Intense 2

by Hebert, Cambria

  I felt bad that things had gone wrong that night – I should have just cancelled the session entirely, given the gig, but I was too focused on trying to fit everything in. It was my fault for being preoccupied.

  "My band's playing at O'Riley's at ten."

  I left the washroom and she followed me to the front entrance, where I slipped on my shoes.

  "Your band's more important than me?"

  "Allie…" I said, my voice low. I shook my head but said nothing more. She knew my private life was not her concern.

  "Don't be mad at me." She leaned on the wall, watching me as I slipped on my jacket. "I can't help it if I'm disappointed. I was looking forward to tonight."

  "I'm not mad," I said, but it was a lie. "I'm disappointed. You know the rules. You agreed to our terms. We're going to have a little talk on Saturday night about what happened and what to do about it."

  "I’ll come to O’Riley’s and we can talk after. I’ve never heard your band play.”

  I shook my head. “No, Allie. You know the rules.”

  She exhaled with barely-contained frustration. “Come back after your gig," she said. "We can talk then. I don't want to wait until Saturday."

  I shook my head. "I have early surgery tomorrow."

  "What about tomorrow night?"

  "We're playing at The Front."

  "Come by after. We can do a scene. I promise I'll be a perfect sub. We can talk then." She said nothing for a moment while I slipped on my jacket. "You could stay the night," she said softly. "You have no surgery on Saturday so it doesn't matter how late we are. We could have breakfast."

  I shook my head, exasperated with her but fighting my inclination to raise my voice.

  "Allie," I said, my eyes meeting hers, trying to hold her gaze but she avoided me. I took her chin in my hand. "Why are you doing this? I don’t sleep over. You know that. I don't do breakfast."

  She pulled away and stood at the door, her eyes not meeting mine. "I deserve more."

  There. She said it.

  I stopped and inhaled deeply. "If you feel that way, then you do." I cupped her face with my hand, stroked her cheek. She couldn’t avoid looking me in the eyes. "I can't give it to you. I'm sorry."

  Her eyes brimmed but then she forced a smile. "Forget it. Just forget I said it. Let's go back to normal."

  I hesitated, not sure if we could go back to 'normal' now that she admitted she wanted more.

  "We'll talk more on Saturday night." I opened the door and then I turned back. "Be ready for me. In proper position." I leaned in and kissed her on the lips then I stroked her cheek briefly.

  She forced another smile. "See you."

  I left without looking back, my mind already focused on getting to O'Riley's in time for our gig.

  Any endorphins from my recent orgasm quickly dissipated and I felt a sense of gloom that even the prospect of my band playing our new set couldn't dispel. I knew in my heart that Allie and I were probably over. Saturday night would be confirmation. I couldn't see my way to working things out with her. She'd be disappointed unless we moved the relationship beyond what I wanted and needed.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  While I drove to O’Riley’s, I thought about Allie.

  A law student Lara found for me when my previous submissive and I parted ways, Allie had initially ticked off all the boxes in my to-have list for submissives. Her body was fit from taking martial arts, she was attractive, and she was intelligent.

  I wanted a strong woman, mentally and emotionally, who happened to get turned on by power exchange in the bedroom. Women who were professional, who were intelligent, and who had their own mind but chose to turn it off during sex so they could go places they couldn’t on their own. Women with a kink for being tied up, helpless, and at my complete mercy for the hour or two we were together for mind-blowing sex.

  It meant things were a bit more complicated for I had to manage their will, which occasionally broke through, asserting itself.

  Like Allie’s was.

  When I first met her at the café where Lara and I went for coffee, Allie regarded me with a determination I found amusing. I knew she was the kind of submissive who had her own mind and will and strength, but wanted to give that up to me. Her bold gaze made me want to see her on her knees.

  Sure enough, when we were alone that first time, she became completely submissive, as if her perfectly put together persona was a façade and she couldn’t wait to turn over her power to me. I enjoyed our scenes for she loved being blindfolded, gagged and restrained while I tortured her with pleasure.

