by Cynthia Dane
Her blond ponytail makes me think of Katie. I feel her tighten in my hold.
“Brace yourself, my dear,” Lana says, patting her husband’s chest. “I know how much you love a good Domme going to town on a sub. Especially if it’s male.”
“Think it’s too much to ask for some pegging?”
“I think that only happens on Fridays, dear.”
The others laugh. I’m too busy keeping an eye on Katie and making sure she’s not about to pass out.
“I know her,” she says to me. She’s only two inches away from me, and yet it feels like miles. “That’s Dawn Lovett. We have drinks sometimes.”
I recognize that tone to her voice. Lamenting. Embarrassed.
Sad.
No surprise when the show of the night is a Domme and her male sub, a guy she picks out of the audience. The solo sub has the stupidest grin on his face, which Mistress Dawn quickly thwacks out of him with a crack of the whip.
Everyone around me shudders in delight.
Except for Kathryn. She’s shuddering in something else entirely.
“Oh, this guy’s gonna get it good,” Gwen says. “I’ve seen this Domme before. She doesn’t pull any punches.”
“Now what kind of man comes to a place like this and thinks he’s going to get any woman he wants?” Dawn has her sub’s chin cupped as she chains him to a cross. “Go on, honey, tell the whole club what kind of foul creature you are.”
He speaks into her mic, his low, submissive voice echoing between every warm body. “I’m a slut, Mistress.”
She grabs his cock, teasing it with a firm grip before walking away, laughing. “I’ll say. You like having your skin tickled with a whip, slut?”
Of course he does. Because he’s a male sub who volunteered for this.
I don’t pay much attention to the show. I keep my eyes on Kathryn, who is watching with rapt attention, her eyes so far away that it’s possible nobody would be able to get through to her. This theory is proven true when Lana says something and doesn’t get an answer. Huffing, Lana turns away again.
“She’s probably thinking about doing it to Ian,” she says… much too loudly.
The people on the other couch look over at us.
At me.
At Kathryn.
“Don’t be silly,” Kathryn quickly interrupts. “I would never waste my time on someone like him. Ian would rather eat grass than get spanked by anyone.”
Uh.
“Do you want it, huh?” Mistress Dawn is jerking her sub off, her hand clenched so hard around his cock that he’s wincing in exquisite pain. “Do you want me to make you come before you’re even ready? Because I will.”
Boy howdy.
“Come on,” I whisper into Kathryn’s ear. “Let’s go back before the rooms start filling up from everyone getting horny off this.”
She sits back, nearly knocking into Lana behind her.
“Do you want to sit out here any longer with these people, like this?”
My hiss finally makes its way into her brain. She shakes her head and stands up, going to an empty corner and waiting for me to follow.
I get a key for a back room, one of the only ones left. I motion for Kathryn to follow me down the hall, where I hear the faint moans of men and woman having kinky sex – and vanilla sex, I’m sure. By the time we reach our room, however, Kathryn almost refuses to go inside.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, door opening in front of me.
She doesn’t say anything. Within a few seconds she goes in, standing in the doorway and whispering to me, “Fuck me good.”
My sub almost disappears on me. I can’t let that happen.
Chapter 12
KATHRYN
No fewer than three walls are built around me.
The wall around my body protects me from the pain I feel. Pain that should be turning me on, yes, but pain nonetheless.
The wall around my heart makes sure I don’t indulge in any of those pesky feelings I have for Ian, the man clasping me to the ceiling of this borrowed room, stripping me, and pinching my nipples with tight clamps for the first time in my life.
And the wall around my mind? It keeps me from hearing the voices in my head. The voices I don’t want to acknowledge at the moment.
All these walls likewise keep me from enjoying the final scene Ian has constructed for my training. I suppose I’ll be considered an able sub by the end of this scene.
Or at least, I’ll be his sub.
Is that what I want? Do I want him tying me up on a regular basis? Denying me pleasure? Forcing it on me? Making me call him sir while he fucks me however he pleases? Debasing me?
Stripping me of everything I used to think I was?
I was having fun this week. As much fun as I could outside of the bedroom, anyway. Hell, I took that anal like a pro! I had no problem with Ian dragging me to closets and having quickies with me. I didn’t care. I liked it.
I wanted more.
Scenes are fantasies. When I’m locked away with Ian, indulging in these innermost fantasies of mine, I don’t worry about things beyond my desires. His desires. Once he dragged my submission in front of the world… once I saw that show up on display… I began to question what the fuck am I doing?
“Look at my pretty girl,” Ian says, standing before me in his crisp suit. He tugs on the nipple clamps, which I barely feel now. When they first snapped to my flesh, I cried out, my arousal deceiving me as it ran down my thigh. “Who knew that Kathryn Alison would one day be kneeling on this bed, looking like this? For me?”
Who knew, indeed?
“Do you like the feel of the clamps?”
Normally his voice would lull me into a sense of security, false or real.
“Yes, Master.”
He didn’t ask me to call him that. The word simply fell out.
