I help Starla with her coat and nearly choke when I see what she’s had on under it. Not overalls, because it’s got a skirt on the bottom. A jumper? Is that what Americans call it? It’s got the suspender type things that frame her breasts and a skirt I didn’t notice was so short because it was under her coat. And the little ankle boots she’s got on make her legs look long, like way too much of them is showing between the hem of the skirt and her ankles. It’s nearly obscene, even though she’s completely dressed. Her shirt has a rounded collar and buttons shaped like…are those paws? Christ.
When I can breathe again, I notice both the women are watching me. Starla with a wide-eyed, slightly terrified, hope-in-the-throat type expression, and Jade with a look that tells me if I’m an arsehole about this, I should prepare to have my throat slit. Probably with one of the spiked heels she’s wearing.
But I’m not going to be an arse. At least, not in the way Starla’s likely concerned about, why she’s waiting with bated breath for me to say something, do something, react in any way whatsoever. No, the issue is that I like it.
Too much.
Way too goddamn much.
When I saw Starla as my patient, she was mostly in jeans and a sweater or a T-shirt. Sometimes a dress if it was summer. On occasion, she’d be in my office straight after school and she wouldn’t have had time to change and I would see her in the uniform that posh institution insisted upon. No matter what she wore, she never looked as…childish, innocent as she does right now. And fuck me, because it’s got my engines revving so very hard, and while my cock is sure this is the best thing to have ever happened in the history of things happening, my heart is equally enthusiastic.
My brain is somewhat more conflicted. The professional part of me that’s studied kink and fetishes insists this is a completely normal and healthy part of human sexuality and experience. Be that as it may, there is also a part of my brain that is bellowing at me. Not just unkind things, but downright vile things. That I’m a pervert, a pedophile. Abuser. Someone who would take advantage of vulnerable people. People I have power over. Children. That I have more in common than the shade of my hair with my Uncle Sean.
But Starla is not a child. She is a grown, intelligent, independent woman. There is nothing I can do about our history aside from stay away from her, and I’ve seen how that turns out. Selfish though it may be, I’m not willing to do it again unless she tells me to go. This was not a thing I asked her for. This wasn’t even something I knew about, not really, nor ever would expect.
There’s a jab in my ribcage that makes the breath I’ve been holding come out in a flood. I’ll be lucky if I haven’t been staring, slack-jawed, drooling all over the floor.
Jade is glaring at me in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t think I’m all that bright, and I had best say something before she tosses me out on my arse and goes about her evening with Starla just the pair of them.
“Ye…ye look brilliant, lass. Truly.”
I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Hell, I was married to a beautiful woman. But never in my time on earth have I been so enchanted by a creature as I am by Starla at this very second. Makes my bollocks ache.
Starla smiles, shy, and turns a knee in, her foot pivoting on the toe of her boot. There is something different about her, as she said there would be, but I didn’t think it would be so striking. It is, that—striking. It’s as though I’m being struck in the chest, and not an elbow to the ribs like I got from Jade.
“Manners, kitten.”
The admonishment from Jade comes as a shock to me, but not to Starla who merely turns a slightly deeper shade of pink—verging on red—and says to me, “Thank you.”
“Right, then. Would you two like to stand here all day making eyes at each other or shall we get started?”
It’s meant to be a rhetorical question, I’m sure, but to be perfectly honest, standing here and letting my gaze roam hot over every inch of Starla’s body doesn’t seem like a terrible use of my time. But I suspect if I can stop my gawping, I might get to touch her, and that would probably be better than looking at her. Maybe too much better and my head will explode. Probably worth a shot to find out, though.
Jade makes a gesture to Starla who then follows her, grasping Jade’s hand, and I’m left to trail behind them. Which is fine. Gives me a chance to look at Starla’s short skirt swinging a few inches below her deliciously round arse. And Jesus, are those…
Yes, she’s wearing stockings. Not tights. Stockings, and it’s one of those bizarre man things. Really, what is it about stockings that renders a man’s brain scrambled eggs? They do, and never more so for me than when part of an outfit that can’t decide whether it’s sexy or innocent, apparently. I nearly trip over my own two feet when I start to wonder what her panties might look like.
