A Lesson in Blackmail: Black Mountain Academy / a Club Alias Novel

by Robichaux, KD

  The article on the site said to think about it as if you own your submissive’s pleasure. Their orgasms belong to their Dom. So if they were to have those orgasms without their Dom, it’s like they’re stealing them from him… or her… although a female version is called a Domme, or Dominatrix, or Fem Dom.... Actually, every site I came across called them something different, so I’m not sure. Not that it matters, since I never plan to be with one; I just like to absorb all the information I can find on a subject I’m interested in.

  So after I called her last night, I made it clear that she wasn’t allowed to come without me, but I promised her a reward if she was a good little sub and followed my rules. Since I’d be in her small town for our appointment with Dr. Walker this evening, there was nothing keeping me from making a pit stop at her house on my way back home afterward.

  The day went about the same as yesterday—me compulsively counting down the time until study hall and our appointment, Evelyn’s presence quieting the obsessive thoughts enough that I could finish my work once I got to the library. A stolen kiss between bookcases. Parting words that made her flush with desire. There was a sign on the circulation desk today letting students know that the head librarian would be absent today during the last class and afterhours but a substitute would be available, and reading it made my adrenaline surge in my veins knowing it was because she was leaving early to make it to our appointment at four.

  I signed myself out in the main office at 2:45 p.m., and as I was walking to my truck in the student parking lot, I looked up when I heard a vehicle start in the next lot over, stopping to watch when I saw Evie back her little car out of the parking space. She must not have seen me, because she didn’t stop to wave or anything on her way toward the exit, and then her car disappeared onto the main road. I picked up my pace, tossing my backpack into the passenger seat on my way in through the driver side, cranking my truck and connecting my phone to Bluetooth. I turned on Submersed, still stuck on the same album I’ve been listening to all week, since every time I hear the opening notes of “Hollow,” I’m immediately filled with the memories of what took place the night I drove to Evelyn’s house an hour away.

  Which leads to this moment, and I’m trying my damnedest not to speed when I know my destination is far enough away from everyone we know that I’ll be able to touch and kiss Evie without worrying we’ll be caught. I’m a little nervous about the appointment. I’ve always been a little wary of therapists, knowing I’ll have to spill my guts only for them to try to give me advice and pills to try to control my disorder. But this time, the feeling is different. There’s a… hope inside me that’s never been there before, something telling me that this really could be the key to helping me understand what and who I am inside.

  Fifty-two minutes later, I pull into the parking lot behind Evie and park next to her, hopping out of the truck and beeping it locked before hurrying to her door to open it for her. Unlike last time, I don’t have to coerce her out. I just hold out my hand, and she places her delicate little fingers in my palm. I haul her out of her seat and into my arms, my mouth landing on hers before she’s even able to finish her squeak, and she melts against me as I dip my tongue inside her mouth.

  She sighs when I finally pull back and let her slide down my body until her feet touch the ground. I glance at my watch, seeing we have a little more than fifteen minutes before our appointment. “Perfect timing,” I tell her, and she gives me a small smile with understanding in her eyes. She must already have picked up on the fact that one of my quirks is always being early. “On time” registers as “late” in my mind. She bends to reach in and grab her purse, and I fight the urge to grab her ass, but only because I know it would probably lead to things that would cause us to be late. When she stands, I close the door for her and she locks her car, and I take her hand, loving the feel of how small it is in mine. I’ve never held hands with anyone but my parents when I was little, so the act feels new and intimate somehow.

  When we enter the office, I instantly relax, the waiting room neat and orderly. It’s not clinical like a lot of therapist offices. Even out here, there’s a diffuser sending up steam that smells like eucalyptus, and the chairs look comfortable instead of stiff. Evie releases my hand to walk up to the woman behind the window who stood up when we entered and greets her with a smile.

  “Good evening, Ms. Richards. How are you today?” the woman asks.

  “I’m wonderful, Silvia,” she tells her, and I take a seat in one of the chairs.

