The first step, the first trample, the first hit.

This isn't exactly what was requested. But it seemed pertinent to the request that was made. There may soon be a few stories that go outside of what is realistic and okay (some broken bones maybe?), but first I wanted to do this.

When two people first start to play, especially if one of them is new, there are some tough conversations. Tough but important.

The firsts

 “No. I told you, I've had to deal with enough sexual violence in my life.”

I ran my hand over my head, feeling the short hairs against my scalp. “It's not violence,” I said.

She laughed. “You want me to beat the shit out of you. How is that not violent?”

“It's the intent.”

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her legs. Her foot, wearing the only pair of her boots I'd ever convinced her to let me lick, bobbed up and down as she waited for me to explain.

“It's like the difference between being hurt and being injured. If you're in pain, then you're in pain. But if there's no actual damage done, it's just hurt. You can keep going through hurt. When you get injured, you have to stop to avoid further injury. You can run on a sore leg, but not a broken one.”

She sighed and shook her head. “But hurt leads to injury.”

“Only if you aren't careful.”

“But you want me to hurt you.”

“Exactly. And that's the point. This isn't a hate crime.” I knew that was a sore point for her. It usually is for people who have lived the kind of life she has. “This isn't you getting back at society for what it's done to you. This isn't about them. It's just about us.”

“Just us.”

I nodded. “That's why we have a safe word. I know you don't want to really injure me. You don't hate me.”

She smiled at me. “I really don't,” she said. It was the same smile she'd given me when we first started dating. But then her face went back to that pensive look, that fear of how I was going to react, just like it did before my initial reaction.

“You liked it when I licked your boots, right?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“And you know I want to have sex with you.” She nodded again. I'd proved that. “So why is it different if you tie me up first?”

“Because I don't know if you still want to.”

“I wouldn't let you tie me up if I didn't.”

She shrugged at that. We both knew I was stronger than she was. Her frame had more muscle than it appeared, but she had worked hard to tone that muscle, to make it look feminine. I've seen pictures of her transition, of the time when she had to lose so much weight that she looked like she belonged in a commercial asking for money for third world nations. Thankfully, that was done before we met; I don't think I could have stood by when she was doing that. How could I stand by and let her suffer like that?

“But once you're tied up, you can't say no.”

I smiled. “Of course I can. Would you go ahead and fuck me anyway if I changed my mind? If I told you I didn't want you to do it, would you ignore me? Would you rape me?”

The word made her tense up. I knew it would, but I had to make the point. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I would never do that.”

I nodded and gave her a warm smile. “I know that,” I said. “And I trust that. I trust you. That's the whole point. I couldn't do this with someone I didn't trust.”

“And you'll tell me to stop?”

“It's why we have a safeword.” I took a breath and thought how best to explain it. “I might beg you to stop while we're playing, might resist a little, but if you stop as soon as I ask you to, we might never get anywhere.”

“Why?”

“Because,” another breath, “I have my own issues to get over. My knee jerk reaction, like anyone else, is to ask you to stop. But I don't mean it. So we have a special word. If I say that word, it means stop. Anything else, you can ignore.”

“But what if you forget?”

“If you think that happened, you can always stop and check in. You can stop whenever you want. You're in charge.”

She smiled. “I do like that.”

“I know you do. And remember, this is power exchange. You get the power. The only power I have is to make you stop if I absolutely need you to.”

“But you want me to hit you?”

I nodded.

“And you want me to trample you?”

I nodded again, feeling the blood rush around my body at the thought of it.

She shifted in her seat but didn't uncross her legs. I took that to be a good sign. “You can do anything you want,” I said. “Nothing that leaves a permanent mark, nothing that causes real injury. But short of that, anything.”

“What if there's an accident?”

I shrug. “I know the risks,” I say. “So long as you stop when that happens, we'll deal with it.”

“But won't the hospital report things to the police?”

I shake my head. “No one is going to believe that my girlfriend beat me up.”

“But I'm not--”

I held up a hand. “As far as I'm concerned, and as far as anyone else is concerned, you are. I don't care how you were born. You're a beautiful woman, and my girlfriend.”

She gave me that smile again. The one she'd given me that first night.

She was so nervous. Wringing her hands, eyeing the door, keeping her distance from me. Standing just out of arm's reach. She told me that there was something I didn't know about her. Something I needed to know. She told me not to freak out. Warned me that I might.

She took a deep breath, searching for words. She told me that if I wanted to leave, it was okay. That if I never wanted to talk to her again, she'd understand.

I started getting worried. Was she going to tell me that she had killed someone? That she worked in a dogfighting ring? That she was a drug kingpin?

Then she told me, and I laughed. She looked hurt. I assured her I wasn't laughing at her. I was laughing at the ridiculous places my mind took me.

She didn't believe me.

I promised her.

She told me everything. Told me that she hadn't had the surgery. That she was still a man below the legs. She looked at me, her eyes shining with tears that she was expecting to shed.

Then I shrugged. I told her I didn't care. And I stepped forward to kiss her.

And that's when she gave me that smile. The smile she was giving me again.

“We'll start slow,” I told her. “Learn each other's limits. If you want, we can start with shackles I can get out of myself, and quickly.”

She nodded. “That would help,” she said.

“And we don't need to jump into using toys right away either. Your boots are more than enough for me.”

She uncrossed her legs and gave me a smirk. Her nipples were hard, and so was her cock. “Oh,” she said, “that had better not be true.”