Jade opens the door to her apartment and I follow the women inside. It’s a nice place, homey but sophisticated. Dark wood on the floors and fancy wallpaper surround solid, graceful furniture. Jade fits in this place like she came out of central casting and I’ve a bit of a pang that my home isn’t as well-suited to my tastes. That’s what you get when you rent a generic apartment, unsure of how long it will take for you to settle, or if you’ll settle at all.
“Let’s do your hair, lovey.”
Starla’s lips part and she looks over her shoulder at me, that nervous pallor stealing over her cheeks.
“Ah.” Jade catches Starla by the point of her chin and turns Starla’s head so their gazes meet. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to him soon, but this part is for us. We’ll do as we’ve always done and he can watch if he likes. Do you understand?”
Starla rolls her lips between her teeth before she answers, but it’s a yes, as I knew it would be.
This isn’t how I pictured a session with a domme. Whips and chains and leather and crawling and her insisting on being called Mistress would be more like it. But I suppose the trappings don’t matter as much as the feelings do, and it’s clear Jade is in charge here and that we’ll do as she says. Me because I’m not in a hurry to make enemies with this woman, and Starla because… Well, I think A) she likes it, but also, B) it’s perhaps a relief for her.
Jade tugs Starla down the hallway and I trail after them into a room that’s decorated much like the rest of the house, though this one has a bed, an armchair, and a bureau. And there’s a dressing table where Starla sits. I park myself in the armchair and try to be invisible. A fly on the wall.
Jade removes the tie from Starla’s pert ponytail and runs her fingers through the long, dark locks she loosed before picking up a hairbrush from the vanity.
When Jade starts brushing her hair, I swear to God Starla purrs. As when I petted her—not patted—her eyelids fall closed, lashes fanning over her cheeks, and she tips her head to the side. Jade takes her time and it makes my fingers itch. I’ve never had a strong desire to brush a woman’s hair, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why not. Starla looks so dreamy and pleased, like a kitten in the sun. I want to be her sun, something that gives her light and warmth and happiness.
After a few minutes, Jade murmurs something in her ear and a slow smile curls up the corner of Starla’s mouth. Is this what angels look like? I think it must be. And then Jade is taking up a comb, moving more purposefully than her relaxed and soothing strokes of the brush that she was making before. When she’s done, Starla has a straight part down the center of her scalp, her waves of hair separated into pigtails, and when she notices my reflection in the mirror, she gets that apprehensive look again.
My hand’s been resting on my chin, fingers in front of my mouth, and I’m surprised she can’t feel the weight of my regard. I’ve been staring, shamelessly, but there’s no way for her to know that I like what I see. Very much. I’ve become so practiced at having a blank expression sometimes I have to remind myself a flat affect isn’t always appropriate. Starla doesn’t need equanimity from me right now. She doesn’t need neutrality, a blank canvas to
project her own feelings onto. She knows her feelings about this, rather well, and she needs to know mine.
Holding her gaze, I let my fingers slip to beneath my mouth, and stroke the growth of beard at my chin. Give her a smile. One I hope conveys just how okay this is with me, precisely how lovely I think she is, and exactly how badly I’d like to wrap one of those pigtails around my fist and pull her toward me to kiss.
* * *
Starla
I’ve heard the expression eye-fucking before, but I didn’t know what it meant until now. Because that’s what Lowry is doing. His gaze hot on mine, his knuckles skimming the scruff below his lip, as though he’d like to be touching something else, but that not being available, an absentminded stroke of his coarse facial hair will do for now. He wants me. And I want him.
It’s such a relief to have brought him here, to have seen so far how he feels about the things I enjoy. Yes, we’ve done some daddy play and he seemed to enjoy it a lot, but this isn’t a passing thing for me, and he needs to understand that.
