At about ten before seven the first members start trickling in. It’s a Saturday night, so we wind up with a pretty healthy crowd. I keep watching her from the bar, and she’s sitting there on a sofa, her bag in her lap, clutching it to her like she’s at the bus stop and somebody is about to steal it from her. People go into the locker room in street attire and come out in fetwear, and she doesn’t even seem to blink. At seven thirty, I stroll to where she is with a glass in my hand. “Here. Thought you might enjoy this.”
“What is it?” she asks, looking down into the glass.
“It’s just a lemon-lime soda.”
“Ah, thank you, sir,” she says as she takes it from my hand and sips a little. “That’s very refreshing. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“You’re welcome. Any questions?”
She gives a single shake of her head. “Nope.”
“Well, okay then. Don’t be afraid to ask. And if there’s something going on in a performance alcove, feel free to ask questions, but not of the Dominant while they’re working with a sub. Just ask a member nearby you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that,” she says, staring down into the drink before she takes another sip.
Ten minutes later, I hear a familiar voice call out, “Hey there, gorgeous!”
When I turn, she leans across the bar and I give her a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, beautiful. Having a good day?”
“Yes. It has been. Bought some new shoes, got my nails done,” Melina says, holding up a hand so I can see them, “and talked to my producer about the next shoot. It’s all good. Hey, thanks for last night. It was awesome.”
“No, you were awesome,” I tell her with a smile. “Really. That was some seriously good playtime.”
“So how ‘bout we have a repeat tonight?” she asks with a wink.
I nod in Cirilla’s direction. “No can do.”
Melina spins the stool to look and turns back to me. “Oh! Cirilla’s here! I’ll go say hi to her.” She gets up from the stool, then stops and stares at me. “Wait. What difference would it make that she’s here?”
“I think it would be a little, um, weird,” I say with a shrug. “You know, my employee, and me scening with somebody, and―”
“Why is she here?” she asks, giving me the side eye.
“Because,” I start, then stop. Should I tell her? Might as well. She helps with submissive orientation. She’s going to find out anyway. “Because she’s going through orientation on Thursday.”
For a second I think Melina’s eyes are going to pop right out of her head. “Seriously? That little granny-like thing?”
“She’s just in her thirties,” I tell her.
“She dresses like she’s in her nineties!” Melina exclaims. “I’m not sure she has a body under there. I think it’s just rolled-up towels with a belt around them.” That makes me snort as I start to laugh. “No, seriously. Look at her. Where the hell does she get her clothes, ‘Sacks R Us’? They’re horrible!”
“I know. Shocked me too, but she’s interested, so I signed her up. And now Dave has to do the orientation,” I say, wiping down the bar with the cloth I’m holding.
“Why? I thought you were going to do it,” Melina says.
“I was, but with Cirilla … I just don’t think it would be a good idea to―”
A gasp escapes her lips. “Oh. My. God”
“What?”
“You’ve got a thing for her.”
I know I look like a crazy man, which is stupid, seeing as how Melina is obviously the crazy one. “What? No! I do not! She just works for me, and she wants―”
“You do!” Melina almost shrieks, and I motion for her to keep her voice down. “You do! I could see it when I said that! You’ve got a thing for Cirilla. A big ol’ nine inch, one and a half times as big around as a banana thing.”
“I do not! What on earth makes you say that?” I say, trying hard to keep from shouting. It’s official―Melina has lost her mind.
“You do too. I’m going over to talk to her,” she announces and heads that direction.
“Melina?” I call after her, and she turns with a big grin on her face. “Don’t―”
“No worries, sir. No worries at all.” Then she giggles which, I have to say, makes me extremely nervous.
I sneak little glances that way, and then I look up to find her leading Cirilla toward the bar. Just as they near it, they veer off to the side. “What are you―”
“I’m taking her in the locker room with me,” Melina announces, and Cirilla looks back at me like she wants to tell me what a stupid question that was. “Back in a few.”
