Dom-sub

DOM/sub

B. D. Dark & Roxy Harte

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.

***** DISCLAIMER: Many of the acts described in our BDSM/fetish titles can be dangerous. Loose Id® publishes these stories for members of the community in which these acts are known and practiced safely. If you have an interest in the pleasures and pains you find described herein, we urge you to seek out advice and guidance from knowledgeable persons. Please do not try any new sexual practice, whether it be fire, rope, or whip play, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id® nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Dom/sub B. D. Dark & Roxy Harte This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com “Dominance,” Copyright © September 2007 by B. D. Dark “Submissive,” Copyright © September 2007 by Roxy Harte All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-550-0 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editors: Barbara Marshall & Irene D. Williams Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

www.loose-id.com

DOMINANCE

B. D. Dark

Prologue

How did it get this far? I ran my hand down her white, trembling leg and clasped her foot. The nude female form spread open before me on the X-shaped cross like an offering to the gods was intoxicating. I examined every angle and curve of Kim’s delicate body, the shadow beneath each jutting breast, the lines of ligaments in her straining arms and legs, the dark dip of her navel in her flat stomach. But most of all, I gazed at her wide eyes and the growing excitement in them as she watched my hands. I caressed the blade of the sharp knife with a careful finger, conscious of putting on a show for her. My cock rose hard and full in my pants as I lifted the knife and pressed the tip very lightly into the bottom of her breast, not breaking flesh. Kim’s body jerked in reaction, but there was no way for her to shy away from the weapon. She was bound and helpless. She gazed at the knife and said something into the ball-gag stretching her mouth. Her breast twitched against the knife’s pressure, and the movement drove her tit more firmly against the point of the blade so it broke skin. I pulled the knife away. A tiny bead of blood appeared at the piercing. I watched, fascinated as it swelled to a bigger droplet. The swelling of my dick matched it. I ached with

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overwhelming arousal at the sight of the woman on the cross and the small red nick in her pristine white breast. Lifting the knife again, I placed it just under her breast. The blade drifted down her torso from tit to pelvis, leaving a thin, red trail as shallow as a paper cut. It barely cleaved her skin. Kim was motionless, not screaming into her gag or twisting to get free. She tilted her head forward, curious to see the line I’d made on her smooth body. I put my hand between her widespread legs, dipping my fingers into her steamy entrance. The heat and moisture of her tight pussy seared my skin. Drawing my slick fingers up to her clit, I rotated little circles until Kim’s eyes fell shut in rapture and moans welled from behind the gag. Before she could come, I stopped the circular motion and stroked her smooth pubic mound like a favored pet. Standing back, I gazed at the shallow cut I’d made down her body, then carefully sliced a delicate, parallel line leading from her other breast to her pelvic bone. Two thin lines marked her torso. Resting my hand on her belly, I felt it twitch beneath my palm before sliding it slowly up to her chest, following the trail I’d carved. I kneaded one firm breast and the other, then pinched and twisted her engorged nipples until she moaned. I pulled one nipple as far out from her chest as I could. Her body attempted to follow the movement of her breast. Her upper back arched away from the cross as far as it could. Lifting my knife, I placed it at the base of her distended areole and looked up at Kim for her reaction. A sheen of sweat slicked her forehead; pale wheat-blonde hair clung to it. She stared at the knife poised at her vulnerable tit, then lifted her gaze and met mine for a long moment. Complete trust shone in her hazel eyes. She knew I wouldn’t hurt her beyond what she could endure. Bracing her body against the cross, she closed her eyes and waited for me to do

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whatever I pleased with her. That expression of complete faith was an aphrodisiac to me that made my cock swell even harder. I paused with the knife at her breast. How did we come to this? How did I let it get this

far?

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B. D. Dark

Chapter One

“The vessel receives whatever is poured in it. It doesn’t complain that the contents are

too hot or too cold, but accepts what is given without question. The vessel then holds the liquid until the provider chooses to empty it again.” As I read the words of the ancient text, I felt I’d found the perfect explanation of a submissive nature. This was what Dominance and submission was all about, a provider and a willing vessel, and I knew on which side of the equation my inclination laid. My dream of owning a willing slave -- a live-in companion rather than a weekend playmate -- had begun to infiltrate every moment of my life. Daydreams distracted me during my workday or after hours. Erotic fantasies filled my dreams at night. It was no longer enough to look at pictures of bound and gagged women or watch web cam performances of torture and subjugation. I wanted to join the scene, but I didn’t want to simply experiment with the lifestyle at clubs or on play dates. I wanted to be completely immersed in a relationship, live with a woman who was as invested in her role as I was in mine. At a club I knew I’d stick out as a newbie wannabe, so I bided my time and researched and read everything I could about the BDSM lifestyle. I chatted with people online and

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cruised Internet want ads, reading the profiles of Dominants seeking submissives or slaves seeking Masters. Just reading the descriptions made me hard. I stroked my cock while I read, “Married

couple seeks well hung stud. She is in need of cock 24/7 and he is a voyeur that enjoys photographing and filming her enjoying all she can get. Gangbangs are a favorite.” The wife had added, “My Ideal Person: Men that have no inhibition about using me as

hubby watches and captures the pleasure on film.” I studied another file of a voluptuous, smiling woman with huge tits. Her message read, “im very interested in finding a man who is not afraid to take me over his knee and spank my

ass red. i crave a strong hand to keep me in line.” A woman wearing a conservative white blouse and skirt said, “Am totally focused on

the needs of my Dom. My own satisfaction is supplied by the pleasure i provide. I need harsh training.” A petite girl in strappy leather fetish wear with an open crotch explained, “i enjoy

wearing outfits that keep me available at all times should my Master require access to His property. i know my place and happily accept my role.” I wondered if all of the listings were for real, or if some of the women were just playing around and would disappear like smoke if someone actually tried to contact them. I idly stroked my erection, slow and easy to make it last, and continued to read. In the listing of submissives seeking partners was a want ad placed by a self-styled “slave trainer.” “Check out my latest slut/slave trainee. I’ve worked hard with her and she is

almost ready for a new Master. Browse the photo gallery to see if this well-trained sub will suit your needs.” I couldn’t resist the invitation and clicked on the photo file. I was instantly treated to a montage of pictures of “little cocksucker,” as she was called, in various stages of training. The girl looked young, although her trainer had verified she was of legal age. In most photos her

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hair was pulled into two high pigtails on either side of her head to enhance her barely legal look. The gallery was extensive, the array of poses and practices mind-boggling. Little cocksucker could be seen naked, face-down, tied spread-eagle on a bed with a large dildo inserted in her upthrust ass. In another shot, she hung suspended from her wrists, toes barely touching the ground. A gag filled her mouth, and a black-masked man whipped her small, conical tits with a flail. There was a close-up photo of a man’s cock, presumably the trainer’s, shooting come across the girl’s face. The picture caught the ribbons of white landing on her cheek and chin. The girl’s eyes were half-closed in pleasure, her mouth open and her pink tongue stretched to receive his spunk like it was a delectable treat. There were other photos where little cocksucker was posed in costumes; leather bondage gear, dog collar and leash, lacy lingerie and high heels. There were pictures of her flaming red ass after her trainer had paddled her for a transgression. She was shown in extreme bondage, tied so intricately she couldn’t move a muscle. I stroked my dick faster and harder as I examined one erotic image after another. The sight of the girl’s complete domination by her trainer was exhilarating. I wanted that for myself so badly I could taste it. I needed to possess a woman who would willingly give herself into my control. The tension in my groin grew exponentially with each picture I viewed -- and even more from reading the suggestive, intoxicating words. I pumped my rigid cock with my fist, hard and rough, until ecstasy seized and shuddered through me. My balls tightened, and come spurted from the angry purple head of my cock, landing on my computer keyboard and dribbling onto my fist. I closed my eyes, panting and cursing as waves of exhilaration shook me. My breath rasped in and out, and I sat for a moment, shaken by the force of the orgasm. “Shit!” I cursed when I opened my eyes and beheld the sticky mess on the keyboard. I wiped up the evidence of my desperate need as best I could with the tail of my shirt, then

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returned to the main page of little cocksucker’s profile. Her Dom had this to say about her: “She loves being told what to do and will do anything. The other night I told her to pull her

skirt up and masturbate while I watched. No big deal, right? We were in a dimly lit booth at the back of a restaurant. Customers were nearby but the slut didn’t hesitate to splay her legs wide and flash her pussy at me. She rubbed her clit and finger-fucked herself until she came right there in the restaurant. She’s an obedient little bitch, hoping the right might Master will come and claim her. Don’t miss your chance to own her.” I wondered if the story was true and was tempted to contact this guy, just to sound him out and see if he was for real. I wouldn’t mind seeing little cocksucker in person, even if nothing came of it, and maybe my initiation into the lifestyle should be with a previously trained sub. But I knew it wasn’t what I really craved. I wanted to meet someone special and learn along with her. I wanted to train my partner and to have a relationship based on a real connection…which just happened to include Dominance and submission as part of the package. If this was going to be a voyage of discovery, it should be a cruise for two. Both my sub and I would grow together, becoming something new, something outside the norm. We would be challenged as we never had been before. I would learn to be her Master, and she my slave. But where and how could I find a novice like myself -- the perfect candidate?

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Chapter Two

I joined a few online communities, talked to a lot of experienced people in the lifestyle, and learned some of the terminology so I didn’t sound like a complete greenhorn. Most importantly, I learned the watchwords of the BDSM lifestyle, safe, sane, consensual, from a man who called himself Mad Master. Boundaries and safe words must be set, agreements made. This was not a pact to be entered into lightly. My mentor, Mad, invited me to his house for a party where I could wet my feet among more experienced players. “If you have a girl in mind, bring her along so she can check out the scene, too. If you don’t, that’s cool. There’ll be plenty of subs to play with, and we’re a sharing community.” The night of the party, I drove almost two hours to reach the city where my new mentor lived. My stomach was jumpy, my palms sweaty, and my pulse raced as if I’d taken speed. Adrenaline burned in my veins, and my cock was rigid the whole drive just from the anticipation of what I was about to experience. Finally, I pulled the car up in front of a ranch house on a nondescript street. I hadn’t been expecting a Bavarian castle in the middle of suburbia, but somehow the neat brick

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ranch with its carefully mowed lawn and trimmed hedges didn’t fulfill my expectations. I hoped it wasn’t an indicator of the rest of the evening. I walked up the path and rang the bell. A few minutes passed before a guy with a goatee, whom I identified from his profile photo as Mad Master, a.k.a. Derrick, opened the door. “Hi. You must be Steve.” “Yeah. Hi.” I stuck out my hand and shook the dungeon master’s hand, feeling like an idiot. He grinned and ushered me into the front hall. “While we’re in play mode we refer to each other by our chosen names. So for tonight, you’re Cock Wielder, your online handle. Care for a drink?” “Absolutely.” I blew out a long breath. Code names? I hadn’t known we were using names. It seemed pretentious, silly, like grown-up kids inventing a secret club, which, I supposed, was what it was. “Little nervous, huh?” “More than a little,” I admitted. “Daphne, bring our guest a drink.” Mad turned and called to a woman who was walking from the kitchen with a tray full of drinks. In the living room beyond the foyer were a number of people sitting and talking. Some wore fetish wear, strappy leather outfits or sheer, diaphanous fabrics, others common street clothes. There were various degrees of nudity. My attention was caught and held by a naked woman of indeterminate age crouched on hands and knees, serving as a coffee table for some of the guests. Her head was down, and long hanks of hair hid her face from view. There were glasses and small plates of hors d’oeuvres resting on her flat back and perched precariously on her round ass. My cock stiffened even harder at the blatant display of servitude. I wondered how much of the play

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was for show at parties and how much of it infiltrated couples’ daily lives. All I knew was I was entranced with the woman’s submissive posture. Mad led me to the living room and introduced me to some of the guests, refilling my glass several times as I downed each whiskey with barely a pause. The heat of the alcohol settled in my stomach, glowing warmly, suffusing me with well-being and relaxing the nervous knot inside me. I talked to some people who’d come to the party as couples, others as singles. We chatted about our “vanilla” lives a bit, jobs, sports, politics, the weather. But there was really only one thing we all had in common, and we all knew why we were really here. I, for one, was anxious for the real party to begin. I sat and talked with one man whose favorite kink was breast torture. He told me stories about things he’d done to willing victims that I doubted were true, but that kept me on the edge of my seat with my dick rock-hard in my pants. Feeling more relaxed after meeting a few people, I was ready to find out what went on down in the “dungeon,” Mad and Daphne’s lavish basement. Before the party moved downstairs, Mad introduced me to another guest, a late arrival at the party. She had come along with a couple. “This is Kim, a friend of Doug and Brenda’s -- uh, that is, Maximus and Fontana. They have a little Roman thing going. Kim’s new here, too.” “Hi, pleased to meet you.” The woman had pale, silvery-blonde hair and wide hazel eyes. A light sprinkling of freckles graced her uptilted nose and high cheekbones. She was ethereal and elegant, a real beauty. Her thin wrists and long, slender neck gave an impression of vulnerability, but the light in her clear eyes spoke of a strong will. “Hi. I’m Steve.” “Cock Wielder,” Mad corrected, grinning. He slapped me on the shoulder and wandered away to refresh his drink. “Steve, really,” I said to Kim. “The nickname thing is a little much, don’t you think?”

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“I don’t know. Whatever gets you into the role, I guess. They all seem to be having fun with it.” “All right then, Kim. What would you choose for your sub name?” I teased. “Baby doll? Sugar buns? Cum whore?” “No,” she said with a grin. “I wouldn’t choose a name at all. My Master would have to do it. That’s the whole point for a sub, isn’t it, deferring to someone else’s judgment? That’s what first intrigued me about giving up control. I have to deal with shit all day at my office. I think it’d be the most relaxing thing in the world to drop all that when I walk in the door at night.” She laughed. “Not to mention that the idea of being tied up and flogged is hot as hell.” “So you’re interested in a 24/7 situation, not just occasional play?” “I’m not sure yet. Guess I’d have to see what it’s really like. I love the idea of it, but haven’t found anyone I’m ready to call Master.” “What have you done so far?” I was loath to confess my own inexperience until I found out how advanced Kim was. “I’ve been looking, listening and learning. To tell you the truth, tonight’s my first chance to play at it. I’m pretty nervous…and excited, and feeling like a real newbie.” “Me, too,” I admitted. I was becoming more intrigued by the second. Not only was Kim lovely and my ideal physical type, but she was a beginner like me. She seemed exactly the woman I’d been searching for, but. I couldn’t believe finding her had been this easy. There had to be a catch. “Want to learn the ropes together?” She groaned at the pun. “Ropes. Ha ha. Clever.” “Yeah, I’m witty like that.” I grinned. “I can’t promise I know exactly what I’m doing, but I was in the Boy Scouts and have had a little knot practice.” “Give it a whack then …or give me one,” she quipped. “God, could we be any funnier?” She held up her glass. “And I’ve only had one drink so far.”

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I could tell I was going to enjoy this woman in much more than a sexual way. She was light and fun, and eager to try new things. What more could I ask for? We stood and talked for a few minutes, then found a seat in a quiet corner of the room where we could sit and talk some more. Kim sat very close to me on the loveseat, our legs pressed together, thigh-to-thigh. We leaned to hear each other over the music and the many conversations going on in the room. “Looks like any other party I’ve ever been to except for the clothing -- or lack of,” she noted, sneaking glimpses at the other guests. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, excited and aroused. I noticed they lingered on the woman acting as a human coffee table. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I might be doing that.” She nodded toward the woman on her hands and knees. Just then, Daphne came by with a tray full of drinks and offered it to us. Kim and I each accepted a shot, raised them to each other, then downed them in a gulp. Kim pulled a face as the alcohol burned her throat. “Another couple of these and I may be ready to go downstairs with the others, see what a real dungeon looks like.” I realized the crowd in the room was thinning as people left in pairs or groups to go down to the dungeon. I was in no hurry to catch up with them. For the moment it was nice to just sit with Kim, feeling the warmth of her shoulder radiate into mine. She leaned toward me and whispered, “What do you think of Mad Max and Daphne? Kinda quirky, huh?” “Aren’t we all?” “Good point.” We sat for another moment, watching the other party guests, and then she tilted her head to look up at me, her pale eyes questioning. With several drinks percolating through my system, I was feeling very light and relaxed -- and incredibly horny. The moment seemed right. I dipped my head and kissed her.

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Kim’s lips were soft, warm, and pliant under mine. She tasted like the whiskey she’d just drunk, combined with the sweetness of some kind of fruity lip gloss. I angled my head to cover her mouth more firmly and swept my tongue lightly across her lips. She responded, putting her hand around my neck and leaning into the kiss. Her tongue darted out to slide over mine, sending electric pulses through my body straight to my crotch. I slipped one hand around her waist, pulling her toward me, and cupped her cheek in the other hand, holding her head steady. I kissed her more aggressively, possessing her mouth with mine. She responded eagerly, turning her body toward mine and arching into me. Her fingers stroked the back of my neck, and her other hand clutched a fistful of my sleeve at the shoulder. After a few moments, I released her, pulling back so we both could draw breath. I was dizzy, lightheaded from the kisses and the alcohol. “Nice,” I whispered. “Very,” she answered. The room was almost empty when I looked around. Our host, Mad, came over to check on us. “You kids ready to have some fun?” I looked at Kim, and she raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “All right.” I rose from the couch and extended my hand to Kim, drawing her to her feet. We followed Mad down to his suburban dungeon.

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B. D. Dark

Chapter Three

I was surprised by how medieval they’d managed to make a typical cement block basement appear. The walls had been treated with a façade of mortar that gave the appearance of rough stones. Harnesses hung in several places around the room, and a large Xshaped cross occupied one end. There were stocks for hands, head, and feet, wood tables with shackles for wrists and ankles, and what looked like a gymnast’s vault -- for paddlings, I supposed. One of the men got right to work, tying his woman’s hands together and hauling them up high over her head to attach them to a hook in the ceiling. The woman wore black latex with cutouts for her tits and crotch. She looked extremely hot, dangling from the ceiling with her breasts jutting out and nipples hard and pointed in the cool air. Her partner, the man I’d talked to about tit torture, attached clamps to the red nubs and pulled on the chain connecting them, dragging her breasts out straight before her, defying gravity. His sub moaned in delight. Kim leaned toward me. “Wow, they get right into it. No wasting time.” Her warm, soft hand was clasped in mine, and I gave it a little squeeze. “Guess so.”

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If seeing photos and video clips on the computer was arousing, the stuff going on all around me live was a hundred times more intense. Kim and I were like lost children adrift in a sea of sex. We clung to each other’s hands as we observed a little flogging here, a little pinching and spanking there, and a whole lot of genitals and asses waving in the air. “This is so damn hot, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Kim whispered. “Want to get out of here?” “Yes.” As turned on as the unbridled action made me, I wanted to slow the pace, get to know Kim a little first, and then see where the night took us. We said goodbye to our host. I felt kind of stupid, leaving just as the action was starting, but Mad Master didn’t seem surprised or make any comment. He had Daphne suspended in a harness with a hood pulled over her head. She dangled in semi-nude display, her arms and legs twisted and tied behind her in intricate bondage. “Anytime you’re ready. Give me a call,” he said. “My slut whore and I are always up for new playmates.” Kim snorted with laughter that she quickly suppressed, but when we turned away from our hosts she mouthed, “slut whore?” at me. I smiled at her amusement, and whispered, “What’s the matter, you don’t like terms of endearment?” Kim told the friends she’d come with that I’d drop her off at home so she wouldn’t need a ride, and we left the dungeon. Back on the street, I took a look at the unassuming exterior of the house. “Bet the neighbors don’t have a clue what goes on there.” “That’s half the excitement, the idea of doing something forbidden and outside the norm, completely in secret. Having an identity that’s much more thrilling than the one you show to the regular world. I can so get into that.” I smiled at her bubbly enthusiasm. She seemed more perfect by the second.

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“Couldn’t you?” Kim returned my smile, her pale face lighting up as her lips curved. I couldn’t resist their lush softness, and leaned to kiss them again. We stood for several long moments on the sidewalk in front of Mad Master and Daphne’s house, making out, before we finally got in the car. Driving out of suburbia into the heart of the city, we found a bar and stopped for a drink. We sat and talked about our lives. I told her about my job, creating engineering designs at an architectural firm. She told me about hers as an office administrator. “I just got the new position after working as an administrative assistant for years. I should be ecstatic, more money, more power, more autonomy.” She gazed at the amber liquid in her glass. “I thought I’d love it, but the headache of dealing with all the office bullshit every day isn’t worth it. I’d rather go back to my old position. But I just can’t give up the better pay, you know?” “Maybe you need to find another job.” “Probably.” Kim laughed. “But that entails updating my resume and putting myself out there -- you know, actual effort. I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually, but I’m only in whining mode right now.” We chatted some more and found out we both liked watching basketball and action movies. We enjoyed hiking, bicycling, and swimming. We disagreed violently on music. She preferred adult contemporary, folk guitar stuff. I was married to classic rock. Most importantly, we learned we had the same sense of humor. I’d never spent a more enjoyable evening, laughing and talking with someone. I knew we would go home together at the end of the night. My delight in her company was so great, I’d almost forgotten about the shared desire for kinky sex that had thrown us together… Almost. When we could linger over drinks no longer, I realized she was waiting for me to ask the age-old question. “Your place or mine?”

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She dipped her head and looked up at me from under her eyelashes, a flirty little smile curving her lips. “Your decision.” I got the message. She was reminding me of my role in our fledgling relationship. If I was going to be the Dom, I should start acting dominant. “Mine,” I said decisively, thinking I’d feel more in command in my own space rather than as a guest in hers. “We’ll stop by your apartment so you can get some clothes, but then you’ll spend the night with me.” I paused then added, “Is there any reason you can’t?” “None at all. I’m at your disposal.” Her smile widened, and she sipped the last of her drink. I stood, pulled out her chair, then escorted her to the door and held it open for her to pass through. I did the same at the door of the car, then leaned down and reached across her to fasten her seatbelt. Pausing inches away, I looked into her eyes. We froze in heated proximity for several seconds before I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and her tongue tasted of the liqueur she had just drunk, sweet and rich. She moaned softly in her throat as I swirled my tongue around hers and cupped my hand around the nape of her neck. After several breathless, heart stopping moments of kissing, I pulled away. I rested my hand on her cheek and brushed my thumb over her moist lips, looking deep into her eyes once more. “I want you to do something for me on the way home. Take your panties off and pull up your skirt to show me your pussy. Will you be a good girl and do that?” Her full lips stretched in a smile. “I’m not wearing panties tonight. I thought it would be hotter to go without.” “Show me,” I commanded. She reached down to the hem of her skirt, which ended at mid-thigh, and inched it up farther and farther until it reached the intersection of her legs and torso. Giving a little wiggle in her seat, she flirted with me, pulling the fabric up more, almost showing me her

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pussy, then covering herself again. Finally, she held up the skirt and showed me her neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair. I could see just a suggestion of the folds of labia beneath. I brushed my fingers through the blonde curls. They were springy beneath my touch. “Pretty. But if I asked you to wax it for me, would you do it?” “Yes…Sir,” she drawled. “Whatever you tell me to do, Sir.” “I like the sound of that,” I growled, kissing her neck and licking her earlobe. “No elaborate nicknames. Just call me Sir.” I kissed her mouth once more, and her hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me to her. Reaching between her legs, I fingered the wetness of her pussy. I dipped inside her hot channel and found her slippery wet. Drawing my coated fingers from inside her, I smeared them up to her clit and teased it until she whimpered. “Show me. Spread it,” I ordered, moving back so I could see better in the dashboard light. Kim obeyed, tilting her pelvis up so her pussy was on display, spreading the glistening folds apart so I could see every part of her secret spot. It was like a rose, all soft, pink petals. And below them the mysterious dark entrance to her body. I couldn’t resist feeling it again and watching my fingers plunge inside, in and out, fucking her with my hand while her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned, long and low. She was hot and eager after an evening of delayed gratification. “Oh, that feels so good. More!” she begged. But I pulled away, drying my soaked fingers on her thigh. “Okay. We’ve got to get moving, or I’m going to throw you down right here in the parking lot.” “That’d be okay, too.” She laughed. I went around the car and got into the driver’s seat, glancing over at Kim’s still naked crotch. The sight was so sizzling hot I thought my cock would burst through the fly of my

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jeans. And the knowledge that she would stay that way, wide open for my viewing pleasure unless I told her to cover herself, was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced in my life. The sense of power it gave was overwhelming. As I drove to her house, I told her to play with herself. I could barely keep my eyes on the road as I kept glancing over to watch her manipulate her clit with her fingertip then shove her fingers into her cunt. It was exciting seeing her masturbate, her eyes falling closed and her pouting lips open in a perfect “O” of delight. “Take yourself right up to the edge, but not all the way,” I warned her. “I don’t want you to come yet. Not until I say.” Over and over on the forty-five minute drive to her apartment, Kim worked herself up to the very edge of coming, then pulled her hand away and allowed herself to cool down again. By the time we reached her house, her face was sweating with the effort of holding back. My whole body was so aroused from the show that a single touch on my dick would have set me off. It was a miracle we arrived in one piece, since only about an eighth of my attention was on the highway. I got out of the car and let Kim out, pulling her skirt down while brushing my hand over her crotch. I kissed her the moment she was out of the car, pressing her up against the side panel and wrapping her in my arms. I ground my crotch against hers, desperate to be inside her. On the street outside her building, we made out with the passion and intensity of brand new lovers. “You don’t know how worked up you’ve got me,” she whispered tensely between kisses. “Showing myself to you like that, God, I’ve never experienced anything so erotic. And knowing I mustn’t come until you tell me is torture, but the kind I never want to end.” My hands splayed over her back, moving restlessly up and down before settling on her ass. I lifted and set her on the trunk of the car, then moved in between her legs. I plunged my tongue between her lips. Sinuous and hot, our tongues twined around one another. After

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kissing until we were both breathless, I began licking and nibbling the soft column of her neck. My mouth settled over the hollow in her throat where her pulse raced, and I sucked on the tender skin. Kim’s head fell back as she granted me access to her throat. Her moan was soft and needy. Her hands twined in my hair, pulling me close, legs gripped around my hips, pulling me more firmly between her thighs. I fumbled with the buttons on the front of her blouse, popping one off in my haste to get inside her shirt. Pushing the material aside, I let my mouth travel from her throat down to the swell of her breasts above the cups of her bra. They were luscious, round, and so warm. I licked and kissed the firm mounds, then sucked her nipples through the sheer material of her bra before pulling back to look at her chest, dimly lit by the streetlight. Her nipples pressed dark and hard against the thin material. Kim was panting and pink-cheeked. Her shirt was half off her shoulders, and her skirt pushed up to display her naked pussy. Sprawled across the trunk of my car, she looked like a model on an automotive parts calendar. Her silvery blonde hair was mussed and wild, falling over one eye and sweeping over one naked shoulder. I ran my hand through the soft, silky mass, pushing it back from her face. “God, you’re so hot.” “What will we do now?” She smiled, and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Are we going to fuck right here in front of my whole neighborhood?” “We’d better go in.” My voice was so low and rasping I barely recognized it. I pushed her vise-like legs off my hips and stepped away from her. Slowly, without taking her eyes off my face, Kim slid off the back of the car. She looked at me through half-lidded eyes, giving me a lascivious smirk. Twitching her skirt into place and drawing her shirt closed in front, she led me to the front door of her building and up the stairs to her apartment.

