by Lund, S. E.
I stopped speaking and she said nothing as if transfixed by my mouth. I couldn’t stop from smiling. What was she thinking? Did she imagine kissing me, the way I was imagining kissing her?
I doubted it. She seemed far too shy to imagine me eating her while she watched me, our eyes meeting while I sucked her clit.
"I'm sorry." She made a face, her cheeks red. "Can you tell me what project you're most proud of?"
I said something about the pediatric neurosurgery program the foundation funded, but in truth, my dick was hard thinking about fucking her and so I barely remembered a word of it.
"Your father died while in Africa several years ago.”
That jolted me back to reality, and not in a pleasant way.
"Yes,” I said, feeling remorse at his death still there even now, almost a year later. “He died just after you came back from Africa."
"What happened?"
I thought about it, deciding how much to tell. I didn’t really want to reminisce about my father, but she seemed interested so I told the story of how his plane crashed while on a trip to Somalia.
"He was flying into a small base camp where he was going to do some work with a local charity. Even though we were political opposites and didn't always see eye to eye, when he died, it was as if the ground was ripped out from under me." I looked in her eyes and she was listening with rapt attention. "Nothing has been able to fill the hole. Nothing. I took over the helm of his foundation because I thought doing his work might heal me in some way. That's how your father and I became friends. He came to the funeral and it was like he adopted me."
"I guess I just never saw my father as someone who would do that."
That shocked me. "What? Act fatherly?"
She nodded. "I mean, he's an authoritarian type – head of the family and all. But not to, you know, step in and act as a father substitute."
"He did,” I said, still surprised, my voice wavering a bit at the memory. “I relied on him to get through it."
During those first months, he spent quite a lot of time with me, much to my shock. We met for dinner and drinks, and talked in the sauna at the health club.
She actually teared up a bit. "I know what it means to lose a parent."
"Your mother died of cancer a few years ago,” I said, realizing that we shared a common loss. “The year before you went to Africa. Your father told me."
She nodded and stared off into the distance for a moment as if unable to leave the thought of her dead mother behind. It was in that moment that I also realized that perhaps I was wrong to pursue her after all. She was still very delicate if she teared up so easily at the talk of our dead parents, the wounds still raw.
"Well, that's all I have," she said finally, her voice sounding almost regretful that she didn’t have anything more to say. "I guess I should go. Don't want to keep you from the OR."
We both stood and I extended my hand, wanting to touch her once before we parted, for I knew that it would be the last time we met.
I wouldn’t ask her out. I wouldn’t pursue her.
She wasn’t in the lifestyle and perhaps wasn’t ready to be introduced to it.
She took my hand and I lifted hers to my mouth, pressing my lips softly against her knuckles.
"People have spoken so highly of you," I said, keeping her hand in mine. "So has your father. In the past few days, I've read up a bit about you, reread your articles on Mangaize. Still so impressive. I don't know who I was expecting when I thought about meeting you. Someone older. Different. I was so surprised to actually meet you."
She pulled her hand away. "What do you mean?"
"Your writing – it's so visceral. Insightful for someone so young."
She was lovely and she was sweet and she was still fragile. I knew I would overwhelm her with the intensity of my desire for her, my need to dominate her, to control her.
I could probably completely possess her, make her do things she wouldn’t otherwise imagine possible, if she let me and at that moment, I sensed that if I pressed her, she would let me.
An enormous sense of guilt filled me. She was the lovely Katherine. Champion of Africa, whose harrowing articles on Mangaize filled even me with emotion. She was the sweet sad Katherine, who lost her mother and had never fully grieved until forced to because of the trauma of Mangaize.
She was Ethan’s beloved daughter, the delicious Ms. Bennet with scuffed and bloodied knees. Who wore sexy garters and retro nylons with a seam down the back.
"I'm glad we could meet and talk," I said, still fighting with myself, the darker part of me wanting to forge ahead and seduce her. The better part of me fighting to keep him in check. "I'd like to interview you sometime, talk about Africa."
"I don't really like to talk about Africa."
"Why?"
"It was upsetting."
"Your father told me you had problems after you came back. You were there at the height of the famine. It had to be very hard." She nodded but said nothing. Then, I made my decision and the better angels of my nature won out, a mental hand covering the mouth of the darker part of me, smothering his lust-filled protest. "I'd really like to just take you out for coffee or a drink," I said. "I feel like I've known you forever from everything your father's told me about you. But I probably shouldn't."
"Probably," she said and I was surprised that she said it. Did she somehow perceive the danger I posed to her? Did she sense the chasm so close to her?
"Can I ask why?" she added, her cheeks red.
I shook my head quickly. "You're The Hangin' Judge's daughter," I said, not wanting to admit it, but being truthful for a moment. "I'm not the kind of man Judge McDermott's daughter should get involved with."
She frowned at that. "He thinks very highly of you."
I smiled, but I didn’t really feel amused. Instead, I felt a darkness engulf me that I couldn’t explain.
"He doesn't really know me."
