by Diane Leyne
“That series you did last year on battered women. It was powerful. I figure you won’t take any bullshit from the good doctor. Are you interested?”
“Yes, you know I am, but how am I going to attend if you won’t tell me where?”
“I can’t take the risk of the location being leaked. I’m taking a big enough risk sneaking you in. My assistant Fred will pick you up tonight at seven, and you’ll go as his plus one.”
“Dress code? Do I need to dig out some leather?”
“The formal invite says, ‘No jeans. Whips and chains optional.’”
“Seriously?”
“Actually, yes. So whatever you want, but there will be press there and a number of VIPs, I imagine, since there are some big-deal movers and shakers who frequent this place.”
“Why are you doing this, really?”
Margo hesitated.
“The truth needs to be told.” Then the phone went dead.
She checked her watch. It was 4:00 p.m. She had three hours to learn everything she could about BDSM and Dr. Joshua McClain and then get ready for a party.
* * * *
Kris was still sitting on the stoop twenty minutes later, researching Dr. McClain and BDSM instead of soy beans, when her other upstairs neighbor returned from work, riding his trusty Schwinn. She found herself immediately slamming the laptop shut, but her face still flamed at the thought that he might see her perusing sites on whipping and bondage.
Dr. Damon Redmeyne was a committed cyclist. On the weekends she’d see him going out in his spandex shorts and those funny little shoes with the hard soles that made clicking noises as he walked and snapped into his bike pedals. But during the week, he wore what she liked to think of as his work uniform of cords or khakis, golf shirt, and jacket. Today he was wearing a pair of baggy olive-green cords with a cream-colored golf shirt and a black-and-red bike helmet. He had a khaki messenger bag slung across his chest. She watched him disappear into the small gap between the houses and park his bike in the garage before reappearing a few minutes later. He had his bike helmet tucked under his arm as he ran his hands through his long hair before tying it back and away from his face.
He really was quite cute as well, in a nerdy, academic kind of way, and really appealed to her, too. He was the quiet one, and she sometimes wondered what he was thinking when she and Brad were laughing and joking their way through a shared meal while Damon just watched them both. When they were alone together, though, conversation never flagged. Damon was amazingly intelligent, with a dry sense of humor, and he always kept her entertained.
But sometimes when it was the three of them and Brad was holding forth with one of his many amusing stories about life in the fire hall, Damon’s dark, enigmatic eyes sometimes seemed to look right inside her. More than once she’d felt her panties dampen when he’d focused his intense gaze on her, a gaze that belied that casual air he cultivated with his clothes and bike. Sometimes she thought she was imagining things because she’d look at him again, and he had his usual mild expression, but every now and then she caught him studying her with that concentrated expression and wondered what he was thinking.
While he wasn’t as muscular as his boyfriend, Kris knew from seeing him in his spandex weekend riding clothes that his lanky body was very well toned. And once, when it had been really hot, he’d stripped off his top and used it to wipe the sweat off his face, and she’d been extremely impressed by his ripped abdomen. She’d wondered what the rest of him looked like naked. She also thought about what it looked like when he and Brad got naked together, and she found the thought surprisingly hot.
She knew Damon and Brad, at thirty-five, were five years older than she was, and that been together for a few years. She watched them interact sometimes and felt envious of their obvious love for one another. She hadn’t been in a relationship for almost two years. She’d dated a bit, but her job required odd hours sometimes, and she just didn’t have the energy right now to head out into the jungle of singles on the prowl, so she devoted herself to her career and fantasized about her upstairs neighbors while using her battery-operated boyfriend.
Damon parked his bike and then came around to the front steps.
“You just missed Brad. It looked like he was rushing off to work.”
Damon sighed. “He texted me. Big four-alarm fire on the east side. They’ve called all of the off-duty guys in.” His tone was neutral, but he looked worried.
“Brad’s good at what he does. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She paused and looked down at the laptop balanced on her knees. “You’ve worked at the university in the Sociology Department for a few years.” It was a statement, not a question. She knew where he worked.
“Yup.” He looked intently at her.
“Do you know Joshua McClain? Work with him, maybe?”
The smile left his face quickly. “Sure I know Josh. But he’s on sabbatical this year.”
“Josh? You are friends?”
“Yeah. We’ve known each other since grad school. He was working on his PhD when I was working on my Masters.”
“You’re in the same field more or less?” She could see he was curious and not too pleased with the direction of her questions, but she was a journalist. She was trained to ask the tough questions. She realized that she was also very interested in his answer. Was her tweedy professor of her fantasies a secret Dom? Not bloody likely.
“Broadly. We’re both in the sociology field, but he specializes in BDSM and my field is family therapy.”
“I understand he has a book coming out, a somewhat controversial book.”
“That’s what they say.” His tone was cautious.
She looked at him. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked wary.
“Have you read it?”