  “You’re all good for paperwork unless your insurance or address has changed. But if you’ll have your partner fill out everything on this clipboard… and here’s a pen,” I hear Silvia say, and it makes me realize….

  I lift my hand to my ear, and sure enough, there’s no pencil. I’d been so excited to pack up and leave school that for the first time in… God, five? Six years? That I didn’t have a pencil readily available, when normally one is there behind my ear until the moment I get undressed at home. Even on swim practice days, when I get dressed in the locker room afterward, the pencil is added almost like an accessory, and stays there until I’m hopping in my shower.

  “You okay?” Evie asks softly, sitting beside me and handing me the clipboard and pen.

  I turn my astounded look toward her and point to my ear. Her brow furrows, her eyes searching where I’m pointing, and then recognition masks her face and her expression goes soft when she smiles. She lifts her hand to my cheek, her thumb stroking my jaw.

  “You good?” she prompts, and I know she’s asking if I’m okay with the fact that I don’t have my own pencil.

  I nod, my eyes never leaving hers when I ask instead of answering, “What are you doing to me, little mouse?”

  She giggles, seeing I’m not bothered in the slightest by the revelation, and leans in to place a sweet kiss on my lips before turning her attention to the clipboard in my hands. “Just fill all that out. It’s the usual doctor junk. When we get inside with Doc, he’ll have the NDA for you to sign,” she tells me, and I turn my questioning eyes to her. “Everyone who wants to learn about you know where has to sign one, and if you decide you want to become a member, there will be a separate contract. But I won’t get into all that. Let’s just get through this first appointment and see what you think.”

  I nod once more and begin to fill out all the paperwork about my medical history and insurance. When I’m done, I take the clipboard up to the window with my insurance card and driver’s license, and the woman makes a copy then hands them back to me, keeping the paperwork.

  Soon, the door directly in front of the seats we’re waiting in opens, and a beautiful blonde woman hurries out of the room, her face turning crimson when she looks up and sees us watching her. A tall man, maybe even taller than me but much wider, his shoulders seeming to fill the entire doorway, calls after the woman just as she reaches the front door.

  “Be careful getting home, Astrid,” he tells her, and she tucks her long, light hair behind her ear before giving him a nod then shoving her way through the door.

  His hand shoots through his hair as he blows out a breath, and then his eyes turn to us. I’m surprised when Evie speaks up beside me. “Was that…?”

  “Yep,” he replies, popping the P then sighing.

  She gives him a sympathetic look I’ll have to ask her about later, because she stands, making her way up to the big man. She turns and gestures to introduce me. “Dr. Neil Walker, let me introduce you to Nathaniel Black IV.”

  He holds out his hand. “Of the Black Mountain Blacks?” he asks, and I put my hand in his, giving him a hearty shake to let him know I’m not a little bitch.

  “How’d you know?” I ask, slightly worried he knows my family when I’m here to talk about things I’m not quite sure I want them knowing about me.

  “I have a cabin on Black Mountain. You stay up that way for even a weekend and you know the history of the place.”

  I relax a little, understanding he d
oesn’t know them personally. “Yeah, I got picked on in elementary school for all the signs along the trail and for having a museum made out of the first log cabin our ancestors built up there.” I reach behind me and rub my neck, giving Evie a half smile when I see her grin at me.

  “Because why wouldn’t you have a family museum, Mr. Black?” she provokes, and as I lift an eyebrow at her, she has the decency to blush.

  “Well, come on in and take a seat,” Dr. Walker backs up and allows us into the room, and my eyes go wide at the space. Everything is dark woods and brown leather. There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases along one wall with a huge shiny dark wooden desk that screams power. Directly in front of us is a leather couch, and facing it is a matching chair with a small table next to it that has a notefolio and a pen sitting on top.

  Evie walks ahead of me and plops down on the sofa, clearly comfortable in this space that looks absolutely nothing like any therapist’s office I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in a lot of them.

