One unforeseen issue that has come up this week is on the financial end. Neither of us is a millionaire with the real estate space for dungeons, and deciding who pays for what has been interesting, to say the least. Me: one pair of seamed stockings, vintage style, ripped to shreds one hour out of the box. Leather polish. Certain drugstore hygiene items. Him: one stainless steel jeweled butt plug. One remote controlled vibrator. Latex gloves. I’m not counting the stuff he already has from his other relationships and sexual partners, or what he got on loan for the fashion show.
Like everything else, though, we’re working through it together. I really do feel like this is a team effort. Every session that goes by, it becomes more clear how important our relationship and cooperation and communication is to the success of the experiment.
Good thing J and I started this whole thing as best friends!
Love,
The Picky Submissive
A week later, Robin found herself in John’s shower, as she often did after their sessions. His shower curtain had a pattern of blue diamonds, and she stared at them through the steam until the diamonds began to break apart and recombine to form spiky wheels.
Diamonds.
She’d pretended to be a jewel thief. Oh God. She opened her mouth in sudden disbelief—then, of course, had to sputter out a mouthful of hot water—shook her head and laughed. Absurd. It was absolutely absurd. But then, so many things were. After all, how much more absurd was their jewel thief act than the fact that she, a grown, professional woman, would willingly put herself over a man’s knee to be spanked?
Not John’s knee, of course; all impact play was to be carried out with implements, in order to maintain the boundaries they’d set out. Speaking of artificial constructions...
But then she thought to herself jewel thief and remembered the twitch at the corner of John’s lip as he said to her, “I know you have the diamond on your person somewhere, Miss Garnet,” and she started laughing all over again.
It struck her how absolutely incandescently happy she was, just then, standing there in John’s shower and thinking of the whole ridiculous sexy dirty play. The unbearably tight catsuit that had creaked around her thighs. The fake French accent she’d tried out on a whim, drawing a beaming grin from John until he must have remembered he was supposed to be a suspicious security guard. The name, Miss Garnet, that sounded like a character out of Clue. It made her happy. The game, yes, but John too, her willing partner, there to bring the silly story to life, there to support her and uphold her and make it all real.
She turned off the tap and wrung out her hair. The smell of soap and steam dissipated, and in wafted the unmistakable scent of microwave popcorn. Her stomach growled. Ah, John. He may not be psychic like some doms-who-would-remain-unnamed, but he certainly had an uncanny ability to predict her need for a snack.
The yoga pants and tank top she pulled on now felt comfortable as woven clouds, compared to that damn catsuit. She wiped the mirror clean of steam with a swipe of her palm, watched her reflection mouth the word meow and laughed again.
No makeup, no heels and it didn’t matter. She walked out of the bathroom, padded straight to the couch and curled up in the opposite corner from John, who immediately tossed a piece of popcorn at her.
She picked it out of the air and crunched it, savoring the chemical-butter-flavor explosion.
“They’re playing Casablanca,” he said.
She blinked, and maybe it was only the change from wet air to dry, but John seemed to shift around the edges, and she couldn’t quite place him. His lines were drawn too sharply, the denseness of his body was too looming. Focusing on the bright colors of his tattoo helped her remember—this was the same John. Her friend. Right. Her friend who’d just thrown popcorn at her head like they were flirtatious teenagers. She took a shaky breath.
“I love that movie,” she said. “But it feels kind of weird, watching it after we, you, know...”
On the screen, Major Strasser, his accent dripping courteous evil, pressed Humphrey Bogart to discover his true convictions.
“Is it the interrogation scene?” When she shook her head, his brief look of kind concern quickly melted into something mischievous and perfectly John-like. “I can turn it off if you want. I think I saw No Pain No Gain on somewhere.”
Robin wrinkled her nose at him. She didn’t relish the thought of watching people being humiliated and abused into dropping obscene quantities of weight. “No thank you. It’s not the interrogation scene though. I’m fine. Happy. It could have gotten heavy there but it never did. You kept it fun. Thank you.” She bit her lip as a sudden flush hit her cheeks. At least the lights were low in John’s living room. She really was thankful though. Consent play, along with humiliation, was a game she understood the appeal of intellectually but didn’t want to explore too deeply. The scenario could have veered dark and uncomfortable, into places of faux-coercion and acted out resentment, but just like her alias and her accent and the creaky catsuit, it had stayed as playful and coy as an old noir movie where the heroine protested no, no, no! but still traded witty barbed repartee with the hero and smirked in triumph when he gave in and grabbed her and kissed her hard.
Not that John had kissed—or was ever going to kiss—Robin.
She narrowed her eyes in exaggerated suspicion. “Wait, did you just suggest that crappy reality TV show so I’d pick Casablanca as the lesser of two evils?”
“Lesser of two evils? Harsh. So what did you mean when you said it would, well, feel weird?” John’s eyebrows, always expressive, tilted into mild confusion.