  In the last couple of months, things had changed. Subtly at first. More episodes of deliberate disobedience when I would have to administer a spanking. Then, she confessed about her secret desire for mock rape.

  When I told Lara of the developments, Lara warned me that Allie might be hiding more secrets and that I should be prepared. I hoped we had been open and honest with each other about our needs and desires. Up until the mock rape request, things between us had been comfortable, predictable, and satisfying.

  So, despite how well we had done for the past eight months, her recent desire for mock rape and more punishment made me suspect that she was dissatisfied and that insurrection was brewing under the surface of her almost-perfect submissive posture. If so, we’d have to end the relationship. Although I’d grown fond of Allie, I didn’t love her and couldn’t commit to anything that involved pain or humiliation nor could we become emotionally involved. All I wanted was B&D sex three times a week – Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

  I had a regular practice session with my band on Wednesdays and usually a gig on Friday nights at one of several venues that featured 60s music. Saturday afternoons I spent going over business at the Foundation my father started in order to donate equipment to hospitals in the developing world. I took Sunday off most weeks to decompress, and either went to my club to play racquetball with one of the other regulars or stayed at home drinking coffee and reading the Saturday Times. I had no pets, and every plant my housekeeper had brought over to brighten up the apartment died due to lack of attention and water.

  Occasionally, I attended an event for Doctors Without Borders, and now and then, I met with my fellow surgeons at NYP for drinks and a meal, but otherwise my days and nights were taken up with surgery, music and sex.

  I had little room in my life for anything or anyone else.

  My fellow surgeons joked about me being a bachelor and tried to hook me up with their single friends, nurses at NYP, and female physicians, but I was not in the market for a partner. There were times I felt a sense that time was passing far too quickly. Despite the fact I was at the top of my game as a new neurosurgeon, that my body was fit and my reflexes and coordination sharp, that my life was missing something, and that I was running too fast from one part of my life to the next. Other than the occasional bout of excess when I drank a bit too much vodka, I didn’t confront whatever it was that dogged my otherwise perfect life.

  Now, things seemed like they were winding down between Allie and me and I felt a darkness in the back of my mind like a storm cloud on the distant horizon.

  I arrived at the pub with a few moments to spare. Once parked at the rear of the building, I removed my guitars from the back of the car, and entered through the alley, past the kitchen where cooks were busy cleaning up after dinner service. I took a dim corridor to the office where Margaret O'Riley, the O'Riley family matriarch, sat going over the evening's dinner receipts. A beautiful woman in her sixties with a greying bun and piercing blue eyes, she smiled when she saw me. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  "There you are," she said, examining me over her reading glasses. "Ken's already on stage setting up. Did you come right over from surgery? Have you eaten? Ask the cooks for something if you want.”

  "I ate something," I said and gave her a smile. "Thanks anyway, Mom."

  I took the hallway past the publ
ic washrooms to the bar and small stage on which we would play. Ken, Margaret's son, was the drummer in our band. The oldest of five children, he had his mothers blue eyes and his late father's bald head.

  Ken always dreamed of being a rock musician, but in all likelihood would inherit the pub from his mother and become an owner instead of a musician. But we planned on playing as long as venues would book us. Heck, we'd pretty much play for free if that was all we could find.

  We were all talented amateurs who never made a go of music but retained a love for it, especially music from the 60s and 70s. Mersey was a British Invasion cover band named after the river in Liverpool where so many great British rock bands originated. We played Irish pubs like O’Riley’s and the occasional wedding. Now and then, we played Psychedelic Rock as well but our specialty was the Brit Invasion, The Rolling Stones, The Animals, The Yardbirds, and The Zombies.

  The other two band members were Johnny Mears who played keyboards and Cliff Walters on lead guitar and vocals. I played acoustic guitar, bass guitar and sang. We met in college and had been playing together ever since. Sometimes, I thought it was merely so we could spend time together,. None of us needed the paltry sum we earned each week.

