by Lund, S. E.
"For me, yes. For you, no. I'm the one who should be mortified, not you. Here I was, hoping to impress you enough that you'd go out with me for a drink some night and you discover I'm a Dom. You're just doing this for a research paper, after all…"
"I'm changing topics," she said, her voice sounding unconvincing, as if she had just made that up on the fly.
There was a pause.
I decided to play along. "What are you going to write about instead?"
"I don't know. Maybe the Administration's failure to act on climate change."
I couldn’t help but smile at that. I had no doubt that Kate was interested in climate change. It was one of those liberal causes that someone like Kate would support without thinking, but it would pale next to sexual politics. "Sounds pretty boring in comparison to exploring why women are so excited by the prospect of submitting to a dominant man who knows how to release their inhibitions…"
She answered far too quickly. "I should never have even considered it."
I shook my head on the assumption she was watching out the peephole. "It's topical,” I said, my voice purposely serious. “It's controversial."
"My father would kill me,” she said, a small bit of panic still in her voice. “I don't know what I was thinking."
I did know what she was thinking. She was curious about submission, about BDSM, but was afraid to explore it on her own without an excuse.
I could feel her giving in but there was still a resistance to the idea this was going to happen.
"Listen," I said, my voice conspiratorial. "We could stand here all night and talk through the door but I'm getting really hot standing here in my coat. Besides,” I said, glancing back at the old woman who was unabashedly staring at me, her face pressed through the crack in the doorway. “It would be far more private if you just invited me in. Then your neighbor across the hall wouldn't keep peeking through the crack in her door and try to find out what we're talking about."
"That's Mrs. Kropotkin. I think her son's with the Russian Mafia."
I waved at the old woman. "Zdrastvooyte.”
She closed her door a little more tightly but not completely for I could still see one eye.
I unbuttoned my coat and loosened my tie, feeling too hot in the warmth of the hallway.
"Why do you live in a place like this?" I said, noting the fading and chipped paint. "You come from a wealthy family."
"I don't want my father's money."
"Oh, yes, that's right," I said, smiling. "Your father said something about you being a socialist…"
"I'm not a socialist,” she said through the door, sounding insulted. “I studied political theory. There is a difference. I'm a liberal."
"Of course." I didn’t really care if she leaned to the left – slightly or heavily. I was forbidden, politically and sexually. It would add a dimension to our relationship that would make her submission all the more exciting.
"My father would totally disown me if I joined the Socialist Party. As it is, I'm already a thorn in his side for my political positions and the fact I vote Democrat."
"My father was a socialist," I said, rubbing my jaw, in bad need of a shave. "A Trotskyite. I vote Republican. My father loved the Anonymous Group. He ate up WikiLeaks stuff. Probably would have stayed in Tent City if he was alive."
"I thought he – that you – are really rich."
"I am. He was. His company made a lot of money, but he started it for purely scientific purposes. He was what he called 'an accidental capitalist'. He saw the future in robotic surgery and wanted to help develop it. He was never in it for money. He drove one of those old Soviet cars. A really crappy, shit-brown Lada, but he liked the thought it was made in the Soviet Union. One of my favorite memories is of him tinkering with the engine, which was always breaking down. He spent so much trying to keep that piece of crap running."
I heard her laugh at that and saw movement under the door, as if she was leaning in to check the peephole again.
Now that he was dead, my memories of my father were mostly fond despite his foibles. I missed him.
"He was a wild man, full of life. Really gregarious." Sadness for his accidental death passed through me in a wave. His death was senseless—due to mechanical failure of his plane—but I’m sure he’d be happy that he died in his beloved Africa. "I miss him."
She said nothing for a moment and I could imagine her feeling bad for me, maybe softening towards me a bit.
"What about your mother?" she said in a soft voice as if she too wanted to prolong our conversation in spite of her fear.
"She left us when I was ten." I said it without emotion, for I’d turned off any feelings that I had for her long ago. I preferred not to feel sorry for myself. Self-pity was such a useless emotion that sapped you of drive.
"I'm sorry…"
"No, it's all right.” I swallowed past the constriction in my throat. “I'm over it."
"How do you get over a mother leaving? Did your father remarry?"
"No, he never did. He travelled so much, kept the proverbial woman in every port. I had a succession of nannies and housekeepers to look after me."
Another pregnant pause ensued while neither of us said anything. I wanted to push, to use my voice on her, try to coerce her a bit but I held back. I wanted her to ask me to come in. I wanted her to pick me.
To choose me.
"You shouldn't have come here," she said finally. "It's very forward."
I smiled at that. "I didn’t want any misunderstanding between us, Kate, and I don't want your father to find out about me. I admire your father and value his friendship. He's like a second father to me. I admire you. I…" Now it was my turn to hesitate. "I heard so much about you from your father and others. I'd like to get to know you better."
"You think I would ever tell my father about you? I'd have to tell him how I found out about your, you know. Kink. No way."