I’m barely aware of what he’s doing to me. Kissing me. Licking my slit. Pinching my ass and circling his finger around my opening. One tiny piece of my brain captures these sensations and tells me that they feel good. The vast majority of it, however, says that I need to zone out and wait for this to be over.
I wish I knew why. What has happened to take me from complacent sub to a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown… not that I’ll let Ian know that? His lips are so tender against my skin, even though his words are full of the sorts of things that get me hot. It’s only a matter of time before he picks a way to fuck me. Maybe strung up like this, my lap riding in his.
Wouldn’t that be a trip?
I want that. I want him to fuck me, but I don’t think I want it like this.
Why not?
It’s Kathryn vs. Katie, ladies and gentlemen. The regular Domme versus the obedient little sub who likes to be defiled. I didn’t even know that latter girl existed until a few weeks ago, when I lost that bet to Ian and decided to follow through with it.
Oh, but I decided to follow through not on a whim, but in a great desire to test out that side of myself. If I didn’t like it, fine. I would know, and could say I tried it. Except I liked it.
Not only does “Katie” exist…
But I think she only comes out for Ian.
How do I explain this to the world? How do I reconcile this with who I thought I was, who the world thinks I am? This has gone beyond my reputation. This has settled into my own self-worth and what it is I really want from life. I can’t do this fulltime. These past few days have taught me that. The sex! The thrill! The letting go of reality and remembering what it’s like to feel so fucking alive. Yeah, that often happens on the end of Ian’s cock, but… isn’t that okay?
I love feeling him on top of me. I love all the names he calls me, both affectionate and dirty. I love how he holds me in his arms as we sleep in the same bed. I love…
I love him.
My eyes open, suddenly clear and aware as I stare into the hazel depths before me. Ian stops what he’s doing – there’s
a light-weight crop in his hand, and I guess he’s been patting my thigh this whole time. Does he realize that I didn’t feel it? That I tuned it out? My skin is red and blotchy. I don’t remember that happening.
“Ian…” My mouth is getting away from me again. I want him to hold me.
Please.
“What is it?” His face twists into concern. I think it’s concern, anyway. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Ian moves to remove the nipple clamps.
Yes, I’m hurt. My pride is hurt. My heart is hurting. My brain hurts from analyzing who I am. I don’t say these things, though. I say, “No. I wanted to say that I love you.”
He kisses me, raw, hungry, powerful. Any power I’ve lost over the past few weeks is restored in me through this kiss. It’s a kiss of love.
Devotion.
Empathy.
No, Ian, you can’t empathize with my position.
“What do you want?” His hands are on my face, caressing me until I am lulled into a half-sleep. “Your last night. You can have anything you want. Just name it.”
Even though I know what he means, I can’t help but answer with, “I want to be with you.”
Somehow, he knows exactly what I’m saying. Ian drops me from my binds, removes the clamps, pushes me onto the bed, and takes me.
No, I take him.
We take each other.
My limbs wrap around him. Our tongues dance. His body overcomes mine, but I’m giving to him as much as he’s giving to me. Even though I give him this, the collar is still on, and my brain is still in the space of a sub’s.
I’m giving myself to him. I’m letting him take from me. Everything he gives to me is because I’m being so good, so obedient, so exactly what he wants in a woman. My heart overflows with a joy I never thought I’d experience – not as a sub, anyway. Yet my brain keeps ticking away all the reasons I am unhappy.
I think of those people in the main area of the club. I want to. I want to walk out there and tell this insular world that Ian is my Dom and I am his sub whenever I put on this collar. I want him to leash me. I want him to parade me around like a good girl he’s enamored with.
I want this. I can’t have it, though, because Kathryn won’t let me.
He’s inside me. I’m crying. Tears of happiness, I tell him, encouraging him to continue. He does so, gently, but I’m famished, thrusting back against him, taking him into me, refusing to let him go.
Could you tell him this for me? That I want to belong to him, now, forever? That I want moments like these for as long as I live? But you’ve gotta also tell him that it would never work out. Oh, God, it’s not going to work out!
No. No, don’t tell him. I don’t want this moment ruined. I’m reveling in too much love to go back.
Ian promised to take me away from reality, and he did that. What do I do when I have to go back to reality?
He stills within me, his grunts warning me that he’s about to climax. I wait, lips searching for his.
The moment we kiss, he comes.
Why am I crying out? It doesn’t feel any better than usual. It’s not scaring me. Yes, it feels good. Not as good as him kissing me, but good. And yet I’m crying out, my breathy moans claiming me in the same way he claims me.
“Katie,” he murmurs mid-orgasm, keeping me trapped in this fantasy world we’ve constructed. “Kathryn…”
Kathryn. The person I really am.
The person I want to remain.
Congratulations, Ian, you’ve split me into two different people. Both of them love you, but only one of them could ever be happy in the long-term with you.
It’s not Kathryn, the woman I quickly return to being.
Ian, we can’t be happy until you’ve made Kathryn happy. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t even know what the problem really is.
No, I do.
I’m a Domme, Ian. As good as this feels, it can’t sustain me forever.
I see Mistress Dawn in my mind, caressing her sub, a total stranger, but a man so in love with what she is doing to him. The power she casts upon him. I want to be her. I want him to be you.