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Kim’s hand trembled a little, and she dropped her keys as she attempted to fit one to the lock. Finally, she got the door open and let me inside. In the foyer, she tossed the keys to the table, dropped her purse on the floor and turned to face me again. I grabbed and lifted her, pushing her back against the closed front door. It was more than the few drinks we’d had, more than the natural attraction to a beautiful woman that had me so hot for her. Knowing she shared the same secret yearnings I had and would very likely allow me to do whatever I wanted with her body after we got to know each other better -- that was what had my heart pounding so hard it practically choked me. As much as I wanted to own her, that’s how much she wanted to submit. We were a perfect match. Our lips mashed together in fierce kisses, then I swept my tongue inside her mouth, exploring the terrain. Kim made soft little whimpers and moans in her throat that drove me wild. I wanted to impale her that very instant. Sliding my hands up her thighs, I pushed her skirt up to her waist. I delved my hand between her thighs and sampled the plump folds of her labia, the heat and wetness of her cunt. She was slippery with moisture from her many times of nearorgasm in the car. A single flick of my finger over her clit made her jerk and shiver. “Oh please!” she moaned. “Let me come now. I can’t take any more.”

Let me. The words sparked a fresh stab of lust that pierced my groin. Knowing she was giving me the power to make her wait or allow her to come thrilled me like nothing I’d ever felt before. I experimented with my newfound power. “No. Not yet.” I moved my finger away from her clit and drove it up into her sopping wet entrance, first one finger then two, then a cluster of three, driving in and out of her. Kim moaned and lifted her hips up and down on my plunging fingers. “You like that?” I whispered, hoarse and deep.

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“God, yeah.” Her eyes were tightly shut and her mouth open as she gasped and groaned. Her head had fallen back against the door, exposing her throat. I suddenly wanted to rip it out with my teeth like some wild beast. Leaning in, I kissed her throat. Already there was a red mark on her pale skin where I’d sucked on her before. I covered the spot with my mouth again and sucked harder, determined to mark her with a nice purple bruise. As I continued to pump my fingers in and out of her, I dropped my mouth to her breasts again. Without removing the bra, I mauled her nipples through the fabric, sucking and biting them hard. Kim moaned louder and writhed against my hand and mouth. Her blatant desire for me had my dick so rock-hard in my pants I was afraid I’d come before I even got it in her. I removed my fingers from her, released her nipple from my mouth, and straightened to move between her legs once more, rubbing my jeans-clad, aching cock against her. I lifted her ass in my hands and moved her up the smooth surface of the door, pressing in between her thighs and dry-humping her. “Fuck me now, please,” Kim whined. “I’m so ready. Please!” Her “please” got to me. I couldn’t hold off any longer. I let go with one hand and reached to unzip my fly. My cock sprang forth erect and solid, like a battering ram ready to break down the gate of a fortress -- except there was no gate to break through. Kim’s pussy was flushed, glistening and wide open in readiness for me. Cupping her ass once more, I lifted her higher against the door, then settled her on my cock with a groan of relief. I pushed inside her with a sharp thrust of my hips, filling her completely. It was like entering a steamy jungle. Her inner muscles clenched around my prick, holding it as tightly as a lover’s hands. “Oh, God,” I groaned, eyes closing as I fought to hold off my climax. I drew almost completely out of her, then drove in again, hard, rough, and deep. Kim’s fingers dug into my shoulders. “Yes!” she moaned. “Harder.”

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Harder was not a problem. I obliged, plunging deeper into her fiery depths with a grunt. Out, then in again, I savagely pounded. Grasping her hips, I lifted her legs even higher. Kim wrapped them around my waist, tilting her pelvis up to increase the angle of penetration. With her legs around my waist, she used the leverage to bring herself down onto my cock with each thrust, letting out an enticing little grunt each time. As I fucked her, I moved my mouth to her tits again and sucked them hard -- first one then the other. The sheer material was sodden by now, and Kim may as well have been naked. I could feel every bump of her pebbled areole with my tongue through the transparent fabric. My cock pumped in and out of her faster and deeper, and I latched onto one of her nipples and bit down quite hard. Kim let out a little shriek. She grabbed my head, but didn’t pull me away. “Fuck, that hurt! Do it again.” Almost blind with need now and on the verge of coming, I moved my mouth to her other tit and did the same thing. I sucked and pulled the nipple out with my lips, then bit down on the erect bud. Kim yowled again, a high-pitched mewling sound, and dug her nails into my shoulders like a cat. Her head fell back against the wall. Her hips bucked against me fast and hard, then she arched and froze as she came. Her release sparked mine. I couldn’t hold back. My balls drew up tight, and the increasing sparks of desire blossomed into a raging fire that burst through me. My orgasm roared like a wildfire scorching across the land. I shoved inside Kim once more then let go, exploding in a hot surge deep inside her. I froze and rode the waves of ecstasy to their completion. Sweating and gasping for breath as I came down from my orgasmic high, I rested my forehead against her shoulder.

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Kim’s arms wrapped around my back, and her legs continued to cling to me. “Wow! That was…wow.” “Yeah,” I agreed. My legs trembled so I could hardly support our combined weight. I pulled out of her, and she unwound her legs from me. I let her slide down to her feet. She kept her arms around my neck, holding me tightly even after she was standing again. She rested her head on my chest, then kissed me through my shirt. I realized I was still completely clothed except for my rapidly deflating cock hanging out of the fly of my pants. I’d never had such a rushed and desperate session of sex in my life. Much of the reason for its intensity was the fact Kim had masturbated for my viewing pleasure for almost an hour leading up to the main event. Her compliance was a major part of my arousal. Kim looked up at me. “What now, Sir?” Her eyes were half-lidded, satisfied as a cat with a bowl of cream. I could almost hear the capitalization of my title when she addressed me. “Now get your things together, and let’s drive to my house before we get distracted and never make it out of your apartment.” I smiled. “How many nights am I packing for?” She raised an eyebrow. Her question caught me by surprise. I hadn’t thought beyond this one evening. After all, we’d only just met. But it occurred to me that one night might easily turn into a whole weekend of pleasure. “Pack enough for a couple of days,” I said. “And we’ll see what happens.” “Yes, Sir.” Kim grinned as she turned away. It was easy to see she was enjoying this game. I began to understand the attraction of her role of submissive. It would be rather nice to defer all decisions for a little while and put them in someone else’s hands.

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And that someone else was me. I was now “Sir” to her. It was the first step on my path to becoming a true Dom. But I had a long way to go before I understood everything the role entailed.

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Chapter Four

On the drive to my house, we talked more about our daily lives, our families and friends, but also about what had attracted each of us to the BDSM lifestyle. “I’ve experimented,” Kim admitted. “I’ve had boyfriends, one girlfriend, and even multiple partners once. That was a wild night. Hell, I even tried abstaining for a while, just to enhance the kick when I had sex again.” She laughed. “But I knew there was something deeper, something more I was looking for.” I glanced over at her. The headlights from oncoming traffic passed over her face, reflecting off her eyes and revealing a wistful expression. “I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, but knew I really enjoyed a sex partner who took control and managed things. I started reading about BDSM and realized I was a latent sub waiting for her Dom to come along like fucking Prince Charming.” She glanced sideways at me and grinned. “Guess that might just be you.” The pale fall of her hair framed her oval face. Her wide eyes glistened in the dim light. I sure as hell wanted to be that guy. “How about you?” she asked. “How long have you been interested in this?”

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I smiled. “Always, I think. But it took me this long to do anything about it. I had a girlfriend. We started living together while we were in college and only broke up last summer. We were together five years. I always expected to marry her some day. I really loved Alyssa, but sexually…I don’t know.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think of what had been off between us. “We were compatible, I guess. It’s just that there weren’t any…” “Fireworks,” Kim completed. “I know. I get it.” I looked over at her and smiled again. I knew she did. “Did you ever try to tell her what you really wanted?” I remembered one aborted effort when we were both drunk on my birthday, and Alyssa had asked what I wanted. When I told her I’d like to tie her up and do some things, she took it as a joke and laughed. I’d been too afraid of wrecking our relationship to tell her I was quite serious and push for something more. “No,” I finally answered. “I had my Internet porn sites bookmarked and thought I could be content with fantasies. But after Alyssa and I broke up, it occurred to me I could quit daydreaming about bondage and discipline and actually practice them if I wanted to.” “So here you are. With me.” She nodded. “Cool.” “It’s about twenty more minutes to my house. I haven’t got much in my fridge right now. Do you want to stop and get something to eat?” “I wouldn’t mind,” she said. “Whatever you want to do.” I pulled off the highway at the next exit and found a restaurant. It was late enough at night that the place was pretty empty. We were seated at a booth in a side room, and the hostess left us with menus. After we’d placed our drink orders, silence fell between us. In the short time we’d been together we’d covered so many topics that we’d run out of steam and reached a slightly awkward lull in the conversation.

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I studied my menu then glanced up to watch Kim looking down at hers. God, she was beautiful. Her striking features had caught my eye the moment I’d seen her, of course, but now that I knew her better, she seemed even lovelier. Her pale skin and hair gave her the ethereal look of an angel, but I knew she was earthy and all woman. I remembered the expression on her face as she came and wanted to see it again. I cursed myself for suggesting stopping for food. What I really wanted was to have her back home and in my bed…now! She glanced up and caught my eye. “What looks good?” she asked. I shrugged. “Not so hungry after all.” I looked at her hard, letting her know she looked better to me than the items on the menu. “We could leave. I’m not that hungry.” “No.” I glanced at the approaching waitress. “Go ahead and order.” Kim ordered an oriental chicken salad, and I got a small appetizer. “I feel bad now.” Kim said after the waitress was gone. “If you’d rather get back home…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Besides, who says we have to wait?” I had taken my shoe off underneath the table and now ran my foot up the length of her bare calf and thigh then under the hem of her skirt. Kim’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. She glanced around the almost deserted restaurant. There was really no one to see us but the wait staff, who were congregated near the kitchen talking to one another. We were virtually alone in a public place. I slid my foot between her thighs, slow and easy, prolonging her anticipation. Kim pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and lowered her eyelids as my toes made contact with her pussy. I tickled them back and forth against her opening and tried to feel for her clit. I must have found it, because she sucked in another breath and her eyes closed completely.

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With more finesse than I would have expected from my clumsy foot, I wiggled my toes against her. Kim shifted in her seat. Her hands clenched on top of the table. I continued toying with her, only stilling my foot when the waitress came back to check on our drinks. Even then I didn’t remove my foot from between Kim’s warm thighs. I politely thanked the waitress, sent her away, and resumed my foot-play. Her juices wet through the toe of my sock as I pressed into her hole, fucking her a little with my foot. I glanced at the wait station where the clueless staff continued to stand and chat. Then I looked at Kim’s face, flushed and passionate. When she moaned, I felt she was getting close to coming, so I took my foot away, sliding it back down her leg then setting it on the floor. She whined in protest and opened her eyes. “Don’t stop.” “Are you feeling really daring?” I asked. “How daring?” She raised one eyebrow with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Like a hand job under the table daring?” My heart pounded as I considered whether my plan was possible. Once more I checked the sparse sprinkling of customers, all in another section of the restaurant, and the staff, still intent on their conversation. “Our food won’t be ready for a few minutes yet. I want you to crawl underneath the table and give me a blowjob.” “That daring?” Her eyes were enormous. “I don’t know if…” “I’ll let you know if the waitress is headed this way. You can pretend to be looking for something on the floor.” She hesitated. “Hurry. There’s not much time.” I reached below the table to unfasten my fly and pull my cock from my pants. It was hard as steel, swelled wide and thick with lust. The illicit

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nature of the situation, the chance of getting caught had me so hot and horny I could scarcely breathe. Blood pounded in my temples and throbbed in my dick. Kim nodded once. She wet her lips, dropped her napkin on the floor, and ducked underneath the table. A moment later I felt her. She had a hand on one of my thighs. Her other hand grasped my erection, holding it tight. Her body moved in between my legs, and her shoulders pressed against my knees. I let out a shaky breath and then a groan as her hot mouth swallowed my shaft, enveloping me in wetness. My eyes started to fall shut in rapture as she gobbled me deep. Then they shot open and darted around the room. No one was looking. No one had any idea that something so kinky was taking place practically right in front of them, and the secrecy and chance of getting caught magnified my pleasure. Kim gripped my cock and moved her hand briskly up and down. Her saliva coated the length of my erection, making her fist glide easily over it. She swallowed me deep, sucking hard, then pulled her mouth off to lick and nibble delicately at the head of my dick. Extremely aware of the precariousness of our situation and the brief moments of time we had, I reached under the table and took hold of either side of her head. I pushed a little, encouraging her to suck again. Kim obliged, pulling me deep into her throat. She sucked and stroked vigorously, her other hand cupping and massaging my balls. My hips rose and fell as I thrust into her hands and mouth. I gripped her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I fucked her face. Heart pounding, my chest rose and fell like a winded runner’s. It only took a few more pumps of Kim’s fist before my cock swelled with tension then released in a burst of ecstasy. I stifled a groan and came, spurting jets of come into her mouth.

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Gasping, my eyes closed in ecstasy, I rode the waves of orgasm. My body shuddered, and I leaned back in my seat, enjoying the sensation for a moment longer before opening my eyes once more. Glancing across the restaurant, I looked for our waitress in the bored pack. She was no longer there. Bearing a tray in hand, she was on her way toward our table. “Shit! Get up!” I ordered Kim, pushing her head away from my crotch. “Quick!” The waitress rounded the corner into our section. I fumbled my cock back into my pants and zipped up, then leaned out of the booth, looking under the table. “Did you find it?” I asked loudly just as the waitress reached our table. Kim popped up on the other side of the table. She looked up at the waitress. “My earring was lost.” She smiled. It was late, and the waitress clearly didn’t give a fuck. “Mm.” She plunked the dishes on the table. “Can I get you anything else? Another drink?” “No. No thanks.” Kim made a strangled noise. She picked up her napkin and coughed into it. The moment the waitress had walked away, she burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was fun!” “Not as much fun for you as it was for me,” I said. Her pale face flushed easily, I’d already learned. Her cheeks were bright red from laughter. “Oh, yes it was. I get off on giving blowjobs.” Watching her, I chuckled, too. Then I noticed something on her face and leaned across the table, tracing my finger along the corner of her mouth. I held it up showing her the white blob of come. Kim grabbed my wrist and leaned forward to suck my finger into her mouth. She let it go with a resounding smack of her lips. “Mm. A perfect appetizer for my salad,” she teased, sitting back and picking up her fork.

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Still buzzing with adrenaline and nerves and the afterglow of my orgasm, I faced my potato skins with disinterest. I was way too wired to eat. I picked at my food while watching Kim devour her meal. I liked that she wasn’t shy about eating in front of me. “Holy fuck, that was amazing,” she said in between bites of salad. “Sex in public places was never a particular fantasy of mine, but I think it just moved to the top of my list of favorite things.” I smiled, thinking of all the public places we could try out. If I hadn’t been sexually adventurous with Alyssa, I was more than making up for it now. With a woman as deviant and daring as Kim, the possibilities were endless. There was a whole new world of sex to explore, and I could hardly wait to get started.

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Chapter Five

The night at my house turned into a whole weekend spent discovering one another and experimenting. The first time I tied her to the bed I used silk scarves, pulling them gently against her wrists. “No. Tighter. Make them tight.” I pulled the material taut until it pressed into her skin. “Yeah. Like that,” she moaned. “I like them to cut in a little. It’s hot.” I tied her to the four bedposts, her arms outstretched and her feet spread-eagled so she made an X on my bed. Her arms and legs were taut enough that I could see the strain on her muscles. Her white body was luminescent, the limbs long and delicate and her musculature delineated by purple shadows on her pale skin. She wiggled a little this way and that, but there was no give to her bonds. She was held firmly in place. I could tell it excited her by the way her chest rose up and down. Her full breasts were slightly flattened by gravity, but the rosy nipples were perky and upright, begging to be sucked. Kim’s breathing was erratic. Her eyes were huge in the flickering candlelight.

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She struggled against the bonds, arching her hips off up the bed as if offering her pussy for my inspection. “Fuck me.” I didn’t oblige her right away. I wanted to work her to the point where she was really begging for it. I removed my clothes and let her get a good look at my body and my hard cock, already dripping and ready to plunge into her. Sitting on the bed beside her, I ran my hands slowly over her body, kneading her breasts and pulling on her nipples until she gasped, twisting them hard to the right and the left. When I let go, they stayed upright and pointed. I stroked her taut stomach and ran my hands up and down her tightly pulled arms and legs so I could feel the tension in them. She quivered at the passing of my hands and arched her chest toward me. I bent down to take one of her soft breasts into my mouth. She had really beautiful nipples, the palest pink that only true platinum blondes have. The areoles were generous, covering a wide area of her round breasts, and her nipples, when erect, were almost an inch long. I loved a pointed nipple and couldn’t get enough of the feel of the hard nub in my mouth as I rolled my tongue over it. Kim lifted her chest as far as she could, arching her upper back off the bed and moaning softly. “Hurt them a little,” she begged. “I like a little pain.” I glanced up at her arms stretched so sexily over her head, pulling against the restraints. I lavished attention on one breast then the other, sucking and nibbling while twisting and pulling with my fingers. Giving in to her sweet begging, I bit and twisted hard enough to leave marks on her pale skin and make her yelp. When I looked up again, tears ran from the corners of her closed eyes, but her mouth was open in an “O” of ecstasy. The fact she enjoyed pain was like a drug to me. I couldn’t resist giving her more of it, biting her other breast and squeezing her tit with my nails digging into the flesh.

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I reached down between Kim’s legs to feel the result of my punishment. She was soaking wet, dripping onto her thighs and the bed. She arched her crotch into my hand, silently beseeching me to touch her clit and give her some relief. I only toyed with her pussy, petting her inner thighs and fingering her hole, tickling around her clit then backing off, leaving her yearning and thrusting up against nothing. I continued to play with her until she was writhing, straining against her bonds. “Please, for God’s sake, touch it,” she cried. Instead I straddled her hips, kneeling over her on the bed. I leaned down, positioning my prick at her entrance. She was soaked and ready for me when I plunged inside. I sheathed my cock to the balls inside her tight channel. Her heat and wetness surrounded me. Groaning with relief, I slowly withdrew the entire length of my cock. Looking down, I watched it emerge, glistening and red, from inside her, then drove in again, hard. With Kim’s legs sprawled wide, it was hard to get the deep angle of penetration I craved. On the other hand, just the sight of her tied hand and foot to my bed was almost enough to make me come. I didn’t need to spear her too deeply to get satisfaction. Beneath me, Kim writhed and moaned, pulling against her bonds as she arched up to meet my thrusts. “Harder. Make it hurt.” She was every fantasy I’d ever had come true. I needed little encouragement to pump into her so hard I pushed her into the mattress with each thrust, stretching the bonds on her ankles to the max. She whined and moaned encouragement. “Oh, that feels so good. Keep going. Fuck me!” I loved the sound of her murmuring voice, begging and pleading for me to go harder, deeper, to fill her completely. The words were as big a turn on as her bound body. It didn’t take me many more thrusts to come. When I was finished, I collapsed on top of her body, spent and breathing hard.

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After a few minutes, concerned about the strain on her wrists and ankles, I got up to untie her. “Leave them a little while,” she said. “I want to be your prisoner. I like being tied up like this.” So I sat beside her on the bed and watched her pale beauty in the flickering candlelight, gazed at her sopping wet pussy, a pool of my come dribbling onto the bed. Kim hadn’t yet come. She gazed into my eyes, her hips rising and falling slightly, pumping gently against nothing, her pussy reaching for the air. Her hands gripped the silk ties binding her to the bed. She pulled against her ankle restraints as she continued to thrust up then settle back down. Her eyes never left my face. I realized that my watching her and the eroticism of the bondage was slowly bringing her to orgasm without a touch. I helped her by trailing my hand up her inner thigh, tickling around the lips of her cunt. I fed her lust with some verbal cues. “You’re mine,” I told her. “My sex slave. You belong to me.” “Yes,” she hissed, her pelvis lifting upward. “Tell me more. Say it.” “You’re made to please me. Your body, your sex, your whole being are for me.” “Mm.” Her eyes closed to mere slits, but she still gazed at me. Finally, I gave her what she was reaching for, touching my forefinger to her clit and rubbing so lightly she had to reach for my touch. “Your will is mine. You live to serve me. In return I will give you the greatest pleasure you’ve ever known.” The words should have sounded ostentatious and over-dramatic, but in the darkened, hushed room, my voice rang with an authority that surprised me. Kim responded to my voice and to my circling finger on her clit. She moaned deeply in her throat and rose up and down. “You’re mine. All mine,” I kept repeating in a soft murmur. I removed my finger from her clit and let the sound of words alone carry her over the edge.

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Suddenly Kim bucked up hard, rising completely off the bed. She yelled, and her head twisted back and forth on the pillow, her blonde hair a tangled halo. The four bonds tethering her ankles and wrists were the only things holding her down. It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. She fell back to the bed, body quivering. “Did you like that?” I whispered, knowing the answer. “Yes. God, it was amazing.” Her eyes flickered open and focused on mine. “Just the idea of being restrained added a whole new level. I’ve never come so hard before in my life.” She blew out a long breath and sagged against her bonds. This time when I went to untie her, she didn’t stop me. I rubbed the blood flow back into her hands and feet, chafing them briskly. Kim sat up on the bed and hugged her knees to her chest. “Really, Steve, that was unbelievable. Exactly what I hoped I’d find.” “Me, too. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky on my first foray into the scene, but you’re exactly who I was looking for.” “So…Sir, what happens next?” I glanced at the clock. It was almost three-thirty in the morning. “Some sleep, I think. But we have all tomorrow to play, if you still want to stay.” “I do,” she said, flopping back on the bed and spreading her arms wide. “This is exactly where I want to be, and you’re the man I’ve been waiting for.”

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Chapter Six

The rest of the weekend was a time of play and discovery. We could have spent the entire time in bed there was so much to try. But I wanted to develop our relationship slowly and evenly, putting emphasis on companionship as well as sexual experiences. I took her out to a couple of my favorite local restaurants, as well as cooking meals at home. We took long walks at a nearby park and went out to a movie the second evening, although we spent most of it making out like teenagers at a drive-in. When our time was over, I drove her home and dropped her off with a promise to meet again the following weekend. Over the next week, my latent Dominant tendencies bloomed. I moved past any unease I might have had about controlling another person and learned to play my role to the fullest. Because I grew up in a very liberal family -- my mother was a solid feminist, marching for the ERA back in the seventies -- it had taken me some time to accept that wanting power over my partner wasn’t bad or wrong. Kim was a willing participant. When I was with her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. I was never rude or demeaning in my manner when I spoke to her, and more often than not, my commands were loving suggestions with which she was happy to comply. Together we shared the adventure, discovering the limits of what we would and wouldn’t do.

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The long-distance relationship meant we could only see each other on weekends, but during the week, we were on the phone or instant messaging constantly. There was considerable excitement in being connected mentally and emotionally but deferring the physical aspect of the relationship. I began to set little tasks for Kim to accomplish at work every day. It was exciting, thinking up unique things for her to do. I started with simple orders like telling her to go to work without underwear and forbidding her to masturbate no matter how turned on her naked bottom rubbing against her chair made her. I called her now and then throughout the day, arousing her with erotic suggestions in my deep, phone-sex voice. “Are you at your desk?” “Yes.” “Is anyone else around?” “Brian is in the next cubicle. I can hear him talking on the phone to a customer, but nobody’s in sight. Someone could walk past at any second, though.” “All right. What do you have on your desk that’s long and thick like a cock?” “Mm. Nothing. Wait. I have a bottle of hand lotion in my drawer that’s -- yeah, it’ll do.” “Good. I want you to put your hand down between your legs and tell me how wet you are.” “Very. I’ve been wet all day. I can hardly walk to the copy machine and back because I keep dripping down my leg. My pussy’s swollen and aching, and I can’t stop thinking about you filling it. Your cock, your fingers, your tongue…” She trailed off. I was stiff already, and her words set me on fire. “Take the bottle and stick it up inside you.” I waited for her to comply, imagining her doing it as I rubbed my dick underneath my own desk. The idea of her obeying my command was thrilling. “Oh…God… It’s wide. Short but wide across.”

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“Can you get it inside?” “Y-yes. It’s stretching my pussy lips. It feels great.” “I want you to push it as far as you comfortably can, then leave it right there -- half in and half out of your body.” Her breathing was heavy, and she moaned, sending a surge of lust bursting through me. She was doing it. She was actually doing what I told her to. “How does it feel?” “Hard. Full. God, I’m so wet I’m gushing around it. My chair’s getting damp.” “Don’t come. You’re to hold off until this weekend when I can see you again. I want you vibrating like a wire all week until you’re so ready you burst the moment I touch you.” “I’m already there.” Her voice was tight. “It’s only Wednesday, and all I can do is think about Friday night. I’ve been dreaming every night, these long erotic dreams, and I wake up so hot my sheets are damp.” My hand moved on my cock, rubbing it through my pants. Although my office was private, and I could easily whack off if I wanted to, I’d decided to impose the same celibacy on myself. I would work myself up to the edge, but I wouldn’t give into temptation. “How long do you want me to leave this in here?” She breathed out and the soft exhalation of air was a moan. “Your skirt’s pulled down, right? If someone came into your office, they wouldn’t see a thing.” “No.” “Then leave it in your pussy until the next person to drop by your office leaves again.” “What if they want something and I have to stand up while they’re here?” “Find an excuse not to. Tell them you have to finish something first. Use your imagination.”

