He takes on a sheepish look, and I could almost swear his cheeks are pinking up. “No, no, you did quite well. But I’ve got to get home. I hope you got something out of this.”
“I did. I feel very confident, Sir. Thank you again, Sir.” It’s very sad. I thought maybe I’d get to know him a little better tonight. I mean, the guy just fucked me in the ass, for god’s sake. But he’s not going to open up to me at all. I almost think I hear him sigh as he’s getting dressed. When he’s ready to go, he turns back to me. I’m still on the bed, naked and waiting. I don’t know if it’s okay for me to get dressed or not.
“Sub, before you go, I want you to pleasure yourself. Then you may get dressed and leave.” He doesn’t even smile.
“Thank you, Sir,” is all I can manage.
To my surprise, he crosses the room and puts his fingers under my chin, lifting my face up to look at him. “You did quite well tonight, Trish. You’re going to make a good sub for some lucky Dom someday, I can tell.” With that, he turns and strides out of the room.
I slip my hand down between my legs and start to stroke my over-sensitized nub. It only takes me a few minutes to come, his face in my memory, and then I’m ready to leave. As I dress, I see something on the floor.
It’s a business card – Clint’s business card. He must’ve dropped it. The face of the card is a deep green, almost black, and in gold letters are the words, “Clinton Alexander Winstead, Corporate Training and Efficiency Consultant. Reasonable Hourly Rates. Specializing in the Small Business Community.” So that’s what he does for a living – he’s a consultant. I realize the only place I have to keep the card is in my bra, so that’s where it goes for the time being.
When I get back to the bar, Clint’s nowhere in sight, but Dave’s back. “What in the hell did you do to him in there?” he asks me, an weird look in his eyes.
I scrunch my face up and raise one eyebrow. “What do you mean?” To my knowledge, I didn’t do a damn thing to him.
“Something happened. He was almost running when he came back out here and barely spoke, just went rushing out the door.”
I shrug. “I didn’t do anything, I don’t think.” Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “He’s a strange one.”
“Not strange,” Dave says quietly, and almost so low that I can’t hear him, he adds, “He’s just got a lot of hurt.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” My frustration is mounting.
“Nope.” Dave starts wiping down the bar. “Eventually he’ll have to tell you himself.”
My training is going pretty well, I think. At least Dave says it is. I’ve done all kinds of things I never thought I would do, but I haven’t had sex out in the public areas with anyone yet. I’m not sure I can do that.
The part I liked best was the bondage and restraint. I know that sounds awful, but I find it kind of soothing. It’s like being told, “You will like this or else,” and then being shown that it’s true.
My favorite is the spreader bar. I can’t back out with it, because I can’t get my knees together. I like all of the cuffs and straps and things like that. I don’t like the gags – at all. Dave knows it so he makes me wear one almost every night. I dread that; I’m not a fan of drool and I’m afraid of choking. But so far, so good.
We’ve been working, or playing rather, four nights a week for two months. Dave surprises me tonight. “Baby, I think I need to cut you loose.”
“Huh? What?” I’m not sure what he means.
“You’re ready.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but think how gorgeous he is. Having sex with him has been, well, quite the adventure in itself. “I think you could handle anything a Dom could throw at you and probably come back for more. So I think you’re graduating from ‘The Uncle Dave School for Wayward Submissives.’ Congratulations!” He sets a cosmo down in front of me, and I grin back at him.
“Are you sure about this?” I don’t feel ready, whatever that means.
“Yep. And it’s a good thing too. There’s an event coming up pretty soon, and I want you to participate if you can. Got any vacation time?”
“Actually, I don’t have a job right now.” Dave looks alarmed. “I quit yesterday. They were working me to death. Don’t worry, though. I had six weeks of vacation time coming to me and I’m bleeding Ron’s bank accounts, so I have some money. I’ll have to get a job pretty soon, but right now, I’m good.” I take another sip. “So what’s this event?”
