Really?
This is a fantasy, remember? she types back.
Mentally, I scold myself for being so quick to type that. What an amateur!
Just seeing if you were paying attention. Okay, I like to fuck hard. Push that cock into your sweet cunt. Is it vibrating?’
Oh yeah,’ she writes. And you want me to do it real hard, don’t’ you?
Real hard. Slam my cock into your hot pussy, baby. Slam me in there until you’re ready to pop, then stop.
I wait, stroking my cock as I think about my real cock going into her tight virgin canal. Man, I want her!
I’m on the edge. Now what? she sends me.
The grin that forms is something I’m sure looks sadistic as I type, Place that cock in your mouth and taste yourself, baby.
No fucking way!
DO IT! I wait and wait.
After about three minutes, she sends, Oh my God! I did it! And I kind of made out with the vibrator. Oh God! I’m sick, aren’t I? Oh, don’t bother answering that. I know I am. I need to go. You have me doing terrible things. Bye.
You’re not sick, Jade. Fuck, stop being such a prudish baby!
I am a prude, aren’t I? Her words echo in my head. I’ll never be an erotic or even a comedy romance writer. I’ll most likely write boring articles for the newspaper and live in a house full of cats. Sorry to have bothered you.
Sitting up, I hurriedly type, Don’t end this! Please, don’t. Jade, I’d like to talk to you more. I really would. I’m the kind of man who likes to see dreams come to fruition, much like in the scenes I create with the subs. And damn it, I want to create something for you. How about a scene where you’re already a celebrated author of erotic romance? A cool, sultry vixen you are. At your first awards ceremony, I escort you to the podium to accept your award as the best writer in the universe.’
This is silly, she writes back, but I’m happy she’s still there.
No, it’s not. Help me create it. What are you wearing to this awards ceremony?
I like myself in black. Most of my clothes are black.
What color are your eyes? I ask her.
Brown, well, a kind of golden brown.
I see you in a yellow, flowing, nearly see-through dress. It billows out behind you as I hold you by the waist possessively. The world thinks you’re mine, and I’m proud to be at your side as you take the stage. Your creamy thighs make brief appearances through long slits in the dress as you glide over the tan marbled floor. And then a tall, elegant woman, wearing a short, tight, red dress, hands you a crystal trophy. Your name is etched in the crystal: Writer of the Year, Jade Thomas. And then you look into my eyes.
She asks, What color are they?
I’m glad to see she’s getting into it and type, Blueish brown. Hazel is what they’re called. When you look into them, I can see your depth. You have honesty and courage, and I’m lost in your gaze. The people are all cheering, and I turn you to look at them, then slap your ass, making them all cheer. You blush and drop your gorgeous head. I take your chin with two of my fingers and make you look up and tell you how perfect you are.
Then do we kiss? she asks, and I can almost feel her breathless question even though it’s only written words.
Our mouths make slow progress to the others. Our lips touch and heat builds inside of us both. Then my tongue eases through your lips, taking your tongue, making it submit to mine. I move my tongue around yours in a dance that sends it into a frenzy of lusty need as I cradle you in my strong arms.
Ahem. So in this little fantasy, other than the slap on my ass, what else occurs in the punishment department? she asks.
I feel she’s too into the punishment part of what this is all about and admonish her quickly, Jade, I didn’t ask you to ask me questions. I told you to add to the fantasy what you wanted to. You have to quit acting as if this is about punishment all the time. If you want me to take you by the neck with my belt and haul your sweet ass off stage where I throw you up against the wall and take you right there on the backstage, then say that. DO NOT ask me what I’ll do to you! This is your fantasy. Tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull your dress away from your breasts and take a flogger to them as your fans watch? Or would you like to be a bit more discreet and have me escort you off stage then take you to your dressing room and bend you over the chair you sat in when they did your hair and makeup and smack your ass until you cry, then shove my cock into your wet pussy?
Damn! is her reply.
