Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough

by Reese Gabriel

Cameron spied Veronica sitting at a corner table. She was one of those petite women that other women hate, perpetually beautiful, always looking ten years younger than their real age, able to eat and drink anything without gaining a pound, running flat out ninety miles an hour day in day out never getting tired.

  According to the maitre d she had been waiting there a half hour already.

  “I hope I’m not late,” said Cameron.

  “Oh, no, you’re right on time.” Veronica shook her hand, warm and firm, bracelets jingling. “Thanks for being here.”

  “Uh huh.” Cameron rapidly sized her up, trying to reconcile her calm, staid beauty with the notion of slavery to Victor Cabrini.

  Victor certainly knew how to choose them, the gentle oval face, soft feathered hair, chestnut brown, matching eyes and a figure to beat the band.

  She must work out a lot, Cameron thought.

  “So tell me how you know Victor,” she said adjusting her tailored suit jacket.

  “I met him at the club. I’m working on a project, for a graduate class.”

  “You’re a student?”

  “In psychology, yes.” Cameron couldn’t tell if she was relieved by the information or upset by it. “I hope to be a therapist.”

  “A therapist…I see.” Veronica raised her hand for the waiter. “Would you like a white wine? I know I would like another glass.”

  They were a few sips into their chardonnay when Veronica took a big old stab at the proverbial elephant in the room. “Are you and Victor lovers?”

  “No,” said Cameron, trying to think in clinical, non-personal terms. “How about the two of you?”

  She smiled, indicating nothing about this conversation was going to be simple. “Lovers? No, I don’t think that’s the right word. I’m afraid of him you see.”

  Cameron’s face must have registered sufficient horror because she quickly qualified the statement.

  “Oh, I don’t mean he would stalk me or abuse me or anything. I mean that I am terrified he will leave me. You’ve no idea the lengths I go to be available, to keep myself attractive for him. I haven’t had an ice cream or a cookie in forever. I jog all hours, take beauty treatments in Paris.”

  “The results speak for themselves,” said Cameron sensing the woman’s need for approval.

  “Do you think so?” she seized on Cameron’s words. “Because he hasn’t wanted to see me in ages, it’s not fair, competing against all those models, they have looks and all the time in the world to prove themselves. I’ve offered to leave my husband, to forsake everything but he likes it this way. I’m this interesting piece in his collection, you see, the married woman who cannot be with him but who has no choice but to acknowledge him as her total master.”

  “That must be a hard thing to balance.”

  “Not when I consider how much pleasure it gives him to see me in torment,” she said with a straight face. “That is something I alone can give him.”

  “You’re a masochist.” It was neither a question nor an accusation.

  “Absolutely.” She drank more of her wine, conspiratorially, like they were long lost sisters. “I wanted to be with him so badly today, I bought special underwear, I told him all about it on the phone, that’s when he told me about you and I cried…”

  “I’m truly sorry,” said Cameron not sure how else to proceed.

  “Oh, there’s no point in that. Victor gets what he wants. And right now it’s that little twit Rachel.”

  “You mean the girl he is living with?”

  “Demon seed more like, oh, she makes me fume, Cameron, with her waifish little body and her long silver blonde hair and all those pouty looks. What is she a fucking fairy princess?”

  “Victor told me something interesting. He said he gives her everything and nothing.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “Those two love their drama. One minute they are the perfect gothic slave and master couple and the next it’s World War III. If you ask me, it isn’t Victor wearing the pants.”

  “He doesn’t let your masturbate,” said Cameron quite out of the blue.

  Perhaps it was some indescribable need to defend Victor’s virility that drove her.

  “Nope. How do you like them apples?”

  “How do you manage?”

  “Like I say, I exercise, keep my mind busy plotting to get away from my husband, all so I can hear Victor tell me he can’t see me because precious Rachel had a fever or a toothache or a god damn splinter in her perfect little toe.”