  “First, let’s get this out of the way,” he says, opening his folio and handing me the stapled paper that says Non-Disclosure Agreement at the top. I look it over quickly, automatically reaching up to my ear and finding the place above it empty. Evie hands me a pen out of her purse with a sweet smile, and I take it with a wink at her before signing my name and putting her pen behind my ear.

  “I feel naked, so I’m keeping this,” I tell her, and she reaches over to rub my bicep in reassurance.

  “Wonderful,” Dr. Walker states, sliding the papers back where they came from. “Now. Evelyn told me a little about what’s going on. Diagnosed OCD, interest in becoming a Dominant and a member of Club Alias, et cetera. But I’d like to start from the very beginning and hear everything in your words, Nathaniel.”

  I blow out a breath, hating this part, having to reiterate for what seems like the zillionth time in my life, but I know it needs to happen, and I’m hoping it’ll be the last time I’ll ever have to do it. “I’ve been to several therapists and psychiatrists in the past and was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder at the age of eight.”

  “Symptom dimensions?” he prompts, placing his pad of paper on the arm of his chair and taking down notes as I list them.

  “Ah… let’s see. Contamination, Symmetry, Arranging and Counting, Doubt and Harm, Unwanted Thoughts, and Rituals. Basically the whole shebang. Oh, and since becoming sexually active when I was fifteen, I feared I had the sexual subtype, but I have a suspicion that it’s probably the Dominant thing more than a part of my disorder.”

  “Genetic or trauma-induced?” he prompts.

  “Genetic on my father’s side.”

  Evie shifts on the cushion next to me and makes a T with her hands. “Uuummm… can we take a timeout for a second? I may have a little background in psychology from college, but I haven’t gotten far enough to understand everything you two are talking about, and you’re going way too fast for me to keep up.”

  I look over at Dr. Walker, and he gestures for me to explain. “There are four main types of OCD. Contamination is the fear that involves germs, feelings of disgust when it comes to uncleanliness, bodily fluids, sticky substances, and stuff. Symmetry, Arranging, and Counting—”

  “That one’s a little more self-explanatory. Like the way you have to have your pencils and books just so,” she inserts, turning in her seat so she’s facing me.

  I nod. “Right, but along with that is my compulsion to count. A lot of the time you can’t even tell I’m almost always counting in my head. Steps, time—”

  “Thrusts,” she murmurs, and my eyebrows shoot up at her candidness in front of Dr. Walker. But I guess if he’s the one who introduced her to BDSM as a form of therapy years ago, then she’s used to talking about sexual things with him. I try to fight back the jealousy that rears its head.

  “Oh, you noticed that, did you, mouse?”

  “You betcha,” she replies with a grin.

  I shake my head at her with a smile, realizing I really like this open and comfortable side of her. “Next on the list was Doubt about Accidental Harm and Checking. It’s a fear of the possibility of unintentionally harming myself or someone else because I wasn’t careful enough or because I was negligent.”

  “So like when you said you never allowed yourself to be rough with previous sexual partners,” she points out, clearly trying to understand and put together everything in her mind.

  “Correct. I somehow don’t have the Checking part of that subtype, those people you hear about who will unlock and relock the door over and over again, or will turn around and go home when they think they left the stove on. Mine wasn’t really anything I could check. I just didn’t let myself give in to my desires,” I explain, glancing over to see Dr. Walker is taking notes while answering Evie’s questions.

  “Until me,” she replies, pulling my attention back to her.

  “Until you.” My voice is low, seductive, and I feel myself stiffen behind my zipper at the memories her statement causes.

  She swallows, biting her lip, and then purrs, “And I turned out juuust fine.”

  I clear my throat, continuing on so I don’t end up fucking her on this couch in front of the good doctor. “Unwanted thoughts is a big one of mine. This is my intrusive, repetitive thoughts that get stuck in my head and it’s hard for me to snap out of it. And then Rituals, which I know you’ve seen… and experienced.”