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“You’re going to get me fired, you know.” She didn’t sound upset at the prospect. “God, I wish!” Someone knocked on my office door. “I’ve got to go now. Call me back later and let me know how it goes.” I dealt with an issue concerning a blueprint that wasn’t up to spec, then took a phone call from a client. About twenty minutes later in the middle of the call, Kim called back. I put the client on hold. “So, what happened?” “Hot! Can I tell you how hot it was? I sat there dripping all over myself, my lips trembling around the bottle, just pulsing! I could hardly concentrate, but I tried to get some work done for about fifteen minutes before Sheryl stopped by my office. She wanted me to go on break with her. I told her I’d catch up and she should go ahead. So I can’t talk long, but I wanted to call you. It was amazing! I felt so stretched and full with that thing in me, and when I took it out of my pussy, the lips were so sensitive I thought I’d come.” “Wonderful. Look, I’m on a call so I can’t talk either, but I just want you to think of that throughout the day. Keep remembering what it felt like to have your pussy stretched and to obey my order.” “Yes, Sir.” She giggled before she hung up. I sat back in my chair, eyes closed, and swiveled back and forth for a moment, enjoying the sense of sexual power, my cock throbbing with it. Then I resumed the phone call with my client, putting my needs on the back burner where they simmered like a stew pot. After that, I sent Kim to work without underwear almost every day. I also helped her choose what clothes to wear. It was exciting to picture her walking around her office, cool air tickling her pussy underneath a short skirt. Sometimes I chose a skirt or slacks made of wool so the material would scratch her sensitive, newly waxed genitals as she sat at her desk. When Kim drove up to see me at the end of the week, she stumbled through the door, fell to her knees, and theatrically begged for an orgasm. “Please, Sir, I’ve been a good girl all

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week, an obedient slave. I’ve done exactly what you asked me to every time. Please let me come before I explode! I can’t wait for you any longer.” I laughed and pulled her to her feet. We kissed frantically, our mouths fused together and hands stripping each other of clothes. When we were both naked, I laid Kim on my living room rug and licked her soaking pussy until she writhed. It didn’t take much to bring her off. As I’d intended, she was on edge just waiting for the brush of a feather to push her over. When she’d finished twitching her way through the aftershocks of her orgasm, I moved in between her legs. The long week of self-enforced celibacy had been hard for me, too. I plunged into her heat with an audible sigh of relief. As I fucked her, I thought of all the scenarios we’d played out over the week apart, my phoned-in orders that she’d followed to the letter. Thinking about her compliance enhanced my pleasure enormously. In a very short time, the tension that had been building in me all week came to a head. I thrust deeply then froze as my orgasm exploded through me and poured into her willing body. Afterward, I held Kim close. We cuddled and talked, still lounging on my living room floor. “How was your week?” I asked. “Different.” She grinned. “It sure made work a lot more interesting having extracurricular things to do there. I can’t get enough of your ‘orders.’ Every day is exciting as I wonder what you’ll tell me to do next.” “It made my week a lot more exciting, too. Although we’ve got to back off because I’m falling behind on my workload.” I smiled thinking this relationship was worth it. “What do you want to do this weekend?” “I don’t know. What have you got planned?” My smile widened as I considered the possibilities. That first night we ended up staying in. Kim let me practice my knot-tying skills on her. I was prepared with a coil of white cotton rope to use. I’d also practiced cinching knots

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as assiduously as a Boy Scout earning a badge. If I was a little too zealous, cinching too tight or wrenching her limbs into unnatural positions, I knew she wouldn’t complain. “Tie me up.” Kim was sprawled naked on my bed once more, gazing hungrily at me from half-lidded eyes. “Make it tight.” With the length of rope I was able to get a bit more creative than I had with the scarves. I had her lie on her stomach and tied her hands at the small of her back. Then I asked her to draw her knees up under her, still facing down, and bound her ankles to her wrists. I pulled the rope tight, enjoying her huddled form on the bed and the way the rope looked against her skin. I couldn’t wait to see the red marks it would leave on her flesh when I finally loosened it. I ran a length of rope over her shoulder and beneath her breasts, which lifted them up, then returned the rope over her other shoulder, knotting it at her wrists again. She could no longer rest her forehead on the bed. The rope pulled her torso and shoulders up awkwardly, making her appear vulnerable and extremely hot. I maneuvered Kim’s body to very edge of the bed and spread her knees apart. Her wrists tied to her ankles kept them from separating very far. The sight of her ass thrust up into the air and her hands bound to her feet, leaving her completely helpless, sent a lick of fire through me. I traced my finger down her ass crack, tickling her anus then moving lower to plunge it into her cunt. Kim pushed back against me. The strain on her back must have been terrible, but she didn’t whimper…at least not in complaint. The soft sound she made in her throat was more a sound of satisfaction and begging for more. I pulled her even closer to the edge of the bed so her feet hung over the edge and separated her ass cheeks, bending my knees slightly so my dick was positioned at the entrance of her sex. I pushed inside.

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Grabbing the knot of rope that looped over her shoulders and lifted her breasts, I held on to the rope, wrenching her shoulders back a little further. I pulled out and thrust in again, short, hard pushes meant to punish as much as pleasure. Although I stood behind her and couldn’t see it, I imagined the rope cutting into the tender undersides of her breasts. Kim whined in pleasure or pain or a combination of both. “Oh, God,” she murmured pleadingly. Holding onto the rope with one hand and gripping a handful of ass with the other, I fucked her hard and fast. She moaned again, but didn’t ask me to stop. I drove into her again and again, faster and wilder, grunting with each thrust. The familiar but never boring feeling of a rising orgasm built to an unbearable pressure then burst through me. I came with a guttural cry, gripping her hips and plowing into her with enough force to knock her forward on the bed. I slumped over her back, my breath rasping in and out as I slowly came down from my high. When I’d recovered, I stood, taking my weight off Kim’s back. For a moment, I just looked at her, enjoying the view of her in bondage. The rope cut into her shoulders, keeping her from resting her torso on the bed. Her hands were clasped below her ass and tied to her feet, her knees spread apart as far as her restraints would allow. Our combined juices coated her inner thighs. I rolled her off her knees and laid her on her side, admiring the way the rope under her breasts lifted them and pressed into them. Sweat shone on her forehead, chest, and arms. “Getting uncomfortable yet?” “Not too bad,” she said. “What if I left you like this for a while? Would you like it?” The idea of having that control over her was exhilarating. Impossibly, my cock stirred again at the thought. “What if I kept you here all night like this, just laying here all tied up and helpless?”

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Kim’s eyes glittered as she looked up at me. I couldn’t read her expression. Was she excited by the idea as I was, or nervous and fearful? Maybe a little of both. She licked her lips and wiggled a little, trying to find a more comfortable position for her straining arms. Her voice was breathy and soft when she spoke. “Whatever you think is best…Sir.” So she was still playing along, giving me the power over her I craved. I smiled. “I think I will leave you laying her for a little while. Let you think about who’s in charge.” With one last look at her awkwardly positioned form, I turned and walked from the room. I went to the kitchen, got a beer, then flopped on the couch in the living room and flipped on the TV. As I surfed channels, my mind was totally in the bedroom with Kim. I tried to watch part of a ball game, but the thought of her lying so nearby, so helpless and vulnerable, made it impossible to concentrate. I forced myself to sit still as five minutes then ten slipped past. But images of my girl in ropes flashed through my mind, and my cock grew steadily harder. When fifteen minutes had passed, I cursed, threw down the remote, and stalked into the bedroom. Kim was lying on her side just as I’d left her. She looked up expectantly when I entered the room. “Are you thirsty?” I asked. She nodded. I went to the bathroom, poured her a cup of tap water, and returned to the bedroom, lifting her head so she could drink. I tried to be careful, but gravity was against us and water spilled on her chin and rolled down her neck. I laid her head back down on the bed and stood for a moment, deciding what I would do next. I realized with her amazing level of compliance it would be all too easy to take advantage of Kim. I didn’t want to victimize her, but the thought of having her suck me off while she was in restraints had been playing through my mind the entire time I was

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supposedly watching television. Now the desire to put action to fantasy had grown to epic proportions in my head, and it seemed impossible to untie her without having the craving fulfilled. “Are you hurting?” I asked. “My shoulders and upper back are kind of sore. My arms and hands actually aren’t too bad. Are you going to untie me now?” I took a deep breath and when I spoke, I almost didn’t recognize my own voice, it was so hoarse and rough. “No. I’m going to fuck your mouth before I let you go.” Just saying the words got me hot. My cock strained toward her. “Will that be all right?” I added, softening the statement. “Yes.” She looked at me with solemn eyes and nodded. “Go ahead. I love being at the mercy of your will like this. It’s what I’ve been longing for.” Once more I moved her to the edge of the bed, but this time with her mouth instead of her ass facing my groin. Grasping her head on both sides, I moved in close, lifted my dick in my hand, and fed it to her. I caressed her long, silken hair, pushing it back from her face so I could see better. Watching her mouth engulf the length of my erection was a beautiful sight. I stared, entranced as her lips encircled its girth, and her cheeks hollowed with the effort of sucking. She made muffled noises in her throat, little whimpering sounds that sent my blood racing. With her hands tied, she had no control over the blowjob. Only I could set the pace and determine how deep to push into her throat. Holding her head more firmly, I pumped in and out of her hot mouth. Saliva coated my cock, making it glide slick and easy. I pushed harder and deeper into her heat, driving my shaft in until her chin brushed my balls. When Kim gagged, I backed off, keeping my thrusts shallower.

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Her moans vibrated against the head of my cock, sending tremors shimmering through it. Seized with the eroticism of the bound and willing woman servicing me, excitement coursed through me. My dick swelled until it felt it must be filling her entire mouth, and then abruptly released, spilling into the back of her throat. Grabbing hold of my cock, I quickly pulled out and let spurts of come hit her mouth and cheek. I groaned in satisfaction as I watched the streamers of white slide slowly down her face. Cradling her chin, I caught the come on my thumb and offered it to her. Kim opened her mouth and took it in, sucking it clean. I was weak, drained by two powerful orgasms within an hour. But poor Kim must be worse, suffering the need to come and her muscles cramping from the awkward position. I untied her, having a little trouble loosening the knots. Her wrists and ankles were raw. There were burns where the rope had pressed into her shoulders and under her breasts. I traced my finger along the red marks, then chafed the feeling back into her hands and feet with a brisk rubbing as she stretched her limbs and back. Kim watched my hands, rubbing over the red marks on her wrists. “Who needs tattoos? These marks show I’m yours.”

Yours. I liked the sound of that. Again I cupped her face and leaned to kiss her. “You’ve been so good to me tonight. Now I want to tend to you.” I laid her back on the bed and spread her legs apart. Moving between them, I lowered my face to her crotch. She was dripping wet, her sex plump and aching for my touch. I licked over her swollen folds, tasting her and me. Then I delved my tongue deep inside her and lapped up more of our combined juices. I made a broad, flat stroke with my tongue along her seam, up to her clit. Nipping it and sucking it hard, I soon had Kim moaning and writhing on the bed. She was so ready, mentally, emotionally, and physically, to come that a few moments was all it took. She reached her peak and plunged down the other side, freefalling into rapture. She wailed, and her hips bucked up off the bed as she came.

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She collapsed, breathing raggedly and shivering with the intensity of her orgasm. I drew the covers over her and crawled in beside her to hold her close. We cuddled in the warm cocoon of blankets for a long time. Kissing her temple, I brushed back her hair. “The ropes weren’t too much? You’re okay?” “Absolutely. I loved it. You can’t imagine the feeling of being powerless like that. It should be frightening, but it’s exhilarating…at least for me. I can’t explain why, and I don’t really care what it is inside me that makes me this way, but I know this is what I want.” She was right. I couldn’t imagine it. My proclivities didn’t lean that way at all. I couldn’t fathom the idea of putting my body, my mind under someone else’s control and actually enjoying it. But I was very glad she had. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Let me get you something.” Since she’d served me so well, I wanted to return the favor. “Wouldn’t mind a pizza.” I laughed, loving Kim’s voracious appetite. I got up and phoned in a pizza order, got some bottled water for us, then returned to bed to kiss and cuddle some more. She talked about her family and shared some funny stories about her childhood. I shared some of mine. Yawning and stretching, she turned her face into my chest and kissed it. “It’s so easy to talk to you. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” “I was just thinking the same thing and that I could get used to having you in my bed.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and wrapped my arm tighter around her. “It’s going to be a long, cold week, living in two cities, but I think we can heat it up with more assignments.”

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Chapter Seven

Having a weekends-only relationship forced us to delay our sexual gratification, except for the nights we indulged in phone sex. It made it all the sweeter when we did come together. I invented other erotic tasks for Kim to accomplish as the weeks passed. As a result, my girl never knew what to expect from day to day. She loved the excitement of finding out what her daily task would be. “God, it feels like Mission: Impossible when I get one of your calls.” Her voice was low on the phone. “But my boss is heading this way, so make it quick.” “All right. Today your job is simple. Go to the restroom and take off your bra. I chose a blazer for you to wear over your blouse so you can keep it buttoned in front of your coworkers.” The blouse I’d instructed her to wear was a soft, white fabric that would mold to her chest. Kim’s tits were large and heavy enough to sag a bit without the restraint of a bra. They also had very pointed nipples. It would be clear to anyone she was naked under her blouse, which was why I’d allowed her the blazer. I certainly didn’t want to be the cause of getting her reprimanded for wearing improper clothing at her workplace.

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“Sometime today I want you to find a man,” I continued. “I don’t care if it’s the copier repairman, a computer techie, or the UPS guy, but find somebody and make a show of your tits. I don’t mean open your blouse and flash them, just push your chest out and catch the guy’s attention. Flirt with this guy until he’s panting for you, then walk away, leaving him hard.” “All right,” she agreed. “There’s a cute mailroom boy I’ve had my eye on.” “Just remember not to piss where you drink. If you think Mailroom Guy will spread stories about you around the office, don’t get carried away.” “Yes, Sir. Oops. Gotta go.” The line went dead. I sat back in my office chair and pictured Kim in hers. I imagined her following my instruction at her first opportunity, going to the bathroom and shedding her bra, allowing her tits to swing free underneath the satiny blouse and the protective blazer. I spent the rest of my workday distracted by fantasies of Kim and the mailroom guy and the erotic story she’d have to share with me that evening. She was excited and laughing when she called me after work. “When the mailroom guy swung by my cubicle, I got him to stop, flirted with him like crazy. Then I had him step over by my desk. I came onto him strong and let him touch my tits, through my blouse. The kid was practically coming in his pants by the time I sent him away.” She laughed again. “Actually, so was I.” “I didn’t tell you to let him touch you.” A flare of annoyance and possessiveness surged in me. I’d placed my stamp on her, and a primal part of my brain already saw her as exclusively mine. Although the idea of other men looking at her with longing incited me, I didn’t want them touching my woman -- at least not without my permission. “Well, I just kind of went with the scenario. It was so hot, and I thought of you the whole time, pictured your hands squeezing my tits. I thought you’d enjoy hearing about it.”

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The image was erotically charged, but it didn’t change the fact she’d not followed my instructions to the letter. “I said to get him hot and bothered then walk away.” “I did.” I paused, not wanting to sound like a peevish boyfriend. Her disobedience and offhand tone bothered me more than the groping by a stranger. “When I give you one of your assignments, I expect you to follow it exactly.” I kept my voice level and calm. “Sorry.” Kim’s bubbling excitement dimmed. ”But I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” I tried to decide if it was my role to punish her for disobedience or if that was taking our relationship too far. We hadn’t really figured out where we stood with one another yet. “Here’s what I want you to do for tomorrow,” I said after some thought. “Go out tonight and buy a thick, padded bra and an old-fashioned 50’s style girdle if you can even find one. Tomorrow I want you to wear them. Keeping completely covered should rein in your libido.” “Are you serious?” “You know I am. If we’re really going to follow this lifestyle and not just play at it, I have to be able to count on your obedience.” There was a long pause. “All right.” “Call me tomorrow and tell me how it feels.” Kim didn’t call in the morning, which was unusual, but waited until the end of the workday. Throughout the day I worried that I’d pissed her off, that she was done playing, and was not-so-subtly telling me she didn’t like being bossed around. I wanted to call her, but forced myself to wait to hear from her first. She was considerably quieter when she checked in at the end of the day, and I asked how the punishment had felt. “Constricting. Binding. I’ve gotten so used to going around half-naked, I felt embarrassed wearing the heavy underwear, as if everybody knew I’d done

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something wrong and was being punished. I didn’t like it. It was like being in the stocks or something. And I really didn’t like knowing you were displeased with me.” “Then you learned your lesson,” I said. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Her voice was serious, without the usual laughing lilt. “What you said yesterday about obedience was right. I’ve said I wanted to be a sub, and I’ve been enjoying our games, but in a way it’s been just play-acting. Now I’m starting to see a whole new life opening up in front of me, a completely different way of being. I’m not quite sure how I feel about it yet. I’m feeling confused and a little conflicted.” “I want you to be sure. You have to decide on your own how much of yourself you’re willing to surrender to me.” I wanted to be careful not to pressure Kim into anything. Ultimately, she must be the one to decide how much she would give of herself. It was all about earning her trust. The obedience would naturally follow if she trusted me. “Is a 24/7 Master/slave relationship really what you want? I won’t call you the rest of the week. You should think about this without any influence from me.” I ended the call, heavyhearted, again afraid our relationship was over before it had barely begun. The days dragged by that week. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, in silence. I’d never felt more alone and bereft in my life. It was much worse than after Alyssa had left. But on Friday, early in the morning before I’d even gotten out of bed, I received a call. “Sorry it’s so early. I couldn’t wait any longer. Is it okay that I called?” Her voice was soft and contrite. “Of course.” “I thought about what you said, every second, all week long. I’ve hardly eaten or slept. Can I give up my autonomy? Do I really want to? But then, all I could think about was how terrible it would be not to have this anymore -- this relationship we’ve started. I know there’s so much there to explore, and apart from all the sex games, there’s you and me. I love

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spending time with you, talking with you, telling you how I feel about things. I couldn’t imagine being without you.” My pulse sped, and my stomach leaped at her words. It was exactly what I’d hoped to hear. I was suddenly almost too choked-up to speak. “I-I’m glad to hear you say that.” “You asked if I wanted to enter into a serious relationship with you. I absolutely do,” she said quietly. “I’m ready to sign an agreement or contract this minute, to give myself over to you completely. I trust you. I want you and I want to belong to you, both physically and emotionally.” I cleared my throat, which was thick with emotion, before I answered her. “Then we can begin. We’ll work out an arrangement and sign it. Y-you’ll truly become my slave.”

***** The next weekend we discussed our expectations of our Master-slave relationship, how far it would permeate our lives, in what situations could Kim refuse to defer to my judgment. It was quite complicated, as we couldn’t guess every scenario that might come up. I left the writing of the document to her so she would feel complete control over what she chose to surrender of herself, what level of power she chose to give to me. And, when we finally signed it, we agreed it was a work in progress and subject to negotiation at a future date as necessary. Of course, it wasn’t a binding legal document, but there was a sense of gravity as each of us put pen to paper and affirmed our relationship. As months passed, the long distance thing began to wear. I wanted Kim to move in with me or at least move closer to me, but didn’t want to pressure her. I wouldn’t ask her to give up her job and move to another city. She had to offer it. Slave or no, she had the right to a career and to earn her own income. Then one day she called me. “Guess what?” she blurted into the phone. “I did it. I quit! You know I haven’t been happy there. The promotion didn’t make things better, only gave

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me more shit to deal with. Now I’m done with it. I gave them two weeks, but my boss said I could finish this Friday.” “That’s great! I’m happy for you.” I truly wanted Kim to find work that made her happy. “So, what do you plan to do next?” “To start with, I thought I’d move near you. It’s a big city. I’m sure I can find a job that pays comparably to this one.” “Sounds great.” I hesitated only a second, then plunged in. “Or, you could move in here. Are you ready for that?” There was a brief pause, and Kim made a choked noise caught between a laugh and a sob. “I was hoping you’d ask me.” The following weekend she sold most of her furniture, moved some into storage, and brought the rest of her things to my apartment. I hadn’t lived with anyone since Alyssa. It was strange at first, having an extra person and all her stuff filling my space. But it was Kim and she was very accommodating, so it wasn’t too difficult. Her presence was a pleasure and made me realize how lonely I’d been before she came into my life. We worked out a routine and set up guidelines to harmonize our living arrangement, but inevitably, things weren’t perfect. Each of us tested the boundaries of our special relationship. It was different because we were doing more than simply moving in together and finding out about each other’s bad habits. We were defining our roles of Master and slave -- a delicate balancing act. “I don’t want you to go any further into role-playing than you’re comfortable with,” I told Kim. “But at the same time, if I’m really the one in charge I have to make decisions for both of us sometimes, about financial things and some personal matters, too. We can discuss things, but ultimately you will defer to my judgment.” She nodded. “It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I counted on.” She hugged and kissed me. “Don’t worry if we don’t get it perfect immediately. We’re a work in progress. And, I

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promise, no more opening the window while the air conditioning is on, if you think you could work on picking your socks up off the floor.”

***** One evening a few days after she moved in, I decided to test her claim that the sub life was what she had “signed up for.” Although we were slowly setting boundaries and working out resolutions of little conflicts that came up in the course of sharing space, I hadn’t yet been hard or aggressive about imposing my will. I figured we were both still learning each other’s expectations. While Kim wasn’t overly extravagant with money, she was no spendthrift either, and I’d have to rein in her buying habits. It was going to be a problem in the future if I didn’t nip it in the bud now. She also had a tendency to sidestep my commands sometimes by pretending not to understand exactly what I’d meant or reworking the order to fit what she wanted to do. We’d discussed what obedience meant to each of us, and Kim had sworn my will was her law. That particular evening, I wanted to test how obedient she would be if I gave her an order she wasn’t interested in following. Kim sat at one end of the couch, and I lay with my head in her lap watching a movie. It was an exciting suspense flick, which I’d picked because she loved reading and watching mysteries. I waited patiently through the plot’s buildup and chose the most exciting moment, when all the secrets were about to be revealed, to stop the movie. The screen went blue, then I turned the show off. “Wait! What?” Kim cried out. “I want to play for a while. We can finish the movie later.” I sat up, swinging my legs around and setting my feet on the floor. “But, there were only ten minutes left! I want to know what happens,” she protested.

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“You will. After I’m satisfied.” I stared into her eyes, letting her know my will would not be denied. “Sweetheart, can’t we play later? I’d really like to finish the movie first.” I didn’t say anything for a second then chose my words carefully. “You promised to obey without question as long as the demand isn’t harmful. Isn’t that our agreement?” “And I would obey if it was something that mattered, but it won’t hurt to wait ten more minutes. Then I’ll do whatever you want.” “Except I’ve told you I want you now. I have my reasons, and it’s not up to you to question them. Do you understand?” “Yes.” Her tone was the annoyed mutter of a sulky teenager. “Yes, what?” “Yes, Sir.” Kim’s lips thinned, and her jaw tightened for a second then relaxed. “Yes, Sir,” she repeated more pleasantly. “What would you like me to do?” “Strip first,” I commanded. “Put on some music and go slowly. I love to watch you dance.” Obediently, Kim went to the stereo and turned on a pulsing, rhythmic melody. She sauntered back across the room, shedding clothes as she came so that by the time she stood before me again, she was completely naked. It wasn’t much of a striptease. Clearly, she was in a hurry, and her heart wasn’t in it. “Suck me off.” As if in a timed race, Kim dropped to her knees and opened my fly. My cock, always ready at the sight of her naked body, sprang free. She took it in her fist and pumped up and down. She swallowed the engorged head into the heat and slickness of her mouth. There was no finesse or sign of pleasure in her actions. I could tell she wanted to finish me off fast and get back to the movie.

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This was what I had expected might happen. It was the reason I’d tested her. I decided it was time for Kim’s next lesson. She must learn the difference between grudging compliance and a sincere desire to submit -- to always put my desires first. I put my hand on her head and pushed her off my dick. “Stop!” Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at me. “What now?” “Do you want to be in this relationship?” I demanded. “Are you truly committed to it?” “Yes! Of course. I told you I want it, but you’re making a petty demand, interrupting the movie on purpose just to bug me and prove some kind of point.” “Exactly. I’m proving a point. You need to be ready to defer to me all the time, not just when you’re in the mood. I expect you to take your time and put yourself into pleasing me. There should be no other desire in your mind besides satisfying me.” I sat silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. Kim knelt at my feet, looking up into my face, her expression inscrutable. “Yes…Sir.” I allowed more gentleness into my firm tone. “I realize sometimes you’re not going to be into sex play for one reason or another, but don’t show that reluctance to me. I believe if you play-act having a good time, you’ll surprise yourself and get into it.” She nodded. “Yes, Sir.” “Now, go back to your blowjob and put some heat into it,” I commanded. Kim’s head lowered, but her eyes didn’t leave mine. A look of molten heat beamed from her half-closed eyes. She was sultry and hot as a porn star as she ever so slowly wrapped her lips around the tip of my cock again and drew it back into her mouth. “Mmm.” She gave a long, drawn out moan, and her eyes closed even further as if she’d never felt the sensation of dick touching her tongue before. She sucked hard and deep for several moments, then let the entire wet length of my prick slip from her mouth. “It tastes so good. Thank you for letting me suck you, Sir.” She said it without a trace of sarcasm. And

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even though the words were manufactured for my benefit, lust arched through me. My heart raced, and my cock swelled. “More,” I demanded. “I like when you suck my balls.” Immediately, Kim dropped her face down and burrowed between my thighs. She lapped all over my sac, wetting it thoroughly with saliva. Then she took one of my balls into her mouth and rolled her tongue over it. She sucked in the other, and her tongue roamed over them both. Muffled moans rose from her throat. I shivered at the stimulating sensation. I loved the way she looked with her face smashed up tight against my cock as she gobbled me into her mouth. After a bit, she released my sac and went back to sucking cock, her moans enhancing the experience for both of us. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she concentrated on the task. With each stroke, my shaft was revealed, glistening and throbbing. I couldn’t look away from her lips stretched around its girth. Kim’s moans and cries were no longer acting as her mouth and hands worshipped my cock like it was a sacred totem. Her tongue licked up and down its length then she swallowed it until she gagged. That gagging sound turned me on, making me want to fuck her mouth harder. I gripped handfuls of her long blonde hair as I pumped into her. The blowjob was great, but what really aroused me was the knowledge of my power over her. “I want to see my come hit your tongue,” I grated out just before a spasm of release shook me. Kim’s mouth opened wide and her tongue extended to catch the white spurts of come. “Mm,” she murmured as she swallowed. She licked a pearly drop from the edge of her mouth then sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with her hand. “I love the way you taste, Sir. Thank you for allowing me to please you.”