Tell me, Ian…
Are there two of you as well?
Chapter 13
IAN
“Over here. No, look over here. Oh, come on…”
Cats. I swear to God.
I got a brand new phone today, and all I want to do is change the background to a picture of Saoirse, who is rolling around on the floor in a patch of sunlight. I’m kneeling on the carpet, aiming my phone camera this way and that in the hopes of catching her in the perfect pose.
It’s not happening.
“Mrrrrow.” Saoirse keeps rolling away, her tail swishing back and forth. She only looks back when I’m adjusting the settings on my camera.
Good job, Ian. Great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
It can’t be helped. I’m still coming down from a high involving Kathryn Alison that lasted for three whole days. When she left me this morning, collar off and back in my nightstand, I felt like I was floating on the haughtiest cloud imaginable. Her number was the first one I imported to my new phone. Before my mother’s.
She said she loved me, okay. Kathryn. Not my mother. Wait, no, my mother loves me. I mean…
Never mind. You know what I meant.
So let’s get back to Kathryn. Sorry, Saoirse, you’re a cute cat, and I’m sure people would love giving this Dom a hard time for having a picture of his cat as his phone background, but let’s not forget that Kathryn said she loved me last night. Even though she was acting weird sometimes. I’m not sure she actually felt those nipple clamps, as pretty as they looked hanging down her torso.
I’ve had women tell me that they love me before. I rarely loved them back. Nothing personal. It’s… until Kathryn, I never found someone I felt worthy of my undying love.
She’s everything I want. Beautiful, smart, mouthy with a great sense of humor, good tastes, nice family (who possibly like me,) is liked by my family, a real go-getter with her own independence and ability to function without me, and… well, she’s turned into a greater sub than I could have ever hoped for.
I know there’s a catch somewhere. Until it’s sprung on me, however, I’m going to sit here and fantasize about her until I’m not allowed to anymore.
Like my doorbell ringing.
“Next time, cat.” I get up, setting my phone on my desk as the cat finally rolls toward me and purrs. I ignore her, like she ignored me for ten minutes.
There’s a skip in my step as I go to the door. A man in love is dangerous. He doesn’t see the bits of debris strewn across the floor and has a tendency to trip over them if he’s not careful. And he’s not.
Hence I only see a glimpse of blond out my peephole, and automatically assume it’s my darling little buttercup.
Yes, go ahead and kill me.
Oh, God, oh God please kill me.
Before Eva Warren does.
“What a lucky day for me! Finding the man cozy at home with his…” Eva glances from me to somewhere behind me. “His pussy, apparently.”
Saoirse meows emphatically before stalking off to her bed in the library.
“What do you want?”
I know she’s not here for business. And she sure as fuck isn’t here to shoot the breeze, because we are far from friends. Nevertheless, I have no choice but to invite her into my home, where she saunters around like she owns the damned place.
Naturally, she steps toward the kitchen, perching on one of the stools by the island counter.
“Consider me here on a fact-finding mission, Mr. Mathers.” She sounds like a reporter. A reporter that nobody takes seriously, which isn’t difficult to imagine, since her spiky blond hair clashes with her dark gray pantsuit. “Because there are a lot of facts I would like from you.”
I stand before her, hands in my pockets. I can hear my mother admonishing me for my bad manners in the back of mind
… because what I need is my mother showing up and making this situation even worse.
“And what is it that you want to know, Ms. Warren?” I’m nowhere near as playful.
“Oh, well, I’m sure you can guess that this has to do with my good friend Kathryn, whom you are not only fucking, but apparently dominating as well!”
My hands pull from my pockets so my arms can cross. “She’s been talking to you, huh?”
“She only told me about the fucking a few weeks ago. I’ve deduced the latter, although she won’t confirm it. In fact, she won’t return most of my messages, so I can only assume that things are ugly. Am I right? Do let me know how angry I should be with you.”
I don’t know how she manages to not say, “And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” At any rate, I can only meet her rueful gaze with a small smile.
“I shouldn’t be kissing and telling. If she’s not telling you, her good friend, something… then perhaps it isn’t any of your business.”
Of course, this isn’t going to fly with her. Eva is the type of woman who wants to be obeyed yesterday. On The Dark Hour grapevine, both from friends and subs I’ve hooked up with, Eva has a lot of fun taunting people and dragging them on silly sexual adventures. Why would her bantering with me be any different?
Although this bantering could quickly turn ugly. She’s also the type of woman to protect her friend if, for some reason, she thought there was a problem.
Eva Warren is the type of woman to always think there is a problem.
“She’s not telling me because she’s a proud woman who doesn’t want to admit she’s submitting to the likes of you.”
Well, we went straight to my jugular.
“I could understand her not wanting to admit that she’s submitting, but what the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Come off it, Mathers.” Eva slips off the stool, lording her height over me. Sheesh, these Warrens are ridiculous. Are their parents giants? “Everyone knows that you’re the type of Dom who flits from girl to girl looking for his kicks for the night, but rarely comes back for seconds. I’ve heard quite a few heartbroken girls rage about you at the club.”