Convincing Leah (Surrender Book 9)

by Becca Jameson

  She groans. “I walked right into that trap.”

  “Hey, you set the trap. Not me,” I tease.

  Her expression switches to something more serious, and I panic a bit. Our time together always feels like it’s borrowed. I’m constantly waiting for her to tell me things aren’t going to work out. She’s probably right, but I’m still hanging around waiting.

  When she licks her lips, I watch her tongue. I’ve never kissed her, but I’ve thought about it a lot. Her full pink lips often catch my eye.

  “Speaking of which, Leah brought up the same subject at lunch today.”

  I swallow. “What subject?” I ask as if I’m dense.

  “The Daddy subject,” she responds. “She made me think.”

  For a second, I’m hopeful that she might be willing to give my preferred kink a try. “What did she make you think about?”

  Leah sighs. “Mostly that I’m stringing you along with this odd friendship we have. I’m worried you think someday I’ll decide to submit to you as a little even though I’ve told you many times it’s not gonna happen.”

  I can’t say I’m shocked by her declaration. We were bound to have this conversation sooner or later. “You’re not stringing me along, Leah. I enjoy your company. I don’t currently have a Daddy/little relationship, so there’s no reason I can’t dominate you the old-fashioned way. As long as we’re both enjoying our time together, that’s all that matters.”

  She chuckles. “The old-fashioned way?”

  I laugh. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, but are you sure I’m not holding you back? I know you haven’t been in the scene for several years since your divorce. I’m worried that now that you’re back, I’m keeping you from finding what you really want.”

  I shake my head. The sad truth I won’t be admitting out loud is that I’d rather have ten minutes with Leah than a week with any other woman. Maybe I’ll change my mind someday. I can’t predict the future. But I’m into this woman, and I have no choice but to take what she gives me until she decides she doesn’t want to do it anymore. I just hope that day isn’t today.

  “You’re not keeping me from anything, Leah. I enjoy spending time with you. We have chemistry. We click. Judging by the number of people who watch us scene together, I’m not the only one who feels that way.” I hope I haven’t said too much. I always worry I’ll say something that pushes her to run.

  She smiles warmly though. “Yeah, I think we click too, but we have a strange arrangement, don’t you agree?”

  “How do you mean?” She’s not wrong. We have the strangest arrangement of them all, but I’d love to hear what she thinks makes it odd.

  She shrugs. “Just that it feels kind of one-sided. I mean we haven’t ever discussed sex, nor have we been alone together. You’ve given me dozens of orgasms. I’ve never seen or touched your cock. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  I hesitate a moment, thinking hard about how I want to answer her. “If you’re asking me if I’d like to sleep with you, the answer is yes. Of course, I would. You’re attractive both inside and out. But you’re wrong about our relationship being one-sided.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Sure, deep down I’m a Daddy Dom, but my ex-wife and I didn’t add age play to our relationship until we’d been married ten years. Before that, we had a Dom sub relationship that resembled something far closer to what you and I experience together. So, I’m perfectly capable of playing in that sandbox.”

  “But it’s not what you really crave,” she pushes.

  I shrug. “In the long run? In my life? Maybe not. But considering I wasn’t practicing any kind of fetish for a long time before I returned to Surrender, I feel fortunate to have found someone I click with who enjoys submitting to me for a few hours a week. I’ve never once thought of our arrangement as one-sided.

  “We negotiate scenes. My job is to give you the release you need. If that release involves spanking you until you relax into subspace, great. If it means you need me to fuck your sweet little pussy with my fingers to finish the scene, also great. It’s beyond rewarding to see you let go of your stress and relax into bliss. I’m proud to be able to give that to you. It doesn’t have to be more than that unless you want it to.”

  God, I pray I haven’t said the wrong things.

  Leah chews on the end of her pen while I try not to turn my speech into rambling word vomit. When I finish, she lowers the pen and swallows. “I think I’d like to have sex with you.” Her voice is soft.