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“Thank you, little slut. That was much better.” I felt a thrill of triumph at the way my test had turned out. Tonight I’d taught Kim to really submit to my will, not just give lip service to the idea. “I’m sorry for questioning your judgment. Would you like to administer punishment? Maybe a spanking?” She looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I knew she was only half kidding. She was such a pain whore; she always welcomed a smack. I smiled and shook my head. “The idea is tempting. You know I love to slap your butt red. But I think the punishment I have in mind proves my point better. If you’re really my slave, my desires must always come first for you. I’ve decided you may not watch the rest of the movie. I think that will teach you the lesson of non-attachment better than a paddling.” I laughed. “Especially since you seem to like paddlings.” A momentary frown passed over Kim’s forehead, then she bowed her head in compliance. “Yes, Sir. I understand the lesson, and I’ll do better next time you ask me to do something.” She looked up with a smirk. “However, I hope we’re done with this particular lesson. I hate missing the end of a mystery.” I leaned forward and pulled her up onto my lap, cuddling her close to my chest and pressing my cheek against her hair. “I love you, Kim. Always remember everything I do to train you is for your benefit as much as mine. I want you to be content the way you only can be if you relax and submit.” “Yes, Sir.” She turned her face and nuzzled into my neck. Her fingers clung to my shoulder. “I’ve been more fulfilled and satisfied over these past weeks than I’ve ever been before in my life. And despite the fact that I get stubborn sometimes, I do want to please you.” “Good.” I was happy to hear her say it. “I didn’t mean my test to seem petty and controlling, but I knew something as simple as missing the end of that movie would affect you.”

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“You were right.” She traced her finger along the line of my jaw. “There’s still a lot of post-feminist woman in me that has trouble deferring to you -- especially if I don’t see the logic behind it. It might take me some time to learn to let go, but I do want to, and I’ll keep trying.” She laughed, the vibration moving from her body into mine. “And you were right that once I played at being turned on, it didn’t take long for it to be true.” “For my part, I’ll consider hard before I give you orders. Although, shutting the window while the air is on is non-negotiable.” I joined in her laughter.

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Chapter Eight

Our life together wasn’t all about the Dom/sub relationship we were developing. Like any other couple, we went out to movies, ball games, museums, and concerts. We ate at restaurants with friends, some couples I knew through my work, others we’d met in the BDSM community. I discovered Kim’s competitive spirit as we played racquetball and shot pool. She never bowed down or surrendered where winning a game was concerned, and I wouldn’t have wanted her to. We both enjoyed hiking the trails at a nearby state forest. The weather was still chilly, but the buds on the trees were starting to unfurl into tiny leaves. One afternoon we walked a path through the woods holding hands. The sun shone weakly through the pale green canopy, and Kim’s pale blonde hair glowed silvery in its light. Last fall’s dead leaves crunched underfoot as a breeze wafted the earthy scent of fresh dirt through the air. The whole earth felt vibrant and alive. “Want to take a break? Get off the path for a while?” Kim asked. It was exactly what I’d been thinking. We detoured down a faint trail blazed by deer or maybe teenagers looking for place to party. The path led to an open glade set in a circle of trees. The wood was so still, not even a bird broke the silence. Kim set her knapsack on the

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ground and pulled out a bottle of wine and plastic cups she’d brought along. I uncorked the bottle, and we sat, sipping the Chardonnay. Kim, the wine connoisseur, explained why it was a good wine, and I nodded as if I understood. Wine knowledge was not my forte. The flavor was crisp and dry. I rolled it over my tongue and said, “It’s all right, but it needs something…maybe just a little more sweetness. Take off your top and bra.” Kim’s eyebrow raised, but she shed her clothes as requested. I pressed her to the ground with kisses, pinning her under my body, the scent of crushed pine needles rising around us. I covered her mouth with mine while my hand slipped between us to fondle her breasts, tugging on the peaked nipples. Her fingers curled in my hair, and she angled her head to deepen the kiss. She tasted like wine, fruity and a little sweet, her tongue warmly caressing mine. I kissed her until we were both breathless, then sat up and lifted the wine bottle. Tilting it carefully, I let wine trickle over her breasts, rolling over the round globes and the flat plane of her chest to pool in the hollow of her throat. Below her tits, the liquid dripped down to her belly button and gathered there. I might not be a connoisseur, but I knew red wine would make a better contrast with her pale skin and wished that was what we’d brought today. Leaning down, I sipped the wine from the hollow of her throat and lapped it from her breasts, catching more of the droplets before they rolled down her sides. My tongue laved the slopes of her tits in broad strokes. I sucked her hard nipples into my mouth, savoring the wine-flavored flesh. Kim stretched her arms above her head, lifting her chest toward my suckling mouth. She dug her fingers into the grass and held on. “Mm, that feels nice. So does the breeze.” “Not too cold?” She shook her head.

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“Then you won’t mind if I do this.” I sat up and pulled her shoes and socks off, then her jeans and underwear. I didn’t stop until Kim was nude as Eve in the garden, spread like a dryad against the forest floor. “You look so beautiful like that.” She smiled and stretched, arching her torso from the ground. I poured more wine on her flat stomach then leaned to lap it up, swirling my tongue in her navel and licking all the way from her rib cage to her pubic bone. I dribbled more liquid onto her smooth pussy, then feasted on the sticky wine combined with her musky juices. My hands wrapped around her thighs, holding them apart, and I buried my face in between, licking and sucking her folds and the dark crevice there. Kim moaned and wiggled under my grip, trying to thrust her hips, but I pinned her to the ground, holding her steady while I ravaged her sex with tongue and teeth. She gasped, groaned, and twisted as I drove her to a frenzy. “Oh, please, please,” she begged after I’d brought her to the edge of orgasm then backed off several times. Her sweating face grimaced with the effort of achieving climax. I stroked her trembling thighs with both hands, doused her pussy with one last splash of wine and bent to finish the task. A few well-placed licks and Kim jerked and gave a loud cry. I let go of her thighs so she could fly like a bird released from its cage. She bucked up and down, and I continued to ride her with my mouth pressed firmly to her clit. Finally, when I knew I’d wrung every last drop of bliss out of her, I pulled my mouth away and watched her thrashing slowly subside into quivers, like temblors after a big quake. I ran my hand up her body. It was sticky from crotch to breasts. After a quick glance around the quiet clearing to make sure we were still the only people enjoying the privacy of the woods on this fine spring day, I stripped off my clothes. The cool breeze on my skin and the beauty of nature surrounding us gave an added thrill to being naked --as did the chance of discovery, which heightened all my senses.

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I lay on the ground and offered Kim the wine bottle. She poured and lapped it off my chest as I’d done to her. The cool alcohol trickling over my chest and Kim’s hot tongue licking it off was intoxicating. She paid special attention to my nipples, alternating between sucking and nibbling them. I closed my eyes and melted into the sensation. She worked her way down the plane of my chest to my abdomen, periodically anointing me with a splash of wine. By the time she reached my cock, I was shaking with need. I looked down at her through half-closed eyes, watching as she tipped the bottle just enough to wet the swollen purple head of my cock. Kim licked the dripping wine from the length of my erection like a child licking an ice cream cone. The flash of her pink tongue laving over the head and up and down the sides of my cock was a beautiful sight. Setting the wine bottle aside, she got to serious work, sucking me deep into her throat and working the base of my cock with her encircling fist. She knew just how hard I liked her to pump, and between her sucking mouth and massaging hand, I was soon at the edge of coming. I gripped the grass and pine needles on either side of me as I thrust into her mouth. Even with eyes closed, I could see the sun shining through the leaves and stared at the bright red glow behind my eyelids, concentrating until I felt I was one with it. I rose, ascending into the light, my hips jerking sharply, then froze as sunlight burst through me and fried my synapses. I heard myself cry out, a guttural groan that didn’t even sound like me. I felt like I was hovering above my body observing my orgasm at the same time as I experienced it. The feeling was so intense I came back into myself with a thud when it was over. My eyes flickered open, and I stared at the green canopy overhead. “Whew!” I exhaled. “That was something! I think outdoor sex is my new favorite thing.” Kim sat up and smiled at me. “Me, too. It’s beautiful here. We have to come back again.” She leaned to give me a kiss, and I tasted wine and come on her tongue.

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We dressed and resumed our walk, but our bodies were sticky and dirty beneath our clothes -- the downside of bacchanalian sex. Something kept poking my rear, and when I reached down my pants I found a sharp, dry pine needle. Kim and I strolled back down the trail to our car, drove home, and luxuriated in a long, hot shower, cleansing each other thoroughly and with a maximum of rubbing.

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Chapter Nine

After she’d lived with me for a few weeks, Kim found a job as an administrative assistant. It was a government job with great benefits, and she liked the workplace environment better than her last employment. She got along very well with her new coworkers and said it confirmed her decision to move was the right one. And so we carried on like any new couple in love, spending hours learning about one another, as well as having the best sex I’d ever experienced in my life. But swirling around everything we did both public and private was the undercurrent of the special relationship we kept hidden from the vanilla world. “Man, I’ve never seen you so satisfied,” one of my co-workers said one day. “What are you up to? Got a new girlfriend?” “Yeah. We moved in together.” “Seriously? How long have you been dating? I never heard about this.” “Not too long. It was…an unexpected relationship.” “Well she must be amazing, ’cause you’ve never seemed so happy.” Kim was amazing.

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Our initial negotiations in our relationship were resolved, and she deferred to me more all the time. She was growing in her role every day. Out in the world, Kim had responsibilities and demands, but when she entered our home she set aside those responsibilities and worries and deferred to my will. “You can’t imagine what a relief it is,” she once said. “I don’t have to think about what to do next. I don’t have to consider how what I do or say might affect someone. I simply have to follow your instructions, yet I don’t feel constricted at all. I feel liberated!” I smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re happy, because I know I am.” “Listen to this passage I found in the book I’m reading. It’s the diary of a sub who’s been involved in the lifestyle for over twenty years. It perfectly describes what the role means to me. ‘The powerlessness of bondage or simply being forced to lie very still with all

choices gone and giving myself to One is a big part of what pulls me deeply to BDSM.’” She turned to me with shining eyes. “Isn’t that beautiful?” I smiled wider. “You saying you want me to tie you up again?” She laughed. “Only if you want to.” “I always want to,” I teased and scooped her up in my arms to carry her to the bedroom. I was becoming a much better knot tier, although I still wasn’t as proficient as Mad Master. We met with Mad and Daphne on a semi-regular basis, going out for a meal or hanging out at their home or ours. He was tutoring me in the art of Kinbaku, Japanese bondage. I learned that the Japanese preferred short lengths of natural fibers like jute or hemp to the long lengths of nylon rope often used in Western-style bondage. The positioning of the sub’s limbs was also supposed to increase the pleasure for her, pressing into and arousing genitals rather than merely restraining. Seeing Kim tied intricately with her limbs stretched in awkward, asymmetrical positions was a huge turn-on for me, but that particular night I fastened her spread-eagle

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across our bed. Her white body in a big ‘X’ against the dark red satin sheets we’d purchased together was a beautiful Valentine. Her pale hair fanned in a perfect halo across the pillow. Her full breasts with their long, pink nipples rose and fell with her even breathing, and her sex was spread wide so I could see every convoluted pink fold of labia and the dark mystery of her entrance. After tying Kim to the bed, I lit candles around the room and took off my clothes, then carried one of the lit candles over to the bed. Kim licked her lips in anticipation. Her chest rose and fell faster as her breathing sped up. I tilted the candle and let drops of red wax fall across her breasts and twitching belly in artistic red swirls and lines. Drop by drop, I decorated the white canvas of her skin. She moaned and her eyes closed in rapture. When the hot wax hit the tender flesh of her pussy, she squealed and lifted her hips. “You like that, bitch?” I asked. “Yes. It hurts. You know I like it.” Kim exhibited an increasing enjoyment of pain and a capacity to withstand a great deal of it as our sex games grew edgier. That knowledge was a dangerous thing since it made me want to push the envelope further and further. Demeaning epithets had also become part of our sexual repertoire. At first I felt self-conscious and uncomfortable calling her a “cunt” or “cum whore.” It seemed artificial, theatrical, and negative. Besides, my feminist mother had certainly not raised her son to belittle women. But Kim encouraged it, telling me how it turned her on when I talked rough and dirty. It was easy to give in, since the forbidden words added a frisson of illicit pleasure. “How about this? Do you like this?” I coated her tits liberally with the melted wax, watching the liquid turn to solid sheets of scarlet while her body flinched. She whined loudly and writhed against her restraints. “Ow. God! Yessss! Make it hurt.”

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I let another few drops roll down her crotch and inner thighs, and she begged for more. The little wax burns would do no lasting damage to her skin, but would leave it pink and very tender. She’d told me that the achy tenderness of the burned skin only enhanced her pleasure when we made love later. Deciding she’d had enough for the night, I stopped and sat beside her on the bed, peeling the wax off her reddened breasts then plucking at her hard nipples and twisting them. Kim moaned and arched toward my hands. “We need to get these pierced. I want to see jewels hanging from them.” She nodded. “Yes, Sir. Whatever you want.” I enjoyed hearing her say it, and Kim played with it, giving me extravagant promises of submission. “Whatever pleases you is my desire,” she crooned. “My body is for your pleasure, Master.” I smiled at the litany of obedience. It had become a regular part of our bedroom play, and the best part was I knew Kim meant it. I peeled the wax from her crotch, leaving it sensitive and raw, then put a dollop of aloe lotion on my palms and rubbed it all over her tits and pussy until her body gleamed. As I rubbed the lotion into her pubis, she pushed her crotch into my hand. “Will you fuck me now, Sir, please?” I fingered her pussy. “Are you ready for it? Ah, yes, you are.” Her cunt was soaking wet, and it clenched around my probing fingers. I moved first two then three fingers in and out, pressing inside as far as I could reach, pulling them out then plunging in again. Finally, I added the fourth finger, stretching her wide. “More,” she panted. “Your whole hand. Fist me. Stretch me until it hurts. I want all of you inside me.”

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That was something we hadn’t tried yet, but if it was what she wanted, I was more than willing to attempt it. I tucked my thumb into my palm and carefully worked my hand into her yawning depths. My fingers disappeared inside with ease, but my hand stuck at the widest point. I paused, letting her acclimate to the sensation before I pushed any farther. Kim groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as they drifted closed. “God, it’s so tight, so wide!” She raised her hips and bore down, forcing her body onto my hand. She made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, a strangled “Guh” of pleasure. It was intoxicating watching the lips of her vagina slowly stretch to accommodate my entire hand. Her folds were bright red and shining with moisture. I pushed harder, opening my fingers slightly inside her channel as I deepened my exploration. Kim pulled against her restraints, writhing and groaning loudly. Her juices flowed copiously, coating my hand all the way up to my wrist. I felt her interior muscles clenching and pulsing around my hand, so tight and hot I couldn’t even move it. My dick throbbed, aching to be enveloped the same way. I attempted to withdraw my hand, and for a second, it stuck -- the fit of her body was so snug. Then her body released my hand with a sucking, wet sound as I pulled out. Kim cried out. Her arms and legs pulled taut, and her body arched. “Do it again! Fill me again.” I plunged my hand back inside her. The passage was easier this time. I pushed further inside her than I would have believed possible, my whole hand disappearing up to the wrist. Then I pulled it out again, soaking wet with her juices. Curling my fingers into a fist made my hand even broader across. Now that I’d stretched Kim’s hole impossibly wide, I wanted to see if I could actually fist her. I rammed my hand back into her dripping entrance. Kim howled and jerked. “Too much! God, it feels so…” She finished in an unintelligible gurgle. “Do you want me to stop?”

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Her head whipped back and forth on the pillow, and she grunted, “More.” Slowly and steadily, I fucked her with my fist, driving into her without compunction, filling her completely. Watching her body swallow my hand was the most amazing sight I’d ever seen. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and tears fell from the corners. “Oh yeah. Fuck me! Use me! Hurt me!” She grunted the phrases with each new thrust of my hand. Kim’s exuberance thrilled me. I withdrew my hand coated with her juices and wiped it up and down the length of my quivering cock. Pre-come dribbled from the swollen head, and I knew I’d spill on my own fist if I didn’t enter her soon. Crawling onto the bed, I lay between her widespread legs and pressed my cock into her yawning entrance. I entered easily on the slick of creamy moisture. “Fuck me, Master,” she whimpered. “Please, fuck me.” Her words excited me beyond reason, awakening my primitive, most basic self. I thrust into her as if I hadn’t had sex in years, as if we didn’t do it a couple of times a day, every day. I entered her fast, hard, and rough. I wanted to possess her, body and soul, until she had no will of her own but was merely an extension of myself. Every time we had sex those thoughts filled my mind, Possess. Control. Dominate, and now the words thundered in my head with each powerful thrust of my cock. Kim cried out and rose beneath me, stretching her bonds to their limits, pulling the tendons in her arms and legs. She came with abandon, her head whipping back and forth as she cried out words of surrender mixed with incoherent moans. I impaled her once more, then released inside her with a shudder. Collapsing on top of her, I reveled in the joy of our union. When my heart rate had finally slowed to almost normal, I lifted off her and lay, looking at her lovely face.

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Kim met my eyes with an expression of wonder in hers. “I’m really yours. Just now, it was like something clicked, and for the first time I felt it completely in every fiber of my being. I belong to you. I am yours.” My heart swelled at her heartfelt admission. “And I’m yours.” I stroked her face, pushing back sweaty strands of platinum hair. “This is what it means to become one.” She exhaled a long, quiet breath and gazed at me with her clear, hazel eyes. “I love you.” “And I love you.” I leaned to kiss her. Kim looked so beautiful spread across the bed, her taut limbs trembling, her pussy dripping with my come, that I left her like that for a little while. I gave her a drink of water then walked into the other room, leaving her tied up. The knowledge that I could leave her, and she wouldn’t complain but would wait patiently for me to take her again if I chose, was heady, powerful information to possess. I knew if I wasn’t careful I could misuse my power, abuse the trust she’d placed in me. I cooked a meal for us, but as I moved around the kitchen most of my consciousness was in the bedroom, picturing Kim awaiting my return. I fucked her once more before I released her from her bonds. After a long, hot shower, we ate the dinner I’d prepared then settled on the couch to watch a TV show like any “normal” couple on a weekday evening. But constantly humming beneath the surface of my mind was the knowledge that our relationship was unusual, special, and a little dangerous. I loved that awareness of being different. How deeply could we immerse ourselves in our roles? How different did we dare to become?

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Chapter Ten

As the months passed, our games grew darker, and we reached deeper levels of consciousness. We gave up the apartment and bought a small house with a sweet little suburban yard and a quiet basement where no neighbors could hear our noise. I set up a dungeon to rival Mad Master’s, complete with an X-shaped cross I built myself rather than spend a small fortune on the apparatus. Over time, we experimented with whips, chains, shackles, and every torture device we could buy or invent. “The pleasure and pain are inextricable for me,” Kim explained once. “I can’t get off without the pain. I don’t know why I’m built that way, but I’m not denying it anymore like I did for so many years. I’m a pain slut. I thrive on it.” “A damn good thing,” I’d whispered, tightening the clamps on her flesh. “Because I love giving it to you.” Kim had her nipples pierced. I spent some time learning the joys of breast torture, piercing, clamping, burning, and twisting her tits like bonsai. The highlight was the night she hung completely suspended from them. Her hands were fastened behind her back, her throat exposed as her head fell back, her toes barely touching the floor. Her breasts were elongated and pulled up from her body by the lines attaching the nipple clamps to the

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eyebolt in the ceiling. She looked amazing, dangling helplessly. I left her that way for only a few moments, not wanting to damage her, but took pictures we could both look at later. Although she wailed in pain and tears streamed down her cheeks as she hung there, as I massaged her poor, tortured breasts afterward, Kim told me how much the experience had moved her. “I got there!” Her eyes were wide and excited. “Sub-space. I’ve read about it and flirted around the edges of it before, but now I know what it is. I can describe it to you, but you can’t imagine how it really feels unless you experience it. It’s an altered state of consciousness, like an out-of-body experience.” I had read about that state, but hearing Kim had experienced it thrilled me. I was glad to know she was getting as much pleasure out of the torture of her body as I was. “The pain was so intense I thought I’d pass out. I breathed my way through it, and just when I thought I couldn’t take any more and was going to shout out my safe word, I lifted up out of my body. It was amazing!” “But you were whimpering the whole time. You must have still felt pain.” She nodded. “I was in my body, feeling everything, yet outside of it at the same time.” I fondled her breasts, rubbing them with soothing, fragrant massage oil. “Do they still hurt?” “My nipples were on fire while I was hanging, but now it’s a dull throbbing that, honestly, kind of turns me on.” She reached out and cupped my cock, rubbing up and down its length. I was already halfway to coming from the entire erotic experience. It didn’t take more encouragement than her touch to spur me to flip her on her back and straddle her hips.

*****

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Sex and sadism became an addiction for both of us. If we weren’t having sex, I was thinking about it, imagining new scenarios to try out. When we were apart, I still gave Kim little assignments to perform at work, and when we were together, we talked about different things we could do. We spent less time going out and more time staying at home, as I turned down a number of invitations from friends. Kim’s devotion to extreme torture began to seem excessive. There was nothing I might suggest, even as a passing fantasy, that she wasn’t willing to try. I worried there might be psychological side effects from our extreme sex play, but I was enjoying inflicting pain too much to put the brakes on and Kim gobbled up whatever I dished out. I was afraid we were on a downward spiral and talked to Kim about it one night. “It’s getting hard to know where to draw the line. At some point we have to stop, to say we’ll go this far and no farther.” “I know.” Kim rested her head on my shoulder. “But when I’m out in the world, all I can think about is what will happen when I get back home. My pussy is wet and throbbing almost all the time now from my fantasizing about what you’ll do to me next. I can’t get enough of you, of this.” Although part of me realized we were coming dangerously close to sex addiction, I managed to convince myself that when our initial experimental phase settled down we’d slip into dull routine like everyone else. We should enjoy the wild ride while it lasted. My justification and Kim’s very willing participation encouraged me to go deeper into both sadism and domination. We participated in play parties anywhere reasonably close we could find them. Socializing with other couples who understood us was a great help. Kim and I learned the joys of multi-partner sex and the thrill of seeing a loved one transported by ecstasy in another person’s arms. I didn’t feel I’d lost connection with Kim when I watched her fucking another man or woman -- or several at once. In fact, it strengthened my powerful feeling of

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ownership. I knew she’d abandon whatever she was doing in a heartbeat and come to me if I bade her to. I knew where her true devotion lay. One evening at Mad’s house, he pulled me aside. “The two of you are enjoying each other? Both satisfied?” “Yes. Completely.” “That’s good.” My mentor smiled. “It’s probably not my business, but that’s never stopped me putting my two cents in before. You and Kim are clearly having a good time, getting into your groove. Daphne and I are more about bondage, less about torture, but whatever the two of you like is cool. I just wanted to remind you of your responsibility. As a Dom, you’re her protector as well as her disciplinarian.” “What are you getting at?” I was annoyed. “I don’t do anything Kim doesn’t want me to do. We have a safe word, and we agree to the limits of a scene before we get into it.” I didn’t add that the limits for us seemed to be no limits at all. “Yeah, but sometimes the lines can get blurry, especially with a pain slut like Kim encouraging you to do whatever you want and make it hurt more. It’s up to you to control yourself and not allow your slave any serious harm. To keep things from going too far.” “Thanks for the advice,” I snapped. We left the party shortly after and didn’t see our friends again for a long while.

***** Kim and I still enjoyed a few outdoor activities, but as weeks passed everything outside of our sex life seemed faded and dull. Only when we crossed the threshold into our home did life brighten to Technicolor. We spent more and more time downstairs in our dungeon. I subjected her body to everything I’d seen or read about and whatever my imagination could devise. She especially enjoyed it when I kept her hooded, her hearing cut off by

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earplugs. Devoid of sight or sound, she said it magnified the effect of each stimulus on her body, from the light tickle of feathers to the searing heat of flame. I pierced the tender skin of her breasts with needles, burnt it with candles, electrified it with minor shocks, pinched, pressed and clamped her nipples until they were purple. When I decided her tits needed a reprieve, I gave special attention to flogging her back and buttocks raw or tying her into awkward positions that strained her muscles. Leaving her bound and helpless for increasing lengths of time was a huge turn-on for us both. She said she could enter an altered state of being almost at will now, as she spent long stretches of time bound and hooded. “It’s meditative, suspended beyond time and space with nothing to do but focus inward.” She smiled at me. “You don’t know what you’re missing by being in constant movement all the time. Sometime you should have me tie you up.” Outside the house, I sent her to work with a butt plug, a chastity belt, or clamps and weights on her pussy torturing her all day long as she went about her work. She took periodic breaks from the devices by removing them in the women’s restroom to prevent damage from loss of blood flow. But there wasn’t a day she went out of the house without some device attached to her genitals or tits. I’d bought special nipple clamps that elongated her nipples then held them tight. She wore them almost every day now. I wanted to know if her nipples would maintain the extra length from being stretched in the little devices. They were my personal bonsai project. A cardigan sweater over her blouse hid the very pointed evidence of the experiment. The idea of Kim obediently wearing whatever I’d chosen for her stimulation each day percolated in the back of my mind as I went through the motions of interacting with people in my office. It was amazing I kept up any productivity at all, but I was able to carry on my work while constantly thinking about her. Kim began to miss days of work when I occasionally kept her tied for hours at a time. She’d call in sick, so she could stay bound to the cross or in intricate positions that pulled her arms up behind her back and stretched her legs wide, leaving her pussy exposed and

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yawning. The knowledge of her discomfort and helplessness thrilled me as I maintained my daily routine. I loved to come home and find her patiently waiting, begging for a fuck, juices glistening on her pussy and inner thighs. When I finally removed the restraints, she always thanked me and asked what she could do for me. She offered to cook me dinner before even requesting a drink of water. How could I resist such humble adoration?

