by Adira August
Janet “J.J.” Johnson, Avia’s boss at The Week, and Ben’s friend and most secret and successful eRom author, wasn’t cooperating. “Leave her alone, Ben. I don’t want the girl to end up another entry in your sexual spreadsheet.”
He laughed out loud. “Do you have any idea how many puns you just laid the groundwork for?”
“I’m not laughing, Ben. Avia does not need to be entered, laid or spread on any of your 3000 thread count sheets!”
“I do not have 3000 thread count sheets, for God’s sake!” He said, letting her hear his irritation.
“How the hell would you know, Ione buys them, doesn’t she?”
J.J. was always more irritating when she was right. Time for a new tack: semi-truth. “J.J., I do not want to find her so I can spend my morning laying her on my sheets, regardless of thread count. I’m leaving town for a week, she asked me for something, I want to get it to her.”
She still didn’t answer. “She told me she was interviewing a sex expert of some kind. Can you just tell me which one? She isn’t answering her cell. I don’t want to leave this on her porch or something. I can’t send anyone, if I don’t know where to send them.”
“She’s at Human Dynamics in Boulder. Probably be back in town around noon. Try her cell then,” J.J. relented with poor grace.
“Thanks, I’ll let Devers know.” He picked up the phone and got out. “How are you, anyway? You sound grumpier than usual.”
“I’m trying to make a deadline for my tyrant of a publisher! Now quit bothering me! Have a safe trip.” J.J. clicked off.
Ben smiled to himself. He did love J.J. He’d known her since they were at Cornell together. He owed a lot of his success to her talent as a writer and her belief in him as a businessman.
He entered the Barbican where Holland Devers, his security chief, waited for him. Devers stood as his boss approached.
“Listen,” Ben said. “Avia Rivers is at Human Dynamics in Boulder.”
Devers waited. No more was forthcoming. “I see. Should I make a note?”
“Nah,” Ben said, looking over the shoulder of a security officer watching an array of monitors. “I’m already a tyrant, I’m just avoiding being a liar, too. Anything happening? I gave Hugo the day off, so I’m doing the morning check-in.”
Devers, a fiftyish former homicide detective whose short white afro framed a strong high-cheekboned face, opened a screen with the daily log on it. “Blakewell stopped a trespasser around eleven. Standard shit. Teen-ager cutting through the corner of the property. Curtis’ construction crew background checks all came back okay, at least for working outside the Curtain.”
“Is Curtis his first name or last?” Ben asked.
Devers looked blank. “You want me to find out?”
Ben shook his head with a grin. “No, it’s a sort of inside joke … never mind. So, the crew checks out.”
“Yeah. When they move inside we’ll do hard checks. That’s next week; they’re dredging the pond, first.”
“Ask Curtis if it's possible to get the inside done now, while I'm away. Can you check out the crew that fast?"
"Don't have to, to get started. We've worked with several of these guys before. I can have the others vetted in forty-eight hours." He gave Ben a knowing look. "But trying to tell Curtis to change plans if he thinks the other way is better for his fish …"
"Glad I’m leaving town,” Ben said. “Just run it past him, no pressure. That it?”
“Just that Mr. Ramos wanted me to tell you the New York porn producer called several times. He'll take your call twenty-four seven," Devers said.
“He'll be disappointed. Shoot a copy of the reports over to Hugo, just FYI, no action needed. Tell him to ignore future calls from New York, I already told them no. I want Hugo to have an actual day off, for once. Okay, I’m gone for most of the day. Don’t call my cell. If the place burns down -”
“-you can’t fix it, anyway.” Devers finished for him. “I know the drill. Have a good day, Sir.”
Doctor Harley
A dignified woman in her fifties in rimless glasses with long white hair gathered into a knot at her nape, opened the door to Avia. She was not a receptionist. She was Erin Kendall Harley, M.D.
