Moritz had almost said it, had almost asked. He had come so close. He’d been rehearsing the words in his mind, deciding exactly how to phrase it, ever since the last time he and Wendla had played together. She had pressed two fingers to his temple, dragged them down the side of his face, down his neck and chest, and something had woken itself inside Moritz. And even now, days later, the words he’d wanted to say still swirled in his mind.
I want to try… and if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s okay, I get it. But I want to try playing with a gun. I want you to touch me with it. To pretend like you’re --and here he stumbled every time, even in his imagination-- like you’re going to shoot me. I want to feel like you could do it.
Could you do it?
But how could he make himself say any of that? He knew he could trust Wendla, not only to hear him out without judgment but also to respond honestly about whether she was willing to do something or not. And it had been eating away at him, ever since that day.
Neither had thought of themselves as particularly dominant or submissive in bed before, but this was different; between the two of them, something had clicked, had fit together just right, and Wendla had discovered she liked power in this and Moritz had acknowledged to himself that he found something moving about giving it away. When they were younger, Moritz hadn’t understood when Melchior talked about the bliss of surrendering to another person. Melchior had really seemed to feel it, but for Moritz it had been pure speculation that he couldn’t identify with at all. But now, he understood.
He couldn’t let this torment him anymore. He had to ask her. Had to, or else there was no chance of getting this thing, whatever it was, that he wanted.
Moritz chose a Saturday morning, when they didn’t get out of bed til 11 and made themselves a pancake breakfast. It was certainly more relaxed than Moritz felt most of the time, even if he was a bit anxious right now. He could do this, he had to do this.
His voice shook, quiet, as he managed to make himself speak. “Wendla?”
Wendla noticed the difference in his tone; this was clearly a genuine question. “What is it, Mo?”
Moritz swallowed. Here goes nothing. “There’s a thing, this thing that I want to try. And. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it.”
Wendla touched his hand, gently stroking his fingers before resting her own hand on top. “You know me, Moritz.” This didn’t seem to comfort him much, so she continued. “It can’t hurt to ask, at least?”
Moritz nodded. Where were the words he’d rehearsed so many times, now that he needed them? “If--if you’re not comfortable with this then that’s fine. Really. But I want…” A deep breath, in and out. “I want to try playing with a gun.”
Wendla’s eyes went wide for a moment, but Moritz knew that if he didn’t keep going while he had the momentum, he might never finish. He recited what he’d practiced in his head for days, again and again.
“I want you to touch me with it. I want you to…” His voice trailed off, and when he continued it was much softer, quieter. “To act like you might shoot me. I want to feel like you could do it.”
He managed to meet her eyes. “Could you do it? Would you?”
Wendla took a minute to think. Moritz was visibly anxious, moving the food around his plate with a fork but unsure if he’d be able to take a bite with his stomach in knots. Finally, he heard Wendla begin to speak and he looked up.
“I can’t say I wouldn’t do it. I can’t even say I wouldn’t like it. But we definitely have to talk, more than just this.”
Moritz nodded. “Of course.”
Wendla squeezed his hand, then cocked her head, a look of concern on her face. “Do you know why you want this? Are you sure you--?”
“It’s not like that!” Moritz blurted out. Quickly, he realized that he’d made a lot of assumptions about the reason behind her question. “I mean, it’s not… I don’t actually want to… you know,” he finished weakly. “I feel fine. I’m--I’m happy. Things are better now, things are good. It’s a control thing, I think.” He took a deep breath. “I think I want you to do it… I want you to, because…” Moritz sighed, exhausted. “I don’t know how to say it.”
Wendla felt unsure what he meant, but she wanted to help him talk about it, if she could. She made a cautious guess. “Because it might help you process things?”
A pause. “Because you make me feel safe.”
Wendla couldn’t possibly describe the mix of emotions she felt at the words. Fear of what he wanted--warmth at the thought of Moritz trusting her that much--and the weight of so much responsibility. But somehow, she knew she wanted to take it. “I… I think I can do it. If you’re sure you want me to for the right reasons.”
Moritz nodded. “Yes.”
Wendla’s voice was firm. “But we definitely have to talk about this more. Let’s finish breakfast, then have some tea on the couch?”
Moritz smiled, a mix of relief and so much affection. “Sounds good.”
It took them about a week to talk through everything--it had taken multiple conversations for them both to feel comfortable with what they were planning to do--and to obtain the gun. Rope, they had already.
Now, Moritz was on his back on the bed, his wrists tied together with the soft, red rope and secured to the headboard. His lips and chin were wet with Wendla’s come, his tongue darting out to taste as much as he could. He loved feeling the grip of Wendla’s hand tightening in his hair as her thighs tensed and shook on either side of his head; but tonight, this was the part of the evening he had been looking forward to the most. Now, Moritz was half excitement, half nerves, as he looked up at Wendla with anticipation.