I tell her the same thing, Damn, is right. Your mind is narrow where BDSM is concerned. You’ve formed your opinions on the trash you’ve read in those stupid little novels. Here in my world, things aren’t always glowing brightly in the sun, but sometimes they are. All is not dark. All is not sinister. And all is not as the fairy tales lead you all to believe. Pain is a part of life, and when one finds it can be turned into pleasure you could never get anywhere else, it becomes addictive. Don’t judge until you’ve been there, Jade Thomas!
You’re right, Pierce. This was a mistake. Bye.
NO!
I wait and wait, but she’s gone. She’s really gone. And I’m left feeling emptier than I’ve ever been …
Jade
Chills fill my body as I lie on my bed and wonder why I just did what I did. Why in God’s name would I allow myself to jump into such a thing with a Dom? Am I insane?
Looking at the closed laptop that’s sitting on the edge of my bed, I wonder if Pierce is frantic about losing touch with me or could not care less. I’m sure it’s the latter.
I’m a silly girl, a naïve person who took on more than I could handle. The man took me over so quickly. I lost control of everything— the interview and my body. My mind was lost somewhere in that time too.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I pull a plump pillow into my arms and snuggle with it. I didn’t get to have an orgasm, and that left me feeling frustrated. But I have to admit I’m more than sexually frustrated. The way I ended things was abrupt, and the idea of loose ends needing to be cut spins around my brain.
Letting the pillow go, I open the computer again and see he’s left one more message after I ended our discussion. Jade, please contact me whenever you want. I feel you need my help. I’m here for you. Anytime. Sorry about moving too fast for you. And sorry about spoiling your interview.
Closing the laptop, I lie back and try to picture the man. He said his hair is brown, short on the sides and long enough on top I could run my hands through it. His eyes are hazel, and I bet they’re soulful. The way he communicated wasn’t what I’d expected. He did get dominating a few times. It seems to be his nature, not an act.
Bringing up the itch that one can’t scratch has me thinking that some people must get an idea in their head about acting out things that others would find frightening. I’m reminded of the time my parents took me to a theme park in France. There was an enormous roller coaster, and I was afraid of it. You could hear the riders screaming in terror from all over the park. Yet I wanted to ride it too.
As we stood in the long line, waiting for our turn, I recall being so afraid I almost left the line. But then a surge of adrenaline would flow through me, and I’d grow excited about doing it. In the end, the ride was scary but fun, and I did enjoy it.
So I sit up on my bed, cross my legs, and pick up my laptop to see if Pierce really meant what he said. I type, Sorry for the rude behavior. I was out of my comfort zone. Did you really mean you’d still like to help me?
Yes, comes his quick reply. And please accept my apology. I moved far too quickly. So, ask me anything you want to.
I smile as I look at the screen, wishing I could see his face but not daring to ask that of him. Not after what I pulled. So I type in another question, Are people actually auctioned off?
They are. There are four different auctions at our club, as well as times when different groups gather there. I belong to the heterosexual group where men are Doms and women are Subs. The other three groups are wome
n who are the Doms and men who are the subs, then there are the lesbians, then the gay men. It just makes things easier to keep us all separated. And all groups do have auctions.’
If purchased, does the person have to stay with the person who bought them? And for how long? I ask, then get up to go get myself a bottle of water.
When I get back and climb onto my bed, pulling the laptop onto my lap, I see he’s answered, Auctions are done with the time limits stated in the contracts the people sign. There can be nightly auctions, weekly, monthly, and I’ve even seen one that was for one year. The most common are weekly. During that time, it’s up to the individuals if they stay together or meet at the club in private rooms or whatever they want to do. It’s all up to them. But money is exchanged for the purchase. And the person who’s auctioned off gets a percentage of that money.’
“Prostitution,” I whisper. Then type, Isn’t that illegal?
The clubs pay taxes, so no, it’s not. And the auctioned subjects are called entertainers in the contracts. The contracts are worded much like hiring an actor.