***** Our relationship grew darker and deeper, until I didn’t know where my needs left off and hers began. Whenever we discussed it in our saner moments, Kim always swore she thrived on the pleasure/pain, as she called it. I convinced myself I’d be denying her what she craved if I backed off even a little. And so I finally reached the night where I stood, knife in hand, at the foot of Kim’s cross, prepared to slice into her tit and wondering how I’d reached this level of sadism. I gazed at the twin bloody tracks on her pale skin from breasts to groin and at the glint of the knife blade poised at her areole. Our sex games had begun with an innocent sense of fun and experimentation, but now had taken on a deadly significance and no longer seemed light or playful. Would I actually cut her? Would she let me do it? I yearned to find out, to take the next step. But there would always be another step beyond it. Where did I draw the line? Kim’s face was pale and thin, her eyes lit by an almost feverish light. When was the last time I’d heard her laugh, that carefree, deep chuckle that had drawn me to her? She moaned, gasped, howled, begged, sobbed, then sighed in satisfaction at the end of one of our sessions, but she rarely giggled anymore. Her body was striped with fading red marks and bruised purple in many places. The maxim, First, do no harm, came to mind, and I realized I’d crossed a line. I’d ignored inner

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promptings to back off on the tortures and allowed myself to go as far as Kim permitted me --which was way too far. Who was controlling whom? She was the submissive, subject to my control. I was the one who was supposed to be responsible for us both. I released her distended nipple from between my thumb and forefinger and her breast flopped down, pulled by gravity. Stepping away from the cross, I set the knife on the nearby table, covered with various punishing implements. “Kim, that’s enough. No knife play.” I climbed up on the small stool beside the cross and removed her gag. “Whips and paddles and clamps, sure. Maybe a light whipping now and then, but cutting is a step too far.” “Whatever you say.” Her lips curved in a smile. “You know me. I’m up for anything, anytime, anywhere.” “Then I guess I need to tell you when you’ve had enough.” I unfastened the restraints on her hands and feet and helped her down from the cross. “Enough playing for tonight. Let’s make popcorn and watch a movie, and afterward we’ll go to bed, kiss and cuddle and have plain old missionary-style, vanilla sex for a change. No tying, pinching, gouging, slapping, twisting, poking, clamping, cutting, or props of any kind. That should be wild.” She rubbed her wrists and laughed. “Sounds crazy. You’re so inventive. I never would’ve thought of that.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned up on her toes to kiss me. “Whatever you want. You know I’m at your disposal.” I returned her kiss, and then held her close, burying my face in her sweet-smelling hair, breathing her in deeply. I loved Kim’s complexity, both the bright and dark aspects of her personality. I loved everything about her. She was mine to protect and care for, a responsibility I wouldn’t take lightly again. The mantle of being a Dom settled firmly on my shoulders, and I accepted the gravity it entailed.

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“The vessel receives whatever is poured in it. It doesn’t complain that the contents are

too hot or too cold, but accepts what is given without question. The vessel then holds the liquid until the provider chooses to empty it again. It is up to the provider to judge when the vessel is full and to stop before it overflows, spilling and wasting the precious essence of life.”

~*~

B. D. Dark Sometimes a girl just wants to get really, really naughty. Under my pen name of Bonnie Dee I write some really hot erotic romances with a strong emphasis on passion and intimacy. The heat level in Bonnie Dee books ranges from sweet to extremely steamy, but occasionally I wanted to go a step farther. So as not to surprise my regular readers I decided it would be best to put all BDSM titles under a new name. B.D. Dark pushes past barriers. Nothing is sacred or too taboo to explore. Join my alterego on a journey into the darker side of sexuality. To contact B.D. Dark/Bonnie Dee, email me at [email protected]

*****

SUBMISSIVE

Roxy Harte

Chapter One

Alone. I was fine in my misery, but then I woke up the other day and realized that I’m out of time… m not as young and cute as I was when I was eighteen. My God…what have I been doing with my time -- other than not finding a man? How did it come to this? I’m an attractive girl; at least I think I’m reasonably attractive. My nose isn’t too big, I’m not fat, even though my boobs might be considered on the too big side, and maybe I'm a little short, but cute. I definitely used to be called cute back in the day…not that I’m old. Twenty-nine is not old, damn it! I still have time to find someone before I’m too old to enjoy sex! Right? God, I hope so. I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, and I’m not complaining, because I did have ten wonderful years with Master. Damn you for leaving me, Master! Damn you for

DYING on me! Paused at a red light, I lose myself in the rhythm of my windshield wipers. Rain that is not quite rain…a mist, then, except that every now and then a big wet splat that is almost frozen into a snowflake, but not quite. I close my eyes, willing myself to not cry. I’ve cried enough already. Two years, three months, and eighteen days of crying is definitely enough. No one had to tell me how badly it was going to hurt to lose him when we were told that he

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was dying. Been there, done that, losing my mother taught me all I ever wanted to know about dying. How does one really survive the gaping, aching hole left in your chest where your heart used to be? And now, empty ache times two. How am I supposed to live? That was why I lived each moment I had with him to the fullest, even after his illness was too unbearable to watch. I knew I would have to live on without him and if it were solely my mind, I could live the rest of my life alone, but it isn’t just my mind…it is my flesh that has turned traitor, leaving me thinking about nothing else. So, tonight, I will not ruin my mascara. Tonight, I will get laid. It was my New Year’s resolution, after all, that I get laid at least once this year, and I’m running out of time. Only nineteen dick shopping days until the New Year and by God, I

will get laid! I will! Tonight! A honking horn wakes me from my thoughts and propels me forward. Jet black bangs fall into my face, covering both eyes, and with a wild swipe of my hand, I push them back for what seems like the hundredth time, sighing with frustration when they immediately fall forward again…the growing out stage -- yuck. My mother would tell me it serves me right for shaving my head in the first place. If she were still alive, I would tell her that she's absolutely, positively right, especially after having survived the weeks I looked like a fresh army recruit, and worse, the eighties punk rocker stage; but I’m through the worst of it now. Glancing in my rearview mirror confirms, not a punk rocker, more likely at this stage an anorexic Goth…at best -- maybe. “God, I need some sun,” I mutter to myself, pushing the mirror back into its functioning position, trying to escape the paleness and dark-smudged eyes, adding as an afterthought, “And sleep. I look like a damn vampire wanna be.”

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Inhaling deeply, I focus on the whoosh of the windshield wipers, swishing back and forth, and tighten my grip on the steering wheel…with both hands…to keep myself from purposely ramming into the nearest thick trunk tree. It would be so easy just to end it. The temptation’s there and I’ve thought it through more than once. Hit a hundred, fly off the road, hit a tree, or a telephone pole, or a concrete barrier, and just die -- but not tonight.

Slide. Rain turning to ice on the roads is not good. “Damn it! I did not sign on for icy roads! I am not going to die until after I have sex, and not just mediocre sex -- I will have mind-blowing, multiorgasmic sex, damn it!” Trudging across town to another BDSM Single's Support Group meeting, I question my sanity; but knowing this is the last official meeting before the holiday increases my need to be there. Where else do I have a chance of meeting someone who will indulge in a little

playtime with me? Realistically, if anyone does show up despite this storm, it will only prove that they are masochistic, and I do not need a Dom with masochistic tendencies…but I have to remember, I am not looking for a Dom, I am not looking for a relationship, I am looking for sex…even if it’s the old-fashioned vanilla variety. I know that if I could ever move beyond Master’s death, I couldn’t go back to the vanilla world even though I’ve mastered myself. I’m not as needy as I was…just after his death. I’ve relearned to do all that I hadn’t had to do, although there are times it is a struggle. I can do my own banking, shop for groceries, and pick out videos for lonely Friday nights; however, picking out an outfit to wear across town still takes hours. Deciding on coffee or tea for breakfast is such a chore that most often I opt for no breakfast at all. Lunch is worse; healthy salad at home or quick veggie burger through the drive-through. Easier to just skip it and wait for dinner. Dinner is easy, falling into two choices: Ramen noodles or plain rice, light garlic smothered in cheddar -- Jasper's favorites, now my comfort food. Who would have thought that being a sex slave would affect one's life most in the trivial, mundane details? Not I.

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I would have laughed at anyone suggesting such a thing while Master still lived. I was so independent -- young, carefree, successful. It was my CHOICE to belong to Master Jasper. As a slave, I was the one with the POWER in the relationship. Or, so I preached every time he was called upon to perform a lecture and I would inevitably conduct a discussion for the submissives’ group. Perhaps because I am now alone is why I have become so powerless, so unable to make the simplest choices. Yet tonight's choice to attend the local BDSM chapter's meeting was so simple and yes, because I am desperate. Desperate to be BOUND... Desperate to be spanked…flogged…CANED! FUCKED. God, I need to fuck; I can't even manage an orgasmic self-grope on a good day. Masturbation sucks. I want skin on skin…heat…sweat…THE EXCHANGING OF GODDAMN BODY FLUIDS! Oh, yeah, I need to taste another's saliva mingled with mine, feel the sting from the salt of someone else's sweat dripping into my eyes, and I long for the sweetness of their jism shooting over my tongue. I’m tired of being alone despite how much it hurts thinking of being with another. “Damn you, Master Jasper! Damn you for dying on me!” Odds of having sex tonight decline by the minute. Already running late for the meeting because I took too long deciding on what to wear; then, rushed, I left no time for food…not that I was hungry; nervous, yes, but after an hour in the bathroom, shitting my brains out because of nerves. Trying to remember my last actual sit-down meal takes more energy than I want to expend, but it suddenly seems very important that I remember and decide it was a fruit and granola breakfast bar and OJ at the gym four days ago and then only because they were

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offering free samples to introduce their new café, and I sat on a stool next to a really buff guy, all pumped up and pulsing with pheromones, because the goal is, after all, to get laid, but then his boyfriend showed up and ruined any chance I had because they headed off to the men’s room. I almost followed them, hoping that at least one of them would be bi and up to a pity fuck. Almost. Because I am almost that frantic but not hopeless enough to face their rejection, and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t compete with muscle-bound blond behind stall door number one. I still have a little self-respect, and doing it in the health club men’s room would definitely ruin my self-respect…unless Master Jasper had asked me to do it for him -- then I wouldn’t have been able to get into the men’s room fast enough. I would have done anything for that man. Anything. Funny, though, even after ten years as Master Jasper’s slave, I still feel like a nice girl, and nice girls don’t pick up random men and have sex with them in men’s rooms. Nice girls go out on dates and after sufficient “get to know you time,” then and only then, progress from kissing to foreplay to real, “lay down in bed” sex. Okay, I don’t have time to do it the nice girl way…not tonight. A date is for another night.

Do I even remember dating? Oh yeah, dating…sweet guys, missionary position, sixty-nine if I got a really live one – thanks, but no thanks; just tie me up and make me feel like we did something worth getting naked for. My thighs grow damper as I drive on, praying tonight I will meet someone. Dreaming, I would love to find someone worthy of my servitude. Despairing, I sometimes ask myself if I would settle for the first guy willing to go back to my place for sex because honestly, after four months of bi-weekly meetings my hopes of finding a Dom aren’t so high. At first I smiled and made polite chit-chat. I just haven’t been able to progress past the chit-chat, not even getting to the exchanging phone numbers part. Mostly I sit alone, watching with bored acceptance as scenes are staged and players are

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mockingly matched up to take the stage and I am not chosen to come forward. As a submissive, I wait, although honestly, I’d expect no chemistry to develop even if called onto stage. Over the last year, not a single Dom has raised my eyebrow, let alone my blood pressure. Am I being too particular? There has to be a Dom worthy somewhere, because I cannot go back to vanilla, no matter what, and Master taught me to respect myself enough to settle for no less than what I deserve…and with my training and skills, not to be arrogant, but -- I deserve the best, and sex for the sake of sex just isn’t worth it. I don’t think I would remember how to be vanilla if I had to.

De-da, de-da… De-da, de-da. Oops! Shit! Yes, that yellow light did turn red just before I breezed through. I scan for sirens and lights, blindly rummaging in my bag for the annoying cell phone.

De-da, de-da… De-da, de-da. Slide. “Shit! Shit! Shit! What?” “Tsk, tsk. Is that anyway to answer a friend’s call?” “Jonathon? Hey! Sorry, just ran a red light trying to find the phone.” “Ah, love, I knew you were dying to be handcuffed by the message you left on my voicemail this morning, but isn't that a bit extreme?” “Oh, Jonathon! I am that fucking desperate!” I laugh, wrapping myself in the warmth of his Dublin accent. “Never fear, love. I have a plan! So, wherever you were headed, turn around and join Maxwell and me downtown at the Main Event tonight. There’s a lovely demonstration on branding happening.” “Sorry, Jonathon, It's Single's Night at Community Central.” “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Julia, Julia, Julia. Why do you insist on attending those damn Novice Meet and Greets? You are so much better than that!”

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“We’ve discussed this, Jonathon. The newbies have never heard of me or Jasper. No expectations, no wide eyes, no pointing and whispering behind my back.” “Yes, lovie, I can appreciate all that, but how many meetings must you attend before you realize that there is a reason that those gits are still single? Doesn't it seem strange that it's the same crowd every meeting and no one ever partners up?” “I hadn't noticed.” I had, but I wasn't up to admitting it. I was still hoping for Prince Charles’s evil bastard brother to show up dressed in leather and chains. “Come on, love, I have a wee bit of a surprise for you.” “And you fucking waited until the last second to spring it on me?" I respond to his tone of voice more than what he said. Suspiciously, and suspicious with good reason, considering the way last year’s surprise birthday bash went with the strippers from hell that came as part of the surprise, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the horror of the cross dresser who jumped out of the cake dressed as Marilyn Monroe, singing “Happy Birthday.” “Come meet me. It’s a nice surprise,” he promises. “No gay male strippers, right? Because tonight’s plan is to get laid, and I can’t waste my time on gay men -- no offense, but really.” “I promise I won’t try to fix you up with a gay man. I want you to have sex as badly as you want to have sex.” “I kind of doubt that.” I sigh. “No female impersonators trying to upstage Cher or Marilyn or Mae, right?” “You are correct. No singing, no feather boas, no sequined tiaras, although now that you mention it, we haven't gone out in a long time -- we're due!” “Jonathon!” “Truly, just a branding demonstration,” he replies too innocently, putting my radar on full alert.

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“You aren't intending on branding me, right?” I ask nervously, remembering my own night facing glowing steel. “Ah, love, tempting, but I fear Maxwell would never speak to me again.” I weigh my options: the company of two friends who commiserate with my predicament and an evening's promising entertainment of searing flesh, or the chance of finally meeting an eligible Dom at Single's Night. I sigh. Jonathon is right about one thing -after being with Jasper no Newbie will be able to offer what I really need…and yes, getting laid is still of primo importance, but finding a Dom who is able to master me is what I’ve been waiting for all along. I pause at a stop sign, U-turning in the middle of an intersection, deciding. Not such a hard decision, after all.

***** I park two blocks away from the old stage theater that hosts The Main Event -- not for lack of parking closer, but because I don’t want to take the chance of being seen, recognized, or interrupted. I might not be going to get laid by a man tonight but that is no excuse for not taking matters into my own hands. I shimmy my dress up around my hips, simultaneously plunging my hand between my thighs, pushing panties out of the way in the process, then to the tune of The Doors's Riders

on the Storm on the classic rock channel, engine running, heat from the defrost hitting my face, I touch myself, because although meeting friends seemed like a good idea ten miles ago, I was really, really psyched about getting laid tonight and now my chances of getting a goodold-fashioned-fuck-before-dawn is less than slim to none. Snuggling deeper into the leather seat, I close my eyes, sighing at the first finger slide through my own slick moisture. It feels good, really good, and I’m not even trying to make it feel good yet. I’m just that fucking horny.

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Sliding my fingers through my folds, I gather moisture on my fingertips before traveling up to my clit. I rub myself softly, thinking of my small girl nub as a little penis. I think about what a man must think about when he’s touching himself…damp, pink folds and the salty-sweet taste of pussy. I think about small round tits with tight, suckable nipples. “Ahhhh.” I think about leaving my teeth prints in the perfect dark, rosy areoles surrounding those tight, really incredible suckable nipples and then I am biting my way down the path of soft, smooth flesh that leads to the slick slit and tiny nub that I want to drive crazy with my tongue. “Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh.” I think about dipping my tongue between the folds of wet flesh…tasting, licking, plunging my tongue…in and out, in and out, until she is screaming my name on her lips… My fingers slide with a memorized rhythm and it is my own voice crying out, “Master! Master! Ahhhh! Ahhhhh! AHHHHHHH!” I shake myself; my orgasm, so quick, too quick to have even been worth the effort. “Fuck!” I am frustrated, not relieved, I came…so what? And adding insult to injury, I masturbated to the image of me, again, not just a woman, but me, as if I was Master Jasper making love to me because I cannot, will not remember, fantasize, or even allow myself to think about the times we actually did have together…and I can’t even imagine a man other than Master touching me. It’s pathetically laughable that I would imagine I could have found a man to fuck me tonight when I can’t even begin to envision it. I am such a loser. I masturbate, pretending to be Master making love to me so that I won’t feel like I’m cheating. What have you done to me, Master?

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Chapter Two

Opening the heavy, ornately carved front doors, the scent of old wood assails me as I enter the small, ancient theater otherwise known as The Main Event. Once it was an old play house with live stage performances, transformed for a decade to vaudeville before being transformed into a short-lived cinema, then for several decades left abandoned and crumbling. It was given new life when one of the founding members of the local BDSM group discovered its hidden beauty and discreetly bought it, turning it into the glorious shrine to the past it is now, adding the spice of kink to its illustrious reputation. The doors make a loud thud as they close behind me, startling me back into the room, and then the vision of tonight’s packed crowd overloads my senses. I’d forgotten how many couples attend the advanced BDSM technique demonstration sessions and I, walking in alone, draw every eye in the place. I know almost everyone by name. Almost everyone here knows me as Master Jasper’s property since he used to teach a fair majority of the advanced techniques at classes held here on this very stage…with me beside him. I hate epiphanies and in a blink of an eye I am assailed with the truth. I’ve been so carefully protecting myself from the pain of losing Master by closing off this part of my life that I have avoided anything that would remind me. That was why going to Novice Meetings

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uptown was so much easier than coming here, where I rightfully belonged, and meeting men who had no idea how to be a Dom was preferable to coming here where most of the Doms are experienced. I’ve been saying and doing everything I could to ensure that I never find a Master. What is wrong with me? I hear whispers behind my back. It’s her. It’s really her. Are you sure? I’m sure. Who’s

she here with? She’s alone, it’s so sad. I don’t know how anyone could replace Master Jasper. Seriously, no one could. Do you remember… I close my eyes, thinking what a bad idea coming here was. What was I thinking, letting Maxwell and Jonathon talk me into coming here tonight -- during a branding ceremony? Master branded me…here…at this theater… So many people here knew him -knew us. I should have realized people would recognize me…and talk. I see Maxwell first. He grabs me and pulls me into an over-exuberant hug, stealing my breath, and for a moment making me forget the stares and my brand. “I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper into his ear, rubbing the spot on my hip where the scar of Master Jasper’s brand suddenly flares to new life, itching like crazy. “People are talking.” “Yes, they are! Let them talk.” Maxwell hugs me tighter. “Besides, when you’re in the room, people have always talked! Since when are you afraid of what people think?” “Before, people talked about how wonderful my relationship was with Master. It made me proud to stand by his side. Now, they pity me.” Maxwell steps back from me, taking a long look up and down. “They won’t pity you for long. My God, Julia, you’ve grown even more beautiful since I’ve seen you! And look at this!” Maxwell ruffles my head playfully. “So is this the new, ruffled, just climbed out of bed look?” “Actually, before the wind, rain, sleet, and the close encounter with your hands, it was a sleek, cosmopolitan, slightly funky look.” I lie, laughing. He steps back and frowns, pushing my bangs out of my face as he takes in the results of nature and gravity. “It's an improvement over bald.”

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I stick my tongue out at him and in return he exudes sarcasm. "Sleek? I can almost see that.” “I was never bald!” I pout. “Mmm, kind of like Sinead O'Conner isn't bald.” “Hel-lloooo, stubble,” I insist. “I was never shiny-head bald.” Breaking into a huge smile, he makes me realize he's been teasing. “I liked bald!” he insists, drawing me down the aisle and rubbing the top of my head as if I'm the shorter, younger sibling. “I like this better.” Although for the moment I’d forgotten the whispers, trailing behind him a surge of fresh rising panic assails me. The throng folds around us like a strangling glove, whispers, and beneath the whispers Jasper’s name and mine. Do you think she’s here alone? I’m sure

she is, I heard she left the scene. “Breathe, honey,” Maxwell commands, looping his elbow around mine, walking faster and pulling me through the crowd. He prods me along, issuing commands. “You look like a scared rabbit! Stop looking so worried. Jonathon is holding seats, so stop biting your lip and unfurrow your brow! You look absolutely fabulous! I was only teasing about your hair! So smile, chin up, and remember to watch your language.”

It is her! It’s Julia! My God, she’s beautiful! “What?” “Watch your mouth, pretend you’re in school, and no cussing in front of the kiddies. Okay?” “No. Not okay. I really do watch my mouth around the students all day. Here, on the other hand, we’re all adults, and if a flying fuck creeps out, we’re all old enough to deal with it.” Leading me down the center aisle, my heels sink into an oriental patterned carpet that seems plusher than I remembered. Glancing at the stage, the velvet drapes are now black

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velvet instead of the red satin I seem to remember. Maxwell pulls me to a dead stop and I realize I’ve missed what he was saying. “Pay attention! I don’t want you to screw tonight up, sweetie, and Jonathon brought along one very special, very dominant Mr. Gorgeous, and he will not get anywhere near naked with you if so much as one curse word escapes those adorable cupid lips of yours.” “You’re joking. Not only did you trick me into coming, now you’re fucking telling me that you and Jonathon are trying to hook me up with a damn priest?” “Darling, as much as I agree that damn, fucking, and priest go together in a sentence, tonight they don’t…not if you want to get this Dom to notice you…and darlin’, trust me -you so want this Dom to notice.” “How gorgeous is he?” Nodding nervously, I try to remember how to breathe as I scan rows of opulent, scarlet velvet seats for Jonathon, catching sight of him just as he turns to see us stepping down the three steps into the orchestra seating. After catching his wink, I realize that he has turned his attention back to the mystery man. My attention is drawn once again to the throng of followers I attracted with my entrance. And Maxwell and Jonathon can’t imagine why I insist on going to the novice BDSM meetings. There’s something to be said for anonymity.

It isn’t her. Yes, it is! Ask her. I’m not asking her; that would be rude. You ask her. I don’t need to ask her, I don’t think it’s her. Maybe it isn’t her, Julia would be older… I pivot on my heel, facing the two closest whisperers. “Rude is talking about me behind my back. Go away!” I make shooing gestures with my hands, feeling better as the crowd disperses. “Why did I agree to come here tonight?” Maxwell nods toward Jonathon and the mystery man. “Because of him.”

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Chapter Three

Tilting my head, I take in the line of the mystery man's thigh, seeing the obvious outline of very firm muscle. I swallow hard, lusting harder. He turns and his profile is revealed. I try to put the strong features together in my mind to form a face. At his quick glance my way, I could wet myself he’s so hot and young -- not young as in too young, but young, my age or only slightly older. I’m not sure how I feel about that. “Dear God.” “Yummy, isn’t he?” Wrapping his arm tight around my waist, Maxwell’s free hand takes the liberty of smoothing the charcoal gray fabric over my midriff. “Oooh! Cashmere? Fabulous! Do you remember the little pink sweater set I gave Jonathon last Christmas?” I nod absently in response to Maxwell’s question, amending my silent prayer quickly,

Let him be a Dom that knows what he's fucking doing. The little doubtful voice in my head laughs hysterically at my naiveté, laughing and pointing and rolling around in the back of my head so that I can’t even manage a decent fervent prayer without cursing. I mean, really, really, really knows what he’s fucking

doing -- and willing to do the fucking part too, because tonight isn’t so much about getting tied up and spanked…although that would be a definite bonus…but a whole lot about fucking, fucking like bunnies who just can’t get enough fucking! Okay? I wonder if God

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listens to prayers about getting laid. I’m certain he listens, but does he ANSWER getting laid prayers? “Cashmere and silk!” Maxwell exudes, dragging me back to the conversation. “It was absolutely to die for and he ruined it. Red wine on Valentine’s Day…” Maxwell's chatter becomes more and more distant as I return my attention to Jonathon. Usually, I would be very annoyed if I thought they'd fixed me up on a blind date without consulting me. However, as Jonathon's head nods toward me and his companion turns again, this time drinking me in from head to toe with a single look, I decide that if he has broken the bond of true friendship and interfered with my loveless life, I will forgive him -immediately. The stranger keeps looking and I manage to meet his eyes only for a moment before his intensity overwhelms me and I drop mine. An experienced Dom then, I decide, based solely on the intensity of magnetism streaming from the man's eyes. Oh my, could I be so lucky? I look up to see that he is still looking and I am torn between knowing I should look away and really not wanting to. I settle for quick glances, hoping he won't notice; after all, the room is dimly lit -- very dimly lit. He is so gorgeous…tall, lean, dark hair…I find myself wondering if he has brown eyes? Or maybe green? I love green eyes… Reaching Maxwell and Jonathon's row of seats, both men offer greetings, though only Jonathon embraces me, kissing both cheeks, as is his way. “Julia, always lovely.” “Jonathon. It's been too long,” I answer as he releases me and I feel as though he is performing, being more formal than I am used to, but perhaps it is my imagination. Physically maneuvering me by my shoulders, Jonathon turns me to face the stranger, saying, “Julia, I have someone I want you to meet. “Julia, this is Everett Hawthorn; Everett, Julia Moran.”

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Everett stretches out his hand and I accept, shaking. He has a strong, firm handshake, nothing wimpy about it. Dry palm, nice. Time moves in slow motion as I look at our hands shaking and I wonder if there is some form of magical field of energy visible, because it feels like there should be. Meeting his eyes, I smile, he smiles, and it is an overwhelming moment. His eyes are green. I swallow hard, still lost in his gaze and hands, hoping we aren’t shaking hands an inappropriately long time, because it feels like we could be verging on inappropriate, but he doesn’t release my hand, and shouldn’t he be the one doing the releasing? Is there an etiquette book on handshaking? One that answers all those important questions. Like, how long is too long? Who releases whom? And if he holds my hand forever and doesn’t let go, and if I don’t let go either, then what? He releases, thank God, and I'm certain we didn't shake hands an inappropriately long time because Jonathon is still talking, and if it had been too long, he would have surely stopped talking and lifted his brow. He always does that when there is an etiquette faux pas imminent, lifting his brow as if to ask, are you certain you want to do that? And then, I know I mustn’t do that because it exceeds social norms. It is just one of the many ways that Jonathon has filled in since Master’s death…helping me to navigate my way. Sometimes I question my dependency on Jonathon but most days I’m just thankful to have him as a friend. I look at my palm, feeling cold and empty, his warmth disappearing with the lost contact. Rubbing my palms down the length of my skirt, I glance over to Jonathon, seeking some sign that he approves or disapproves. But he seems strangely unreadable tonight. “Everett is visiting from Atlanta, and although his name is Everett, he left the real world long enough ago that I don't think he even responds to the name anymore.” Maxwell laughs at himself. “For as long as I can remember, he's been Lord Draco, the Dragon Master.”