She frowned but said nothing in response. If she had protested even just a small bit, all my reasons for not pursuing her would have fallen like a row of dominoes.
I walked her to the door, feeling so protective of her now that my better side won out. I held the door open for her, reluctance filling me, knowing I couldn’t pursue someone as sweet and fragile as her.
I would never want to see her expression of horror when she learned who and what I was, and most of all, what I wanted to do to her body and mind.
"Thank you for doing an interview," she said when we stepped outside.
I smiled, forcing it so we could part on a positive note.
"Goodbye, lovely Katherine."
Then the door closed and I walked one way, while she walked the other.
Part of me shouted to turn back and ask her out anyway, throwing caution to the wind, the promise of her deliciously soft and warmly compliant body beneath mine so tempting, but the better part of me won out once more.
I kept walking.
CHAPTER NINE
The next week passed slowly and I felt as if I were trapped in a fog, unable to find my way back to my real life – the one pre-Katherine when I was busy and content with things, eager to meet a new sub and start a new D/s relationship.
Instead of my usual cheerful approach to life, I went through the motions, getting up and going to work, doing my surgeries, teaching, playing in the band, but my world had become engulfed in a darkness that prevented me from enjoying life the way I usually did.
On Thursday, Lara called me to talk about Jenna, and finding a replacement.
They weren't right for me. I'd been too busy, I told myself, to spend the time needed to train either one.
Lara met with me at our usual spot and after interrogating me about Jenna and Chessie, she leaned back in her chair and studied me for a moment while I tried to avoid her eyes.
"I have a favor to ask of you. There's this girl…"
"Girl?" I frowned, wondering what the favor was. "How old?"
"Well, not a g
irl. She's twenty-four. She's special."
I hesitated, intrigued but cautious. "Tell me."
"She wants to interview a Dom for an article she's writing on the lifestyle. Would you do the interview?"
"Why don't you answer her questions? You know about the lifestyle as well as I do. Better."
"She wants to talk to a male Dom. I can answer questions about being a Domme but I thought of you as the best candidate for a discussion of male dominants and what they want and how they train a new sub. Besides, you're a natural born teacher."
I stirred my soup for a moment. I relied on her to find me new subs, and I felt I couldn't refuse.
"Who is she?"
"You can't know who she is, Drake. She wants to learn more about D/s but has a high profile family and doesn’t want anyone to know she's interested," she said, eyeing me over her coffee. "She's a writer and is curious."
"Why is she special?"
"She's a new acquaintance with connections I want to cultivate. Can you do me a big favor and help her? Use those famed teaching skills of yours?"
I frowned, not really sure I wanted to be interviewed.
"She's not a sub?"
"I suspect she is," Lara said. "But she hasn’t admitted it to herself yet. Had a boyfriend who wanted to try things out and she freaked and ended the relationship. Now she can’t stop thinking about it. Don't tell her I told you that, though," Lara said and held up her hand. "I suspect this is more than just research. She's really conflicted and wants to remain totally anonymous."
"So do I," I said, considering the offer. "For obvious reasons."
“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to settle down and find a permanent partner. Have a real relationship.”
I frowned. Maybe down the road in my forties, I would settle down, but I was happy with the way things were. I worked more than sixty hours a week and barely had time for the band and fitness let alone a relationship. Since my divorce five years ago, my submissives had provided me with all the sex I needed, I enjoyed the bondage and dominance and the fact that they went away after our sessions and left me alone until the next meeting.
"So you'll meet with her?" Lara said, regarding me while I ate.
I shrugged and finished my sandwich, a bit apprehensive about the whole thing.
“Come on Drake,” she said, her voice a bit impatient. “Do this favor for me.”
"Sure," I said finally. "But you owe me – big time."
We ate in silence for a moment, but of course, now I was curious about this young woman who wanted to interview me.
"What's she like?" I said, trying to sound casual.
"You'll love her," Lara said, waving her hand in dismissal. "She seems really sweet."
"I'm not supposed to love her. I'm supposed to teach her," I said, correcting her.
"You'll teach her, then," Lara said and rolled her eyes. "She's pretty, and smart and despite her cover story, I think she's interested in this for real, but she's afraid, Drake. There are reasons she wants to remain anonymous, having to do with her background and family. Still, you might want to seduce her a bit. I have a feeling with a bit of your magic, she'd be signing the dotted line for real."
"I love a challenge," I said and smiled. "I love a reluctant sub who needs a lot of coaxing. You know me."
"I do know you, Drake and that’s precisely why I asked you. Here's the contract she would sign, if this was for real." Lara reached into her briefcase and passed a document to me. I took it and reviewed the pages. It was pretty vanilla, with only a few references to bondage, hair pulling and maybe some light spanking.
I still didn't completely comprehend the need I had to be dominant, the need of these women who wanted me to be in control of them or where it came from, although I had a lot of theories. Frankly, I'd been too busy for the last few years to try to understand it. I was simply turned on by having a woman completely under my control. Helpless. Breathlessly waiting, dying for me to fuck her.