I opened my jacket farther for I was starting to overheat, a thin bead of sweat trickling down my temple. "Kate, why don't you let me in and we can talk? I'm sweltering out here and need some water."
"There's no reason to talk. I'm not writing about BDSM any longer and so we have nothing to talk about."
"I'd like to hear about Mangaize," I said, trying another tactic. I’d get her to talk about something that was important to her. "I was in Africa last year but never went to the camps. I was in several field hospitals in the Congo."
"In case you forgot, you warned me off you."
Crap. I did. What an idiot…
That was when I thought she was vanilla and would be horrified to find cuffs and rope and spreader bars in my closet. "Oh, damn. I did, didn’t I?" I rubbed my forehead, searching for a way to push past it. "Can I take it back?"
"Nope. My father always said that if a man tells you he's not good for you, you should believe him."
I smiled but shook my head. Trust Ethan to give Kate good advice. "Your father is a very smart man."
I sighed heavily, feeling my hopes for wearing her down dissipating. I had no idea what else to say to try to convince her.
"Why did you warn me off?" she said after a moment of silence.
Why did I? Because I felt guilty pursuing such a sweet innocent fragile woman like Katherine. Beloved daughter of the man I wished I had as a father.
"Isn't it obvious? You seemed so innocent, so young, so pure. I was sure you'd be horrified about my," I said, my voice low. "My lifestyle. I actually wanted to ask you out but didn't want to with Dave there, and then after the interview, I wanted to once again but I talked myself out of it. You were Katherine. Ethan's beloved daughter."
"I'm sorry," she said, and her voice did sound filled with regret. "I just can't."
I sighed. "Well, I should go, then. I don't want Mrs. Kropotkin to learn all my secrets." I tried to sound less disappointed than I felt but it wasn’t easy. Then, I decided to leave her with something to think about. I leaned closer to the door.
"I
'm sorry about all this," I said, trying to use the voice Janice told me to. "If you want to talk – about the article, about me, or the lifestyle – anything – you just have to call. Text me."
"I don't think I should.”
She said it, but it wasn’t firm. She didn’t think she should could mean that she wanted to.
"Okay," I said, trying one last time. "Your call. But if you change your mind and want me, I'm willing. Very willing."
A silence ensued. Finally, she spoke. "Goodbye, Dr. Morgan."
"Good night, Ms. Bennet."
I turned away and walked down the hallway to the stairs.
I’d lost a skirmish, but I hadn’t lost the war.
Not yet.
CHAPTER TWO
As I drove back to my apartment, I refused to accept that we wouldn’t eventually be Master and submissive. Despite her reluctance, I could almost taste the shy and reticent Ms. Katherine McDermott on my lips. I still had a huge wall to break down between us but if I had to do it brick by brick, I would – gladly.
Katherine was everything I could want in a sexual partner. Lovely, intelligent, well-bred. Submissive. Katherine was a true submissive – not just a young woman looking for a fun diversion because some book appealed to her. I’d met that kind of woman and they were fun, but often moved back to a vanilla lifestyle once they had their brief taste of submission.
No, with Kate, it was the real deal. Beneath that reluctant exterior was a woman aching to try submission but afraid of what it meant about her character. I knew her type – raised in a wealthy family by an exacting father who had high expectations for her success in whatever field she chose, high standards of behavior and performance in school and work. It had to be exhausting.
Someone like Kate just wanted to submit to someone strong and in control.
In contrast, I was raised by an absentee father who was too focused on his career and his desire for adventure and thrills to pay much attention to instilling anything in me but independence. I had to develop a sense of control – over myself and everything else – because he was never there to be my rock. I had to become dominant in order to achieve anything.
Yes, I did most of it to attract his attention, which rarely ever came, but this personal drive to be in control led to great success in my career as a neurosurgeon. I finished high school two years early, did the same with my undergraduate degree and then went through into medical school and my fellowship without break until I was fully accredited as a Board Certified neurosurgeon at thirty.
Katherine needed someone like me to feel safe. With me in control, she would be free to explore anything and everything because none of it would be her responsibility. I needed someone like her to fulfill my need for control. The fact that Ethan seemed to want to push us together made it all the easier and even more exciting. We could do anything, be together whenever we wanted, and he would be pleased. He’d be none the wiser that his little girl and best friend’s son were playing dominance and submission games in the bedroom.
What we did in private was none of his business anyway.
I arrived at my building and parked my car, jangling the keys in my overcoat pocket as I made my up the elevator to my suite. I’d have to develop a plan of attack and be resolute implementing it. I knew Kate wanted this but was afraid to admit it. I’d have to push her just a little and she’d fall.
Right into my arms.
Once inside my apartment, I threw off my coat and shucked my boots before checking my messages. Yet another one from Allie, pleading with me to give her another chance. I’d have to speak to Lara about her. Lara had to find her another Dom because I had my mind set on Katherine and nothing was going to do in substitution.
I had a call from David in Nairobi, asking me if I’d given his offer of a position at the hospital any thought. He’d been pestering me about coming to Africa for six months to help out with the medical college’s neurosurgery program. I wanted to go, but with a busy practice in Manhattan, I’d have to start slowing down in order to take a leave of absence.