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I think I snorted at that. I know I must have because it earns me a stern glance from both Maxwell, who rarely ever looks sternly at anyone, and Lord Draco himself. Jonathon, lifting brow painfully high, tries to explain. “Lord Draco is his stage name. He's a professional dominant.” “You find my title amusing?” Everett demands. Jonathon pulls Maxwell to his seat, pushing him down as music filters through the air and the lights dim even more. I quickly take a seat on the other side of Jonathon and Maxwell, leaving the Dragon Master to sit on the other side of our shared friends.

Shit! The answer to a million prayers and I'm blowing it. Leaning over Maxwell's leg I manage to sputter an apology to Jonathon as the room goes completely dark. In the blackness, I feel a brush of legs as bodies move around. I close my eyes, knowing without seeing that Everett has moved to take the seat beside me. A truth confirmed when he says, “I’m still waiting for an answer.” “An answer?” I squeak. The lights go up onstage, casting his face in the bright golden light reflected from the stage. His eyes challenge and I am shocked he took such easy offense, but then I remember the way it used to be with Master Jasper and the horrible humiliations he put unsuspecting submissives through when they offended him. I send up a thank you that Everett chose not to humiliate me publicly. I take a deep breath, look him squarely in the eye, and manage to not stutter as I boldly answer, “Not your title, Sir, but rather the irony of the situation. My Chinese birth sign is the Dragon. I meant no offense, Lord Draco.” Considering my answer, his lips press together in a smirk of sorts, seeming to assess me. His eyes travel the length of my body once more, not dallying long on either my double Dcups or narrow waist, so it makes me wonder if he is only checking out how I carry myself, which I’ve been told is arrogantly, because I move with confidence, but I suppose that is compounded by incredible posture thanks to years of ballet and good genetics. So what? I

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should slouch? I don’t think so…and anyway, am I really up to impressing anyone tonight?

Oh, hell. I stand a little taller, still holding his gaze. “I don't like your dress,” he finally states. My brain dithers between being immediately pissed and hurt because it was one of Jasper's favorites, though I didn’t wear it for that reason. “Or the boots,” he follows up. I gape, my brain on spin cycle, trying to think why a Dominant would be as rude as he’s being when first meeting a new sub. Is he assessing how amenable I am? How moldable? Or is he really just insufferable and rude as part of his personality? I know I’m giving him way too much credit since based on first impressions I do find him an obnoxious bore, but I somehow doubt it’s the latter.

Am I ready for another man to tell me how to act, how to dress, how to think? “Did you choose this outfit for yourself tonight?” His question stuns me. “What?” I answer dumbly. “Did you choose this outfit for yourself?” He repeats each word distinctly, annoying me further. A discussion starts onstage, a pre-branding disclaimer: “Do not try this at home if you have no experience.” Several minutes of elaboration on that single sentence follow, grating on my nerves; but it isn’t really the voice from the stage getting to me, it is the man sitting beside me, looking at me like he knows more about me than I know myself, and his arrogance is really beginning to piss me off. I try to come up with the appropriate answer, an answer that is honest, and the answer he is looking for so he will stop picking on me. Because at this rate, and I honestly truly want to get laid tonight, I’m not sure I want to get naked with him.

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I answer in a whisper so as not to disturb, making sure to pronounce each word succinctly: “Yes, I dress myself.” I do not mention that I labored for hours trying to decide what to wear, just choosing between street clothing and fetish-wear, though I rarely bother wearing fetish-wear to meetings anymore. The thought makes me realize that for the most part the crowd is dressed in street clothing, though granted more leather and lace is showing than at a Reds game, but most will be able to leave and go to the All Night Diner on the corner without making too many changes to their wardrobe. But then, it is a Tuesday night. If it were a Friday or Saturday and the intent was to go to a play party after…no, I’m dressed fine for tonight. I will not second-guess myself, and I did notice at least one or two appreciative glances when I arrived. Very appreciative glances…if all else fails, at intermission perhaps I’ll find a

playmate who actually looks willing. Tonight, I’m not above a men’s room fuck. “But that wasn't the question, Julia.” Our eyes lock for an uncomfortable length of time. The air is tense and, although Jonathon and Maxwell seem to be completely engrossed in the discussion starting onstage, I feel them both holding their breath, hoping that their matchmaking still has a chance. What did Jonathon, or Maxwell for that matter, see in this man, see in me, that would give them the idea that this could possibly work? Either I’m not ready to do this again, or this is the wrong man entirely, but I can’t see us together. “Did you choose this outfit for yourself?” he asks again, softly. I am so not going to get laid by this man tonight. Irritated, I start to stand, ready to leave, suddenly wishing I had just gone to the nice, safe, “no chance in hell I’m going to meet anyone” singles meet and greet across town instead of coming here, getting my hopes up, only to have my face rubbed in my inability to do this again. But his hand pressing down on my knee stops me. Leaning forward, his heat wraps around me as he presses close to whisper, “Are you capable of being tamed, little dragon?”

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Seeking answers in his eyes, I find my tongue, saying in a soft whisper. “I don't know.” “Is that a fact?” He smiles and chuckles softly under his breath, sliding back into the backrest of his seat. He motions for me to follow suit, patting the back of my chair. His smile is devastating, at once mysterious and mischievous. “Stay awhile, Julia. I like you.” I look at Jonathon, who looks as if he'll have an aneurysm if I don't answer this one right. “I’ll stay a little while longer,” I whisper, eyes lowered, scooting back in my seat. Jonathon's sigh of relief is laughable, but I remain silent.

***** Stealing peeks at the man sitting to my left, I pay no attention to the evening's program though I am very aware of what is happening on stage. In the back of my mind a softly playing version of the past keeps pace with the hisses, cries, and screams of the present moment’s onstage activities. Inhaling the scent of seared flesh, I decide he looks more like a Lord Draco than an Everett. Everett is too tame of a name even though it drums up visions of a rugged outdoorsman or rodeo rider. He is rugged, but his neatly trimmed hair, shaped eyebrows, and expensive black turtleneck and gray flannel slacks speak loudly of a man equally at home in art museums and ballet openings. I'd noted a slight accent, Irish or perhaps Scottish, which could mean that Jonathon had known him prior to making the States his home. I find myself hoping so, hoping that he knows his past well and is willing to divulge all of the man's secrets. Even though I have serious doubts about anything productive coming from this meeting, I’m curious enough to want to know everything about this man. Watching him with my peripheral vision, I decide that he has the most kissable lips I've ever seen, the upper lip much fuller than his bottom lip. I imagine sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and nursing on it. I imagine his kisses; what they will feel like, taste like. I realize I've missed kissing. Not just since Master Jasper, but much longer than that. Master

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Jasper did not kiss. Ever. I decide to give this man one more chance, just for the sake of potential kisses by him. I send up yet another quick prayer that Lord Draco enjoys kissing. Only when Lord Draco's knee brushes against mine do I realize the program has ended. Everyone around me is applauding, standing ovation applause. I sit, lost in my imaginary world of kisses and so much more. The innocent daydream centered around his mouth no longer one of purity. The heat of his thigh pressed against mine sees me instantly wet. My eyes meet his guiltily. His wink sends me over the edge and I duck my face in reddening humiliation. Did he know I was lost in thought, thinking about him? Thankfully, intermission opens a floodgate of players converging on Jonathon, Maxwell, and Everett. It seems everyone either has met or wants to meet Lord Draco, and I, having never heard his name before tonight, am not amused. Odd just how quickly one great Dominant can be replaced by another. Once the name on everyone’s lips was Master Jasper. Tonight, Lord Draco... A woman sticks her G-cup, surgically modified boobs out, handing him a permanent marker. “Oh, Lord Draco, may I have your autograph?” He looks at her then takes the offered pen. She pulls down her top, allowing her right breast to pop out. I try not to laugh out loud, a sudden image of a child’s jack-in-the-box coming to mind for no other reason than I am going insane. The tune “Pop goes the Weasel” fills my head as he pens his name across the swollen orb, and she proclaims, “I’m getting it tattooed as soon as I leave here!” He clears his throat and hands her back the pen. She winks, offering, “Maybe you’d like a private showing after I’m inked?” “I’m sorry, love, I’ve already made other plans.” Pouting, she pushes her boob back into her shirt, “Some other time then?”

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Turning away, I snicker, humming the final, “Pop goes the weasel,” remembering all of the similar past moments with Master Jasper, and how I was left feeling when he didn’t decline…impossible moments that left me hurt, crying, and alone in a hotel room while he enjoyed play parties with his many fans. I close my eyes against the hot prick of tears. After his death, I forbade myself from remembering anything bad, cherishing only the best moments we’d had together, feeling unworthy when I remembered anything other than the perfect moments. Excusing myself, I race to the ladies' room only to find a line that extends into the lobby. I manage to compose myself with the mirror inside my blush compact as I stand behind the wide, deep green fronds of a large potted palm. Lord Draco surprises me, leaning in to whisper, “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I lie, shaken that he’d followed me and I hadn’t realized it. “I’m sorry about the groupies.” I snort, fighting back tears, “Yeah, I know all about groupies. It doesn’t matter.” He lifts my chin, making me meet his gaze, “It matters. I don’t get involved with groupies…ever…and I don’t want you to think that I do.” I’m not sure why, but his admission makes me happy. That he sought me out to clear up any misconception makes me really happy. I can’t help smiling at him. “Join me for coffee?” he asks, touching my hand lightly, then when I don’t resist, sliding his fingers to not only hold my hand but pull me out from behind the tropical vegetation. “After the show?” I croak, trying to calculate how much longer the demonstration will last plus time in the lobby appeasing fans plus travel time to the twenty-four hour diner three blocks away, knowing I have to be awake at five-thirty in order to be at the school by seven. Another branding ceremony is beginning...and it is currently ten-thirty.

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“Not after, Julia. Now,” he states. “I came here to meet you, not play get to know you games with the entire Cincinnati chapter.” “I didn’t realize.” I blush, his hand feeling suddenly warmer against my skin. I force my eyes away from his penetrating gaze, dropping my focus to a closer inspection of the palm tree, noting that it is faux, a silk and fiber replication that did a very good job of fooling me. Tragically, the tree is no match to the charisma flowing off the man in waves and I find that I can’t help looking at him. Capturing and holding my gaze, he strokes the top of my shoulder with gentle fingertips and his touch shoots energy through my body to other more sensitive sites, leaving my breasts tingling and my pussy dripping. I realize that as far as fucks go, I would definitely go for the opportunity of this man fucking me. I know, not very romantic, but an hour ago, I was doomed to failure, and now, I’m pleasantly surprised that I am closer to getting laid than I have been in three very long years -- if he can just not be an arrogant ass long enough to get me naked. I remember naked. Blushing, I glance away, trying to not appear giddy. “I like what I see so far, Julia, but I need to get you away from here, away from this.” He motions broadly with his hands and I notice the long elegance of his fingers, no roughness. “I sense a certain resistance in you. Is it you? Or is it what this place is bringing out in you? Why do you have walls up around you, making you so unapproachable?” I wince, not liking the sound of the truth, my shoulders slouching beneath his scrutiny, all illusion that tonight might be my lucky night withering to nothingness. “I’m not trying to be unapproachable. I would like the chance to get to know you better and for you to get to know me better.” “Then we have that in common.” His hand squeezes mine and a soft tug lulls me two steps closer to the exit. “Can we get that coffee now?” “Yes, Lord Draco.” “For now, call me Everett.”

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Chapter Four

The diner is bright, glaring florescence hard to take after the dimly lit theater, Formica tabletops, cheap vinyl seats, and plastic, single page menus -- not exactly how I envisioned my first real date, but definitely better than sitting at home alone. Does this count as a real date? No, not a real date, I decide. I think that if this were a real date there would be candlelight, linen napkins, and flirting -- definitely more flirting. I wonder if it is possible to skip the flirting part and go directly to the getting laid part. “You’re cunning, Julia. I can see it in your eyes.” His voice startles me and I shudder, his words chilling me. “I’m sorry.” “I don’t like cunning and I don’t play games. Be yourself for me; don’t try to secondguess what I want. In time, you will learn what I expect from my submissive.”

My submissive. Heart pounding, I look at him hard, a million emotions making my heart beat even harder. Am I reading more into what he just said? Or is he considering me to be his future

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submissive? And if so, does his definition and my definition of being someone’s submissive mean the same thing? And really, how do I ask him that?

Holy shit, do I even want to be someone’s property again? Leaning across the table, his hand closes over mine. “How old were you when Jasper claimed you?” I jump. I’m not sure why I thought he wouldn’t know about Master Jasper; I guess I hadn’t given it much thought, but then why wouldn’t he know? Which means he thinks he already knows who I am. I wonder at the implications, especially his expectations. I decide to clear up any misconceptions, “I was seventeen when we met, eighteen when he collared me, twenty-one when he married me and twenty-seven when he fucking died. He was fifty-four. I’m experienced in most kinks but I have personal limits I didn’t cross for him and I won’t cross for anyone.” I smirk behind the steaming mug of coffee, my answer finally leaving him speechless. “I’m sorry if that was more information than you possibly wanted to know. I just really hate twenty question games.” “I didn’t realize my inquiries were going to be considered a game and --” he replies tersely, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “-- I think I’ll be the judge of your experience level should things go farther than coffee. I am a bit surprised that you are as outspoken as you are.” “Look, I haven’t been someone’s property since Master Jasper died; so sorry if you don’t like the independent me.” I apologize again, realizing I just used the word fuck in front of Mr. Gorgeous; maybe he didn’t notice. “When he collared me, I was young, I was alone, I’d have done anything for that man. I’m not so sure I’m willing to be freedomless again. I like being a part of society. I like my life. So if you decide you wasted your time coming to meet me, because you expected the Julia of legend…sorry.” “Did he teach you to say “I’m sorry” in the context of every single sentence? Because it’s annoying. No apologies are necessary and it’s irritating.”

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“Sor --” I catch myself, covering my mouth with my hand. “I have not wasted my time, Julia. If anything, I’m relieved that you are not still the same woman you were with Master Jasper. He used you…and your innocence.” “I knew what I was getting into! He didn’t use me!” I defend, hating it that this man has to keep pissing me off. “Sshhh, Julia. You don’t have to defend him. I’m not judging your relationship to him. I just want you to give me a fair chance, even though I may not be the kind of Dominant you are used to.” My anger recedes in a poof because he is not at all what I expected. He reaches across the table to hold my hand then lifts it. Kissing my palm, he inhales deeply, smelling what I know must be a combination of shampoo, shower gel, perfume…and

me. Dear God, why did I have to touch myself? I am humiliated, embarrassed, unnerved as hell…glancing away, waiting for the reprimand or crude joke I know is to come -- but he doesn’t say a word. Has the man not noticed? Seriously, does he not notice my fingertips smell like pussy? I wish he would just say something. Anything. Master Jasper would have taken his belt to me for such an offence -- punished me for touching myself. His sigh breathes against my wrist. “I am pleasantly surprised by you, Julia. There is more to you than the legend but there is also fear left over from your time with Jasper. You have seriously bad habits that will have to be broken before I can commit to a relationship with you, however. You apologize way too often, making it insincere; you cover your mouth, making it obvious that you’ve offended; and you curse so much that the words lose all value. So no more cuss words unless I specifically tell you to use them, no apologies unless your infraction is severe and you are sincere, and no more covering your mouth when you think you’ve said something to offend me, because since meeting you two hours ago, you’ve done

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all three too many times for me to keep count of, and I really do like to keep track of my submissive’s infractions. It makes them so much easier to punish.” The waitress approaches the table with fresh coffee and refills both cups without asking. “I shouldn’t,” I say. “I have an early morning.” “Don’t worry, it’s decaf,” he promises. Turning to the waitress, he asks, “Could we have menus? We’ve decided to eat.” “Eat?” I repeat, watching the waitress walk away. “You haven’t eaten today,” he accuses. “How do you know?” “Your palm is trembling in my hand.” “It could be your unbelievable magnetism,” I retort, sarcastically. “Or your low blood sugar,” he counters. “There’s a difference in the way a person trembles, whether from fear, excitement, dehydration, low blood sugar, and I believe you are suffering from the latter; however, it would be more entertaining if it were the first two reasons. I’ll work on that.” I have to pass the sentence through my brain a second time…fear, excitement…and the promise he wants me to feel both. I think he just made me feel both in less than a second. The returning waitress drops two menus on the table, startling me, making me jump. Everett asks softly as she treads back to her place behind the counter, “Have you eaten today?” I shake my head. “When was the last time you ate?” I consider telling him about the granola bar and OJ, but that was days ago. I know I’ve eaten more recently than that. Thinking hard, I realize it was yesterday because I remember racing to meet my friend Skye for the once a month midnight showing of Rocky Horror at the Fuchsia Room. We dressed in character, her as Magenta, me as Columbia, and because

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we came dressed we performed one of the scenes onstage as the movie played behind us. I remember eating a handful of popcorn stolen from Skye’s bag and drinking most of her Coke while she flirted with a Dr. Frank-n-Furter impersonator. So, I kind of ate…does that constitute a meal? “Yesterday,” I answer confidently. “Pancakes, for both of us,” he tells the waitress I hadn’t realized returned to the table. Tilting his head, he asks me, “You do like pancakes?” I purse my lips, thinking, answering with a shrug. “I think so. It’s been a very long time.” “Pancakes, for both of us, butter on the side, and warm the syrup,” he repeats to the waitress, dismissing her. A busboy meanders between the tables, clearing from an earlier rush. Stacking plates and separating trash from food scraps, he hums softly to himself. He is followed by another who pushes a mop over the dingy white laminate tile that has seen better days, making soft, sloshy noises to accompany the first’s humming. “Where are you?” Everett interrupts the quiet. “Remembering my mother. Sor --” I stop myself from apologizing and smile up at him sheepishly. He smiles and nods, letting me know he is pleased I caught myself. “The last time I ate pancakes was in her kitchen.” The waitress returns, setting the plates of steaming cakes in front of us, butter on the side, the small glass pitcher of syrup between us. I can’t resist touching the side of the syrup to see if it is warm as requested. It is. For some reason, it makes me smile, a big smile, larger than I’ve smiled in years, and accompanied by a soft laugh. “You should do that more often,” he comments. “Do what?”

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“Smile. You have a beautiful smile, Julia. It lights up your face from the inside. I can see now why Jonathon raved about your beauty.” I’m not beautiful but instead of arguing the point, I change the subject. “Do you always get what you ask for?” “Yes,” he answers, and there is a glint of amused mischief in his eyes. “It’s my personal belief that everyone is entitled to what they ask for.” Taking a bite of pancakes, I close my eyes in pure rapture, suddenly hungrier than I’ve felt in ages, and I make quick work of the first half of the stack. I’d forgotten how much I really like pancakes. “How long has your mother been gone?” he inquires gently. “Fourteen years.” “You were fifteen then?” “Yes,” I whisper, an old sob catching in my throat. I assume I can thank Jonathon for telling him my age. “Where’s your father?” At least Jonathon didn’t tell him everything. I debate whether to tell him the real truth or the truth according to my birth certificate. I decide on truth. “My mother didn’t know who the father was when she got pregnant with me, so she picked the name of a high school senior from a rival school who’d been killed in a car accident three months before I was born. As far as I know she never met the man who contributed my last name, and his parents, who’d lost their only child, were more than happy to have a living memory of him when they found out. So, it worked out for everyone.” “Did it work out for you?” he asks, taking the last swallow of coffee from his cup. “I don’t know.” I shrug with a sarcastic snort. “I don’t see that it caused me any lifelong trauma.”

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“Don’t kid yourself, Julia. You were a girl raised without a father, lost your mother way too young, and married a man more than twice your age. I think it’s safe to say that you have a few issues.” “My issues aren’t any of your fucking business.” I stand, grabbing my bag. Just when I was beginning to like him, the arrogant jerk has to make an appearance. I really don’t need this and as soon as I can find Jonathon, I’m going ring his chubby neck. Everett stands, catching my arm as I start to walk away from the table. He stops my escape and holds me still. I don’t fight against him. I’m not that angry; hurt but not angry. I’ve had my whole life to get over angry. He speaks softly, so softly that I have to strain to hear each word. “If you are going to be mine, your issues are a very big part of my business. Every hurt, every disappointment, every unmet need, every fear will be my business. Understood?” I nod, keeping my eyes on the freshly mopped tile that looks just as dingy as before they pushed almost soapy water over it. Tears well up and fall, my heart breaking -- not because of the loss of my mother or Jasper, but because of the promise just made by this man. I wonder if he realizes what he’s done. I wonder if my heart can take it if the words were an empty promise. “Good,” he says, molding against my back, his heat seeping through my cashmere dress. I have an uncontrollable urge to hug him, just to see what he feels like. I restrain myself. “Let’s get you home. I believe you have an early day tomorrow.” “Earlier than I want to think about,” I admit as we walk toward the cash register. Everett pays and walks away, not waiting to get his change. Not that I was paying that much attention, but I was sure he left enough behind for the waitress to receive a twenty-dollar tip. “Jonathon said that you're a school teacher.”

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“Junior high.” “And that you love it.” “Yes, I do.” Nodding toward the window, he turns to see wet, heavy snow showers caught in the street lamp’s ray of light. As promised by the weatherman, the rain and sleet turned into a wet, slushy snow. Everything is white and fresh; not even tire tracks break the snow in front of the diner. “Who knows? We may have a snow day.” “Just in case you don’t, you need to get home.” My heart falls. Things had been progressing so well. Between jokes and innuendoes, I was beginning to hope that I might actually get lucky and find myself tied up and spanked before dawn. Obviously, I've misread the signals. I try to keep my voice even as I answer, “You can walk me to my car. It's around the corner.” Lifting my coat over my shoulders, he promises, “Don't worry. I want you, Julia, and if being part of my life seems interesting to you --” he shrugs “-- we’ll see how things progress between us.”

What? How things progress? Can we start with one night? Everett holds open the door and we walk into the cold night air. The walk to where my car should be parked is short, and for a second I think I am on the wrong block. Then I notice the snow, really notice the snow. “Oh, no fucking way!” I scream and stomp my foot in the soft, wet snow that comes to the middle of my shin. “No fucking way! Fuck, fuck, FUCK! They did not declare a fucking snow emergency!” “Your car was towed, I presume?” “You think?” I answer sarcastically. “I cannot fucking believe this!” Everett spins me around and shoves his gloved hand halfway into my open mouth. I’m sure I was ready to say something, but his hand stalls any thought. “Enough!” he demands quite firmly.

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The slick material against my tongue tastes like leather, so I assume they are, and as much as I’m not really happy about having his hand shoved so deeply into my mouth, I can see the insane logic behind his action. He wanted me quiet and he didn’t want to be bitten. He succeeds in both. “You have some serious issues, Julia, and I don’t think I can be the one to help you. Normally, I would punish a slave for every curse word that escaped her lips, but with you -no, you are an impossible task.” I blink at the last part, the part about me being an impossible task, and then I am blinking faster, blinking back tears, because it makes me wonder if he’s telling me the truth. Is that why I am still alone? Not because I am being too picky, but because I am an impossible task? Everett uses his free hand to brush tears from my cheeks. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth and you are going to answer my questions calmly, all right?” I nod, tears flooding over my cheeks. The hand is removed from my mouth, and in reflex I rub my mouth, tender in the corners from the pressure of being forced wide. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Yes.” I whisper the answer. “You curse entirely too much.” “I know.” He looks at me hard under the green-gold glow of halogen street lamp. I am sure I am a mascara-smeared mess, made absolutely hideous by bad lighting. “If I took a cane to your ass, one strike for each curse word you uttered in a day, what would the number be today?” I shrug, looking away, terrified that he might seriously be considering doing just that. Does he seriously believe for a second that I will give him an honest number?

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“If you had to guess,” he presses, taking my face in his hands and forcing my gaze to meet his. “A lot. Ten, maybe.” “Ten?” He laughs. “Try ten in the last ten minutes.” “I did very well in the diner. I didn’t cuss in the diner,” I lie. Then, seeing his raised eyebrow, I amend, “Once, I only said one curse word in the diner.” “And the rest of the day?” I sigh heavily, mouthing sarcastically, “Look, this isn’t going anywhere. You have established that I cuss, I cuss a lot. I should fucking stop saying the word fuck.” Everett pinches my cheeks so hard between his gloved hand that my eyes water but he succeeds in shutting me up. “You are impossible! Have you always been this way?” My vision blurs with new tears, and though I try to look away, he holds my face firm, even though my nose is starting to run with my tears. “No, sir,” I answer around his gloved palm. “What happened to you, Julia?” I shrug. Still pinching my cheeks, he asks, “Would it please you to get to know me better?” I nod, tears and snot pooling on the leather, making his gloves shinier, slicked wet beneath the glow of the street lamp. “I want to know you, Julia. I want to know the girl that doesn’t hide behind big, ugly words. I want you to feel the pain inside your chest and inside your guts and inside your mind, instead of hiding from it. I want you to feel that pain so that you can embrace it, and make love to it, and when you are really ready, to release it so that you never have to feel it again.”

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He releases my face suddenly and I grind my jaws together to keep from screaming at him that my pain is none of his business and that he would never in a million years be able to understand. “Say you’ll give it up cold turkey for a chance to get to know me, Julia, because you are special enough for me to desire it to be so, and someday I would like to have the opportunity to make love to you.” “Oh, God. No, no, no. Don’t say that!” I close my eyes, tears falling, so hard it is a torrential downpour of tears, snot now so thick in my nose that I have to pant through my mouth to breathe, and even that is getting difficult because there is also snot in my throat. “Cussing is that important to you then?” he demands, shaking my face and my body with a jerk that makes my eyes pop open. “NO!” I wail, “Not the cussing part. Don’t say the other part…the I’m special part, because I’m not special. You just said it yourself, I am an impossible task!” Everett’s mouth closes over mine, and I cannot breath for real, too many tears, too much snot, too much tongue, but I don’t care that I can’t breathe because he is kissing me at my most gross, at my most disgusting, and in the process he breaks my heart because only Master Jasper has seen me in such a similar state and loved me anyway.