His initial positive response doesn’t mean the rest will go smoothly, of course, but at least he’s—I don’t know, granted the premise? At a baseline level, he can see how these things I like to do could be sexy, fun. Not simply an indulgence. I’ve done that before, and I don’t want to do it again. If he can’t give me these things, it’s not a deal-breaker. That’s what I have Jade for. She understands my needs and she meets them. Without shaming and without judgment. With pleasure and I might even go so far as to say joy.
Speaking of Jade, there’s a tug to one of my pigtails, a sensation that runs straight to my core, which she knows.
“Shall we get started, kitten? A spanking to begin, hmm?”
Oh. The synapses in my brain misfire. Not in the way that becomes increasingly obvious when I’m too far out from a treatment and my depression starts to drag me down again, but in a way that’s caused by an overload of arousal and nerves. How many times have I told myself the story of Lowry taking me over his knee? For a punishment because I’ve been naughty and Daddy knows best what his little girl needs? Or because it turns us both on to have him warm my bottom with the palm of his large hand? Or perhaps because sometimes a person needs a good cry and I’m incapable of allowing myself to have one?
If it’s because of feelings, it’s not okay. If I cried because of feelings, it would mean I was weak, a failure, unworthy, and a mess. A disaster of a human being who can’t regulate herself. But if he spanked me? Spanked me hard? For a very long time? Maybe with a hairbrush or a paddle or some other kind of implement or perhaps with those wide hands of his… That would be hard enough to hurt, now, wouldn’t it? Physical pain is a completely acceptable reason to cry. Rational people do that all the time. And if we fucked afterward because I’d been writhing on his lap and I was soaked between my legs, then we would. Pleasurable side effect. Who couldn’t use some of those?
So, yes, the idea of Lowry spanking me has held a central place in my fantasies, but that doesn’t mean Lowry in the flesh will have this in common with Dream Lowry.
Regardless of how he feels about it, he’s not going to be a dick. But I don’t want that blank psychiatrist slate of a face, the one that is as unreadable as a chalkboard wiped clean. I want a human reaction. I don’t want Doctor Campbell, I want Lowry the man, and it’s terrifying to tell him so. To know the next couple of hours could change the way he feels about me forever. The thrill and the anxiety and the desire are almost overwhelming, but I swallow and shut my eyes, the image of Lowry still burned into my eyelids.
“Yes.”
I’m not sure how I’ve gotten from the dressing table over to the chaise where Jade is sitting already, looking stern with the hairbrush in her hand. It’s a special kind of twisted delight to be spanked with an implement that gave me such sweet pleasure a few minutes earlier. This too will be pleasure, but of a darker, more degenerate variety. Though who’s to say? Floating off into subspace and becoming wet between my legs because Jade is brushing my damn hair could probably be considered degenerate. I’m not going to concern myself with that overmuch right now. Instead, the tension in my belly ratchets up and squeezes my lungs when Jade beckons to Lowry and pats the chaise toward the end where the back rises in an elegant curve.
He’s been so very docile with her, which I like. He places a great deal of faith in expertise, and it would be the height of entitled male douchery for him to come in here, beating on his chest and insisting he be in charge because he has a dick. Jade is far more experienced than he is, and beyond that, this is our party—mine and Jade’s. He’s but a guest here. And if he’s rude, he’ll be asked to leave.
Like I knew he would, he goes over to the chaise and sits where Jade’s indicated. And then they’re both looking at me, and I think I might melt into a puddle on the floor.
Could this one day be a special treat? If I’ve been a very good girl, could this be something I ask for and receive? Two of my favorites, two of the people I hold in the highest regard, have the highest esteem for, topping me? Oh my. But that’s not what this is. More of an informational session, and also, for Lowry, a job interview of sorts. Jade has been very skeptical that he could possibly be good enough for me, so I’m curious to see if he’ll win her stamp of approval.
Jade curls a finger and I walk toward her until the rounded toes of my shoes nearly touch the pointed toes of her stilettos. Which is when she pats her lap.