“It’s the annual ‘try before you buy’ event. Some of the guys laugh and call it ‘The Sub Club.’ It’s actually called ‘The Pairing.’ We pair up Doms and subs and they cohabitate and play together for two weeks. Then, two weeks after everyone has split up, we have a night when Doms can come in and offer to collar subs. We’ve had some really good pairings come out of it.”
“Oh, no, that . . . I-I-I don’t think I could do that,” I stutter. What the hell? With my luck I’d get paired with some axe murderer, but then I remember that Dave is involved, so it should be okay. He won’t let that happen, at least not if he knows. That realization lets my curiosity kick back in. “So exactly what does this entail?”
He laughs. “I knew that curiosity of yours would get the better of you!” I find it more than a little disconcerting that he can almost read my mind. He spends the next forty-five minutes explaining to me how it all works. Then he asks the big question: “Is there a Dom here you think you’d like to be collared by?”
Dozens of faces spin, and then they line up like cherries in a slot machine. Clint. Oh, no – that’s no good. I try again and get Steffen. Now that might work out okay. “Um, maybe Steffen? We’ve played together a few times and I like him well enough. I don’t know enough about him to make that kind of decision, though.”
“That’s the idea of the two weeks. But you might not get Steffen. You need to be open to whomever the pairing puts you with. It’s drawn randomly, so there’s no way of knowing.”
I shudder. Two weeks alone with a guy I don’t even know, having sex and doing god only knows what else. That sounds like . . . fun. At least it could be.
Chapter 4
It’s the night of the event. For the first time ever, I go out into the big room naked from the waist up. At first I feel kind of shaky and conspicuous, but then I notice that no one is just standing around open-mouthed staring at me, so it’s okay.
There are Doms and subs everywhere. The place is elbow to elbow. There must be three hundred people here, and I wonder what the fire marshal would say if he could see this. Some are guys I haven’t noticed around here before, but they’re bound to be members or they wouldn’t be allowed in. Most of them are regulars, though, and that makes me feel a little better. There are some lady Dommes too. Dave calls out for everyone to put their cards in the bins so the sorting can begin, Doms in one, subs in the other. There are different sets of bins depending on what members are looking for. There are Doms who want a male sub, lady Dommes who want a lady sub, male subs who want a lady Domme, all kinds of combinations.
The drawing begins. One particularly nasty-looking Dom gets a beautiful young sub. She looks like she’s scared to death. Then Arlo, who’s a total goofball, gets one of the older women as his sub; I don’t know how she’ll stand him for two weeks.
The most interesting one is a sub named Vance. He showed up at the club in pigtails, a big cowboy hat, snip-toe cowboy boots, leather chaps, and a pair of black bikini briefs that read “Here’s The Beef” in yellow letters across the ass. He’s eyeing a Domme who’s about six two and weighs probably three hundred pounds. She’s wearing a skin-tight leather bodysuit, thigh-high leather stiletto-heeled boots, a wide leather belt with a huge silver buckle, and a ponytail on top of her head wrapped with silver chain. And she’s carrying a bullwhip woven in black and purple leather. When she looks his way, he dances from foot to foot like he’s the most excited guy in the whole world.
About halfway through, it happens: “Patricia Stinson.”
So nervous I can barely stand, I make my way to the stage. Once I’m there, Dave draws out the Dom card and I want to crawl under a chair.
“Clint Winstead.”
I halfway expect him to come to the stage, say he won’t take me because he hates me, and then stomp away. What the hell will I do if that happens? I see him making his way through the crowd and he finally reaches the stage. I look over at him, terrified; he doesn’t smile.
“Master Clint Winstead, do you accept the pairing?” I’m pretty sure I’m about to break out in hives.
“Yes, Dungeon Master, I accept the pairing.”
For a split second I thought I’d misunderstood. I look over at Clint, who growls at me, “Sub, eyes averted.” Shit. He’s getting started right now. I thought I’d be happy if he accepted me for pairing, even daydreamed about it a little, but now I’m not so sure this is a good idea. Two weeks with a guy who can’t stand me is going to be brutal. Why would he say yes?