Oh, god, this is not what I thought was going to happen. Holy shit. I thought she’d sit there a few minutes, watch a couple of scenes, then go running to the back to hide in my office. That doesn’t seem to be what’s happening―at all. Every gear in my brain is spinning in triple time as I wipe down the same spot on the bar about twenty times, trying to think about something else and failing miserably. And then I look up.
Out of the locker room struts Melina wearing a balcony corset, those great big silicone globes displayed in all their glory. That beautiful sapphire blue piece of fabric art is accompanied by a matching thong and a pair of the highest stilettos I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty, believe you me. Cirilla’s walking along beside her in her own dowdy little outfit, head down, and I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or afraid. Watching them covertly, I see them stroll back to the sofa where Cirilla had been sitting, and she takes a seat as Melina stands there, looking down at her from that lofty height, talking to her about something. In less than a minute, Melina struts off toward a group of people in the center of the room and leaves Cirilla sitting there. My assistant doesn’t seem upset, however, and I wonder how this is all going to unfold.
About fifteen minutes later, Melina and a Dominant named Michael come to the bar, take seats, and begin a negotiation. Oh, this should be priceless, I think to myself. He has a diet soda and she has half a glass of wine before they wander off toward a performance area. As soon as they do, Cirilla makes her move―she stands and walks straight to a column nearby, where she leans against it to watch.
And boy, is it a show. One of the pieces I ordered early on was a spanking bench that’s more of a sawhorse design, narrow enough on one end that a bound female can drop a breast over each side, but wide enough in the hips to offer stability. Well, Melina’s got the tits to drop, and when he binds her ankles and wrists to the bondage points just above the elbow and knee rests front and back, then across her waist, she’s pretty much stuck there. When she’s bound in place, he begins to flog her ass, and I’m telling you, it’s pink by the time he’s done and she’s mewing like a kitten. His next move is attaching nipple clamps and hanging some weights on them, which she seems to like a lot. Shocking her with an electroplay wand makes her wiggle, which makes the weights sway, which makes the clamps pull tighter, and … well, you get the picture. I watch, trying hard to suppress a grin, as he pulls her hair back, braids it nicely, and finishes it with a hair elastic. I’m also watching Cirilla’s reaction, but she doesn’t seem to have one. Michael squats down to look up into Melina’s face and what he’s saying I can’t tell, but she nods slightly, and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming.
And I’m right. Michael stands, unzips his leathers, grabs her ponytail, and buries his cock in Melina’s throat. I watch the twenty or so Dominants in the room lean into their own stances, arms folded across their bare chests, nodding in agreement with his work and some even wearing tiny smiles. They’re all enjoying it. A couple of them pull their submissives up in front of them, their chests pressing into their sub’s back, and reach around to fondle her nipples or finger her. The Doms are hard, the subs are melting. At that observation, I turn to stare directly at Cirilla and a wave of anxiety bombards me.
For the first time I can ever remember, ever, there’s a full-blown smile on her lips. I don’t mind saying that scares the s
hit out of me, and I’d give a pretty penny to know what’s going through her mind. The whole thing seems a little … worrisome. I don’t know another word to use for it. It’s like something horrible is about to happen and I know it but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. As I watch her, from time to time she tips her head as she’s watching, as though she’s trying to figure out what’s going on, or how Melina must be feeling. The most unsettling part of the whole thing is the fact that the smile never disappears―never. It’s just there, almost like it’s tattooed on.
He face fucks Melina until he comes down her throat, then has her suck him until he’s hard again and proceeds to fuck her pussy like she’s the last woman on earth and he might not get another chance. As he does, he’s smacking the hell out of her ass until she’s got handprints the color of a bandanna on her skin, and it’s clear to everyone observing that she’s loving the whole thing. Cirilla’s still watching, that Mona Lisa smile on her face, and I have to turn away. It’s too scary.