This is always a fraught moment for me. Mmm, maybe fraught isn’t the right word. It’s a tipping point. The fulcrum of a seesaw, and which way am I going to tip? It’s a familiar place, though not without tension for that, and I’m nearly trembling when I climb onto the chaise.
The low simmer of embarrassment when I prostrate myself over Jade’s lap is usually part of the fun. It’s not an absence of mortification but a tiny, manageable dose of it that somehow sends blood pulsing toward the apex of my thighs, making me swollen and sensitive. This, though, with Lowry here, is different. The humiliation cuts deeper. Which is the point, right? It cuts, doesn’t scrape along the surface. It’s that tip of the razor blade that digs into my skin where it’s painful instead of being a shiver-inducing drag of excitement.
“Go on. Head in his lap, kitten.” When I still don’t move, her eyebrow kicks up in a dangerous curve. “I wasn’t going to punish you, but I can.”
Oh, definitely not. That is pushing this way too far. For the moment. I can imagine a day where Lowry might punish me himself—god, I want that—but that day is not today. For today I kneel on the chaise and close my eyes tight as I walk my hands over Jade’s lap and then lower myself until my butt is in prime position for Jade and her hairbrush to have their way with it, my torso rests on the chaise between Jade and Lowry’s thighs, and I…
I rest my head in Lowry’s lap, my head turned toward his knees, and my hands resting on his thigh. Barely breathing, I want to squirm so badly. But I also want to be good. For them. So I try to locate my peace. I find it, yes, but it’s more like I’m in the neighborhood than actually able to occupy it. Why did I think this was a good idea, again?
Oh, right. I wanted Lowry to get a better, more complete idea of what I like, to see if he likes it too, and thought it would be easier to have Jade here while he did. In the event that Lowry was not a fan, her presence would cushion the blow. And in the event he was, she’d be able to show him the ropes. And the paddles. And other things that might come in handy.
A touch on my thigh reminds me I haven’t successfully paused time to dive into this morass of introspection. No, Lowry and Jade are both getting an eyeful of my dorsal side while my head spins. Overthinking and perseverating are specialties of mine and I’m making good use of them now.
Jade turns up my skirt, exposing my backside, and I suck in a breath, squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers tightening. This is for real, it’s really happening. There’s a sharp inhale above me a split second after my own, and I don’t know if Lowry’s gasping becau
se the sight of my ass tipped into the air has taken his breath away or because I’m digging my fingers into his thigh. Could be either.
And then Jade is stroking my bottom. She makes a pleased low noise in her throat while tracing the embroidered straps that make up most of this underwear. It’s definitely more pretty than functional, but her approval makes me glow.
“Very pretty panties, kitten. I like these very much. They’ll let me see that nice shade of red your bottom turns even before I peel them over your hips so I can see all of your cheeks.”
My level of embarrassment has officially reached DEFCON two. I might die before this is over.
“Thank you,” I mumble, wondering if Lowry can feel the heat of my breath through his wool pants. Always the professorial wool, it kills me.
“You can touch her if you like,” Jade offers and then there’s another touch in addition to the increasingly rough handling of my butt cheeks. Lowry’s gently rubbing my shoulders with one hand while Jade has started kneading at the flesh of my buttocks. So many hands, and the contrasting touches are killing me. As Jade gets rougher, Lowry’s hand moves to my neck and he rests it so that his thumb can stroke behind my ear, which makes me want to sigh and purr except that Jade’s started pinching, grabbing, and…jiggling. That’s the worst. So mortifying. But she likes it, and I don’t dislike it enough to tell her to stop, to make it one of my limits that she’s not permitted to cross. It’s that goddamn embarrassment fetish of mine.
It’s longer than it usually takes her to start laying into me when Jade says, “Look at him, kitten. Turn your head. I want him to see your pretty face while I spank your bottom.”
Yes, I think Jade is quite enjoying this opportunity for additional embarrassment. I, on the other hand, am not. Am I not? Or am I? Perhaps it’s the not being able to tell that has me buzzing like some heat-maddened fly. Regardless, I have to steel myself before I lift my head to turn my face.
For Her Own Good Page 26