  “The things you do and have to get right the first time or you’ll have to start over?” she clarifies.

  “Bingo,” I tell her, lifting my hand to her face and using my fingertip to push her glasses back up her nose so I can see her beautiful eyes more clearly.

  “Can I just say, Evelyn, I’ve been seeing you for… how many years now?” Doc inserts.

  “Um, since my parents passed five years ago,” Evie says quietly, and I reach down and take her hand.

  “Five years. And while I thought you truly came into your own once you became a member of the club, I have to say I’ve never seen you so… content, I think is the right word. You seem at peace in Nathaniel’s presence,” he points out, and I can’t help wanting to puff out my chest.

  “I feel that way too—well, most of the time at least,” she replies, and I deflate a fraction.

  “Explain, please?” Dr. Walker prompts.

  “Well, I’ve had a couple near panic attacks when my anxiety got the best of me. He went to go get us lunch, and when it took a while, I almost lost my shit thinking he wasn’t coming back.”

  He makes a note. “And how did that go once he obviously returned, since he’s sitting here now?” He points to me with the back end of his pen.

  She squeezes my hand. “He immediately recognized what was happening and gave me physical and mental reassurance that he will always come back.”

  Dr. Walker gives me an approving look before explaining, “Nathaniel, it’s important to know that communication will be extremely imperative when getting involved with someone with Evelyn’s type of anxiety. Communication is always important in a romantic relationship, of course, but even more so when entering a D/s partnership, and exponentially more when it comes to a person with special needs. Because of the loss of her parents at such an impressionable age, she has abandonment issues we’ve spent years working through.”

  I bring her hand up to my lips, kissing her knuckles, an almost unconscious action, and I don’t know if I do it to comfort her or to reassure myself that she’s okay.

  “I’m willing to learn everything I need in order to be worthy of her, whether it’s as her Dom or as a regular ol’ relationship,” I say, looking over at her and giving her a smile. Her face goes soft, and she scoots a little closer to me.

  “That’s great to hear.” He gives us a small smile then looks down at his notes. “Okay, let’s get back to you, shall we, Nathaniel?”

  “Nate’s fine, Dr. Walker,” I reply, and he looks up at me, seeming to assess me then glancing down at where Evie clutche
s my bicep with her hand I’m not holding. He seems to make a decision, and then gives me a nod.

  “You can call me Doc as well,” he says, and as simple as the exchange would seem to anyone hearing it from the outside, it feels like I just passed a test of some kind, like I’m being welcomed into something… monumental. Evie must understand what I’m feeling, because she rubs my bicep and gives me a great big smile.

  “So now that I have a handle on your OCD symptoms, can you tell me what the effects of past therapies had?” Doc prompts.

  “Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Well, as far as the psychiatrists went, medications were a no-go. SSRIs and antidepressants made me a zombie, anxiolytics made me not want to get out of bed. As far as other treatments, support groups really weren’t my thing, aversion therapy made me want to get violent, psychoeducation taught me everything about my disorder but did nothing to treat it, and the list goes on.”

  “Did anyone try systematic desensitization?” Doc asks, and I go to answer, but Evie interrupts.

  “Could you explain that one please? It’s the only one I’ve never heard of.”

  “It’s a form of exposure therapy. It’s the process of slowly increasing the sufferer’s exposure to their phobias in the hopes that they’ll… basically get used to it and not be afraid of it any longer.”

  “How is that different from aversion therapy?”

  “Aversion involves using a painful stimulus to prevent the OCD behavior,” I tell her, “at least the version they used on me.”

  She blinks, searching my face, looking me over as if to see if there were any scars left behind. The look in her eyes does that funny thing to my heart again, making me feel protected and cared for by this tiny woman, when it’s me who wants to be the one to protect and care for her.

  “I’m okay, baby,” I murmur, feeling the need to reassure her, and her face relaxes a bit, although her mouth still turns down in a little frown that makes me pull her to me and kiss it away, our audience be damned.