And I’m hard as hell. I’m so hard that if she were to walk up to the bar at this very moment, I might just jump over it, tackle her to the floor, and fuck the holy hell out of her right there. Just tie into her like there was no tomorrow. To my great surprise, my hands are shaking, and for the first time ever, I don’t trust myself, not to look at her, not to talk to her, and certainly not to ride home with her and let her go off into her own room. I try to remind myself that I have no idea what’s under those baggy clothes, and yet I know, almost instinctively, what she’d look like naked. I know, I know, it’s ridiculous, but there it is, and I feel powerless to control myself or anything in my surroundings. Reality tells me I could let out a yell of, “Show’s over,” right now and shut the place down―I am, after all, the owner―but I don’t think I would have the strength to if it were mortally necessary. My brain is reeling, my stomach’s churning, and in that moment, the worst possible of all moments, I hear a voice say, “Could I please have another soda?”
I wheel to find her standing there, looking straight into my face, her brows slightly raised and lips barely parted, and the urge to launch myself at her is overwhelming. I’m not sure how I do it, but I manage to say, “Sure,” and reach into the little fridge under the counter for a can. If only it would pour a little faster, I think to myself as I almost dump the contents into the glass.
“Thank you, sir,” she says when I hand it back to her, and that one little word, sir, makes me so damn hard I can’t breathe. “Are you all right, sir?” she asks, that hint of concern in her voice.
“Yep, uh-huh. Fine.” I try to stop myself but I can’t, and the words just spew from my mouth: “Are you enjoying yourself?” FUCK IT ALL, ZIMMER! my mind shouts at me. TAKE A SHORTCUT AND SET YOURSELF ON FIRE!
“Um, yes. It’s very … interesting,” she murmurs as she looks back toward the performance area where Melina and Michael are finishing up. By finishing up, I mean he’s aggressively ass fucking her now while another Dominant face fucks her again, and I know Michael. This wasn’t a whim. He and Melina negotiated this before they started. Interesting?
I’ll say. The understatement of the year.
“Good. I’m glad you’re getting something out of it.” Dear lord, that’s a poor choice of words, I tell myself. My inner Brian is kicking my ass tonight, and I can’t seem to make him shut the fuck up.
“Yes. I’m trying to get some idea of what expectations will be regarding my place in the membership,” she says, never turning to look at me as she sips the soda and watches them scene.
I wish this night were over. I wish someone would burst in here with a gun and shoot me. I wish I could call an Uber and never go home, just disappear into the suburbs somewhere and find myself with a wife and three kids in the morning, oblivious to my former life.
I wish I could strip her down and fuck her right here.
Suddenly, I feel doomed. I know how vampires must feel, cursed to roam the earth forever, undead and with no hope of ever going back into the sunlight. Some kind of line has been crossed in my psyche tonight, and things will never be the same. Over the next few weeks I’m not sure what I’ll gain, but I have this terrible feeling that I’m going to lose the best assistant I’ve ever had.
One more day. One more long, difficult day, and it’ll be Monday. On Monday, we start working out of the new home office and go back to our old routine. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to salvage what I know we’ve lost and start again. Luckily for me, she’s clueless. For her it’ll be business as usual.
For me, it’ll be nothing short of torture.
* * *
The night is over. Two of the Dominants stay, and they and their submissives help me sanitize and put away everything that’s been used during the evening. It’s the first time in a long time that Melina hasn’t stayed to help, but she told me two nights in a row of that kind of intense play was too much for her, and the look in her eyes told me she wasn’t kidding. I just kiss her on the forehead and tell her to go home and rest. God knows she’s earned it.
Cirilla gets in the car as I lock up, and then we’re on our way. It’s quiet, as usual, but I can tell there’s something hanging in the air. It takes about ten minutes before I just can’t stand it anymore. “So you enjoyed the club tonight?” I ask, scared out of my wits at the possibilities of responses I may get.
“It was … enlightening.” Well, there’s a term I haven’t ever heard attached to fucking before. Enlightening. My, my, my, such highbrow fuckery we have going on there.