This can’t be real. This can’t be real. Oh, God, I want to feel again. Please, God, make this be happening for real. Everett releases me and it is a full second before I realize I am not breathing. He holds his gloved hand to my nose and insists, “Blow!” I shake my head, coughing around snot. “I said blow!” I obey, blowing snot into his expensively covered palm. I blow again, and cough out snot, spitting and gagging in the snow.

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He holds my shoulders while I gag, trying not to throw up pancakes. I don’t vomit. I sputter and shake uncontrollably but I don’t vomit. Thank you, God, for that. I don’t think I could have faced him again if I’d also upchucked on his shoes. Holding me against his chest, he asks, “Feeling better?” Crying softly, snow blowing into my face, I answer, “Not really.” He laughs, removing the now ruined gloves and shoving them, soiled, into his coat pocket. “You will. Now, let’s get you home. I parked in the parking garage across the road.” We walk in silence as the snow falls harder around us, and along the way his arm finds its way around my waist, but I spend the entire time trying to get brave enough to ask all the significant questions: when can we get together, where, what do you want to do to me, do you have any peculiar kinks I need to know about, and probably belatedly, are you HIV negative? Shaking badly, I manage to scoot into the passenger seat. Finding my buckle, I lock it over my lap while he still stands inside the open door. Lifting my face to say thank you, I am surprised when his lips close over mine in a soft kiss, a teasing kiss designed to leave me wanting more than I ever realized was possible. Releasing my lips, his bare hands cup around my chin to hold my face toward his. “Meet me tomorrow?” “I have to wait until then?” I pout, adding hopefully, “It will be a snow day tomorrow.” “Brave words for a woman whose lips have turned blue in the cold and has no idea what I have planned for her.” Startled, I lean back but his hands hold my face still and close. His eyes seem to glow. My breath comes in short pants. “Do you want me afraid?”

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Chapter Five

I never feared Jasper, because although I'd been his submissive for most of my adult life, he'd never pressed my mental or physical limits, and the thought that I've found someone who might be willing to do so excites me beyond words. I should feel guilty that I am somehow betraying Jasper’s memory…but how can I feel guilty while feeling so giddy on the inside? “Do you want me to make you fear me?” I shake my head no. I want to scream yes. “Good, because I want you to respect my power, just as I respect yours. I want you to know going in that you may not like the results of being mine. I am a very exacting Master, Julia, and I don’t think you have ever experienced what I have planned for you. Think long and hard tonight about whether you are ready to meet me.” He hands me a business card from the Netherlands Omni Plaza Downtown. He turns it over for me before I take possession, ensuring that I see his suite number written on the back, then he closes the car door and I am left waiting for him to join me in the car. My teeth are chattering by the time he does. Cold, shock, terror, it doesn’t really matter the cause; I quake the entire trip to my little house in the suburbs twenty minutes outside of downtown,

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even though he turns the heat on full blast. Along the way, the car radio announces that there is indeed a snow emergency and that all public schools are closed. Yay for me, a snow day. Opening the car door for me, he helps me out, walks me up the icy sidewalk to the front door, holding my elbow as if I am a little old woman. I’m glad. My wobbling legs wouldn’t have gotten me halfway without his assistance. I battle the shakes as I aim and reaim the key toward the deadbolt lock; he finally takes the keys and pushes me through the door with the command, “Take a hot bath and go straight to bed,” and as he pulls the door closed, “I’ll send a taxi for you at noon. Don’t be late.” I fall back against the door, leaning heavily against it to keep from dropping to my knees. His voice booms from the other side. “Turn the deadbolt, Julia.” I obey then lean into the door, shaking uncontrollably. “And Julia?” I hear his voice softly through the closed door. I whisper, “Yes, Everett?” Then, realizing he didn’t hear me, repeat myself, louder, making sure he heard. “Do not pleasure yourself between now and then. Understood?” My breath catches, realizing by his demand that he did notice my scent on my hand. Do I agree? Does he even expect me to answer? I try to form the word, “ yes,” but my heart is thudding so hard against my lungs and ribs I find it hard to stand, let alone speak. Thank God, is my thought as I hear his boots crunching a path away from my door. Thank God he’s leaving. I am getting exactly what I've hoped and prayed for all these months and suddenly I am too scared to even consider joining him. It is quite a quandary and one I cannot face alone. Digging for my cell phone, I manage to speed dial Jonathon.

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“How long have you known Everett?” I demand, only belatedly seeing the illuminated clock dial reads one a.m. I’ve awakened him and probably Maxwell as well, but I really don't care if I am interrupting their beauty sleep. “I’m assuming things went well?” Jonathon asks smugly. I hear Maxwell in the background demanding details. “Why didn't you warn me that you were planning to introduce me to someone? I need to know stuff, damn it!” “Scary, isn't he?” “Hell, yeah!” “And exciting?” “Yes.” The answer whooshes through my lips before I can stop myself. “If I didn't think you'd be safe, I wouldn't have introduced you to him. I love you, Julia, you’re the closest thing Maxwell and I will ever have to a daughter of our own. I trust him. Go for it, sweetheart. You need a master like Everett; you’ve gotten too fucking Sammy for your own good.” “That's me, smart-assed masochist,” I agree sarcastically. “Not for much longer, baby girl.” He laughs and hangs up. I'm not impressed with his assessment of the situation or the fact that I have no more information about the man than before I called and consider redialing just to tell him so, but I don't; instead, I lay awake, replaying Everett's every word, every innocent caress and indecent innuendo until finally, I pass out just before dawn.

***** My bathroom mirror reveals my eyes are bloodshot and my hands are shaky. I've spent a restless, irritable morning searching for clues that Master Jasper ever existed in my life. I could almost laugh. For twelve years he was my life, but the truth is I have no proof of what

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it was between us. Yes, there are pictures, but for the most part they are straight pictures meant for a vanilla world, revealing nothing of the true life we lived together. Why now? Why did I have to wake up this morning totally freaking out? Because I plan to meet Lord Draco at noon? No. Because I feel like I will be cheating on Jasper. I splash water on my face, reminding myself that Jasper is dead. And yes, damn it, he left me living and it is okay to move on. The answer to my dilemma stands before me when I enter the master bedroom and I see what has been staring me in the face since Master’s death. My collar lies on the nightstand on top of the black, leather-bound journal Jasper presented me just before he died. “Write it down,” he’d commanded, and I’d refused. I couldn’t possibly write down what we’d shared, what I’d felt…could I? It would be proof. And suddenly, now, facing a meeting with a total stranger…I want proof, I need proof that what I had with Jasper was real. I pick up my collar reverently and set it to the side, then lift the journal. On the first page, scrawled in Jasper’s neat flourish are the words: To My Beloved. I cry. I cry because the rest of the pages are bare and for the life of me, I can’t remember. I try to remember his scent, but it is gone. I try to remember his voice, but it too is just beyond my mental grasp. “I’m sorry, Jasper. I need to live again.”

***** It is four minutes past noon by my watch when I knock on Lord Draco's hotel room door. His scowl informs me my tardiness is unacceptable and intolerable. I make no excuses, reminding myself how much I hate it when my students give me excuses for late homework. I silently promise my students a more lenient attitude in the future and curse my bedroom

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mirror for making every single outfit I tried on look hideous. I skim my damp hands over the hips of the black dress I chose. Suddenly the little black sexy number doesn't feel so sexy. I look down at my chest. Not even an ounce of cleavage shows. I decide I look like June Cleaver. I'm an idiot. “You’re late.” “I’m sorry, I --” He cuts me off with a lift of his hand. “Go away, Julia.” Without anything further, he closes the door in my face and I am left stunned, mouth hanging open. An image comes to mind of Samantha Martin, a straight-A student who arrived late last week for midterms, only a few seconds late, but late still. She’d found my classroom door closed and locked. The F she received on the midterm ruined her perfect 4.0 GPA. Her parents threw a fit, I’ve stood by my decision, and we go to arbitration next week. Until this moment I was so sure of my stance…and now -- I see myself only as an arrogant, mean ass. Whatever was I thinking? “Go away, Samantha,” I’d said through the closed doors, turning my back on her shocked sob. Now, I turn my back to Lord Draco’s closed hotel room door. I will not sob. If anything, Master Jasper made me strong enough not to cry. Master Jasper made me strong enough to walk down the hallway to the elevators, shoulders squared, and not look back, even though it is only eighteen dick shopping days until the New Year and I suddenly realize that I am shit out of luck.

***** I get only as far as the lobby before I find myself on the verge of hysteria, trying to convince myself that it was only the countdown to the New Year that had me so worked up, but also knowing on a gut level that my shaking hands and knees, pounding chest, upset stomach had more to do with being turned away by this man…not just any man.

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I don’t know why but out of all the men I’ve talked to, flirted with, even considered having sex with, let alone a play session, none have done it for me. I haven’t felt anything. So why, suddenly, does it seem that Everett does it for me on a very core level? He makes me crazy. Angry, excited, horny, scared shitless…all in a single breath. And I blew it. I can’t leave! I can’t leave it like this! I close my eyes, breathe deep, gather all the gumption I can, then race across the marble lobby floor of the Grand Omni Plaza on unsteady four-inch stilettos to the closest house phone. I am thrilled when he answers on the second ring. “I’m sorry,” I say. “What do you really want to say, Julia? And I swear if you say the words I’m sorry again, you will have no chance whatsoever.” “I want to ask you if I can come up to your room and will you let me in if I do?” “Come up, Julia.” I catch my reflection in a large, silver gilded mirror. I really shouldn’t have worn this dress. I hate it. I really wish I had time to change, but then he’s already seen the dress. Oh, hell.

***** He doesn’t comment on my dress. Silently, he lures me into a candlelit room and I am stunned at the amount of detail he’s prepared for our midday rendezvous. He has staged a very Gothic feeling scene: a sparkling crystal skull stands watch from the nightstand, a red velvet throw covers the bed, and he himself, looking so dark, so mysterious, and in one word, foreboding.

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Standing me in the center of the room, he steps away. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you.” I blink, surprising myself with the hot press of tears behind my eyes. His demand was to be expected. It was the reason behind choosing an easy-on-easy-off dress. Still, I am taken aback, realizing that though what he has asked isn't difficult, nor painful or humiliating, the simple fact is that it is quite impossible for me to accomplish; the problem being that I haven't disrobed in front of a man since Master Jasper became ill. I turn to run but Lord Draco catches my arm and pulls me sharply against his chest. “I didn't say you could leave.” “I can't stay, I’m…” I start to say I’m sorry, but remembering his threat, I choose silence instead. A tear slides down my cheek, and then another. I feel his warm breath against the back of my neck as he lifts my hair. “Shh,” he gentles, pushing his fingers into my tense neck and shoulder muscles. “Talk to me, Julia.” I relax against him, completely breaking down. He supports my full weight against his chest as I manage to say between sobs, “I haven't…since Jasper…I thought I could…but…it’s…only Jasper has seen me naked…since…since he collared me. There hasn’t been anyone else… I can’t.” “Relax. Jonathon explained about Jasper, about your relationship with him. It’s commendable that the two of you were together so long. You loved him.” I nod even though it was a statement, not a question. My entire body shakes uncontrollably and I embarrass myself by being so childlike. “I should go.” “No, Julia. You definitely should not go.” Massaging my shoulders and neck, his fingers dig deeper and deeper into my flesh, leaving me bone weary, exhausted. “You miss him. I understand that. And it is hard to be intimate with someone new after being in a relationship as long as the one you shared with Jasper. That’s longer than most marriages. I get that and I

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promise to be patient with you. I want you to be comfortable with me. I want you to feel safe with me.” In an instant, I feel as if I've been relieved of a great weight that I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying. “You may not know it but Jonathon respected your decision to stay with Jasper, even though he felt like you needed more than Jasper could ever offer you.” “I loved Jasper!” I hiss. Defensive and angry, I try pulling away, but Lord Draco holds me still in his embrace. “I’m not condemning your love for Jasper, but I agree with Jonathon’s assessment. You needed someone stronger than you, someone who was willing to test your mettle and help you discover what you're made of. It’s time for you to let go of him. That’s why I’ve waited until I felt you were ready -- to give you time to mourn.” His lips caress the back of my neck. “You waited?” I ask, confused. “You’ve planned this?” “Yes. Your love for Jasper has become legendary over the years, as has the woman. Many believed you would finally recognize your dominant side after Jasper's death and take a submissive of your own, because even though you don’t recognize it in yourself, you are a very strong, dominating woman. It is what attracted me most to you the first time I saw you.” I suck back a sob, sure that he feels the shudder ripping through my limbs. “I came to his funeral but of course you wouldn’t remember me. However, I was so taken by you…by everything about you, your beauty, your grace, your charm…I admit it, I wanted you, desperately. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else having you. Maybe that sounds a little insane. I’ve been friends with Maxwell for a very long time, and it seems a bit stalker-like, but I’ve asked him to keep an eye on you for me, to let me know when you seemed ready to allow another master in your life, because I didn’t want to miss any opportunity of getting to know you.”

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“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “You’ve been just waiting for me?” “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no monk; I’ve had my share of fun.” Everett laughs. “And there was always the chance that I would meet someone else, even though I wasn’t really looking because I knew I really wanted to meet you. And no one else has kept my attention for very long.” “Why now?” “Isn’t it obvious? You’re beginning to carry yourself with confidence again, and I admit that I’m not certain you are ready for what I have to offer you, but I know that if I wait, there will be another vying for your attention.” I snort at that. “They’re not exactly lining up the block to meet me.” He lifts my chin so that I’m not staring at the patterned bedspread, but looking into his face as he leans over mine. “You were giving off the ‘don’t come near me’ vibe before. Now, you’re not. If it was an obvious enough switch for Jonathon and Maxwell to pick up on, it wouldn’t be long before every Dom in the Tri-state area picked up on it.” I think about the frantic call I left on my friend’s answering machine, threatening to pick up men at random bars to fuck if the BDSM singles meeting didn’t work out. Everett turns me around so that we are facing each other, belly pressed to belly. “I am going to ask you once more to disrobe for me.” Quaking begins anew; I drop my eyes. “This is very hard for me.” “Yes, hard,” he agrees, lifting my chin to force me to meet his gaze. “But I wish to see you naked and you will pleasure me by removing your dress.” “My dress? Just my dress?” I ask? He nods, and I decide it may not be so bad if all he asks is for me to remove my dress. Not taking my eyes off his, I reach behind my back and slide the zipper down. An expert at the art of striptease, I don’t even try for seduction. Hissing silk is the only sound as I allow my dress to fall to my ankles and step away from the fabric without fanfare. His warm

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hands slide down my arms as he takes in the vision of my delicately embroidered, white lace camisole and tap pants with scowling eyes. I know without a doubt that he is not pleased. My knees shake as he pulls the camisole over my head. My nipples pebble under his intense scrutiny. Reaching out, he touches my right nipple, saying, “Very nice.” Turning me, he pulls my wrists behind my back. He takes his time, stroking my arms lightly from shoulder to wrist. He mesmerizes me with his skillful touch, making me feel full, heated…liquid. I know even before he says the words what is coming. “Relax, Julia. I'm going to bind you now.”

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Chapter Six

If I was any more relaxed, I imagine I'd topple over. Already, my limbs feel like heated honey beneath his touch. His voice is the one I've heard in my dreams for years, commanding me to do the things that push my personal limits, things I would have never expected Jasper to ask of me, things I would never dare ask of Jasper. Older now, I recognize my needs and have for some time. This man I almost believe I can share my wickedest fantasies with, and as if he's read my mind, he whispers, “This afternoon I will learn how your body responds to my touch, but tonight we will discuss needs and desires, yours and mine. I want to please you, Julia, and it is my hope that in time you will want to please me.” Silk cord wraps, encasing my wrists, its sensual feel deceptive of its holding power. Without asking, I know he is an expert with knots. “Easy,” he commands. It is only hearing his voice that I realize that I have been pulling against my bonds. “Relax your upper arms. Press your shoulder blades together,” he instructs. My wrists secure, he loops the remaining length around my forearms, knotting and wrapping until even my upper arms are secured tightly behind my back. My elbows are not touching each other but nearly and with enough pressure to be uncomfortable. My biceps

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strain against the unaccustomed bondage, and though I try to relax into the ropes, knowing it would be easier on my body, I find it impossible; the more I try to force myself to relax, the more my muscles fight the strain. The cord unexpectedly snakes around my waist, and in a quick swish-swish my breasts are separated by a silken X of cord. Another loop and tug later, I feel like my shoulders will escape their sockets. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from crying out…or worse, saying anything else that would offend Lord Draco. Turning me to face him, he makes a tsking sound and pulls my lip from between my teeth with his thumb. He rubs the tender flesh as if inspecting for damage. Leaning nearer, his lips come close to mine and he says softly, “I don't intend to break your skin, I don't expect you to.” His mouth claims mine mercilessly, sucking in my bruised bottom lip, scraping teeth against teeth, forcing my tongue to dual with his. When I am released, on his terms, I am breathless and my mouth slightly sore. He steps back to survey the damage and squeezes my cheeks tightly together with his fingers. I know he sees swollen lips and the skin around my lips is rosy from the kiss. “In the future, do not bite your lip to keep from crying out. If I am hurting you, I want to know it. Do you understand?” I nod, afraid my voice won't work, hoping he won't demand a verbal answer. He doesn’t. Instead, he locks my gaze with his as he reaches into his slacks pocket and withdraws a silk scarf. “I’m going to blindfold you now.” I take a step away, fearful. The blindfold is the one limit I refuse to give an inch on, although Lord Draco is unaware of this limit because last night at the café the topic hadn’t arisen. I shake my head, still unable to voice words. I never allowed Jasper to cover my eyes and he I loved. This man is a total stranger and he hasn't even asked, just assumed.

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His hands come down firmly on my shoulders, holding me in place, commanding, “Relax.” “No.” I drop my forehead to his chest, hoping he will understand, hoping he won’t pursue this. “I will not be blindfolded.” “You have to trust me, Julia,” he commands in the same velvety seductive voice he used last night in the coffee shop. The silk slides over my eyes and is tied before I can protest further. “No! Take it off!” I cry out. “No, Julia, it's going to stay. Don't make me gag you too.” I freeze. Jasper had often gagged me. I don't fear the gag. It is not seeing, not knowing what will come next that is my undoing. “Gag me, just please take off the scarf!” I push my head against his chest, pushing the blind with the friction of my face pressed against him, enough to create a sliver of light, a barely there peeking space before he stops me and readjusts the blindfold. “It wasn't a choice,” he answers, stepping away, leaving me chilled. Until his body heat was no longer there, I hadn't realized we'd been pressed shoulder to thigh the entire time. I strain my entire being trying to find his warmth, but his footfall tells me he is walking away. I don't beg further; the threat of both gag and blindfold is too scary to consider. Ice clinking into a glass reminds me of a scene from Nine and a Half Weeks and I think perhaps that this will be okay. Of course, I am blind, bound. Lord Draco is a complete stranger. Hell, I can’t even remember his full name. Holy crap, I've broken every safety guideline ever created to ensure safe, sane, and consensual play, including forgetting to establish a safe-word and establishing play boundaries. My mouth opens and closes a dozen times to state my concerns; however, fear keeps me silent, the threat of a gag working wonders on my psych.

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“You look like a goldfish.” Icy condensation raises gooseflesh when he slides his glass up my arm without warning. “Was there something you wish to say?” I shake my head, wanting to beg him to take off the blindfold but fearing my loss of voice more, knowing that if I need to scream…I want to be able to SCREAM! “Good. Then we’re ready to begin.” Stupid, stupid, stupid! That was my chance! Maybe my only chance at establishing a safety net. Yet the sinister side of my brain retorts that it could have just been a sly trick to encourage speech thereby giving him the excuse to use the gag. “Perhaps you are wondering about --” I hear him swish liquid over ice and then his swallow as he drinks. Cool lips cover mine, tasting surprisingly of iced coffee. Very strong coffee, heavily sweetened. Then his lips are hovering over mine as he whispers into my mouth the rest of his question. “ --a safeword? Or limits on today’s play?” He lifts the glass to his lips again and this time when his lips cover mine, he drizzles iced coffee over my tongue. Forgetting the question, I suck the last drop off his, forcing his tongue to stay in my mouth long after he would have withdrawn, sucking on his tongue as if it were his dick. “It seems you have an artful mouth. Why don’t you show me just how good you are with your tongue? Do you want to please me in this way?” I nod, unwilling to risk the scene’s turning bad because of my failure to comply. “Kneel!” he shouts, startling me into quick compliance. I don’t question, just drop to my knees as if I’ve done it a million times before. I am surprised that his hand stays firmly wrapped around my upper arm, lending a stabilizing force when my restricted balance would have seen me fall onto my face.

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“Soon, kneeling with your arms secured behind you will become second nature,” he promises. I have to listen carefully to hear the slide of his zipper. His hands close around my shoulders to position me where he wants me. Positioned, his hands trail up my neck, one cupping my chin, the other disappearing, until it dawns on me what is happening. His hands alternately guide my face and his penis toward each other. His circumcised head slides between my lips and I catch its helmet shape between my teeth, not letting him penetrate my mouth completely. I have never sucked a man blindfolded. It is a new sensation, being on my knees, unable to see, but able to smell and feel his closeness just from the heat coming off his thighs. I am surrounded by a dark cocoon of musky, perfumed heat, and it is nice. I decide that being blindfolded isn’t so bad after all. I nip the head of his cock, holding him, barring him full entrance into my mouth. To let him know that I’m not being disobedient, just playful, I circle his head with my tongue, pressing my teeth into his flesh just enough to elicit a soft intake of breath, then sucking in more of his length. He feels large in my mouth, both wide and long. I can’t help wondering, is he extremely well hung, or an illusion brought on by my lack of sight? I suck him deeper. His pubic hair teases my nose and the silky feel of his stretched skin tickles the roof of my mouth before teasing the back of my throat. The spicy scent of expensive men’s body wash clings to his nest of soft, curly pubic hair. I inhale deeply, seeking the unfamiliar scent of this man. He pulls out a little and a soft moan leaves my mouth. With alternating licks and draws, I pull him back to the deepest part of my throat, encouraging him to slide deeper into my throat as I suck harder, trapping him where I want him. I love the feel of a man’s silken head caressing the cave of my throat and often imagine that if I could establish a comforting rhythm I could orgasm in my mouth. Relaxing, I suck harder, encouraging him with my own moans to thrust harder. It is just beginning to feel that I could prove my theory, rubbing back and forth, back and forth,

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the sensation in the back of my throat as close to orgasmic as anything else I could describe when his hand winds into my hair and forces me to release him. Pulled to my feet, Lord Draco shoves me forward. “You have a very talented mouth. I’m almost jealous of the man who taught you to do that so well,” he growls. Without warning, pain sears through my right nipple, pain that buckles my knees, and without the strength of his hand wrapped around my bicep I am certain I would have fallen, but I don’t, I stand, my breath hissing in between my lips as I remember to breathe. It is only once I have inhaled and steadied on shaking legs, nipple throbbing, that it registers that he placed a nipple clamp on my nipple and remarkably, I am ready for the bite of the clamp on my left nipple, barely making the hissing sound at all when the sharp pain rips through my chest. I stay standing, I breathe…I embrace this measure of pain -- and I enjoy it. He tugs on the clamp, tugging my nipple, making the pain tenfold, and still I enjoy it. Gritting my teeth, because it is still pain after all, I rub my face hard against his shoulder, a distraction, a comfort against the flares of pain now radiating through both breasts, and I hide my face; even when he pushes me to stand straight, I hide my face against his sleeve to hide my smile. Turning me around, he shoves me. I falter and fall when my shins collide with the mattress but it is a controlled fall, his hands wrapped around my waist to slow my descent. The silk cords wrapped around my upper arms dig into flesh and I squeal, feeling like my muscles will soon pull away from bone. Funny, I’d almost forgotten I was bound. “I wish only to please you, my lord,” I grunt, wishing that I could see. His weight follows me down, pinning me, holding me. I panic, pushing my face against the mattress, trying anxiously to dislodge the blindfold, begging, “Please, don’t hurt me!” He laughs. “Are you afraid, Julia?”

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Ice-cold metal presses against the middle of my back and I scream, imagining a knife, imagining my death in a pool of crimson blood against fine white linens. “Yes,” I whimper. The sound of scissors cutting the fabric of my tap pants brings momentary relief. “I'm not here to hurt you, Julia. Pleasure you with pain, perhaps, and make you confront your most terrifying nightmares, but I will never injure you. Do you understand the difference?” “Yes,” I whisper, hoping that I do understand. “You almost pleased me too well. But it isn't time for me to lose control.” Cool metal teases my hip, making me shiver as fabric separates. “After today, I will teach you to wear what I like. No more of these G-rated lacy numbers.” “Yes, Lord Draco.” Turning to the crotch of my tap pants, cool metal snakes between my thighs, teasing the heated outer lips of my vagina. Icy, cold metal slides against my slickness and I fear being cut. The combination of fear and sensation plays havoc with my mind and a heavy fullness fills my groin. I know I'll be dripping wet by the time he finishes. “And definitely no pastels. You're not a little girl anymore, Julia. Some men like that look. I want to know that you're a hot-blooded woman: sexy, passionate, a little on the wild side.” “Yes, Lord Draco.” With a quick tug, he pulls the scraps of lace from beneath me, baring me completely. His hand slides over my bare ass. “Do you think I can tame you, my petite dragon?” “I don't know, Master.”