Wendla was straddling his hips, her finger resting against the frame of the gun as she examined it carefully, turning it in her hands and running her fingers over the smooth metal. It was meant to tease Moritz, yes, but Wendla was also preparing herself for what she was about to do. She was surprised by how much she found herself to be anticipating this, and a part of her wondered what it said about her that she wanted to do this.
But a loud whimper from Moritz quieted that part of her, in favor of looking down at him and seeing the desperation on his face. She laughed, soft and deep, the laugh she had when she held power over someone like this. Moritz called it her “sadist laugh,” and perhaps he wasn’t wrong. “So, does that mean you’re ready?”
“Hnnnnn...” Moritz could only whine and nod, his fingers twitching in their restraints above his head. Not only was he ready, he was desperate. Oh, Wendla was going to like this.
But first, she paused; she wasn’t done teasing him just yet. “Almost.” Reaching over to the nightstand, Wendla took a tissue and used it to wipe clean Moritz’s mouth and chin, slowly, methodically. “There we are.” Moritz squirmed beneath her, urging her to hurry up, please, please, please. When Wendla had finally finished, she tossed the tissue off to the side and returned her attention to the gun. “Look at this, Mo. It’s nice, isn’t it?” She held it in front of his face, as if offering it for his inspection, while keeping it just out of his reach.
Moritz did his best to lean his head toward the gun. He wanted this; he needed this. I want you to touch me with it.
Wendla smiled, then pulled away to rest herself again on Moritz’s thighs. “All right.” Watching him carefully, Wendla slowly lowered the gun and pointed it at Moritz. He heard him gasp, saw his eyes widen, noticed the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened. Nothing seemed amiss. Slowly, slowly, she rested the tip of the gun against his chest, over his heart. Wendla could feel the press of it against his ribs as he breathed, in and out, in and out, fast, faster. Her free hand moved up to stroke Moritz’s neck, a gentle contrast to the harsh metal of the gun against his skin, and she could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her fingertips.
Moritz’s mouth hung open, gasping, breathless. He had expected this to be a lot for himself, but he hadn’t realized how quickly it would become so heady. How was he this far gone when Wendla had barely touched him? He arched his back, groaning at the feeling of the gun digging more deeply into his flesh.
Wendla was captivated by just how much Moritz seemed to want this. She realized suddenly that her own breathing had hastened, and was quickly catching up to Moritz. She pulled the gun away. Between breaths, “So, do you want more?”
Moritz swallowed and nodded, the speed of his movements betraying just how badly he wanted. “Yes... Yes.”
“Mmmm.” Wendla hummed, low and deep, and traced her finger around the darkened circle in the center of his chest, an indentation left by the press of the gun. Lightly, she rested the tip of the gun there again, then traced a line up along his sternum. Never pressing down hard, simply skimming it across his skin. When she reached his collarbone, she increased the pressure, stroking the muzzle firmly along the ridge of bone there. As the gun approached Moritz’s shoulder, Wendla twisted her wrist, so that the barrel of the gun was pressed lengthwise against his neck.
Moritz shuddered as he felt the cold length of the gun on his skin. A great gush of air left his lungs as he felt her press down more firmly, and he found himself breathing in rapid, shallow gasps. God, he really hadn’t known how much he would want this. He tried to look down, to see the glint of the metal that was pressed against his throat, but could only see Wendla’s hand wrapped firmly around the grip.
Wendla wasn’t satisfied with this; she wanted Moritz to continue to look her in the eyes. She raised the gun until the length of the barrel was pressed under his chin, then used it to lift Moritz’s head and force him to look at her. His pupils were wide and dark, and his lips were wet; so pretty. Wendla leaned down, her cheek pressed against Moritz’s. “There you go,” she murmured into his ear, “I want you to look at me.” She turned her hand again, this time pressing the muzzle of the gun into the soft flesh along the underside of his jawline. “Do you understand?”
Moritz didn’t think he could articulate a coherent word, and with Wendla like this, he certainly couldn’t nod his head. He could feel the gun digging in under his chin as he gasped, then he hummed his assent. “Mmhmmm.”
Wendla’s hot breath ghosted against his ear. “Good.” Now she was pulling back, and Moritz could see that her eyes were much gentler than her words had been. Still, he felt one last firm press of the gun into his throat before she released him.