Even before I ask, I know I shouldn’t. “How so?”
“Sir, do I understand this correctly? They talked about what they were going to do before they did it?”
I nod in the dashboard light. “Yes. Always.”
I can tell she’s mulling it over. It takes a couple of minutes before she says, “That’s interesting.” I’m about to ask what she means when she says, “Most couples in relationships don’t bother with that. Wouldn’t most relationships be better if they did?”
There’s no way to explain what I feel in that moment. It’s like something has cracked open under my skin and escaped, something heavy and dark, and I suddenly feel lighter and more hopeful than I have in a long, long time. “You know, you’re exactly right, Cirilla. Exactly right. I think that’s what’s missing from most relationships. Very perceptive.”
“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly. “I mean, if I were in a relationship, I’d want the person I was with to tell me how they felt about things, not just tell me what they thought I wanted to hear. Because if I wasn’t meeting their needs, or I was upsetting them, I couldn’t change to make things better unless I knew it. And face it, sir, with the exception of a few talented people, none of us are mind readers.”
All of a sudden, I feel free to just talk to this woman, like I’d talk to a counselor or a good friend. “Honestly, most of the relationships I’ve been in have failed for exactly that reason. Either they didn’t like something I was doing or weren’t getting what they needed and never told me, or I was unhappy and afraid to say anything. Those relationships might’ve been salvageable if we’d just talked about what was going on. It was easier to just fight and then break up. Talking and fixing things is hard.”
“But if you’ve got time invested in a relationship, I would think it would be worth it. Although I’m no expert, sir,” she says.
“You’re right. It is worth it. Of course, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, unfortunately.”
She nods. “Unfortunately.”
She may not be the most cheerful person, or the most talkative person, or the most attractive person, but this woman is real, and I have great respect for that. I find that a very attractive quality in anyone. I’m about to say something when she says, “I always find it sad when people can’t be who they really are with each other.”
Without warning, tears spring to my eyes as I think about Denise, the woman I almost married. We both thought we had to be these perfect p
eople, looking perfect, speaking perfectly, wearing the perfect clothes, driving the perfect cars. Our jobs had to be perfect. We had to be members of the most perfect groups, both socially and professionally. Our home had to be perfect. And in bed, we had to be perfect. What happened?
I got such bad performance anxiety that I wound up with anxiety-induced impotence, which only increased my anxiety tenfold. And my impotence triggered her anorgasmia. We were a fucked-up, unfuckable mess. When she left, I sat around for two weeks in my bathrobe, eating pizza, not showering, and unshaven. At the end of the two weeks, I stumbled onto some softcore porn on cable late at night and had a boner in two minutes. And I understood what had happened. We’d faked each other until we faked ourselves, and it ruined our relationship. That’s exactly what Cirilla’s talking about, that fakeness that leads to the ruination of relationships. When that happened between Denise and me, I promised myself I’d never have that kind of relationship again.
Subsequently, I’ve been alone for the last twelve years. Who knew there were so many fake people in the world? She may dress frumpy, like she’s fifty years older than she is, but at least she’s real, and she says what’s on her mind. My respect for that is huge. There’s a big twenty-four-hour grocery up ahead, and I jerk the wheel and squeal into the parking lot. “Where are we going, sir?” she asks.
“Stay in the car. I’ll be right back.” There’s no time for her to ask another question before I leap out of the car and sprint toward the store. It takes me a whole two minutes to find what I’m looking for, and I pay for them and run back to the car.
“Sir?”
“Just wait. You’ll see,” I say with a grin.
I park in the garage and we head to the elevators, her still puzzled and me carrying my prize. Once we’re inside the apartment, I tell her, “Slip off your shoes and join me.”
“Sir, what’s―”
“Just do it,” I tell her as I kick my shoes off. “Water? Lemon-lime soda? Regular soda? Wine? Bourbon?”
Completely Mine: Bliss Series, Book Four Page 6