Oh, she hadn’t expected him to actually want to talk about this. But then, it was the responsible thing to do, as her dom and as her friend, not to mention crucial to their experiment.
“It’s too romantic,” she said, and watched his eyebrows settle into a straight line, his face go completely closed and unreadable.
That only lasted a second or two, though, because he suddenly grinned, baring teeth. “So I guess my plan to fill my apartment with candles for your next visit is right out?”
Thank you, she thought, relief gusting through her, steadying her heart. She’d felt too open, too exposed, but he’d brought it round to a safe place again. He always did. “That depends. Are you going to be dripping candle wax in interesting places?”
John’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, now there’s an idea...”
Chapter Eight
Once they were seated, a waiter swooped in with a big bronze bucket of burning coals, dumped it into the table’s grill space and swiftly disappeared into the lunchtime crowd. John loved these grill-your-own Korean places; he’d introduced Robin to one shortly after meeting her. Her eyes had widened to saucers the first time she saw a whole octopus shrivel and writhe and smoke a foot away from her face, but since then, she’d grown to love them too.
They stuck with savory pork and beef slices for today.
Robin nibbled on a bean-sprout pickle, still smiling and buoyant from their meeting with Al earlier that morning. “Oh my God, I was terrified about the preservation state. When I saw the negative sleeves, I started breathing again.”
“So in your professional opinion they were pristine? Virginal?”
“You know I can’t kick your shins without burning my foot.”
John wagged the cooking prongs at her. “Oh, I know.” He snapped them in the air and grinned. “Seriously, I’m pretty excited. From what I saw, this is groundbreaking stuff. And the letters... I guess we’ll finally know about her relationship with the photographer. I heard he went crazy after they broke it off. No wonder she wanted the pictures destroyed. Back then it could have gotten real ugly if he’d gone public with them.”
“Well, I’m glad it was so long ago we don’t have to worry about the ethics. Except when it comes to Al. He seemed to be looking better. Do you know the man he was with?”
“No. Pretty sure that’s his personal care assistant, but hey, could have been his leather slave.” J
ohn shrugged. “Or both. Multitalented. Multipurpose?”
“What, like me?” she asked with a wry little smile.
“I do like my alphabetized bookshelf. I was thinking you could do my record collection next.”
She blushed. The faint pink spots high on her cheeks were absolutely adorable. Making her blush didn’t make him feel powerful in the slightest; it made him feel like he was back in elementary school, back when he showed girls he liked them by throwing dinner rolls at them.
“So are you going to tell me how it all started?” she asked. Damn. She’d seen him drift off into memory for a second, and pounced. But then, maybe it was time to let that boundary down, considering everything they’d done. Considering what he was going to let her see tonight.
“It was the first year of college. I’d had my final growth spurt and started working out a lot, and I kind of had an inferiority complex about getting laid. It’s a typical Asian-American guy thing, from being raised on a steady diet of Hollywood bullshit. Anyway, I was overcompensating a bit back then... I was cocky as hell. I mean, more than I am now, so don’t give me that look. So I was at a wild party one night where I saw two girls kissing—women, really, they were older than me—and I propositioned them for a threesome.”
“Oh God.”
“And, amazingly, they took me up on it. Except they said they were into BDSM, and I had to be submissive—which I’m not, obviously, but it did open my eyes to the whole dynamic. I thought I was going to have the typical straight porn fantasy threesome, and instead I ended up tied to the bed, blindfolded and ass-fucked with a strap-on.” She blushed again, and this time he wholeheartedly enjoyed it. “I figured out I liked the other end of the whip more, but I’m glad for the experience.”
“Was that when you started, umm, seeing guys too?”
“Well, having sex with a woman with a strap-on doesn’t make you gay or even bisexual—”
“—I know that,” she said, indignantly.
She doesn’t need the Sex 101, he reminded himself. Don’t patronize. “—but it was the first time I had anal on the receiving end. I’d always been attracted to guys, but I never acted on it other than you know, back-to-back masturbating with a friend when I was—actually, let’s not get into that. That’s stuff for my shrink. I will say, after that, I was open to the idea that it didn’t undermine my sexuality or my masculinity to do stuff a little outside the norm. So I guess it opened a couple doors. And speaking of that, how do you feel about women?”
She was ready for that question; she barely blinked. “It’s complicated. Maybe we can talk about it later. Are you going to be with a woman tonight?”
“No. He’s someone I’ve seen regularly for a few years. And he’s gay. He likes the idea of being seen, so we’re going to have a strictly voyeur dynamic. Oh and, uh, he’s a sub. I know that’s not what you’re looking for, but I figured for this first time we’d try a scene that won’t be too demanding on you. The two of you can share the workload, so to speak. And if after this trial run, you’re ready for something more...interactive, or with another dom, I could work that out. But I thought this would be good to start with.”
“It’s perfect.”
He was relieved she saw it that way. Playing with a gay man, and another sub at that, would have to be strictly hands-off. No pressure. No expectations. Just observation, whether it wound up cool or clinical like a science experiment, or hot and heavy like a pornographic video. And speaking of hot—”Oh fuck!”
