by M. A. Ellis
“Forget that shit,” Stan said. “If you want to pay, you stay. If you don’t stay now, then you can buy another time.”
“You sure you’re all right?” Sam asked, grabbing her chin and making her look into his eyes. “You good to drive?”
“I’m fine, you two. Just really tired. But I had fun, as always.” She hugged first one, then the other, as Chris slid the bill in front of her.
“If the Pens lose, I’m blaming you,” Stan replied.
“As you should,” she smiled, reaching for the bill but Sam grabbed it first. She knew better than to argue with him.
“And we didn’t even get to finish talking about your sausage quest,” Stan added. “So recap. Look into real-life events. Wine, dinners, 5Ks, charity auctions, those types of things. Somewhere you can meet men with a little class.”
“Like you two,” she said and laughed.
“Like us, babe,” they replied in unison.
“You’re the best,” she said, giving each of them a quick kiss before hopping off her barstool. She felt so much better. Maybe the chair had been possessed by some horny patron from the past. That would make more sense than the fact that she’d just realized she might be attracted to Chris.
At least he’s near your age. No ball bustin’ from the peanut gallery.
“I’m hitting the head,” Stan said. “You walkin’ her out?”
“On it,” Sam said, placing a propriety hand at the small of her back and turning her toward the door.
“Hey! Izzi!”
Chris’ voice carried through the bar and everyone looked in his direction. He stood with his arms outstretched, a what-the-hell look plastered on his face.
“No goodbye hug? No kiss?”
Heat flooded her body once again. Her first thought was that he was challenging her, but that couldn’t be the case. Not when Sam’s deep laughter was accompanied by more than a few chuckles from the other patrons.
“You must be out of it,” Sam said. “You never forget to hug the waitstaff.”
“Don’t leave me hanging,” Chris warned.
She forced herself to walk to the bar, hoping the smile on her face seemed genuine. She was more than a little off-kilter and she didn’t like it.
“Sorry.” She stood on tiptoe and reached across the bar. He met her halfway but didn’t touch her. He let her do the hugging, but for some odd reason her hands drifted over his shoulders and down his well-defined biceps before she stepped backward. His muscles were like granite and she felt him flex, well aware of her touch.
“Hey,” he said softly. He tapped the top of her hand and she automatically offered her palm, silently cursing at the telling gesture.
“These are for you.”
She glanced down at the small stack of business cards and reached for the top one.
“Check them out later,” he said, curling her fingers to cover them with his warm palm. “I heard you guys talking and grabbed a few from my stash. Everybody wants the bartender to know who they are.”
Isabel looked at him and he offered her a quick wink. A conspiratorial wink. A friendly wink. A wink that should have made her feel at ease, but had just the opposite effect.
“Maybe you want to get in touch with some people you know before you start online trolling.”
“And these are good guys?”
“They’re decent guys or they wouldn’t have made it to my ‘keep’ pile. Nobody goes in there unless they’ve proven they’re not total assholes…and know how to tip.” He laughed and she returned his smile.
“Obviously,” she agreed, cocking her head. When he mirrored her action and batted his lashes, she laughed out loud. This was how it was supposed to be. Light. Breezy. Playful. “Are there cards from women in here too?”
“No, they’re in a special pile all their own. I gotta admit, I wasn’t aware you were leaning in that direction, Izzi.”
The Chris she had known for the past year was back, throwing nicknames and crazy talk her way.
“Not just yet,” she said, taking a step back as she slid the cards into the outside pocket of her purse. “But you know my motto.”
“What’s that?”
She blew him a kiss and turned on her heel, her mood suddenly lighter.
“Never say never,” she said over her shoulder, expecting to get the last word. She heard his voice, deep and sexy.
“Good to know. Very good to know.”
* * * * *
An hour later, after a long shower, a victory dance in front of the TV when the two SportsCenter announcers declared that her Penguins had won, then a celebratory bowl of white-chocolate-truffle ice cream, Isabel snuggled under her fluffy down comforter, intent on a good night’s sleep. Try as she might, the episode at the bar continued to repeat itself in her mind. Over and over, she reviewed what had transpired, shooting for various explanations as to how she might have misunderstood things. She came up with some plausible reasons but knew, when all roads continued to lead to the fact Chris might be a closet BDSM practitioner, she needed an obvious diversion.
Her first thought was to find another philanthropic venue to which she could lend her time and effort. Her inbox was full of requests from various organizations. But she was fairly particular as to her charities. And thinking about how to generate large amounts of cash for them generally didn’t help to put her to sleep. It had the complete opposite effect.
She turned onto her side, staring at the soft glow that drifted through her unadorned windows. James had liked it that way. He had been vehement that their condo, one level lower than the penthouse and having no other buildings obstructing its view of the water, shouldn’t have window treatments of any kind. In retrospect, it fit right into what she’d learned to be his love of voyeurism, although she was certain no one except a low-flying Coast Guard chopper would have been able to see a thing. Isabel had become accustomed to the outside glow acting as a built-in nightlight…and the early morning sunrise being more reliable than any alarm clock.