  My cock is not. I gulp. I didn’t expect her to say that. “Okay. We can do that.” I sound ridiculous. She has me off-balance.

  “If you want to. I mean, I don’t want to be presumptuous. Maybe that’s not the kind of relationship you have in mind with me. I mean, of course, it’s not. You’d rather I submit to you as a little. But I just don’t have that in me, Craig. I get that you’re biding your time with me.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but she continues before I can get anything out.

  “I’m at least submissive and we have fun together and we’re friends or something, so maybe it would be weird if we had sex, but I don’t know. I mean, as it is, I have sex when we’re together. Or at least I get to orgasm. You don’t. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if we did have sex. Together I mean. If you also had sex.” She stops rambling, tips her head back so she’s looking at the ceiling, and groans. “God, why on earth am I still talking?”

  “Leah, take a breath. It’s okay. I get it. Yes, I’d love to have sex with you. We can get a private room at the club Friday night, or if you’d rather be more comfortable, we can come back to my house after we scene.” She’s never taken me up on the offer to come home with me, so I don’t push her.

  “Either is fine.” She chews on that pen again. “Or I guess the club is good. We can see how it goes.”

  I chuckle, trying desperately to lighten the mood. “I don’t think we can mess it up. Tab A in slot B and repeat until both people cry out their release,” I tease.

  She smiles. Her skin is tanned but I can see evidence of a flush anyway. “What makes you think I’ll cry out?”

  I laugh. “Leah, you cry out every time you come. I assume it will be louder if I use my cock instead of my fingers.”

  Yeah, she’s flushed. “I do not.”

  My eyes widen. Is she seriously unaware of the noises she makes when she orgasms? “Sweetheart…”

  She waves a hand through the air. “Okay. Okay. Let’s not discuss my noises. It’s embarrassing.”

  It’s fascinating how this woman who is stressing out over a private conversation about having sex with me is the same woman who walks into Surrender dressed to kill with her head held high.

  She usually wears a tight black leather skirt and a corset that pushes her tits up. Black fuck-me heels round out the ensemble. Her hair hangs down in long ringlets. There’s always an assortment of pins pulling it back off her face, but they don’t really accomplish much.

  When Leah submits, it’s a work of art. I’ve known that from the moment I first watched her. She’s not like any other submissive I’ve ever met. She has a different vibe. If someone met her in the club for the first time, they would probably think she was a Domme. She presents as fully in charge.

  But underneath that façade is a woman who craves domination. She doesn’t top from the bottom, at least not directly. She never says a word to try to control a scene. Nevertheless, there’s an air around her that feels like she never fully lets go.

  She plans, and in a sense controls, her scenes ahead of time. When she turns herself over to me, it’s deliberate and intentional. I get the feeling she’s a bit OCD. I imagine she has a routine for everything. Brush her teeth, put her clothes in the hamper, pull a T-shirt over her head, turn out the light, climb into bed.

  When she submits, she knows what she’s getting, too. Lean over the bench, let me remove or lift her skirt, pull down her panties, spank her until she’s writhing, g
et her off with my fingers, lift her into my arms, hold her while she recovers.

  It’s submission. No one watching would think otherwise. But is it contrived? Maybe.

  I lean in and hold her gaze. “I’ll reserve a private room for Friday night at Surrender, okay?”

  She nods.

  “Okay. Now I’m going to hang up so you can get some sleep. It’s late.” This kind of statement is the closest I ever come to dominating her when we’re on the phone.

  “I’ll see you Friday then.”

  “Yep. Good night.” I end the call, but like every time we finish talking, I feel the loss. Even though I don’t own even a small piece of this amazing woman, I take what I can get. I look forward to our chats almost as much as I look forward to dominating her in person. In between, I miss her.

  Chapter 3

  Leah

  I’m nervous about tonight. It’s unnecessary. Since when do I get nervous about having sex? Never. Granted I don’t usually plan it like this, and it’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and I’m worried about the implications of this connection.