  “Is your husband a possessive man?”

  “He’s a doddering old fool but he goes ballistic if I’m not around to wipe the milk from his chin or point him to the bathroom, like we don’t have fifty million servants for that.”

  Cameron did the math. “So that means…”

  “Only Victor touches me,” she completed the thought. “That’s part of the deal. My body is his temple, or something like that.”

  “It all seems so sad,” said Cameron. “Surely you want more out of life? Couldn’t you find a more fulfilling BDSM relationship?”

  Veronica laughed without humor. “Honey, slaves don’t choose their masters, contrary to popular belief.”

  “But it’s consensual.”

  “So is love, right? How about you, do you have someone special?”

  “I have a boyfriend, a fiancé, really, named Craig.”

  Funny, she thought, how she never called him that, fiancé, such a finicky, nebulous word, not at all manly in Cameron’s opinion.

  “And do you wake up every day consenting to love him? Do you freely choose it, take it or leave it every time you’re apart and you draw a breath and pray you’ll see him again?

  Cameron was silent.

  Veronica arched a brow, knowing. “So maybe you’re not in love so much, eh Miss Goody Two Shoes Graduate Student?

  “That’s not true, Craig is my life.”

  “But you’re curious, about the BDSM...and he isn’t, am I right?”

  “We play a little…”

  Correction, Cameron had gotten him worked up into a froth to the point where he came down on her ass like a ton of bricks.

  Veronica held up her empty glass signaling for a refill. “Fuck men,” she decided.

  Cameron caught herself giggling. “You’re not a stereotypical slave.”

  “And you’re not a stereotypical grad student, so where does that leave us?”

  “Broke,” Cameron decided. “And horny.”

  “Well, I’m not broke, but I’ll drink to horny.”

  They clinked glasses, thick as thieves.

  “You know,” she said. “Technically there is no reason why I can’t call Victor back, you know. I could tell him lunch is done and we have a little more time, you and I…”

  “But we haven’t eaten.”

  Veronica made a face. “You want to ruin a perfectly good buzz with food?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Come on.” Veronica grabbed her arm. “Let’s make some trouble.”

  They called Victor from Veronica’s cell phone. They sat in the parking lot in her German luxury sedan, still floating a little from the wine.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Cameron asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure I don’t,” she said breezily. “But I never have been very fucking smart about things.”

  “You’re not dumb,” said Cameron. “Just a masochist.”

  “Excellent point.” She hit speed dial and put it on speaker phone just in time to hear Victor’s deep, rich voice.

  “Why are you calling me again, Veronica?”

  Veronica tried to hide a raft of emotions. “I, or rather we, are done with lunch.”

  Victor said nothing.

  “Hello?” said Veronica, her voice a little strained.

  “I’m here.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “You are done with lunch. I don’t see how that affects me.”

  “Well it could, it might,” s
he fished.

  Another pause. “Is Cameron still with you?”

  “Yes…” Clearly it was affecting Veronica, just hearing his voice.

  “Where are you?”

  “In my car.” Veronica was slipping into another mode, less frivolous, more concentrated. Cameron could see it in her body language, the letting go, her free hand lying palm up on her lap, resting just above the hem of her tailored business skirt.

  Something else was happening, too, almost like channeling, Victor’s will entering the automobile, through her.

  “You shouldn’t have called.”

  “I know…”

  Veronica arched her back a little, quite unconsciously.

  “You’re hoping I’ll punish you in front of the girl,” he said. “You want to show off.”

  “No…”

  “Do you think I’m here to be a stand in for your pornographic fantasies?”

  It was Veronica’s turn to be silent.

  “One month, no contact, is that punishment enough?”

  He might as well have impaled her on a stake. She took the phone off Intercom and pleaded into the mouthpiece. “Victor, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. You know I’m nothing without you, I’ll do what you say, I won’t annoy you, honestly. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

  Veronica went silent. Victor was telling her something. She glanced nervously in Cameron’s direction, once, twice, three times.

