Excited, I leaned over and bit David’s lip, sucking it into my mouth and tasting him. “I love you, David.”
He smiled at me, face softening. “And I adore you, my pet. Be gentle with me. I’ve never been tied up and punished before.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Does that mean you’re a virgin?”
He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving sensuously upward. “I guess you could say that.”
Mmm. This was too wonderful, too perfect. I cupped his face between my hands again and gave him a loud, deep kiss. “Don’t worry, Sir, this will be a beautiful, sensual experience that neither of us will ever forget.”
And it was.
****
Madeleine debuted at number three on the New York Times bestseller list. Second and third printings have been issued. The novel has also been an enormous success with the critics. The Boston Chronicle calls it a “clever, suspenseful story of sex, obsession and love. One part satire, like Terry Southern’s Candy, to ten parts erotic, like Pauline Reage’s The Story of O.”
David is currently in the middle of a book reading at The Amateur Sleuth, a local bookstore that caters to mystery and suspense aficionados. The place is jam-packed with fans—the line about three blocks long. They can’t all listen to David’s reading, but they’re patiently waiting for the book signing to begin. The independent bookseller had to order hundreds of copies of Madeleine for today’s event. The bookseller doesn’t mind the clutter. He’s so happy I thought he would have a coronary. And why wouldn’t he be happy? Dude will make more money in one day than he’s made in months. David J. Seton has been great for the local economy. Everyone loves him.
The whole gang is here, identical twinkles of delight flickering across their faces. They’re happy about David’s success, but they’re also excited about other things.
Alfred Williams’s toothy grins are brighter than ever now. Not only has he snatched up one of the biggest-selling authors of today, but Bookends AtoZ is no longer in trouble, to put it mildly. He spent a large of sum of money doing a big PR campaign for this book, and it’s paid off in spades. Alfred will be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He’s thinking of opening a new office in the Boston area, but he’s not sure he wants to leave Northampton yet. He’s not rushing into things, just soaking up the success by spending most of his weekends playing golf. Other big name authors might soon join our quaint little pub house. Alfred is keeping a close eye on quite a few contenders.
Jeremy has finally found a boyfriend. His name is Nick and he’s one of David’s exclusive artists. Jeremy no longer has time to meddle in other people’s lives—in fact, he seems to have no time for anyone other than Nick. They share a chic condo in the Florence area and spend most of their time buying expensive furniture and getting photographed for the local gay and lesbian magazines and newspapers. Apparently, they are The Queer Bohemian’s “hottest gay couple.”
Magda is pregnant. Her mother won’t be able to move in now, since the spare bedroom will soon become the baby’s nursery. I’m sure Magda’s pretty bummed out about it. (Teehee!)
By the way, Magda has finally written her first novel. It’s called The Mommy-from-Hell Diaries and it’ll be out some time next year. I’m editing it. The book is friggin’ hilarious, as I knew it would be.
Mitch’s New York column is a major hit. His popularity has landed him his very own late-night talk radio show. He’s currently working on his second collection of essays, and Bookends will publish it early next summer. He called me one night to ask how I’d been, and also to tell me that he was now a trained submissive. He devotes his spare time getting his jollies at an obscure fetish club in Albany. It could only be Quinn Armitage’s fetish club. I mean, how many more private fetish clubs in Albany could there be? I questioned David about it. Laughing, he confessed that he sent Mitch over to Raven, the sexy dark-haired Dominatrix-slash-tax-lawyer-slash-fetish-fashion-designer. Mitch is now one of her little pet slaves.
David’s art gallery is going very well. He’s got five exclusive clients, one of whom is Quinn Armitage. According to Dana J. Seton, who moved to New York a few months ago and now works exclusively with Quinn, his passion for art has been rekindled, and he has reclaimed his title as the Marquis de Sade of the art world. Hmm. I wonder if Dana had anything to do with Quinn’s “rekindled passion” for art.
As for me… well, David and I were married seven months after he proposed to me. We had a quiet ceremony at a small church near Amherst. We spent our honeymoon in Rio de Janeiro, where we engaged in some rather erotic, not to mention risky activities during the Carnival season. I won’t go into detail, all I can say is that one of our encounters involved a couple of Papier-mâché masks, a wrought-iron balcony on a third-floor honeymoon suite, and David taking me from behind as the festival progressed down below us. I don’t know if anyone saw us, but it sure felt incredibly liberating, not to mention amazing, to be fucked in public.
In case you’re wondering, I’m not pregnant, nor do we plan on having children any time soon. Maybe someday we will have kids, but right now we’re having way too much fun to consider parenting.
Six months have passed since our wedding, and things are going extremely well for us. Our lovemaking is as uninhibited and adventurous as ever. David is still very much in control, and is constantly ordering me to do outlandish things for him. He has given me a new ankle bracelet and toe ring set. The anklet has no clasp, no fastener to remove it. The jeweler had to use a small soldiering gun to permanently lock the bracelet to my ankle. The bracelet is made of very solid metal, and I won’t be able to free myself from it, at least not easily. David’s message is very clear. We’re married, and our marriage is intended to be forever, so that makes me his slave for life. Does it scare me? Yes, it does. Old habits die hard, but I don’t let it get to me. I love the fact that I belong to David, body and soul. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’m still learning new things about my husband, and every discovery is as shocking as it is wonderful. Today, for instance, I’ve discovered that David suffers from stage fright. He almost broke into a cold sweat when we arrived at the bookstore. I had to calm him down and assure him that it was going to be all right.
And now, as David reads passages from his book, casting occasional glances my way, love and desire smoldering in his green depths, my breath catches in my chest when I grab a copy of Madeleine and read his dedication for the umpteenth time.
“To Marjorie—my editor, my wife, my pet. I may be the one holding the flogger, but I’m the one who’s whipped.”
Laughing softly, I turn my gaze back to him. He is looking at me. I smile, mouth, “I love you, Sir,” and melt when he smiles back.
Of all the small bohemian towns in the entire world, that bastard had to walk into mine. And, oh man, I’m so glad he did! I was once a sad, lonely, miserable woman who ran away from love. Until I met him.
The Dom of my dreams.
The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel Page 32