The last message was from Lara.
Drake, don’t push too much with Kate. I know her type – skittish like an unbroken thoroughbred filly. She’ll balk at any attempt to saddle her up at first so proceed slowly… Call me back and we can talk. Better yet, meet me for lunch tomorrow and we can plot our course.
I smiled at the metaphor of Kate as a thoroughbred and the revelation that Lara was on my side. Kate was precisely a thoroughbred, with good breeding, a first-rate upbringing and a graduate education. Chestnut hair and wide green eyes, fantastic rack and tiny little waist. She was short and that always brought out the Dom in me.
God, I wanted her…
I wanted her wrists and ankles cuffed and restrained, tied to my bedframe, a blindfold covering her eyes while I played with her body, teasing her with pleasure until she begged for release. Then, I’d remove her blindfold and force her to look in my eyes as she came.
Imagining it gave rise to a semi and I rubbed myself absently, wishing I’d been more successful with her earlier. If I had been able to work my way into her apartment, I felt certain I could have found my way between her luscious thighs. I could be very persuasive when I wanted something.
I wanted Kate badly.
After undressing and washing my face, I examined myself in the mirror. There were a few flecks of grey in my hair, and a few lines on my face. Yes, I was twelve years older than Kate, but age gave me that extra sense of dominance that would attract and tame a submissive like her. I’d been married, divorced and had been a professional for seven years. I wasn’t some green under the collar frat boy who didn’t know what to do with his dick or how to handle a woman like Kate.
I sat on the edge of my bed and opened the photo album containing the artistically posed photos of previous submissives and flipped through the pages. It usually provided me with a source of arousal when I was between submissive partners, but I wanted to imagine Kate in those poses instead of the woman they portrayed.
I closed the book and laid back on the bed, my eyes closed as I imagined bringing Kate to my apartment, tying her up and having my way with her delicious body and mind.
It was cold comfort to be jerking off alone instead of using her body for my pleasure but until I was successful getting between Kate’s thighs, it would have to do.
I met Lara at the café across the street from NYP just after one o’clock the next day once my morning slate of surgeries was complete. As usual, she was impeccably dressed in her grey pinstripe suit and white blouse, her hair pulled back tightly in a bun, thick black framed glasses on making her look very bookish. That staid exterior hid a very kinky and domineering interior that I had come to know only too well during our time together as a new Dom in training.
I stopped at the counter and placed my order and then went to our table at the back of the small café.
“There you are,” she said and bent her head to the side, expecting me to bend down and kiss her cheek. Despite the fact we were both dominants, she couldn’t help but try to top me in every encounter. I smiled and bent down, placing a kiss on her cheek. Then, I slipped down to kiss her neck at the last moment, refusing to give her the upper hand completely. My small show of dominance mixed with obeisance kept us simpatico and ensured I had a steady supply of eager new recruits.
My specialty was training new submissives who were curious about the lifestyle but didn’t want to try anything too heavy into S&M to start. She had a line into that supply as one of the moderators at the Manhattan branch of Fetlife.com. She taught a class on BDSM and Feminism once a semester, introducing the topic to the curious who were conflicted about their politics. I’d met almost all of my former submissives through her connections and most of them were college students or young professional women bored with the same old thing.
“So,” she said, eyeing me from across the table. “Any luck with the reluctant daughter of the Hanging Judge? You sure you want to do thi
s, given that you two run in the same social circles?”
“Not one iota of doubt,” I replied and smiled at the server as she placed my BLT sandwich down on the table. I dug into my lunch, hungry after five and a half hours of surgery. “I’m even more convinced after I made a visit to her apartment last night. Our little encounter gave me hope.”
Lara made a face of surprise. “You went to her apartment? She invited you in?”
That surprised me, for I was sure Kate would have called Lara to talk about the whole business.
“She didn’t call you?” I said, taking a pickle chip off my plate.
“No,” she said, smiling over her cup. “Tell me everything.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t actually go inside her apartment so there isn’t much to tell. I stood outside her door in the hallway for about fifteen minutes and sweltered while she stood on the other side of the door.”
“And this gives you hope because…”
“Because,” I said and picked up the other half of my sandwich. “I could tell by what she said and how she said it that she really wanted to talk to me but was afraid.”
“Of you?”
I shook my head and smiled. “Of herself.”
“Ahh,” Lara said as she fixed me with a thoughtful stare. “Of course. She strikes me as someone who is extremely frustrated with her life. She wants more but is afraid to take it. Afraid of her domineering father, I suspect.”
“Precisely.”
“I have the highest regard for Judge McDermott,” Lara said, looking off into the distance. “But he is very dominant. I’d think she’d be happy to find another man like him. Most women want another daddy.”
“She’s probably happy to find another man like Ethan,” I said, nodding in agreement. “She just has to realize it. If she didn’t want someone like me, she wouldn’t have gone looking in the first place.”