  We were pretty tight as a band, having played together on and off for ten years. But we'd recently added some new tunes to the repertoire and tonight was a chance to practice before our big gig at The Front on Friday.

  I passed the dining room, which was almost empty, a few patrons lingering behind at white cloth-covered tables to finish their coffee and desserts, the lights low, candles on every table giving the room a romantic glow. As usual, the lounge styled in dark woods and decorations taken from a pub Ireland was full, the dozen small tables and banquettes filled with regulars. In the old days, before the smoking ban, a thick pall of smoke would hang over the crowd, but in the new Manhattan, the air was clear.

  Some canned music played over the sound system and the customers were busy talking and drinking while Colin O'Riley, Ken's younger brother, presided over the bar. The band would play on a small raised platform near the back of the lounge. Ken was there, finalizing the setup of a full drum kit. There were several amps in place, wires and electrical cords snaking through them.

  I put down my guitar cases and clapped Ken on the back. We embraced briefly in greeting.

  "How's it going?" Ken said as he lifted his top hat cymbal into place. A few years older than me, he was a tall lean man with a long face that seemed perpetually somber. "You had to tell your girl you’d make it another night, I take it?"

  "Nope. We had a quickie."

  "What?" Ken said and laughed. "You rogue. You know I live vicariously through you. I'm lucky if I get sex on the weekend when the kids are finally asleep."

  I grinned, although the quickie was hardly satisfactory for me, but Ken didn't have to know it. He and the other guys had no idea about my preferences for kink. They only knew I had a series of girlfriends who I kept separate from the rest of my life.

  Although they often pushed me to bring whomever I was with at the time to meals at their homes, I refused politely. I claimed that my girlfriends were busy with school, which they usually were since most of them were students, and that we spent most of our time together in bed when we had the chance to see each other. Which was also the truth, except of course, that they were usually tied to the bedposts, blindfolded and gagged.

  I didn’t tell them that fact either, although I was certain it would make their day. If I did, I knew I’d be the butt of endless jokes about kink, so honesty wasn’t an option. My secret world remained just that – secret – from even my best friends.

  “So, when am I finally going to meet this young woman of yours? What’s her name? Alice?”

  “Allie,” I said. “Is the keyboard set up yet?” I glanced around the stage, trying to divert Ken from his well-intentioned attempts to meddle in my personal life.

  “Quit trying to change the subject,” Ken said, smiling. “You’ve been seeing her for what – a year?”

  “Eight months.”

  “So? What the hell are you waiting for? Bring her by the bar some night. I know mom would love to meet her.”

  “We’re not serious,” I said. “Just fuck buddies.”

  “Fuck buddies for eight months?”

  “She’s a student and is too busy for a real relationship. I’m not looking for a girlfriend. It’s just sex and it works out fine for us both.”

  “Mom worries about you. She thinks you still have a broken heart.”

  I laughed, but that thought bothered me. “My heart is made of stone,” I said and pounded my chest, smiling in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Tell her she shouldn’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “You have to get over Maureen, Drake. You need to find someone serious. No more fuck buddies, man. Find a woman you could love.”

  I didn’t say anything in the hopes he’d stop with the advice. No luck.

  "It’s been five years and you still haven’t had a steady woman. You only ever have fuck buddies and none of us has met a single one of them. That’s not healthy.”

  “Hey, I’m living the dream,” I said, a little too angrily. “Sex with no strings. No emotion. Look, I’m not planning on getting married again, so let it drop, OK?”

  Ken watched silently while I set up my bass guitar. I felt his disapproval, and finally met his gaze.

  He shook his head. “Let's get the keyboard." Ken led me to the back of the bar and the door to the basement. We kept some equipment stored there, and so we went down to the room beside the wine cellar and carried up the keyboard. We spent the next quarter of an hour setting up, waiting for the other guys to arrive.