But aren’t there sexually explicit things in many of the contracts? I ask, as the ones I’ve read about are very explicit.
Yes, but things of that nature can be legal. Think about the porn industry and how they’re paid to do what they do. And that’s all legal, mostly, because they pay their taxes. Where the government is concerned, it’s all about the money.
“The wicked dollar,” I say out loud. I need to put the financial thing to the side and focus on the other questions I have. Have you ever paid for it?
My dues to the club are all I’ve ever paid. The women I’ve met at the club are given money to be there. So, inadvertently, I’ve paid. Did I just lose your respect, Jade?
Not entirely, I answer him. But I am intrigued by the money factor. Women are paid to allow you to hit them. And now I have a much better idea of why some of them do this sort of thing.
It’s really not about the money. I don’t think it is, anyway. There’s a long pause, then he adds, I think I’ll ask a few of the women I’ve been with if that’s a big factor in why they do this. You really are an excellent interviewer. You make me think. I like that.
Happy with having him like me, I type, It’s odd to me, the way you make me feel. I just got a rush out of making you happy.
As you should. It was born into you, Jade. As a woman, making people happy is a basic instinct. If a baby cries, it normally triggers a woman’s instinct to find out why it’s crying and do what she can to make it stop. She wants the baby happy and healthy. It makes her feel good.
I see what you’re saying, Pierce.
So you can understand why some women in BDSM like to cater to their Dom? It makes them feel good. And as the Doms, we want our subs to feel good. That means if we take on a submissive for an extended period of time, we take care of the bills and the making of the rules. We take that off her back so she can do what she wants to. Make us excellent meals, take pride in the laundry and how clean the house is.
I laugh and type back, See, you lost me there. I and many other women don’t get our rocks off by folding laundry and cooking. I’m a pretty terrible cook. My only culinary skills are in the sandwich department. And I can nuke a mean frozen meal.
You’re single, right?
I am. I live alone. I have for the last five years, I answer him.
No one to cook or clean for, baby. If I was coming home to you every night, I bet you’d like to have me a clean home to come to after a hard day’s work. I bet you’d enjoy learning how to make me a home cooked meal. Did your mother cook for her family?
Mum cooked, yes.’
Did she act like she was put out about doing it? Or was she proud of what she served you all?
She took pride in her meals most times. I shake my head, as he’s turned things around in my head again. So you’re saying that I don’t fully understand things of this nature because I live alone. I have no boyfriend whom I could cater to. So there’s no way I can understand this at all.’
Pretty much. You should get yourself a man, Jade.
Truthfully, I reply, There are none who interest me at this point. Picking up just any guy wouldn’t have me experiencing this euphoric state of being a homemaker, Pierce. Nor would handing my body over to just any guy, either.
Tell me what you look for physically in a man, Jade.
You’re going to laugh, but here it goes. I like muscles, tons of them. I’m average height at five feet six inches, but I want a man to tower over me. He should be over six feet tall. And he should be extraordinarily handsome. I’m pretty hard to please, you see. I laugh as I wait for him to tell me how spoiled I am or something of that nature.
There are men like that, Jade. Keep your eyes peeled. You’re not asking for too much. And on that note, what are you doing to make yourself attractive to this fine specimen of manhood if you ever cross paths with him?
Looking at my sweatpants, which are baggy and the equally baggy shirt, I look into the mirror that hangs above my dresser. No makeup covers my pale skin. I need to get out into the sun more. My hair is hanging in limp strands, doing nothing to help my appearance.
The ding tells me he’s added something, and I read his words, How about the crotch area? Do you keep it nice and tidy or is it a bushy nightmare? You should think about how accessible it is. If you meet Mr. Right, will he need a weed whacker to get to your juicy goods or is it readily available for his snacking pleasure?
Pulling the elastic band of my sweat pants, I look down at the unkempt area and shudder. Um, I think I need to step up my game. Not that I ever had one, I write.