The beef slices had gone dry and stringy from too long on the grill, and one burst into flame. He stabbed it down the slots with his chopsticks.
They both laughed, and the tension building between them vanished. Luckily, only a few pieces had been ruined by neglect, and they worked together to lay out fresh strips over the grill, turning them, charring them just the right amount for a crispy caramelized finish.
They talked about the Mareau pictures, and a leather seminar that John planned on seeing Al speak at, as long as his health allowed, and Robin’s sister’s precocious toddler back in Saskatchewan, and even Jim.
“He’s just bouncing around,” John said. “I don’t get it. I thought he’d stay with Mom and Dad. Even when Dad cuts him off, Mom at least sneaks him into the garage. Maybe it’s this new girlfriend, but that’s never held him back before.”
“Didn’t he bring home that one woman who blackmailed your mom for abortion money for a hysterical pregnancy?”
John groaned. “The one good thing I can say about Jim is that—shit, actually I can’t say anything good about him. Never mind.”
“Well, he’s not hard to look at. Although he’s not as handsome as you.”
Robin wasn’t blushing, but he wondered if he was. He rearranged the beef slices and changed the topic with a wink and joke.
Week Three
I’ve been clamped, clothespinned, caned, paddled and flogged (I still like caning best). I’ve done pinup poses wearing nothing but heels and toys. I’ve polished his leather. I’ve alphabetized his books while bound shibari-style. We’ve role-played “museum guard catches cat burglar and interrogates her in a most severe fashion in order to discover the hidden gem,” and I’m sure you can imagine its ultimate location...
Robin sprawled in her chair, her stomach fluttering. After an afternoon spent carefully avoiding burning herself on a Korean brazier or hunched over her desk at work, being able to kick out her legs under her own kitchen table felt downright sinful.
But not as sinful as the night before last. And not just playing Miss Garnet in the cat burglar scene—the movie afterward, too. All those intense feelings of heat and romance and fondness and comfort were all tangled together. She couldn’t begin to know where one ended and another began. Maybe they didn’t have beginnings or endings. Maybe everything in her life couldn’t be so neatly delineated by that little strand of pearls. And why didn’t that thought frighten her more. Instead, she felt...exhilarated, yes, that was the word. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, wriggled upright and got back to typing. There was no way in hell she could have written this at work. It was tricky enough at home, alone, sitting upright at her kitchenette table.
Through everything, J has been amazing. So giving. Completely in tune with me. Back when we lived together in college, he had this uncanny way of knowing when he needed to bring me coffee and a cupcake. When it comes to our arrangement, he’s the same, except now the cupcake comes after an hour of rope bondage. I couldn’t be happier, and I trust him implicitly.
Which is good, because that trust is definitely going to be put to the test tonight in our next session.
The time limit for our experiment is coming at me faster than I ever would have guessed. Honestly, I’m kind of wishing I’d agreed to three months at the start of this instead of one, but that’s just delaying the inevitable. At some point, this whole thing has to end. So our next order of business is testing out the dynamic including someone else. That is to say, preparing me for trying this with different partners. After J. We’re inviting a third into our play as a way of taking the training wheels off while J’s still holding the seat of my bike, I guess you could say.
I was never very good at dating. I love sex. I love simply being next to someone, secure in the knowledge we’ll be spending our lives together. The steps in between? They were daunting even without the kink. But I’m ready for the work. This whole thing has proven to me that my desires are real, and they are valid. What’s missing is the right person to share them with.
Now I just have to find him.
Well that had taken a turn for the maudlin. She’d only meant to write about her insecurities with regards to introducing a third: whether she’d like him/her, whether she’d feel comfortable, whether she’d still be turned on, even. And instead, she’d sighed out in cyber-anguish, when will I know love?
Oh well.
As for tonight’s session, I’m nervous as hell, but looking forward to it too. No matter how it goes do
wn, I’m sure I’ll have tons of juicy details for you guys. Um, in a manner of speaking.
Love,
The Picky Submissive
Two hours later, Robin found herself on John’s front step, watching in surprise as he said, “Oh, guess I should give you these,” and reached into his pocket.
“Here?” She immediately straightened her back and lifted her chin. Wherever. Whenever. As soon as he took out the pearls, she was his. That was the agreement. She trusted him.
“Yes, here.” He reached around her neck, almost a hug, and fastened the pearls. And then leaned forward, brushing her hair back behind her ear as he whispered, “Remember your safe word.”
She wished he’d stop saying that. But now wasn’t the time to bring it up. No, now was the time to be meek and sweet and obedient for him. Two relationships. Two Robins. And never the twain shall meet.
John breathed deeply, as if assuming his own transformation, and opened the door.
Robin fell into line behind him, which turned out to be a mercy because it meant nobody saw her fierce blush when John said, in a strange, growling voice, “Hello, pig.”
The Dom Project Page 10