  Thankfully, Ken dropped the subject of my personal life.

  Once the other guys arrived, and we did a sound check, Colin took the mic at the front of the stage to announce us, not that the usual crowd wasn't already familiar with us and our music.

  "And now, back by popular demand and with a new selection of Brit Invasion tunes, please give a round of applause for our own Ken O'Riley's Brit Invasion cover band Mersey."

  Colin turned to us and bowed and we all bowed back, me standing to the left of the stage, Ken on drums, Johnny on keyboards and Cliff on lead to my right. We started with a series of Beatle's oldies, No Reply, And I Love Her, and then In My Life. Cliff took the lead on vocals since he was the closest in sound to John Lennon, but I did background vocals. As we played, I watched the patrons. They stopped talking and turned to listen, responding to the song and the Sixties sound. It was going to be a good crowd.

  We'd added in a few new songs, most from the Stones, and playing at O'Riley's gave us a chance to perfect them. We'd performed once already on Wednesday at Mickey's, a small club in Chelsea, and had practiced the previous Sunday at O'Riley's during the day, so we weren’t quite as tight as we would be with our usual playlist.

  I took lead vocals on four new covers, Heart of Stone, Play With Fire, Under My Thumb and Paint It Black, all by The Rolling Stones. My voice was a bit lower in register and I more easily mimicked Jagger's saucy voice. I’d done a lot of role playing with my subs over the years and was more relaxed about performance. Plus, I enjoyed putting myself in Jagger’s petulant bad-boy shoes.

  I liked all four new songs, and enjoyed playing my Gibson bass – my father's old instrument. Cliff and Ken provided background vocals on Heart of Stone. The crowd really seemed into it, and gave us a rousing round of applause when we finished. We moved right into Play With Fire, and then Under My Thumb without stopping. I loved playing the bass line in Under my Thumb and because the bass was so important, it was one of my favorite new covers.

  Our final song of the set was Paint It Black, also by the Stones. It was hard driving and had a great rhythm. We still needed work to tighten up a bit but luckily, the Stones were always a bit loose and so our lack of practice didn’t really hurt too much.

  Our sound was right.

  We finished the set to
a roar of applause and bowed before leaving the stage to go to the bar for a break. Our second set would be mostly The Yardbirds and The Animals – our usual. repertoire.

  I leaned against the bar and took the glass of water Colin poured for the four of us, and then the shots of tequila he also provided.

  We passed around the salt shaker, shot back the tequila and bit the limes.

  "Good set," Colin said after refilling the shot glasses. Then, he turned to me and pointed to the back of the lounge. "Your lady friend’s here."

  I frowned and turned to look where he pointed, thinking that maybe Lara had shown up. She occasionally came to our gigs to listen to us play, but it wasn't Lara.

  It was Allie.

  Allie showing up at O'Riley's was totally unacceptable.

  For a moment, I saw her the way the guys would -- tall, athletic and with pretty features. She was beautiful. As if to please me and ward off my reprimand, she wore the black leather dress I liked and made her wear to dungeon parties. Her platinum blonde hair fell around her shoulders like satin and her makeup was perfect. Any man in the bar would have been pleased to have her at their beck and call.

  She was also wearing leather wristbands that I used to restrain her during our scenes, as if to remind me who I was to her.

  Her Master.

  Ken dog-whistled and leaned in close. "Is that her?"

  "It is," I said, not pleased to see her at O'Riley's. "Excuse me for a minute."

  "She's stunning," Cliff said, his eyes wide. "We never get to meet your mysterious women. I was starting to think you were lying about having a girl. Introduce us."

  "I don't think so," I said. "Maybe some other time."

  I left the three of them at the bar, knowing they would be gossiping about Allie while I was gone. I could almost feel their eyes on me as I threaded my way through the tables. A few customers stopped me to tell me they enjoyed the show, and I nodded, offering a polite thank you.