I liked the trust they placed in me, allowing me to tie them up so they were completely helpless and under my power. When they were restrained, when the last cuff was attached and they were bound and blindfolded, there was a moment of pure release as they went into subspace. Then, the submissive was open to anything, highly responsive, primed for pleasure.
I liked to train them so that they came really fast, multiple times, sometimes with just a few words, a few touches, a few licks, a few strokes, most of the buildup mental rather than physical.
Most men spent far too little time attending to their lover's mental state, so focused on the physical aspects of sex, of dicks and pussies, tits and ass, but I found that the mental preparation was the most important part of a sexual relationship. The small touches, meaningful words, the glances, the longing, the buildup, the rising desire. The actual physical act of fucking was the smallest part of it. The denouement. If you spent enough time working a woman up without even touching her, sex would be explosive.
"Let me guess – she read those books, right?"
"Who hasn't?" Lara said, laughing. "Don't complain. It's bringing in a whole new generation of material for us, although most of them don't really understand BDSM or even why the book turned them on so much."
"They like dominant men," I said. "I aim to please."
"Did you read them, too?"
"Are you kidding?" I said and grinned. "Of course I did. No self-respecting Dom would have missed seeing how our species was portrayed."
"You're the real-deal, Drake," Lara says, sipping her espresso. "Eligible bachelor, rich, good looking, smooth, smart. All the Dom without the pain."
"And without being fucked up."
She smiled at me. "If you say so."
I frowned, a bit ticked at her innuendo. "I'm not fucked up. I had a good upbringing."
"Whatever you say, Drake," Lara said and smiled even wider. "Have you ever thought about why you like to tie women up and torture them using pleasure? Oh, that's right… you gave up on psychoanalysis so you could study brains."
"I'm just a Dominant. I need control."
She smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary.
I gave her a look. "In the end, it doesn't really matter why something turns you on," I said. "Understanding the reasons for lust does nothing to change it.”
“It does matter, Drake. You can deny it all you want, but as you know from studying psychoanalysis, the more you keep something hidden, the more you ignore it, the farther down in the darkness you shove it, the more power it has over you. Bring it out into the light and it loses that power. Why can’t you let another woman into your life? Why can’t you trust again?”
I shook my head, not wanting to have this discussion. There was no understanding the human psyche – at least not on a scientific level. I gave that up years ago when I switched from psychology to medicine in my senior year.
“It makes no difference why. It just is.”
“Restraining women – why that in particular?”
“Lara…” I said, frowning at her. “Why do you like to beat a sub’s ass black and blue?”
“Because it’s so pretty like that. We’re not talking about me, Drake. And I could tell you why – because I like to be in control and I enjoy the power I have over men. I like to see them cower at my feet.”
“I like to have control over a woman’s body so I can do what I want.”
“You don’t need to tie a woman up. Many women would let you do whatever you wanted, no ropes or restraints needed. There’s something else going on.”
“It’s not me who needs it,” I said. “It’s them. They need to be tied up so they don’t feel any guilt. I do it so I can enjoy when they surrender. When they do, they can freely enjoy everything I do to them without guilt. They can’t stop it. It’s not their fault they have orgasms.”
“Why not have vanilla sex, with no bondage. I mean, if you don’t need to tie women up for any personal reasons, you could give it up tomorrow, r
ight?”
“I like rope bondage. I like leather.”
“For purely aesthetic reasons? Or is it something deeper?”
“What are you trying to imply?”
“Abandonment issues?” she said and swirled her espresso in the tiny cup. “Mommy left you and so you restrain women to keep them from leaving?”
I pushed back from the table. “That’s far too simplistic. I have no interest in fucking my mother, Lara. I like the way a woman looks when she’s bound and blindfolded. That’s all.”
“It’s a fetish, Drake. It has a history and an origin. If you don’t understand it, it will have control over you instead of the other way around.”
"I like a bit of mystery,” I said. “I don’t need to know why someone likes to dominate or be dominated. I only want to know how much they need."
"I like knowing why," Lara said. "It makes things clearer."
We sat and stared at each other in silence for a few moments, neither one of us willing to concede any ground.
Back in college when I first studied abnormal psych, I was the rebellious son who was determined not to follow in my surgeon-father's footsteps. I decided to become a psychoanalyst or psychotherapist, making my name by answering Freud's famous question What do women want? After an undergraduate degree in abnormal psychology, and several unsuccessful relationships of the sexual and romantic kind, I decided to give up psychology and take the easy way out.
Brain surgery.
The inner workings of the psyche were far more unfathomable than that of the brain.
We finished our lunch, silently agreeing to disagree about the whole etiology of desire debate, catching up with each other's careers, and finally, I stole a glance at my cell and saw that it was time to go back to the hospital.
"I have to run," I said. "I have a surgery in half an hour and need to prep."
Lara was done as well and finished her espresso.
"So, I can tell this girl you'll do the interview?"