Avia assumed her detached-but-pleasant face as she shook the doctor’s hand, hiding her chagrin. J.J. had given Avia the name verbally and she’d automatically written “A-a-r-o-n.”
This is what an imperfect feminist looks like, she reprimanded herself as she followed the highly-respected expert into her office. Avia wrote as she walked, a long-ago mastered skill, correcting her notes and jotting a brief description of the office and the woman she was about to interview. And whom she hoped to consult, personally.
Dr. Harley waited until Avia found a chair, before settling on a short chintz sofa.
“I have a proposal,” Avia said, closing the notebook. The sex researcher raised her eyebrows as a sign of attentive listening, but remained motionless. She waited for Avia to get comfortable, legs slanted, knees together, one ankle crossed over the other, in her habitual ladylike pose.
“I’m jumping right in without courtesies,” Avia went on, “because I’m not sure how much time you have for me this morning. My apologies if I seem rude, Doctor Harley.”
“What did you have in mind?” The psychiatrist asked. “And call me Erin, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Thank you. Avia,” Avia smiled, liking the doctor and her straightforward response. “I know The Week is paying for your time this morning as a consultant on the erotica phenonmenon story. But,” Avia hesitated, considering how to frame the proposal. “J.J. suggested I try a personal angle for this story. Not my usual style. But it got very personal, very quickly. I’d like to consult you professionally now, half the time for The Week and half just for me.”
“It seems to me it would be difficult to separate the two at this point,” Erin said.
“It seems impossible to me,” Avia said. “So my idea is, we talk for ninety or so minutes, if you have the time. Bill The Week for one hour and me for one. Or I can pay you now, I have my checkbook. Unless you take plastic?”
“Before we get to payment issues,” Erin said, “are you intending to continue therapy with me?” Erin smiled at the surprised look on Avia’s face. “I assume from your expression you weren’t intending to enter therapy?” Avia shook her head. “Tell me, then, why you want to make this arrangement?”
“I need confidentiality. Legal confidentiality. And, I really do need personal advice and, well, not so much therapy, as information. Understanding.”
“That’s pretty good description of therapy,” the doctor responded. “I don’t have any objections, but can you tell me why you’re so concerned with confidentiality?”
Avia hesitated. “I can. But not until I have it.”
The doctor studied her for a long moment, then rose and went to her desk. “Privileged communication in Colorado isn’t impenetrable,” she said, finding a file in a drawer and taking out two forms.
“For instance, a judge can order me to provide confidential information in a legal proceeding. You should probably work on the assumption, if any court or legal process is involved, that all of your records with me are potentially discoverable, especially if mental health is an issue in the case. Of course, I must report immediately if I believe you are a threat to yourself or others.”
She returned to the couch, handing Avia the two forms. “Fill in your contact information, then sign and date that one and hand it back. The other’s for your records. An explanation of privacy and confidentiality. Also billing.”
Avia did as she was told quickly, handing the form back. Erin Harley returned to her desk, grabbed a tablet, and settled on the couch.
“Now I’m a patient?” Avia asked as the older woman opened a new patient screen.
“You are,” the doctor replied. “Full name?”
“Avienne Grace Rivers.”
Dr. Harley made a note an
d looked up. “Have you signed a non-disclosure agreement with someone, Avia?”
Avia blinked. Damn, how’d she get there so fast? She nodded.
“Tell me what brings you here, today,” Dr. Harley said. “Besides a story.”
Suddenly, Avia felt shy. She’d been planning for this since last night, but how to even begin her own story? It’s a story. First graph. Five Ws.
“I met a man Wednesday morning, was in intimate sexual contact with him by afternoon, was committed to having continuing sexual contact with him by evening. I did things I swore I’d never do and by last night, I was convinced I was falling in love with him and quit the contract,” she said. She let out a breath. “And I consider myself a normal, grounded, practical-minded person.”
Erin Harley barely blinked. She did make notes. “And what did you want to accomplish today?”