“It’s not out for a few days.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No it isn’t.” He now looked slightly amused as he stared at her with those dark eyes
“Are you going to the book launch tonight?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. I’d heard about it from an acquaintance.” Even though there was no way he knew Margo or would ever know that was who she was talking about, she couldn’t bring herself to claim Margo as a friend. “She claims that it is a dangerous book, degrading to women, and will encourage men to abuse their wives and girlfriends.”
“Are you asking as a woman or a journalist?”
“Does it matter? Why can’t I be both at the same time?”
“If you were asking as a woman, I might discuss the facts about BDSM and how there are a lot of misconceptions that need debunking. Since you are asking as a journalist, then all I can say is read the book before you make a judgement.
“Now please excuse me. I have early dinner plans, and I don’t want to be late.”
Kris sat back and watched him hurry up the stairs. She was surprised at the abruptness of his departure. That wasn’t like him. She wondered if she had said something that upset him. If she knew what it was, she’d take it back. She’d have to make, or rather order in, dinner for the three of them sometime soon and then apologize once she found out what she’d done.
One thing was clear and interesting, though. Damon was friends with the guru of BDSM and seemed supportive. She wondered if he and Brad were into BDSM. If they were, she imagined that Brad would be the one in charge. She couldn’t see the hunky fireman submitting to the lanky academic. And she found herself wondering if they’d ever let her watch, all in the name of research, of course, and purely as an observer. No way would she ever let a man beat her, no matter what fancy names they dreamed up for it, but it might be hot to see Brad spank Damon’s ass before taking it.
Chapter Two
Damon could see that Kris’s face still flamed bright red as she stood in the elevator waiting for the doors to slide closed. Hurrying, he was able to slide his hand in and block them. He could see that Kris’s face got redder when she saw who was holdin
g the elevator. Clearly she hadn’t noticed him earlier in her enthusiasm to disrupt the book launch.
Damon knew his expression was forbidding. He wanted to look intimidating. He felt satisfaction when he saw Kris swallow uncomfortably.
He also enjoyed the shock on her face as she looked him up and down. She was used to seeing him in his normal professional costume. But here at the club, he was wearing leather pants and nothing else. At any other time, he’d have been amused by her shock, but right now, he was angry, blazingly angry as he thrust the book into her hand.
“Read this. I’ll come by when the party’s over. We need to talk.”
She took the book automatically and he watched as the door closed and the elevator started its descent. She looked shocked and confused and repentant. She’d look even more repentant when he was done with her. He’d known Kris for months. Hell, he and Brad talked to her almost every day. They ate together, laughed together and just casually hung out together. He, they, both thought she was an amazing woman. She’d been open-minded with them from day one. Even today, there were some people who had trouble with the notion of a gay couple, but she wasn’t one of them, which made him even more disappointed in her reaction to the book.
Damon worked at the university with Joshua and had been thrilled to be invited to the launch of his book, The Dominant’s Guide to Owning and Training a Sex Slave. There had been so much crap written in the last few years about the BDSM lifestyle, most of it written by people who wouldn’t recognize a true Dominant if he, or she, bent them over and paddled their ass.
And then Joshua wrote his book. It wasn’t fiction. It was a cross between a primer and a how-to book. Sure the title was pretty provocative, but it had to catch people’s attention. You had to get the reader to pick up the book. If they did, they’d find a well written, even witty, explanation of the lifestyle, as well as detailed instructions on how to incorporate the practices safely into your own life. And for every aspect of the practice, Joshua had covered the full spectrum. Like with impact play, he covered how to spice things up with a light spanking all the way through to how to safely send a sub into subspace using canes or even a whip but only after extensive training and practice under the supervision of someone who knew what they were doing.
Things were going great and Joshua and his submissive Jillian were taking questions when Kris stepped up. Cute little Jillian could hardly be seen in the crowd of reporters until she wriggled to the front. He should have spotted her glowing red hair, though, even in the crowd. He was amused to note that she was conservatively dressed as usual as she tried to disguise her slightly plump figure with loose, dark clothing. Didn’t she realize that most men had no interest in stick figures? They liked a woman they didn’t have to worry would break in two when they fucked her, especially if she was sandwiched between two horny men.
He had been surprised to see Kris there at first and then pleased. Maybe she would be open-minded about BDSM. And then she’d asked her question and his stomach dropped. With just a few words, she’d outraged and horrified everyone in the room except the other reporters, who smelled a juicy story.
Luckily Jillian had not only nipped things in the bud but had given them a new and better story as she dropped to her knees and declared her love and submission to Josh.
He’d watched as Kris had listened to her words and seen the devotion and happiness in both their faces. He’d seen on her face the exact moment when she realized that she’d gotten it all terribly wrong. To give her credit, she’d apologised to Jillian immediately and Jillian, being the woman she was, had accepted it before Kris was hustled out of the club. He’d just been able to thrust the book into her hands before the elevator whisked her away. He’d thought for a split second of going with her, but he quickly realized that he was too angry right now. He needed to try and calm down a little before he went home and paddled her ass.