You should get on top of that. You should groom yourself just as much as you find attractive on a man. If you’re out of shape, do something about that. Eat right, exercise, do what you need to in order to be in the kind of shape you want in a man. So, how bad off are you, Jade?’
I’m a good weight for my frame. I could use some toning in the muscle department. I do have a problem with clothing. I can never pick out good things to wear. My weekend garb is most often sweatsuits, and my daily wear is jeans and pullovers. A raggedy pair of sneakers rounds out my ensembles.’
I tell you what. Give me your measurements and your address and I’ll send you some things. I’ll need your shoe size as well. And I happen to have an excellent regimen for shaving that leaves your skin bump and ingrown hair-free.’
Shaking my head, as I just don’t understand this man, I type, Why would you do all that? It’s not as if we’ll ever meet. And if we did, I wouldn’t be the girl for you anyway.
Just let me help you, Jade. I want to. It’d help a lot if you’d send me a pic. Not a nude one. Just a full body picture with something on besides frumpy clothing. So I can get an idea of your body type and pick out clothes that would look good on it.
Are you some kind of a professional stylist, Pierce? I ask him as I laugh and scroll through my cell to see if I have any pictures of myself.
No, but I know what I like, and think I can be of service to you. So, are you going to send me a picture?
I find one that isn’t too awful. It was taken before I cut my hair, though. If you’ll send me your phone number, I can text one to you.
756-666-0097.
K, I’m sending it now. And how about you send me one of you? Just so I can put a face to your name.
I send the picture of myself and soon after, get one of him. A gasp comes out of me as I look at the hot man. He looks tall as he’s standing next to a bar. He’s in a black tux which fits him perfectly. He’s a big guy. Very well-muscled under those clothes, I bet. And his eyes look as soulful as I thought they would. Although not cheery or sweet, he wears an expression that says he’s well aware of who he is.
Then I realize that I’ve told him what I find attractive in a man and he must’ve gotten this photo off the Internet and sent it to me as himself. What a jerk!
Is this picture really of you, Pierce? Because you
can be real with me. It’s not like we’re ever going to meet anyway. If you’re short and plump, that’s okay, you know.
The picture is of me. That was taken last week at a fundraiser. And may I tell you that your bone structure is breathtaking? You need more sun and need to learn how to dress for the curvy figure you have, but you have potential to be a great beauty, Jade.
Even though he can’t see me, I blush with his words. He thinks I have potential to be a great beauty!
Pierce
Thump goes my cock as I look at the picture she sent me. Long black hair shines in the sunlight as Jade stands in front of a pond, smiling at whoever took the picture of her. A long black skirt that goes to the ground and a white blouse, buttoned all the way up, cover her curves. Delightful curves that beg to be accentuated.
“Oh, but you have promise, my little beauty,” I mutter as I gaze at her.
Though her face is pale, it’s gorgeous. The slightest bit of a tan is all she’d need to be perfect. I cannot wait to buy her something to wear that would suit her. A dress, I think. Maybe in a lavender shade to highlight the natural blue hues in her dark black hair. Her eyes shine out with a happy innocence, and her lips are plump. Ripe for the kissing!
I type, You and I should meet.
A long time passes. Too damn long. But I hold out for her to answer me.
Pierce, I went to the bathroom. Sorry that took so long. I see your little message here and have to let you know that I’m not going to become one of your subs. I have no desire for that at all. I do, however, love talking to you. We could have an online thing. I could get my camera fixed on my laptop, if you know what I mean?
My body tenses as I think about only having her through a camera’s lens. I’m afraid that will never do. I use tactics to make her jealous. I’ll have to get my physical needs met by someone here, I guess.
I assumed you would anyway, she responds.
Not what I wanted at all!
I could have my jet bring you to me, Jade. I wait and chew on a pencil. I’m never this tense about something like this!
For Love & Torture_A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 27