Moritz’s head was spinning. He could see Wendla biting her lip, deviant, wanting. Then he felt the muzzle of the gun tracing along the line of his own lips. Oh god. Now Wendla was pressing the gun more firmly against them, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Moritz swallowed, then slowly, slowly opened his lips. His breath shuddered as he felt the smooth metal barrel sliding over his tongue, into his mouth. Wendla let the gun rest there for a second, pressing it down gently against his tongue to prompt him to open his mouth wider. When Moritz did so, she began to slide the gun in and out of his mouth.
She moved slowly at first, the slickened metal sliding easily back and forth against Moritz’s tongue. He heard himself moan, his mouth still open wide, somehow desperate for more. Wendla smiled, and pulled the gun away as Moritz whined again, louder this time, his head moving upward as best he could to chase after it. He hardly seemed to realize what he was doing anymore; it was as if his body was responding instinctively to what he wanted. But Wendla held the gun just out of his reach.
“You’ll have to show me you want it,” she said simply, still pointing the gun at him. She saw Moritz’s mouth open wide again, and offered him the gun barrel, finally moving it back within his reach. How generous of her.
Moritz understood immediately what he was being asked to do. He pressed his tongue to the side of the gun, then dragged it slowly up the barrel of the gun, leaving a slick trail of saliva behind. He began to lap at the gun, both sides of the barrel, wrapping his lips around it and sliding them down along the gun until he reached the muzzle. Once there, he took the end of the gun into his mouth and began to move his head up and down, sucking and licking as he went. Soon he could feel the gun moving with him, Wendla’s hand sliding it back and forth between his lips, into and out of his mouth, fucking his face with it. Moritz’s eyes closed as he sucked in a pleasured breath around the gun, before remembering that Wendla wanted him to look at her and opening them again.
Wendla’s free hand petted his head. “You’re doing so well, showing me what you want. Look at you.” She slowly pulled the gun from his mouth, the tip of the barrel tugging at the edge of his lips as she dragged it across his face. A thick, wet trail of saliva smeared itself across Moritz’s cheek, causing his breath to catch in his throat as he felt the gun sliding over his cheekbone to rest just in front of his ear.
But when the gun reached the side of his face, Wendla hesitated. This was the part where she wasn’t sure how Moritz would respond. They had discussed this part in the most detail--this time, she was the one who had needed reassurance from Moritz--until finally Wendla and Moritz both felt comfortable with it. Wendla had to know for certain that he was ready for it.
She was gentle, now. The hand not holding the gun rested itself against Moritz’s opposite cheek to center him, and once more he fully met her eyes. Not looking away from him, Wendla slowly traced the gun up the side of Moritz’s face, then paused to rest the barrel vertically against his head, running from his temple all the way down to his jawline.
As she began to speak, Wendla was surprised by her own shortness of breath. “Moritz.” Her free hand still cupped the opposite side of Moritz’s face. “Is this okay?”
Moritz took a second to think. “My hands,” he said simply.
Wendla nodded. “Understandable. Let me get them for you…” She set the gun down on the mattress and leaned forward to untie Moritz’s wrists, her fingers working quickly to release the restraints and free his hands. “How’s that? Are you ready now?”
“Yes.” Moritz’s response was swift and sure, perhaps even urgent, and Wendla felt as confident about this as she could. She pulled back, then picked up the gun and cocked it; it wasn’t loaded. Wendla felt a wave of--of something--washing over her as her hand moved to touch the end of the gun to Moritz’s temple. He didn’t quite flinch, but for a brief moment his eyes shut and his hands clenched into fists. Swiftly, however, his eyes opened and his entire body went lax, sinking into the bed. Wendla’s eyes met his, questioning, intense. Moritz nodded. “Please.”
Wendla had never held this much control over anyone. It was almost overwhelming, in a good way, a thrill running along her spine, up the back of her neck, rushing to her head. Whatever this feeling was, she definitely liked it.
Wendla pressed the empty gun sharply into Moritz’s temple and pulled the trigger.
A loud gasp. Moritz’s eyes widened, suddenly staring off somewhere beyond Wendla. His mind went blank, and his hand came up, thoughtlessly, automatically, to grasp her wrist and hold it in place. Wendla was surprised by this, maybe, but not startled. She stroked her free hand down Moritz’s chest, as if to soothe the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. She could feel Moritz’s gasping steady itself and slow to a more natural rhythm, even as her own breathing became more regular. Suddenly, she felt Moritz release his grip on her wrist, and their eyes met. Wendla’s hand dropped the gun, and she leaned in and hugged him tightly.
Moritz’s arms wrapped around her instinctively. His cheek nuzzled against her hair, one arm wrapping around her waist as his other hand stroked up along her spine to cup the back of her neck, holding her close.
Wendla’s cheeks grew warm as she heard him whisper, “Thank you.”