“I need to understand. I need ...” she cleared her throat and clenched her fists. “I need to know why humiliation is arousing. But mostly, I need to figure out how, suddenly, I have this submissive living inside me craving this man’s, but only this man’s, domination and control. How is that possible and what does it say about me?” Avia’s voice was soft, hesitant. She was never hesitant.
“When you say humiliation, are you saying you feel demeaned by him?” Erin asked.
Avia immediately shook her head. “No! Never. I never felt this safe with anyone before. Emotionally as well as physically. He makes me feel respected and cared-for.”
The doctor made more notes.
“I know,” Avia said while Erin wrote. “I know that sounds stupid. That I experience humiliation with him and feel safe. That I let him do things to me I always thought would be demeaning but, somehow … I’m not a victim.” Avia finished.
Erin Harley nodded and looked up from her notes. “Can you tell me a little about how the relationship began? You said you became intimate with him within a few hours.”
“I met him for the article I was working on,” Avia began. “I interviewed him for background at his home office …”
“Help me out here,” I asked him. “Why would a psychologically healthy, self-confident woman want to be spanked as part of a sexual encounter? And why, if that’s her choice, would she have to be restrained, at all?”
Benedict Hart sat back in his executive chair, long, elegant fingers steepled in front of his sculpted lips, considering his answer.
“Many women want a strong, confident, male to take charge in a sexual situation. Safe submission is their fantasy. Restraint is part of experiencing dominance,” he went on. “For most users, restraint makes sexual stimulation of any kind, including sensual spanking, more effective. More deeply arousing.”
“The ‘user’ being the man doing the spanking,” I said trying not to roll my eyes.
“No, Avia,” he smiled a little, knowingly. “I was speaking specifically, because of your assignment, of the woman. In part, the depth of her pleasure in being fondled or stroked or spanked, increases in direct proportion to the effectiveness of her restraints.”
“‘In part’,” I repeated. “What’s the other part?”
He kept his voice even, but lasered me with his gaze. “The skill of the man restraining her, touching her ... spanking her, to give her what she wants, the way she wants, for as long as she needs.”
A sudden heat bloomed between my legs as he spoke. I suppressed the urge to lick my lips or shift in my seat. What the hell? I’d never had a bondage fantasy in my life.
I kept my voice even with effort. “I know spanking isn’t considered deviant, by many. But it sounds brutal and demeaning, to me.”
“There are evolutionary, physiological and healthy psychological bases for finding the activity arousing.” He said. “Erotic spanking enhances sexual experience. Promotes intimacy.”
Intimacy? Was he kidding? “It’s like you’re telling me sugar is a health food. Help me understand.”
“I’ll be more than happy to help you understand,” he said, his very dark blue - indigo? - eyes fixed unflinchingly on mine. “Understanding, in this case, only comes through experience. If you want to uncover the real story, you’d have to become my Companion.”
“Because you want to spank me?” I asked, my eyes narrow and challenging, letting him see I wasn’t anyone’s victim. Just try it, I thought.
“Oh, Avia,” he leaned forward, smiling gently, his voice warm, intimate, one hand on the arm of my chair. “Your pupils blew wide open when I was talking about it. Of course I’m going to spank you.”
Son of a bitch! My whole core spasmed, leaving me achy, my clit swollen and hot. But I held my ground, not moving or or looking away.
He sat back. “Of course, companionship is, by definition, a mutual exchange.”
“Mutual exchange,” I returned. “Am I going to spank you?”
He grinned and dimpled and looked even more irritatingly attractive than he had before. “You give me your complete trust. I promise you, that’s a great gift when freely given.”
“And you'll give me?”
“Ecstasy.” He was serious now. Smolderingly serious.
“Ecstasy,” I repeated, keeping the skepticism out of my voice. “Literally?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Are you saying you will - do something - that will allow me to transcend normal consciousness and achieve euphoria?" I used a precise definition of the word “ecstasy.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “That is, after all, what orgasm should be for you.”
