In my dream Sa’afia held Ana’s arms while Ana knelt, ass up, on my bed. She watched with interest while I took my belt to Ana’s arse, and leaned forward to be kissed while I positioned my cock against Ana’s little asshole. Ana’s strapped skin burned to the touch as I closed contact with her, though the sheets in which I dreamed were cool.

So were Sa’afia’s imagined breasts as she drew me into a tight hug while I pushed forward into Ana’s ass. The dream couldn’t sustain that level of detail. I drifted forward into a female world, a sequence of visual and tactile moments, of Ana’s softnesses and Sa’afia’s. When it all became too improbable, and too much mental work to sustain, I woke up.

It was morning. I  was back in a world in which I couldn’t have sex with Ana, and I shouldn’t really have a threesome with two cousins. They’d probably find it quite awkward, in practice. I didn’t let that worry me overmuch until, eyes closed to keep the images, and with spit and my cock in my hand, I came. Decorously, into tissues. 

In the shower I remembered the certainty I’d felt, while Sa’afia and I were fucking, that if I hurt and subdued her once she was excited she’d find a whole set of sexual pleasures that she probably didn’t know about, let alone know that they were in her. She’d seemed ready to let go of her own control, and to go under, to submit. That, or I’d imagined the whole thing. 

But there was an ethical issue. One that was more relevant to the real world, or my real world, anyway, than whether to involve cousins in a threesome. If I was right about Sa’afia I could easily get her consent.

I could smack her ass just before she came, something a lot of vanilla lovers do to their vanilla lovers. It doesn’t need a separate consent. But I could smack her, and if it went well, do it again. If she became really excited, I could ask her consent to smack her harder.

Under those conditions, if the fuck is good, just the word “harder” can trigger a woman’s first submission-flavoured orgasm. 

Submissive women are all different. There’s no “key”. That approach will never work with someone who doesn’t like, desire and trust the person who smacks them. But it had worked for me, though I only did it when I already had some reason to believe that some small, self-revealing, steps into bdsm territory would be welcome. I wasn’t entirely comfortable about knowing things like that. It felt manipulative. Because it was. But it was also true that I’d done it accidentally, and then done it deliberately, and I’d been lavishly rewarded by the responses I’d gained. Submissive women had shown me something that some of them liked, and I’d paid attention.

But if I was right about Sa’afia, should I make any move to reach into her and show her her submissiveness? What about all the changes that bdsm would be likely to bring to her life? How long was I likely to be in her life? Maybe I should avoid changing her. Maybe I’d imagined that feeling between us anyway. Or maybe I hadn’t imagined it. What the hell did I know?

I got out of the shower and got dressed. I decided to go looking for Rodriguez before I went to the office, so I could catch him before he went to work. I called the office to tell them to expect me later. I didn’t call Rodriguez. I should be  a surprise.