She smiled into the darkness, startled to find she’d been thinking of her late husband without the usual ache in her chest. She really had loved him. And now it was time to do as she promised and move on. But not with their one-time Dom.
Isabel was a believer in signs. The fact Sam and Stan had offered her some alternatives to the online dating proved she had been wise to wait.
And what about Chris?
She closed her eyes, but that only sharpened the image of him looking at her across the bar. If she could capture that expression, throw him into a pair of tight, black leather pants and put a crop in his hand, she’d have the perfect masturbatory material. She wouldn’t need the occasional bondage website. She could bottle him, a dominant version of I Dream of Jeanie, and have him there when she needed him.
Tell me what you need.
It was the sentence that really started all the memories.
“Damn, damn, damn.” She tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, unable to stop from brushing her fingers over one hardened nipple. What she needed was sex. Not some late-night booty call, but something with a modicum of exclusivity. She ran her hands down her abdomen, stopping at the waistband of her boy shorts. It wouldn’t take long to bring herself to orgasm. But that never really relaxed her to the point she fell asleep, not when her mind was racing like it was at the moment. No, it would only make her more awake.
She glanced at the bedside clock and knew, at the oh so not-late hour of eleven forty-five, she could call Sam and talk. She always enjoyed his visits to the “big city” as he liked to tease. She’d been tempted to ask him about his twin brother, if he happened to still be out there on the open market, but had refrained. Partly because of the age difference, but more because of the fact the twins were extremely close. The last thing in life she wanted was to have one of her guy friends find out about her other side. She doubted they’d understand. Heaven knew, her closest girlfriends didn’t.
Isabel had shared bits and piec
es of her first submissive experience, hoping for a little support from their corner. They had seemed fine with the spanking but their looks of shock had escalated into faces of horror as she elaborated. In the end, they’d taken her hands and told her how sorry they were that the pervert she’d married had put her through such a thing. And that she should divorce his fifty-something ass, have the marriage annulled, and live like a queen the rest of her days. If Isabel remembered correctly, they were still planning private-chartered trips to Tahiti for the three of them when she got up and left the restaurant, taking her obvious perversions with her.
She meandered through the condo as she made her way to her desk in the library. She stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water. Her purse lay open on the counter and she remembered the stack of cards she had buried in the pocket. It really was very sweet of Chris, although it was the last thing she had expected when he’d called her back to the bar area.
What did you expect, Isabel?
“Who the hell knows,” she said aloud, taking the cards with her to the library. It wasn’t him asking for a hug after what apparently was a one-sided, totally delusionary moment and it wasn’t him attempting to find her possible dating options. Was he even single? She assumed he was and his comment about a separate pile for women’s cards suggested that. And that pile was probably more mountain than molehill. Because, while she always thought him cute, tonight was enlightening where her attraction to him was concerned.
She sat down at her computer and turned it on. She’d do some emails, check on some items she’d been tracking for delivery, maybe play some Mahjong Titans until she was tired. Waiting for the machine to boot, she perused the business cards. A few of the names she recognized from local businesses. The head of a huge activities group, a morning-radio host, a real-estate developer. Stanley’s card was there and she smiled. She would not be dating him, despite the fact he had touted himself, in print, as the most eligible man on the Eastern seaboard.
Her screen blipped on, the light making the sleek, black business card that was next in line hard to read. She turned in her chair and tilted it so the blood-red text was discernable.
BIND YOUR BODY…NOT YOUR MIND
The other cards slipped from her hand and fell to the desk as she turned the card over and read the back.
For The Inexperienced and Bondage-Curious
Offering Sound and Practical Advice
MySecretMaster.com
Blog and Chat Room
Signs, Isabel. Signs.
“Oh good god.” Someone who frequented On The Left was into the kinky shit? He had to be local if Chris kept his card and he probably had to have carried on a conversation with him so he must know what the man did. Must know what he was into.
“Holy shit. A blogging Dom!” Now wasn’t that just a portent and a hell of a lot more? And she couldn’t just ask Chris about the guy because then he’d know she was interested in that stuff. She doubted she could pull it off as curiosity alone. And why the hell did he even give her that sort of card? Was the guy that great-looking or successful? Was he a Dom with a golden heart? Isabel huffed. That was not at all the usual stereotype. That’s not how the man who had made it impossible for her to sit for two days had been.
She quickly typed in the web address as her train of thought progressed. One never imagined the wielder of the whip as a loving partner or father. They were supposed to be aloof and guarded and somehow a bit larger than life, not a kinky version of Ann Landers, which was the vibe she was getting from the quick scanning of the webpage. It was most definitely an introductory arena filled with a glossary and two photo galleries. One highlighting implements and supplies, the other filled with tastefully erotic photos of rope work and the reddened results of paddles and crops and floggers.
Isabel bypassed the Links tab and went straight to the blog. It read more like a diary of a recent session, the focus not on the exact punishments that were meted out, although they were briefly expounded upon. The tone was more educational and definitely psychological and Isabel was surprised. She hadn’t expected something so exclusive and before she realized it, she’d gone back and read nearly a year’s worth of blogs and the resulting comments, most of which the Dom himself had answered.