“And I’m going to get this, how?”
“Through a process of training and education. Ultimately, through total submission achieved through perfect obedience. This allows me to lead you to peak experience.” He was totally serious, studying my reaction. I kept my journalist’s mask of impassivity in place.
“Perfect obedience gives me euphoria?”
“The only path to ecstasy is surrender, which gives you perfect freedom,” he said.
“That’s not even a logical construct,” I objected. “If I’m submitting to your will and obeying your commands, what freedom is left for me?”
“The freedom to fully feel,” he said. “Something I’d wager you’ve never experienced in a sexual context.”
“And what do you get out of this, besides being submitted to?”
He smiled. “I get to make you feel.” He cocked his head and let his eyes trail over my body, as if imagining exactly where and how he’d do that.
“To help us both decide if Companionship is what we want,” he said, “we’ll start with datamining. Which is a kind of test run. I’m going to touch you intimately and observe your responses. It’s a sample of what you can expect during our sessions,” he said.
“Oh, really?” I said, trying to sound cooly detached and in control. “And when did you plan for this to happen?”
“Now, Avia,” he said, cooly. “We’re going to do it now.”
Erin Harley looked up from the tablet on which she’d made notes during Avia’s story.
“This was the first intimate contact you spoke of before?” She consulted her notes. “This … datamining?”
Avia nodded and stared into her lap, waiting for the heat in her face to subside.
“Did you experience humiliation, then? Restraint? While he - ” another look at the tablet “-touched you intimately?”
Avia nodded again, not looking up.
“And how was that for you?”
“It was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.” She kept looking down, mortified to tell this to a virtual stranger, but determined to go on.
“And was there spanking involved in the first contact?”
“No. We made the Companionship contract afterward. He wanted to save that for our first Session, so it would be sensual not disciplinary, he said. That was yesterday.” Avia gave a quick glance at the psychiatrist. Erin Harley seemed perfectly at ease with the topic, a line of concentration between her eyebrows as she en
tered notes.
Harley looked up. “And did he spank you yesterday at this session?”
Avia nodded.
“How was that for you?”
Avia looked straight at her. “Better than the datamine. Mind-blowing. I didn’t want him to stop.” She felt her face flame, but she pushed herself on. “And the truth is, that wasn’t all of it. I goaded him into more, later. I wanted it. I wanted - the control and - and him to -”
Dammit. She put both hands to her flaming cheeks. “- discipline me. Never, never had such a fantasy, the whole idea was outrageous to me. But - the thing about him is - when I’m with him - that’s what I want. Him in charge. Doing these things. How do I explain this? How do I accept this? How is this me?”
Erin Harley waited for Avia to look back up at her. Instead, Avia looked out the open window at Flagstaff Mountain.
Doctor Harley spoke up. “You said you want him in charge. Is that just during sex or at other times, also?”
Avia rose from the chair and drifted over to the open window. A slight breeze brought the scent of pine from the nearby foothills. It calmed her.
“We don’t really do anything but sex. But no, I don’t want him going all Dom on me outside of sex. He’s never acted like he wants that, either.”
Erin got up and went to a coffee set-up on a cabinet. She gestured to Avia with the pot. Avia nodded, “Sugar, please.”
As the therapist prepared two mugs, she said, “Let me review. You want to understand the psychology of humiliation because you found things that felt humiliating to be arousing and satisfying for you. This has led to some identity confusion for you. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Avia said. Erin handed her a mug and went back to the couch. “I want to be able to explain it to my readers, too.”
“Would you say that you’ve entered into a BDSM or Dominant/submissive relationship?”
Avia sipped her coffee and considered. “No. At least, not yet. I mean, he says he’s a Dominant and I seem to like being submissive during sex, but …the Companionship contract is just about this quest he’s on to reach what he calls Ecstatic Orgasm.”