  Craig is smoking hot. Six-two with dark hair that hasn’t started turning gray yet. He keeps the top short, but the part that makes my heart race is the scruffy-groomed beard and mustache.

  I’m sure every woman he encounters does a double take and wishes they could have a piece of him. The fact that he has singled me out and spends time with me makes me feel special. Can’t lie about that. What worries me is what having sex with me means to him.

  I know he wants more from me. More than I can give. I’m clear his tastes lean toward a type of kink I’m not interested in. I have a constant underlying fear that he’s hoping I’ll come around, change my mind, see his way of thinking.

  I won’t. I just…can’t. His way scares the hell out of me. I’m not a little. It’s not in my genes.

  So, yeah. I’m nervous. I want Craig to fuck me clear into tomorrow, but what are the implications? I’m concerned about how he might feel afterward. I’m concerned about how I might feel afterward too.

  “You look fantastic,” Eve says as she steps out of a bathroom stall and finds me at the mirror. “Hot date?” she teases.

  “Thanks.” I’m four inches taller than Eve barefoot, but when we’re at Surrender, I tower over her in my heels. She’s wearing a pink dress appropriate for someone about five years old heading to a birthday party. The smocking across the front makes me shudder. She never wears a bra when she’s in little attire—not that she needs one; neither of us does—but I can’t imagine spending the evening with that smocking rubbing against my nipples. Eve tells me that’s the point.

  As usual, she also has on flats. Tonight, they are pink ballet slippers, and she’s wearing white frilly ankle socks. Her hair is in two braids behind her ears. I know she feels comfortable in her little apparel because the transformation to her expression is amazing every time she changes. Her face is lit up like she really is going to a birthday party, and it’s hers.

  She reaches for my white leather skirt and smooths her hand over my hip in a way only best friends would do. “When did you get this new skirt?”

  “I went shopping this week.” I look down at the skirt that barely covers my ass and then tug on the dark purple corset to get my boobs to push up higher.

  “Special occasion?” she jokes.

  “Yep.”

  Her eyes light up before she glances around to confirm we are alone in the locker room. “You’re going to have sex with him, aren’t you?”

  I wince. “I think so. Yes. Do you think I’m making a mistake? Leading him on or something?”

  She shakes her head. “Not at all. He’s a big boy. Don’t be ridiculous. But I’m curious. Did you plan this? I mean, did you two discuss sex?”

  I nod. “Yeah.” And then I shudder. It feels absurd now. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “That you’re horny and a fine-looking man who happens to be an impressive Dom wants you naked?”

  “Oh, right. That.” I force a smile. “I sort of instigated it. I feel like a heel. I’m totally leading him on.”

  Eve shakes her head again. “Leah, stop it. You’re not. He knows the stakes. You’ve made it perfectly clear many times. If he still thinks he can convince you to try age play, that’s his problem, not yours.”

  I nod slowly. She’s right.

  Eve giggles and spins around in a circle, causing her skirt to flare out so far that I can see her pink panties. Almost all of her dresses are cut like this. She calls them twirl dresses. They make her happy.

  I can’t help but smile at her. She has found her niche in life. She loves spending about half her time living as a much younger girl. It suits her, and it’s infectious. What’s impressive is that she spends the other half of her time in corporate America wearing pencil skirts and heels. She’s formidable in that persona. She’s happy. That’s all that matters. I’m so glad she found Colton.

  I also enjoy kink, but I’m certain I don’t look as excited as Eve when I change into my fetish wear. I feel…oddly in command, I guess. Maybe that’s incongruent since I’m a sub, but I work from home. My working attire involves yoga pants and workout shirts. Some weeks the only time I get dressed is when I come to the club.

  People notice me. I’m aware of that. I like it. Most of them have no idea what I do for a profession, and I like that too. I don’t advertise that I’m a writer. I keep that side of my life very private. It’s a cruel world out there. I’d rather remain anonymous.