* * * *
Kris stretched and looked at the clock, wondering when Damon would arrive. It was almost 4:00 a.m. She’d changed into a pair of loose sweatpants and a tank top and gotten comfortable while reading and waiting for Damon, but she found she kept dropping off.
She yawned. It wasn’t that the book was boring. Far from it, she found herself fascinated. The book was so very different from what she’d expected. Oh, it had descriptions of racy acts, and the corresponding photos and diagrams were a cross between titillating and academic, but it also included a lot of clear instructions, explanations of the full range of each activity from the mildest play to full-on hard-core immersion, and emphasized safety and mutual enjoyment.
Kris looked down at the book in her hands. Under the racy title that drew the eye, was the subtitle that she hadn’t originally noticed, The Couple’s Guide to Expanding Sexual Horizons in a way that’s Safe, Sane, Consensual, and Mutually Fulfilling. She snorted as she laughed. If that had been the primary title, the book wouldn’t have made quite such a stir in the media or led to the movie deal that had been announced. Damn. She wished she’d noticed it earlier, say, before she’d made a fool of herself?
She’d skimmed through the table of contents at first. The foreword to the book emphasized that it wasn’t about one person having permission to abuse the other. It talked about the difference between BDSM, which included spanking or even caning a willing subject in a way that left anything from some pink marks and stinging up to and including deep bruises and potentially even breaking the skin in extreme cases, and assault, which was punching, hitting, and kicking that left broken ribs, black eyes, and possible internal damage. Also, BDSM, the author emphasized, was done with the full consent of the submissive and would stop at the utterance of a safe word, no matter how into the scene the Dominant was.
Multiple times, the author emphasized that if the activities weren’t mutually satisfying and agreed to, then they were assault and a criminal matter. The ultimate aim of the book was to help couples find new and satisfying ways to achieve sexual pleasure, not to legitimize abuse.
Kris started by flipping through the book. It started with stern instructions about how the sub or slave ultimately had to have the power to control what happened to them and finished with a chapter on something called “aftercare” and included details on dozens of activities, some of which actively shocked Kris.
She’d been fascinated reading the section on hard and soft limits and negotiating what was or was not acceptable. The amount of emphasis on mutual decision making and respect for the sub’s limits and safety was not at all what she’d expected. Sure, there were photos and descriptions of “slaves” kneeling at their Master’s feet, naked and restrained, and other photos and descriptions of the various implements that could be used to “discipline” a sub, including very detailed instructions on how to do it safely and how to control the amount of pain that was delivered. There was also a huge emphasis on being able to read the body language of the recipient to gauge the appropriate level of intensity.
And the photos of subs tied up in Shibari ropes or knots were actually quite beautiful.
She was deep into a chapter on Discipline and finding herself strangely aroused when she heard a knock on the door. Startled, she dropped the book as she sat up abruptly. The knock was repeated impatiently.
“It’s Damon. Open up.”
Kris hurried to the door and opened it. He was still wearing his leather pants, but she was saddened to see that he had a polo shirt on. But she quickly stopped thinking about his wardrobe as she realized he was still unhappy with her, although the blazing anger was gone.
“I ought to put you over my knee for the way you behaved at the Club. To think Brad and I discussed bringing you there with us one night to play. I thought you were more open-minded, that you would take the time to understand, rather than condemning the lifestyle out of hand, with no knowledge whatsoever.”
He sighed, the disappointment evident in his face and his posture, his shoulders bowed and slumped. For some reason, this bothered her more than
the anger. She reached out to touch his arm.
“I’m sorry, really I am. When I saw the look on Jillian’s face and heard her words”—Kris felt the color drain from her face as she relived the scene in her mind—“I realized that I’d been an absolute idiot. I let my own family history blind me to the fact that Margo was using me. I was convinced I had the makings of a high-profile story that would both save people from a depraved practice and also make my name. Instead, I hurt people.” She looked over at Damon. His expression was unreadable as he seemed to be waiting for her to continue. “I did manage to apologize to Jillian before I left. She seemed to understand.
“And I’m not writing that article. Although reading the book has given me an idea for an article I would like to write, with your help.”
She stared at Damon.
She hoped that he would understand that she was more upset that she’d hurt people and not because she lost a story. She’d made a fool of herself, but that wasn’t her main concern. She had to make him understand that she’d jumped to a conclusion that she was now ashamed of, but since he knew a bit about her family background, surely it was understandable, especially with Margo egging her on. Damn, she’d been gullible. She was a fool.
She saw his gaze shift to the book on the ground. It had fallen open on the page she’d been reading. He saw her color when she realized that the photo showed a naked woman with her hands tied behind her back, draped over the lap of a man. His hand was blurred as it was caught in midstrike, about to come down hard on her bottom, the motion captured by the skilled photographer.
Kris followed his gaze to the photo. The woman’s ass glowed red from earlier spanks, and her face was obscured by a blindfold, but it was clear from her body language and the part of her face that could be seen that she was highly aroused. His face had been cropped out of the photo, but the body… She looked at Damon and back at the photo. Could that be him?