He motions me down off the stage and I follow him at a respectful distance as I’ve been taught. When we get to the back hallway he turns and says, “Get your things so we can go and get started.” I don’t say a word, just walk into the locker room, get my stuff, and head back out. He’s waiting for me in the hallway, and I follow him out of the building. No one pays any attention to us; they’re waiting for the rest of the pairings to be announced.
When we reach his car, he surprises me – he opens the door for me in a very chivalrous manner and takes my arm to help me in. I realize that, even though he doesn’t seem to like me, he’s always been polite to me. That makes me feel a little better.
“Have you eaten?” he asks once he’s in.
“No.” He shoots me a look. “Oh, sorry. Sir.” I give him a little smile but he doesn’t smile back. “I was too nervous.” He looks like he’s about to ask me something, but changes his mind.
The adventure is about to begin, but I’ve got a feeling the fun is at an end. Yup – it’s gonna be a long two weeks.
We stop and have a burger on our way to Clint’s; he barely speaks to me while we’re eating. I’d already packed some things, so I didn’t have to stop at home. When we pull up to his house, I’m surprised. It’s just a normal, modest-looking house. I don’t know what I was expecting. A house of horrors, maybe? Like the Bates Motel? Who knows?
I open the car door but before I can get out, he’s there. As soon as I stand up, he says, “From this point on, you will allow me to assist you with doors, chairs, all of those kinds of things. It’s a sign of my respect for you.” That one surprises me. “As long as we’re outside the house in the vanilla world, we’ll act vanilla – with a few exceptions. Once inside, it’s my rules.”
He opens the door and motions for me to pass him and go inside, then turns on the light. It’s a nice house, nice furnishings, kind of warm and homey. I think I was expecting industrial steel and vinyl and spotlights, with eye bolts on every surface. Not like that at all. Then he gives me the grand tour. “Living room, kitchen,” he points, “and the laundry room is back there.” Down the hallway we go. “My bedroom and bath.” Two of the doors are closed; he doesn’t open them, but he points to one and says, “Home office.” At the end of the hall he opens a door and points in. “Your room.”
I have my own room. Now I’m confused. In answer to my unspoken question, he says, “Sometimes you will be in my bed. But not always. And if things get too intense, this gives you a sanctuary to quiet your mind and rest, somewhere to retreat to.”
I whisper, “Thank you, Sir.” Once I’ve dropped my bag on the bed, I follow him back into the living area.
He motions for me to take a seat on the sofa, and I remember I don’t have panties on. I look at the cushions and he says, “Oh. Sorry.” He disappears for a few seconds and comes back with a bath towel, which he spreads out on the sofa. Then he motions for me to sit again, and I try to be graceful as I do.
“Protocol. I am the master of this house. It’s literally my way or the highway here. You are the sub. You are not a slave. You are not expected to do all of the housework, but I would appreciate it if you did some.”
“I won’t mind at all, Sir.”
“Good. You will be nude at all times inside the house unless I specify otherwise, or unless you’re performing a task that would be dangerous to your skin. Your only articles of clothing will be a training collar and the heels I give you. Size seven and a half?”
I gasp. “How did you know that, Sir?”
“Good guess.” He stops, then starts again. “You will wear the training collar for as long as you’re here. That will make restraining you easier in a jam.” What kind of jam would make me need to be restrained? I don’t really understand that, but I nod. “You will meet me at the door when I come in. I expect you to be nude and in the collar and heels, kneeling at the door in presentation. Be aware that I may fuck you immediately upon returning home.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I am not a sadist, but I do enjoy bondage, restraints, and discipline sessions with my subs. This is only for the purpose of arousal. I will, however, punish if needed for an infraction. Discipline and punishment are very different. You’ll learn the difference. But know this: Sex will never be used to punish. Never. I don’t believe in that. And I think the punishment should fit the crime. With that in mind, a word of warning: I can be very creative in my punishment methods, so be afraid.” He doesn’t crack a smile, and I swallow hard.
“You will sleep in your room unless I tell you to stay in my bed. If I want, I will chain you to the bed so you cannot get out unless I give you permission. But if you’re in my bed, you always need permission to get out. Bathroom, drink of water, doesn’t matter. Permission required. And no closed doors. You will shower, shave, toilet, everything with the door open.”
