Dom/sub

by B. D. Dark

  “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.”

  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 D-cups 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 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.

  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?”

  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 muc
h longer than that. Master 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?”

  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.

  “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.”

  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 second-guess 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 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 surpri
sed 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.”

  “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 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.”