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” she kept saying. “I know, this is generous, really.”

  Cameron was on pins and needles. “What did he say?” she exclaimed after Victor hung up.

  Veronica fished through her purse. “Of all the times to quit smoking, there’s got to be a loosey in here somewhere. Check the glove box, will you?”

  Cameron obliged, promptly treating herself to a jack in the box explosion of X rated objects, everything from a vibrator to a pair of fuzzy handcuffs tumbling out on to the floor.

  “Sorry, I always carry props,” said Veronica. She tossed her purse in the back seat. “I have to kiss you, that’s what he said.”

  Cameron laughed waiting for a punch line. “He said…what?”

  Veronica wasn’t cracking a smile. “If you don’t let me I can’t see him for a month. Please, Cameron, I’ll die, you don’t know.”

  Cameron shook her head. “This whole thing is crazy, I’m sorry, but you need some kind of help.”

  “I’m in love, damn it,” Veronica blasted. “Who are you to judge?”

  “I’m not anyone, but—”

  “Then stop acting like my shrink and just be a woman, now can I kiss you or not?”

  The blood pounded in Cameron’s head. She was curious. Veronica was a beautiful woman, passionate and high strung. How would she taste? How would she kiss as opposed to a man?

  “I--I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “There’s a first for everything. Now lean back.” Veronica hit the button reclining Cameron’s seat.

  Before she could open her mouth to object Veronica moved in. She kissed like a man, hard, demanding and fearless. Cameron felt herself softening, yielding, offering herself up to Veronica’s will, her nipples, keen and tight with anticipation, her sex throbbing with the desire to be taken over.

  Good grief, could this woman really be a submissive?

  Veronica stopped just short of employing her tongue.

  Cameron was short of breath when it ended and more than a little disappointed.

  “Yummy,” said Veronica. “And you’re sure you’ve never done that before?”

  Cameron nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

  Veronica’s eyes twinkled. She dabbed her lips with her tongue. “We could do more…”

  “But Victor…” Cameron managed.

  “My body is off limits, but he wouldn’t mind if I had my way with you.”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “And I have a husband, and a Master on the side, what of it?”

  “Craig and I are faithful to each other,” Cameron explained.

  Veronica shrugged. “Your choice, although I think you have the perfect alibi, what with this being research and all. Besides, it’s not like you’d be letting another guy give it to you.”

  “Wow,” said Cameron. “You really do have your own logic, don’t you?”

  “You’re just now figuring that out?” Veronica turned on the ignition and threw the car into gear. “Fasten your seat belts, girlfriend, you and I are going for a ride.”

  Veronica went out of her way to find a sleazy motel over in the industrial section of town. It was wedged between an adult book store and an all night minute mart.

  She made Cameron go in and get them a room.

  “It’s good practice,” Veronica insisted.

  “What for,” exclaimed Cameron. “You don’t think I’m doing this again?”

  “It’s not about the room,” said Veronica. “It’s about facing your demons. You are as terrified of not going in there and degrading yourself as you are of going.”

  Cameron didn’t understand, though she did pick up on the degradation part.

  Nice girls didn’t rent rooms by the hour, rooms that smelled of stale sex and bragged of an endless procession of illicit, deviate lovers.

  “207,” said the desk clerk, a large man with a double chin and a layer of grease over his lip from a hamburger he was eating.

  She reached for the key, old fashioned brass on a plastic ring. He held on to it a second too long, glomming fingers and ogling eyes, raking past her tented breasts for the umpteenth time, pity mixed with ruttish lust.

  What was a girl like her doing in a place like this?

  “I’ve never been here before,” Cameron felt obligated to say. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

  The clerk smirked, directing her around the corner and up the stairs. On the way out she could feel him, invisible fingers groping her ass.

  “How did it go?” Veronica asked.