Returning to the Home page, Isabel scrolled through the menu options once more, her cursor hovering over the one tab that she wasn’t sure she wanted to click.
Chat.
Not knowing what she might find provided a heady combination of thrills and fear. Had she not read the blogs, she would have assumed it was a bunch of lifestyling Dominants and submissives, but she highly doubted this was a place for them. It seemed like a kinder, gentler bondage arena.
She laughed at the thought then took a deep breath. If James were standing behind her, he would tell her to do it. To explore. But he would also tell her to participate, and that part she wasn’t as sure of. She could lurk with the best of them and with that in mind, she double-clicked her mouse.
The terms of agreement were standard and she read through them quickly and tapped the Accept button. The screen that appeared was totally unexpected and her palms began to sweat. Apparently, despite the anonymity, there would be no under-the-radar admittance.
In two hundred characters or less she needed to tell the moderator exactly why she wished to be part of the chat group. She stared at the vertical, flashing line of the cursor. Her mind screaming do it in sync with it appearing and disappearing—over and over and over—until Isabel finally relented and reached for the Shift key.
* * * * *
Chris didn’t even bother locking the door to his apartment behind him. Let the asshole who lived across the hall or one of his drunken, heavy-metal horde wander in. He’d happily tell them to grab a beer from the fridge and pull up a chair. Usually, he’d divest himself of every clothing item he wore, toss them in the washer and snag an ice-cold libation before turning on the television and trying to get his brain to quit racing over whatever calamity the night might have offered. But not tonight.
Chances were slim that Isabel would have hurried home and immediately checked out the website. Then again, before tonight, chances were slim that he’d be presented with even a tiny window of opportunity where playing Dominant to Isabel’s submissive could become more than a wet dream. While he kicked ass at offering advice on his blog and in the chat room, he hadn’t had a D/s relationship in quite some time. As he plopped onto the big computer chair, he realized how much he had missed the closeness being with another person on that level offered. But it was so damn hard finding a woman who had all the components needed for success.
Within seconds he was logged in and staring at the inbox notification that stated he had three unread emails. Part of him thought to play it cool, to check out who was online or what had been posted in his absence. But here, in the sanctity of his home, he didn’t have to prove jack shit to anyone. He could be as damn dorky as he wanted. And at the moment, he only wanted to check and see if there were any new member requests.
There she was. No mysterious or obscure email address. Her initials, her last name. She’d taken the time to check it out. He took a steadying breath and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it tightly against his scalp before reaching for a hair tie and securing it in a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. Then he opened her email.
I’m not into the lifestyle by any means, which is why some of the other sites are unappealing to me. I found this site by accident and feel the chat room might be the perfect place for me to get some insight and some answers.
I’ve had one experience with bondage and found it to be appealing, not only on a titillation level but, more importantly, for the serenity it briefly provided.
I’m not sure what I’m hoping to get from being a part of the chat group, other than a better understanding of what I want at this stage in my life. Thank you for your consideration.
“Concise,” Chris said, looking at the time stamp of her email. Two h
ours ago. She wouldn’t be online, not if she had to get up and go to work. His gut clenched, the acid in his stomach suddenly churning. “Fuck.”
Did she even have a job? He hadn’t given that a thought until now. He knew from enough passing conversation at the bar that her late husband had been considerably older and that he’d gone pretty quickly from cancer. Chris racked his brain, trying to remember if she or her friends had ever mentioned a career. Something other than charity-centered activities. Something a bit less highbrow. He couldn’t remember a damn thing.
“Great.” He did not need another rich girl trying to take a walk on the wild side. He’d done that more than a few times and it never ended well. He wasn’t looking for a session of titillation. No. He wanted something far more rewarding with Isabel. Something that would have her hot and wanting from the get-go. Something that would leave her unhinged to some extent. Something that would keep her on her toes.
An image of her wearing thigh-high latex boots with six-inch heels flashed through his mind and he ground the heels of his hands against his temples. He’d listened to enough relationship chatter to know one of the major tenets was not looking too anxious. If he were contacting her on a dating site, there’d be all sorts of crazy-ass, hidden-agenda rules to consider.
But MySecretMaster wasn’t for dating. Not in the least. He clicked on the button that would allow her request, ready to respond with the standard welcome greeting. Chris stared at her screen name and tried not to grimace.
It could have used a little more thought. Every Dom, whether experienced, apprenticing or just hopeful, would be chatting her up.
CURIOUS2aFault.
He reset the Options to alert him to new chat messages and plopped down on the couch, killing the volume on the television. “Curious, Izzi? Let’s just see how much.”
* * * * *
Welcome to MySecretMaster, CURIOUS2aFault!
Isabel stared at the email until her eyes hurt then, with more than a little trepidation she clicked on the text, prepared to read the note. It was a standard greeting email. It outlined the basics, urged her to ask questions since the Dom On Call was there for her benefit.