Little Heads and Big Heads

The next morning as he and Vixen sat at the breakfast bench and watched Shadow, in a pink frilled apron and butt plug and nothing else, cook bacon and eggs at the stove, Raven sipped his orange juice and wished it were coffee as he admired the view.

“You knew that I would have a moment, last night,” he accused Vixen.

“It is not unusual,” she replied. “You are very new, and very f-ked up, Raven. There is bound to be a few times that what you want clashes with what you think you should want, and the vacuum left when you cross those boundaries will leave you feeling a bit raw.”

“How many broken boy toys have you fixed?” He asked her suspiciously.

“One and one eighth,” she replied with a smile. “The first one was also very f-ked up when I started.”

“Extremely f-ked up,” Shadow agreed.

“So, I am boy toy number two?” Raven clarified.

“It is not something a Domme undertakes lightly,” she told him. “It would be irresponsible to start someone down this path, and then abandon him or her