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His hand stills. I’m not certain whether I shocked him with brutal honesty or the use of the title Master. Jonathon's warning returns to haunt me. You've gotten too fucking Sammy

for your own good. I tense, waiting for the repercussion, and was startled by his bold laugh. “God, you amuse me, Julia. Now, maybe I can amuse you.” His hand falls over my ass cheeks, a solid hard slap, followed by several softer stings. I don't count; I don't do anything Jasper would have required. I’m not sure if it is because I am stunned into silence, too shocked by the turn of events, or because Lord Draco hasn't commanded me to do so. By not counting, I have no idea how many swats I’ve earned; however, one thing is certain: by the time he finishes, my ass is on fire. Rolling me onto my side, his lips barely caress mine before he sits back. A quick, unexpected flick against my nipple releases the clamp attached to my right nipple. I hiss, squeaking a little in response to the fresh flash of pain that flares through my breast, and then my back arches as his mouth closes over the sensitive skin, sucking. I moan, arching hard against his mouth, his tongue a tease of nips and sucks that leaves me breathless. Then another unexpected flick sees the second clamp forced away. I expect his mouth to leave my right breast to give my left nipple the same relief but he continues to suck and tease. I feel his fingertips slide over the round of my breast…and then pain as he pinches and twists the nipple hard. I scream, the pain intense compared to the teasing treatment my right nipple received. I squirm but he holds me tight. He pinches the nipple again, harder, twisting, pulling. “God damn!” “That isn’t your safe word, Julia, and you’ve just earned your first punishment from me for cursing. Do you want me to punish you?” I remain stubbornly silent. He removes the blindfold to look into my eyes. If he expected tears, there aren't any. Reaching over to the top of the nightstand, he retrieves a shiny foil packet. Tearing it open,

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he removes a plain condom, no ridges, no glow in the dark colors, no added flavors. With practiced ease, he fits it over the tip and slides it down his shaft one-handed and in a single stroke. “I'm going to fuck you now. Do you have a problem with that, Julia?” If he was shocked that no tears grace my cheeks, his asking permission astounds me. I shake my head. He shakes his head in return. “Not good enough, Julia. Ask me to fuck you.” I close my eyes, no longer able to bear his penetrating gaze. I try to remember how to form words. “Look at me.” Opening my eyes is the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I comply and it seems that he sees clearly into my soul. I long for him to replace the blindfold. “Ask me.” “Please, fuck me,” I manage to whisper. His eyes grow dark with his desire. He doesn't even attempt to hide it from me. “Say my name when you ask me,” he demands. I feel his erection. Cool latex slides against the inside of my thigh, and the need that has been building since entering his hotel room explodes in my groin. I want him to fuck me. I NEED him to fuck me. “Please, fuck me, Master!” “Not Master, Julia. I am not Jasper. Say my name.” My brain implodes. Of course, he is not Jasper! Still, I am not sure what he wants. Am I to call him Everett? Or Lord Draco?

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Closing my eyes against his stare, I try to think, try to figure out which name will get me fucked the quickest. A soft bite on my cheek gains my attention. “I didn't give you permission to close your eyes, Julia.” Forcing my eyes open, his penetrating gaze once again takes me by surprise, hypnotizing me. This time the words come out easily. “Please, please, please, fuck me, Lord Draco!” He rubs his silken head against my clit, but nothing more, reprimanding me, “Not Lord Draco, not yet. I am Everett, until you earn the right to honor me more with my title. Beg me with my name, untamable dragon.” I twist against him, trying to maneuver his penis between my legs. Writhing with need, I beg, “Fuck me, Everett, dear God in heaven, just fuck me!” The tip of his condom-encased erection plunges into my soaked vagina and stops, withdrawing slightly before he plunges again, only to stop. I cry out in agony, longing for him to shove his length completely inside, knowing full and well he will not fit until I stretch. He presses again, and I feel the ultra-thin flesh of my vagina begin to tear under the pressure. My head tosses against the pillow involuntarily and guttural noises leave my mouth. “God, please, just do it!” I scream and he answers my demand, pushing into me, forcing my unwilling skin to stretch, but barely; he isn’t in and I know he isn’t in, but I am shrieking with the orgasm that crashes unexpectedly over my body. “Look at me, Julia. Look at me when you come.” I look, deep into his eyes, seeing the golden flecks against the deeper forest green of his irises, and seeing deeper within a look of longing and need so deep and profound it terrifies me, but I can’t look away, and his gaze holds mine until the flood of sensations blinds me.

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I have never come so quickly or so strongly, my body bucking wildly, trying to accept all of him but he forces me still, shushing me, and as I come back to myself I know that he has not yet completely filled me. I sob, feeling that I have somehow failed him. Caressing my arms, he continues to gentle me until at last I am calm beneath him. “Please lay still. I’m afraid I’ve already torn you. I don’t want to hurt you, Julia.” “It’s my fault,” I sob, not going with my first instinct, which was to apologize. “What is your fault, honey?” he asks, stroking my hair back out of my face. “I’m too small. You’re too big.” “Yes, but that isn’t a problem we can’t work through.” His fingertips stroking over my brow are like super sweet honey, lulling me. Each caress relaxes me deeper. “God, you're like a virgin; so incredibly tight. You're a gift, Julia, a rare, precious gift. I want to take my time, stretching you, molding you to contain me. Is that all right with you?” I nod, barely, my limbs and head seeming weighted. Each stroke of his fingertips over my brow, soothing me more and more, until I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel him withdraw and cry out at the loss of his penis inside me. “Don’t worry, I’m not finished with you yet.” Eyes closed, I hear him walk across the room. A zipper opens, then closes. I only realize he’s returned to the bed when I feel the mattress shift beneath his weight. “I’m going to use lots of lube and my fingers inside you until you are relaxed and stretched enough to take me inside of you. Is that all right with you?” I nod, mumbling, “Yes, Everett.” The words are barely from my mouth when I feel the cool, wet intrusion of greasy lube. I tense, not at all sure why I agreed that this would be okay; but then a single finger slides inside of me, hooking up, finding my g-spot with expert precision and I am writhing beneath him. His other hand presses into my pelvis, holding me where he wants me, while

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he manipulates my most sensitive spot. I am blown away by the intensity of sensation and am screaming with the force of a second orgasm before I even realize it is going to claim me. “I’m sorry, Everett.” “Again you apologize, Julia. Why?” “I didn’t ask permission to come.” I pant, still writhing beneath him because his fingers haven’t stopped moving and indeed, with the addition of more lube, a second finger joins the first inside me. “I will never require you to ask permission of me to come, Julie. I expect you to surrender every response -- every moan, every wave of ecstacy, every orgasm -immediately. Do not hold back, Julia; whether your screams are from pleasure or pain, just give all to me.”

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Chapter Seven

Neither of us speaks as he unbinds my ropes and then reties me in a different position. My eyes widen at the sight of a velvet pouch dangling from his left hand. Cupping my chin and lowering his mouth, he distracts me. He gently grazes his lips over mine. “Arms okay?” he asks. “Achy,” I answer. “To be expected I suppose.” “Yes. I suppose.” His teeth playfully nip my cheek. I eye him from the corner of my eyes, watchfully assessing his mood, which seems lighter, more carefree than before. “Ready for more?” he asks softly. My heart quickens, my breath stills, and my twat clenches, reminding me that I am too sore for more. His lips, trailing down my neck and over my collarbone in a fashion so tender that it brings tears to my eyes, are the deciding factor. Play with Master Jasper was anything but playful. He had only one speed: fast and rough. This new man seems anything but fast or rough, although I realize at the thought that my bottom still stings from the hand delivered

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spanking he gave me when I arrived and I fear my vagina has been shredded; however, nothing, absolutely nothing could stop me from having sex with him one more time. His lips travel over my jaw and up my cheek, leaving playful nips and teasing licks in their wake. The ache in my belly intensifies, becoming a steady, undeniable throb. I want him. I never hoped to feel that feeling again after losing Master Jasper but here it is, not solely a desire to fuck but a longing to get to know the man, a need for him to master me. “I want you inside of me,” I state confidently. His eyes sear mine with the intensity of desire flowing from his. “Yes, but there's no need to rush, eh? We can have some fun first.” He nuzzles my face with his cheek. Beard stubble awakens the skin on my cheek. “Do you want to play, Julia?” I smile; I can’t help it. I will never grow used to his asking permission. “Yes, Everett, I want to play.”

***** My chest is pushed flat into the bed, my arms stretched and tied to somewhere beneath the bed. A pillow is under my pelvis but I push my ass higher, trying to relieve the pressure growing in my womb. I am filled, consumed, stretched beyond caring -- and awed. He is huge. I’ve seen nice sized dicks before, and yes, experienced what I thought was a healthy sized penis at least one other time in my life -- more than a decade ago; a high school quarterback whose name eludes me, but even he was no comparison. I suppose that no sex is a huge contributor in my feeling so small and tight, but my God. My God!! “Relax,” he whispers, plunging deeper, reaching parts of me that have never been stroked before. I am thankful to be on my hands and knees…and that he is using my vagina, not my ass. Jasper often liked to use my ass because he wanted me to feel filled, well-used. Lord Draco is having no problem making me feel full and well-used. He is huge, and several condoms later, we still create a very tight fit but lots of lube is making the fit easier. He

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anticipated my soreness and pushed me onto my stomach so that the same areas wouldn't be rubbed again and again. On my stomach is new and I love the sensation of pushing my ass against him each time he plunges deeper, and I push back into him fervently. Orgasm is so close and I try to find a rhythm that is pleasing; however, every time I establish a rhythm to my liking, it seems it doesn't suit him. “Stay, Julia,” he commands, and I am lifted onto my knees and thrust into deeply. The length of him strikes even deeper. Pain radiates through to my spine. I moan and finally scream after several blinding thrusts. I can’t help it; I change positions, but all I succeed in doing is make room for his hand to slide between my legs. The sting of a metal clamp attaching to my clitoris steals all thought away from the idea that he's just ripped me a new one. My jerk and buck is pure reflex; his flat palm landing solid on my thigh isn't. “Stop moving before you hurt yourself,” he hisses and I think, I’m going to hurt myself?

You’re the one with such a big-ass dick! However, I stop the sammy retort, leaving it hanging on my tongue. His solid thrusts are my reward. I am filled and emptied again and again. My vagina squeezes around his shaft, trying to prevent his repetitive escape, but I go completely mindless when he adds soft tugs on the chain attached to the clit clamp. Pleasure and pain swell into sweet agony and it takes his hand over my mouth to muffle my shrill cries as another orgasm wracks my body.

***** I awake to find my arms free. A dull ache radiates through my belly, my vagina. I stretch, feeling every muscle. Experience tells me that the twinge of pain I am feeling now will only keep growing worse until tomorrow when I won't feel like moving at all. Ah, the sweet price of bondage. More surprising is the pain radiating between my legs. It is at once muscle ache, abraded skin, and a fullness that can only come from being stretched and well

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used. Remembering the sex, I smile -- very, very well used -- and used and used and used. God, I hurt! But it is a very, very good hurt. True to his word, he lubed and fingered, and lubed more, until I was relaxed, stretched, and begging for him to try to enter me again. He refused on several occasions, rewarding my pouts and cries with the relentless stretching and pounding of his fingers. It was only when he deemed I was ready that he submitted and lifted my knees into my chest, my ankles on his shoulders, and pushed in, pushing so tragically slow that I bucked, begging and pleading. Holding my hips firm, he made me still, demanded my patience, taking me inch by inch, so slowly that I promised him repeatedly that I was going to die. The room is silent and still now. I feel like it is late evening but it could as easily be midnight or dawn. The room remains cast in the eerie shadows and light of my arrival. Candles surround me. I didn't appreciate their sheer number before but now I do. Their brightness pulses from atop every surface, and at least three lead the way into what I assume is the bathroom. Pushing up onto aching elbows, I wince just before seeing him, sitting in a chair opposite the bed. Seeing that I am awake, he rises. He is dressed similarly to when I met him; the turtleneck is forest green and he wears jeans with brown boots. His bag and coat wait by the door. “I have to go, but you, lucky lady, according to the radio, have another snow day, so go back to sleep,” he says, kissing my forehead. He lays an envelope on the empty pillow beside me. “Instructions…for after I leave -- if you find you desire to follow them.”

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Chapter Eight

He’d said instructions when he’d left and I hadn’t opened the envelope. I’d slept, blearily thankful that I didn’t have to go to school. It was hours later when I’d awakened -or at least regained some conscious thought that I should be waking…should be dressing…should be going home…but then I’d rolled over and forgotten about the envelope and his promised instructions, wanting only sleep and the relief to my achy body that only dark oblivion of sleep would provide…at least until a loud noise woke me a second time. I lay listening. “Maid!” followed by loud pounding, followed by a louder shout, “Maid!” I sit up, for a moment not remembering, then feeling every muscle, every scrape, every flesh-on-flesh encounter with the man I called Everett all night but who proved without even trying that he was Lord Draco, Master of small, unruly dragons in need of taming. I reach for him, remembering with sudden clarity his departure, then in a mad search through rumpled sheets, seeking then finding his promised instructions. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” “Is someone here?”

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I jump at her voice, the maid in my hotel suite voice, a woman not yet seen -- or rather, she hasn’t seen me -- and a quick glance at my grazed wrists and random bruises assures me that she really doesn’t need to see me -- fuck! “Get out!” I screech, rolling from the bed, wrapping in the sheet, lunging for the bedroom door to push it closed, even as she’s trying to push it open. “I was told to clean this room. I’m sorry, I was told you had checked out.” “If I had checked out, I wouldn’t still be here!” I insist, pulling on the handle to get it solidly closed. Slamming it when she unexpectedly releases her grip from the handle on the other side. I throw the lock -- just in case. “I’ll come back later,” she promises, her words carrying across the room as she retreats. “I’m sorry. I thought you had checked out.” As soon as I am certain she is gone, I remember the envelope clutched in my fist and suddenly my heart is racing again. I suck in air, wondering how long ago he left, worrying that the instructions were time-sensitive and that whatever I was too do, I am too late. What if I am too late? Would he lock me out of his life and not just his hotel room? After last night’s fuck, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him again, but instead of ripping into the envelope I lay it on top of a tall dresser and stare at it as if it is the enemy. Did I sleep through any future opportunities of being mastered?

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I turn from the envelope. I’m a coward. I shower, dress, putting on the horrible Jackie O little black dress sans camisole bra or panties because neither survived the evening with Everett. Pushing my feet into my heels I look at the envelope again, even going so far as to pick it up and tap the edge on the shiny wood surface of the dresser…then I get my cell phone from my purse and speed dial

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Jonathon. He doesn’t pick up right away, and just when I am panicked enough that it is going to go to voicemail, I hear his voice. “I spent the day with him and I think part of the night,” I say in a rush. “But now, he’s gone. I woke up alone…and he left an envelope -- he said it has instructions.” “Slow down! You aren’t making any sense.” “I slept with Everett!” “Yes. Yes. I got that part. That’s very good news, by the way. Congratulations --” “Shut up, Jonathon! I don’t know what to do about the instructions…I fell asleep…and now it may be too late!” “Too late for what?” “To follow the instructions! You aren’t listening to me, Jonathon!” I sit on the edge of the bed, realizing how much it hurts to sit on the edge of the bed. I shift, trying to get comfortable, pinching my poor, tender, bruised , over-used pussy parts. I eek. I stand, thinking, Holy Mother of God. “I’m listening. You aren’t saying anything. What instructions?” “Everett’s instructions!” “Ooooo, you mean Master/slave instructions? How exciting! What does he want you to do? Wait for him on your hands and knees, naked, to come back? Or something kinky like put a Brillo pad in your panties so that you’ll think about him all day while he’s away? What time is he coming back?” “No, no…you don’t understand. He took his suitcases. He left. Now, I have this envelope that has instructions.” “He left? He went back to Atlanta? What time?” “I don’t know, the room was dark, I went back to sleep.”

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“You went back to sleep?” he shrills at me, his Americanized Dublin accent getting thicker by the millisecond. “Is ’e mad? What’e’er did ye do?” “God damn it, Jonathon. I didn’t do anything. I think things went well. I just don’t know. Now he’s gone and I have these instructions.” “Okay, he’s gone, dinna panic,” Jonathon commands, whispering, “I dinna know what ’appened. Everett went back to Atlanta in the middle of the night.” I hear a rustle over the phone, followed by a terse, “Give me the phone dammit!” just before hearing Maxwell’s cooed, “Hi, sweetie. So, how did your meeting go with Everett? Did you have a fun date?” My mind skids over the word “date.” Was it a date? Well, hell, what else would we call two strangers meeting to get tied up and spanked and fucked until it hurts too much to sit down? “It was a very nice evening, thank you,” I say in my sweetest tone. “There’s just one problem. I don’t know what to do now. He left….and I have this envelope.” I cross the room, padding over thick beige carpet. I pick up the envelope and tap it on the edge of the dresser before laying it back down. I whisper loudly, “He said it holds instructions.” “He left and put instructions in an envelope for you to follow after he left?” “That’s what I said!” “So, sweetie, what do the instructions say?” “I don’t know.” “You haven’t opened the envelope, have you?” “Huh-uh.” “Don’t you think you should open the envelope?” “Maybe.”

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“Julia,” he says to me in his sweetest tone, followed by his most controlling Dom tone, “Open the envelope. Now!” A long silence follows and I know that he is waiting for me to open the envelope. It doesn’t help that there are mad whispers on the other side of the phone, making guess as to what terrible fate awaits me. I tear open the envelope and am too stunned to even communicate when I realize what I am looking at: a one-way ticket to Atlanta and a scrawled note, “Come to me in two weeks. I’ll be waiting.” “Julia?” Maxwell calls out to me over the phone and it makes me wonder how many times he has said my name. “It’s a ticket, Maxwell, a ticket to Atlanta…a one-way ticket to Atlanta,” I whisper, not able to completely get my voice past the fear whipping down my spine. “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

***** I prayed for another snow day. I prayed Everett would call me. I even lit candles, a whole room full of candles, and I haven’t lit a candle for prayer purposes since I was a child, but despite my great show of faith, there was no snow day and no phone call from Everett. I threatened both Maxwell and Jonathon with ripping their throats out if they didn’t provide me with Everett’s phone number but they both swore that he’d recently moved, changed his number, and they didn’t have any other way to call him. We would just have to wait for him to call us. He hasn’t. My students seem to sense my tension. They’re quiet today. Thank God. No questions, no fighting, no idle conversations, and they seem to have zero interest in talking to me -which would normally hurt my feelings, but not today. Today they are keeping their

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distance. I did get a huge hug from Samantha, however, when I told her she would be making up her mid-term after all. It was all I could do to keep from outright moaning when she hugged me…every muscle, tendon, and joint aches -- hell, I hurt all over. This morning I was afraid to look in the mirror as I clambered out of the shower. So, I didn’t look, I peeked only enough of a glimpse to know without a doubt that it was a longsleeved day. Rope burns circled my wrists, a nice hand-sized bruise graced my right hip, and several bite marks covered my collarbones and chest above my breasts. A quick peek, not an all-out look, and definitely not a thorough accounting. My quick peek was enough to send me running from in front of the mirror and into my walk-in closet, and whether I thought I could hide from the truth or whether I thought I could deny the truth I’m not certain; however, sitting here in front of my students I can’t do either. The truth…I miss Master Jasper terribly, but the pain is lessening and some days I miss the pain so much I try to remember so hard just to feel the hurt. It’s time to let go of the past and move on. I know that. The question is, do I want another fulltime BDSM relationship? Do I want to be mastered completely again? My God, I only met him three days ago and already he wants me to give up everything that I’ve worked so hard for --my home, my job…my friends. Or maybe that is only my misunderstanding. I want him. The man. The Master. Did I think that I could just play a little? And then walk away again? Oh, hell, now what? I look through the window at the snow to keep from looking at them. I love my students, I love teaching. I can’t imagine giving this up and I have no doubt, despite the cryptic nature of his message, that he is commanding me to come to him and plan on staying with him…for an indefinite amount of time. Thank God it’s Friday. I have an entire

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weekend to recover and think, but really, what is there to think about? I would be insane to walk away from my house, my job… my life here. I would be insane. Four hours later I repeat that sentiment to Jonathon over a pale ale at the corner pub I know he frequents after work. “Why is it insane though?” he asks, lifting his empty pilsner to signal our waitress for another. She brings two even though mine is still half full. “What? Aside from the fact that the man is a total stranger?” “You trust him.” “No. I don’t know him. He’s a stranger. Strangers are bad. Remember all the horror stories your mother told you when you were young to keep you from getting into cars with strangers? Well, this is a plane ride to several states away from any living souls who know me or care about me…” I pause to swallow too long gulps of ale, realizing that I was actually thinking what it would be like to go to him. “Why would you say that? Why would you say I trust him?” Jonathon doesn’t answer, not with words, anyway. Taking my hand, he lifts my wrist to his mouth and traces the rough edges of rope burn on the inside of my wrist with his lips. Saying without saying anything, you trusted him enough to let him do this. His eyes lift to meet my gaze, accusingly; you trusted him enough to tie you up. “What made you decide to go with Jasper?” “Jasper was different. I knew him for years before he collared me.” “Yes. But there was a first time -- before he collared you -- a time when you trusted him, even though everything in your head said that what he wanted you to do was dangerous.” I think about it for only a moment before the memory floods in. Long conversations in the coffee café where I’d worked. He came every day and just before closing time, when he

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was the only remaining patron, we’d talk. Some nights, long after I’d locked up, he’d remained and we’d talked and talked. One evening was different. “Come home with me,” he’d said and I’d felt afraid. Heart pounding, I’d declined, but something inside warred with me, a sense of tragic loss if I never saw him again, knowing that there was something more, something unfinished between us. The next night I was so happy to see him I’d almost begged him to take me home with him. Jonathon interrupts my thoughts. “Atlanta would be a risk, but I don’t think it would be dangerous, if that’s why you are here…for my blessing.” “N-no, I got what I wanted. I got laid. Thank you for introducing us. I can go into the New Year a happy woman.” “Can you? Really?” “Yes. I can. There is no way in hell I will entertain the thought of going to Atlanta to join him.” “Of course you wouldn’t, but how long did you lay awake thinking about it?” “All fucking night and you know it, Jonathon!” He chuckles and I smile behind my lifted glass. Closing my eyes, I sip and swallow, sipping again, reveling in the cool, refreshing liquid sliding down my throat and that is when it hits me. I am enjoying this beer. I am really enjoying this beer and it’s been an entire year since I’ve savored the taste of anything. “Wow. This is good.” “Everything is better the day after.” “Yes. You’re right of course.” I smile. “I need to feel this way more often. I mean, I woke up hurting but I felt alive. And Jonathon? It’s been a long time since I felt alive.” “I know, lovey. It’s good to see color in your cheeks again. I was worried.” “No need to worry.” I wink.

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“So, when do you leave for Atlanta?” I smile wider, trying to hide again behind my lifted glass, but Jonathon catches my wrist and pulls my hand down. “Who said I was going to Atlanta?” I laugh. “You did…it’s in your eyes…and in your smile.” Setting my glass on the table, I take both of Jonathon’s hands in mine. “You know me too well, and in truth I hope you know Everett as well as I think you do, because if you didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t have introduced us in the first place, and only because of your trust in him am I willing to fly to Atlanta to take a peek.” “A peek?” he asks, lifting his hand to push my bangs away from my eyes and lingering long enough to stroke my cheek with his fingertips. “A peek at what might be. I won’t commit to more than a peek.” I think back to the moment two nights ago when I woke alone, finding that Everett had really packed and left in the middle of the night. I was disconsolate, my heart fallen into the pit of my stomach. I’d felt for a second that we could share something special, that somehow, even though he’d gone, we weren’t finished yet. Looking past Jonathon, through a window to watch the pedestrians on the street, scurrying here and there, I lift my beer and hide behind swallows, knowing without a doubt that we aren’t finished yet. Everett and I have yet to begin. Jonathon leans in, pressing his lips to the spot his fingertips had traced only a moment before. Then, leaning back into his seat, hands me his cell phone. “You can call him now. He’s waiting to hear from you.” “You lied to me! You said you didn’t have his phone number! You said you had no way of contacting him!” Looking at the faceplate of his phone, I see that he has already dialed and it is ringing. I fold the phone closed. “I’m not ready to talk to him!” “Yes, you are. You’ve decided.”

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“You lied to me!” “Yes, I lied -- to protect you. I didn’t want you saying or doing anything rash, and now, I’m glad for you. I’m glad you’re willing to go. Everett needs you. And in truth, you need Everett.” I shake my head, burying my face in my hands, suddenly unsure again. Jonathon’s phone vibrates on the table, leaving us both looking at it. He doesn’t answer it and I’m not about to. I have no doubt it’s him. “Answer it, Julia.” Hesitantly, I reach for the phone. “Hello?” “Well, hello. I was expecting Jonathon.” “You can talk to him if you’d rather,” I say smartly, earning a sharp glance and an even sharper elbow from Jonathon. “No!” he says loudly, and then more softly, “I want to hear your voice, little dragon.” “That’s good, because I really want to hear your voice, Lord Draco.” I smile at Jonathon, happiness filling my chest, happiness and certainty that going to Atlanta is absolutely the right thing to do. I mouth “thank you” to Jonathon as he stands, pointing to the restroom sign before he walks away. “Are you coming to Atlanta?” Everett’s voice comes over the receiver. “Are you ready to be tamed, dragon?” I am quiet for a moment, long enough to hear his breath over the phone. Just in the sound of his breathing in and out, I get the sense of his nervousness and it surprises me, but in knowing that he is also anxious I become more certain. “Yes, Everett, I’m coming to Atlanta -- to see if you have what it takes to tame me.” I hear his laughter coming over the phone in response to my challenge and it isn’t sinister or arrogant, it is filled with warmth and happiness, cementing my decision to go. I am filled with happiness, listening to his laugh, and I realize how empty I’ve been without joy.

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“Are you laughing at me?” “I’m laughing because you’ve made me very happy today, little dragon. I look forward to trying to tame you, but mostly, I look forward to seeing what my life will be like with you in it.” “Yes. I feel exactly the same way.” I sigh, the strangest sensation coming over me that I am going home…

~*~

Roxy Harte Roxy recently moved to an even smaller town in Southwestern Ohio with her husband and sixteen year old daughter, a very loud, boisterous dog, and two independent cats, where they are serenaded at night by coyotes and wakened each morning by geese flying over. “Life is good. Sometimes I worry that it is too good, that writers need angst and personal drama to draw from. When I first started writing, a decade ago, it was a respite from caring for my invalid parents. After tucking them in, I would write the day's stress away until the wee hours of the morning, sometimes until it was time to start my day over again. Now, I write for myself, for my joy…and to hopefully bring a moment's escape to my dear reader's when they are in need of respite themselves.” I am often asked, “So, what do you write?” And the answer, Contemporary Erotic Romance just doesn't answer the question justly. Yes, it's contemporary romance. Yes, it's erotica. But first and foremost, it is fiction which serves the purpose it was originally intended to and that is to encourage my readers think, to push their boundaries, and to give my readers emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually complex characters to fall in love with. Keep up on the release dates of all of Roxy Harte's erotica at www.roxyharte.com

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