to buy a chocolate bar? It’s for the team.”
“I’ll take the whole box,” I tell him. “Can you do the math on that?” I fish in my wallet for a hundred dollar bill.
“Um.” A look of panic flares in his eyes. His mom pulls out her phone like she’s going to use the calculator.
“It’s all right. Take your time,” I say. I’m going to give him the hundred regardless of how many chocolate bars he has. I just want him to use his math skills. I want to say he’s in fifth or sixth grade. Old enough to know how to multiply. “How many bars are in the box?”
The kid drops to his knees and starts to dump them out, counting quickly. “There were sixty,” he reports. “But I already ate one and sold three on the bus ride home.”
“So what does that leave? You don’t have to count. Just do the subtraction in your head. Sixty minus four is what?”
“Um… fifty… six. Yeah, fifty-six.” He shoves the bars back in the box and stands.
“That’s right. And the cost per bar?”
“One dollar. So fifty-six dollars.”
“That was easy.” I smile at him. “No change necessary.” I hand him the bill. “It’s my donation to your team.” I take a couple chocolate bars from the box and hand them back. “And these are for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baranov.” The elevator stops on their floor.
“Yes, thank you,” his mother says, her Russian accent thick. “So much.” She holds the door for her son and darts a glance at Lucy.
“This is Lucy.” I want to add, “The mother of my child,” but Lucy’s not amenable to being claimed by me yet. “Lucy, this is Anna and her son Nate.”
Lucy’s the type who commands that kind of admiration.
Not that I have even decided if I want to claim her.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?