Trigger warning for sex/BDSM/abuse talk
Somehow in all our teasing, flirting lighthearted talking last night, Army convinced me to text him a picture of me in stockings with garters.
I’ve never done such a thing before.
I’m sure that seems surprising, with Charlotte’s sexual nature. I’m not 100% sure that she’s never slipped out a risque pic to some stranger that meant nothing but pure sex, but I can say pretty confidently that I’ve never sent such pictures to anyone who meant anything to us.
I was nervous about it, and to his credit, he wasn’t being pushy. It was that gentle sort of prodding that got me to finally gather up some of that elusive courage and manage something relatively sexy.
It was pretty much just my legs crossed in stockings with the garters peeking at the top. No face, nothing X-rated. Just in case it were to find it’s way into the public eye.
And I still worried. Something tugged at the corner of my mind.
My fingers moved on their own.
“Just yours, right?”
He texted back almost immediately.
“Only mine. No sharing.”
My brain seemed to explode.
Voices started screaming at me.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. No sharing. No one else. No touching. Mine.
A cascade of memories of Katherine’s games of possession and branding wash over me.
I touch my left hip nervously. The scar is very faint now. That means I’m no longer branded, right? I don’t belong to her. I’m not breaking it. Not violating the pact.
She violated it first.
But she was never marked. She could do as she pleased.
I am the property. I am the girl. I am the claimed.
I am nothing.