  Cameron slumped in the seat. “Like I need a shower.”

  Veronica giggled. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  She had a suitcase in the trunk, which she called her toy bag.

  “I come equipped, the kinky Barbie,” she quipped as they climbed the metal and concrete stairs, circa 1970.

  The room was small and dingy, yellow cinderblock walls, a half closet, three beat up coat hangers on a dowel rod and a bathroom fan that sounded like a 787 taking off from JFK.

  “Oh, this is absolutely fucking perfect,” Veronica declared heaving the overnight bag onto the creaking queen size bed. “We are going to have a blast.”

  Cameron did not share the woman’s enthusiasm, not that her opinions had been carrying much weight of late.

  “You’re way more submissive than I am,” Veronica laid out the terms. “So I will top. It’s a little draining, but I can manage.”

  Cameron frowned. “I don’t know if I want this to go in a BDSM direction.”

  Veronica told her to come here.

  Cameron approached, ever the innocent.

  Veronica kissed her again. Even with her heels, she was an inch shorter than Cameron and about ten pounds lighter, but still she managed to completely overpower the younger woman with just a touch of her lips.

  Cameron felt waves of pleasure, her nerve endings screaming for the novelty, the possibilities. She pushed her body against Veronica, inviting, almost taunting, breast to breast, pelvis grinding, so different than a man’s body, but equally explosive. She wanted Veronica’s hands on her clothes, under them, too, and she wanted her will, her voice, her orders directing her.

  It kept running through Cameron’s head:

  Someone is going to take me over. I am not going to be deciding what to do…how to do it…I am going to be a plaything.

  “Damn,” said Veronica, pausing to inhale her fragrance. “You’re a hot thing. You might be 24/7 material, lord knows I’m not. Victor’s got his cl
aws into me deep and I would probably jump off a fucking bridge if he asked, but waking up next to him, saying thank you, master, every time he gives me a snot rag to wash?”

  Cameron had her arms at her sides, letting Veronica work her magic. There was this strange sense of power, knowing she was at the center of the action, the total object of another’s attention.

  “Sweetie, I don’t know how far this will go,” Veronica said. “I’m just going to go with the flow. You trust me?”

  Cameron nodded.

  “Good. Your safety word is snot rag. Now take off your shirt, shoes and pants. We’ll see what your underwear has to say about you.”

  Cameron slipped off her sandals and pulled her tee shirt over her head. She was wearing a gray jersey bra, the kind designed to disguise more than advertise her breasts.

  Veronica withheld comment until she had skinned her jeans down to reveal a pair of midnight blue silk panties.

  “Well aren’t you a contradiction. Your tits say ‘I just want to be one of the boys’ while downstairs you’re a little gangbang waiting to happen.”

  Cameron’s eyes widened.

  “You don’t like me to talk dirty? Sorry it’s a turn on, and I’ll bet it is for you, too. Tell me, are those little slut panties of yours wet right now?”

  Cameron was silent. She went weak kneed as Veronica headed for her bag of tricks, opting for a sleek black riding crop which she proceeded to test in the air, just inches from its intended target.

  The whip made a faint whistling sound in the air with each pass.

  “Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Mistress Veronica. You are slut, bitch, ‘C’ or whatever else I feel like calling you. You are here to entertain me and I bite back so don’t fuck with me. I learned from the best and that’s Victor. He’s been in my head plenty of times, he’s made me crawl and beg, he’s made me come while I’m flooded from my own tears. As for you—you are a little girl and I will run circles around you. Understand?”

  Cameron swallowed.

  Veronica reared back snapping her wrist. The blow landed square on Cameron’s panty clad thigh. It hurt. Tears pooled in her eyes, a combination of pain and shock.

  “I asked you a question, you stuck up little bitch.”

  “Yes…yes, I understand,” Cameron exclaimed.

  Her head swam. She hadn’t asked for this. She barely knew Veronica, and above all, she was not into BDSM.