I nod. This doesn’t seem too bad, just the usual dominance stuff. “While you are here, your sex belongs to me. All of it. You will not have sex with anyone else if we go to the club unless I tell you to, and if I tell you to, you will do so. You will not touch yourself in such a way as to arouse yourself or satisfy yourself unless I so direct. Your body, your arousal, your orgasms, they all belong to me. Is that understood?” I nod again. “Good. There will be times when I leave you wanting and unsatisfied for an extended period of time. I do practice forced orgasm and orgasm denial as discipline, and you are not to pleasure yourself unless I give express permission, and that’s usually for my entertainment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Good. The two doors that are closed in the hallway are off limits to you. One is the office. The other,” he stops, then starts again, “is my kids’ bedroom.”
“You have children, Sir?” I had no idea.
“Yes. Two girls, ages ten and eight. You will not meet them. They’re with my mother.” Okay then, good enough to fuck but not good enough to meet your kids. I get it, I think. “I was once married. I do not want to talk about it, so do not ask. If you forget and ask, that will be okay the first time. The second time you will be punished.” Wow. He doesn’t intend to share anything about himself with me. I get that now too. “I understand that you were married. That’s all I need to know. I don’t need details. I’m really not interested.” Ouch.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Any questions?”
“Yes, Sir. What do I do if I’m alone here and the doorbell or the phone rings? Do I answer it?”
“Do not answer the door. Please do answer the phone and take a message for me. Most of my calls come in on my cell, though, so there shouldn’t be too many instances of that. Anything else?”
“I don’t think so, Sir.” At least I’ve stopped shaking, but that’s about it. “And may I call you Master, Sir?”
“Interchangeably. Sir or Master. Makes no difference to me as long as you show me the respect I deserve as your Dominant.”
“Yes, Sir. Absolutely.”
“Then go and put your things away. Sometim
e in the next couple of days we’ll go and get more of your things. But you won’t need many clothes.” Yeah, I get that too. “You’ll find your collar and heels in the closet. When you have them on, come back out here and kneel in front of the sofa.” He turns and strolls into the kitchen. I assume that means I’ve been dismissed, so I go back to the bedroom.
Sure enough, the heels and collar are in the closet, the heels on a shelf and the collar on a hook. It’s obvious the collar’s been worn before; it’s obvious the heels are brand new. I try them on and they fit perfectly except they’re five-inch stilettos and I don’t wear heels, especially not heels that high. I’ll probably fall and kill myself, but I’ll wear them until the coroner gets here.
When I’m undressed and wearing the collar and shoes, I go back out and kneel in front of the sofa. It feels like I’m there forever and there’s no sign of him. Just when I think I misunderstood, I hear footsteps and look up just in time to see him come out of the hallway.
He’s naked – gloriously, beautifully naked. The night he did my anal workout he was behind me the whole time, and he never completely undressed. This is something else entirely. I’m trying not to stare, but it’s hard. I mean, literally, it’s hard. Big and hard. And his body is amazing, the epitome of the perfect male specimen, a smattering of dark hair across his pecs drifting inward and downward, ending at his beautiful cock. I think I must’ve let out a gasp or something because he asks, “Sub, is there something you want to say?”
Now I’m embarrassed. “No, Sir.”
He stands for a few seconds and waits, but I don’t elaborate. Finally, he says, “Stand. Back to me. Feet spread, hands on the sofa.” I go through everything he just said and realize that the heels put me at just the right height for him to come up behind me.
But he surprises me when he sits down on the floor, then scoots under me and turns around. His back is against the front of the sofa, and his face is . . . oh, my god. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he demands. His fingers draw my pussy lips apart and he can see it all, touch it all, and I feel myself go wet. I feel his hands go up my groin, up my belly, up my lower ribs, and suddenly clutch my breasts, the thumb and index finger of each hand twisting my already-erect peaks. After he’s twisted and pulled them for a good three minutes, his hands wander back down my body and spread my slit open again.
Adventurous Me Page 6