  I smooth my hands down my new skirt one more time and then glance at Eve’s. “I’m not sure which one of us wears the shorter skirts.”

  She giggles and takes my hand. “Let’s get out there.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so excited. You’re going to daycare. I’m going to wander around and get aroused watching other people play before it’s my turn.”

  She giggles again. “You’re missing out. Daycare is also arousing.”

  I don’t respond. This banter we engage in helps me keep my walls up. Everyone in the club knows I’m not into age play. And it’s true. I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. I do. More than most people probably.

  I may tease Eve mercilessly in good fun, but I can grasp why she enjoys the scene. It’s not for me, but I admire her ability to let herself go and be completely carefree. When she slides into her little space and sheds her adult, her face changes.

  Of that ability, I am jealous. Before she met Colton, it wasn’t as easy for her. She spent a great deal of time in her little space, but she couldn’t fully relax because no one was around to actually take care of her. A Daddy. Now that she has Colton to fill that role, she’s even more invested in age play.

  No matter how envious I am of the fact that she’s able to live authentically, I have a deep-rooted sense of responsibility, a need to ensure that I can and will take care of myself. I don’t need someone else to do anything for me. I’m well aware that my upbringing caused me to be fiercely independent, but that’s just how I am. It’s how I’m wired.

  Eve skips off toward the daycare while I wander into the main room with the intent of watching. I’ve been coming to Surrender for a long time. I’ve dabbled in several types of impact play. I enjoy a good flogging and sometimes a paddle. I like a slow build that leaves me deliciously achy. I like to be struck long enough and with enough pressure that I’m still wincing the next morning.

  I don’t mind a few bruises. Blood is a definite no. Extreme pain that yanks me out of my headspace is also off-limits. Caning is not my thing. It’s too harsh and intense. A crop is okay as long as the Dom knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t strike too hard.

  I’m particular. I choose my partners carefully. Usually, they are well-vetted by both me from observation and Surrender’s owners before I let anyone strike me.

  Craig is an anomaly. The first time he asked me to do a scene with him, I hadn’t seen him perform a single time. I was tak
en aback. Master Roman was the one who vouched for him. The two of them go way back. I was leery and apprehensive, but I agreed for two reasons. One, Master Roman’s encouragement. And two, spanking was all I agreed to.

  Turns out Craig almost always spanks me. It’s not hard to understand why. He has told me that he has plenty of training using other implements but it’s been a long time. He’s a Daddy. As a Daddy, he nearly always uses his palm to discipline. A paddle isn’t outside of his repertoire, but he hasn’t used one on me yet.

  I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter much to me whether the Dom uses his hand, a flogger, or something else mild enough to keep me from running from the room. As long as I get the slow-growing burn from impact that eventually transforms into deep arousal that makes me beg for release, I’m golden.

  Craig is the best spanker I’ve ever been with. That’s the main reason why I agreed to a second and then a third scene with him on subsequent nights. Eventually, we became an item of sorts. Some members might even think we are an actual item. It doesn’t matter. There are lots of members who come to the club and perform with the same people nearly every time. It’s not unusual.

  We click. Craig was slightly rusty when we started scening together. He and his ex-wife divorced five years ago. After they split, he went to various clubs on occasion but not as often. In the last two years since he retired, he hasn’t been to Surrender or any other club.

  No one would know he was rusty. Certainly not me. He took his time with me the first night, warming up as he called it, but that’s how I like it, and I told him so afterward.

  There are a lot of Doms who rush things, increasing the pressure prematurely before I’ve fully wrapped my head around the space. That usually leaves me dissatisfied or ends up taking me longer to get where I want to be.

  I know I’m an odd submissive. I negotiate every detail. As one should. But I know I have a quality that borders on dominant instead of submissive. In my head, I have a sense that I’m actually in charge. I get that the submissive holds the power. It’s more than that for me. Or maybe I just justify it somehow to permit myself to submit to anyone.