by Lund, S. E.
My father looked between Drake and me and then laughed in his gravelly voice. "Guilty as charged. I confess."
We sat down and had a very nice meal and all the while, I watched my father and Drake talk about business, about the election, about Drake's presentation, about his plans to go to Africa later in the New Year for a stint as a surgeon, about all of us scuba diving later after his presentation. My father had already organized a training session and then a dive at one of the local tourist traps. Drake was already certified as a diver so he was excited to be going with us and eager to escape the afternoon session after his presentation was done.
It felt surreal to think my father was actively trying to push us together. If he knew Drake was a Dominant and engaged in kinky sex with submissives that he tied up and blindfolded, and that he wanted to do those things to me – and that I wanted him to…
I shuddered for a moment to think of the consequences. And that was the real issue. Not whether I wanted him or he wanted me. That was pretty clear already. This thing between us – this intense sexual attraction – if we indulged in it this weekend, I knew it would be next to impossible for us to end it when we got back to the real world.
It would be a really huge risk for Drake. We'd have to be exceptionally careful that Dawn never found out.
I sighed and put my spoon down, my gut in a knot over this. Drake must have heard my sigh for he reached over and took my hand, squeezing it for a moment, and it was so sweet it made my throat choke up a bit. I glanced at my father and he was smiling to himself, as if pleased to see the show of affection between Drake and me.
If he only knew…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
White Beach Diving Adventures was located a way down the coast from our hotel. We drove down the winding road in a limo my father hired, which deposited us at the small diving business on the ocean, that housed a wharf and boat launch, a small wooden shack with equipment and a room for instruction, changing rooms for suiting up.
We took the hour-long instructional course designed for tourists, Drake sitting beside me, his arm on the back of my chair, his legs spread. We went over safety techniques, how to wear the gear, the itinerary for our short dive, and then it was time to suit up. A group had already gone out in a boat before us, and so we were going as our own small group, just Drake and me, my father and Elaine and our instructors. My father had grown a bit portly and they had a bit of trouble finding the right suit to fit his belly. Elaine was tall and slim and fit nicely into a woman's suit. Drake was well-built and looked very delicious in his wetsuit. It was me who was the real problem.
Of course, I already made one mistake, wearing my bra and underwear instead of a bathing suit. I hadn’t thought to bring a one-piece and all I had was the white string bikini. I didn’t think it was appropriate to wear it so I wore my skin-colored lace bra and panties, not thinking that they would get wet and still be wet after the dive was done. My instructor smiled and said I wasn’t the first person to wear underwear. Some people didn’t wear anything. He'd seen it all.
I was petite and small boned, the smallest woman's size left was too big in the body and too small in the bust.
The instructor held up yet another wetsuit for me to try.
"This is all we have left. It's old."
It had a front zip and fraying fabric. It was the only suit left that had any chance of fitting but it was worn, the zipper a bit rusty.
"Maybe I should just stay behind."
"Nonsense," my father said. "Suit up and let's go."
I went behind the curtain and tried once more, hoping this suit fit me well enough. It was a the best so far, but when I tried to zip it up, the rusty zipper stuck about half way up at my waist.
I struggled with the zipper with no luck.
"Um, I need a bit of help with this zipper…"
Elaine was getting dressed herself so Drake came in the change room where I was struggling with the zipper.
"It's a bit rusted," I said, trying to hold the two sides of the zipper as close together as I could so that the zipper was less stretched. Of course, the suit was still too tight in the bust and my breasts were squeezed together. Drake leered at my chest and smiled while he took hold of the zip loop and pulled, but it didn’t budge. He jiggled the zipper up and down, but it was completely stuck.
"That’s what you get for having such luscious breasts," Drake whispered as he gave one strong jerk on the zipper latch. "Squeeze them a bit more, pull the two sides closer."
I did, feeling like some exotic dancer putting my breasts on display.
"Christ, you're going to give me a boner, Kate."
"You better not get one," I said. I glanced down and was shocked at how big he looked already, the wetsuit thin and showing his ample length. "You look like you already do."
He glanced down. "No, I'm soft. I'm just a shower, not a grower."
"A what?"
"A shower. I show my length all the time, and only thicken up and harden when I get an erection. Most men are growers. They're smaller when soft and grow in length when they have an erection."
"Oh," I said, amused at his clinical description of the categories of men's dicks. "So what I see is what I get?"
"More or less," he said. "In terms of length, at least." Then he leered at me, his eyes hooded. "As you learned from Big, length isn’t as important as girth when it comes to a woman's pleasure…"
"Drake!"
He just grinned and gave one huge tug and voila – the zipper went up.
"There," he said, smiling at me. "Confined." He eyed me up and down. "I might be convinced to put you in some latex at some point. A nice black latex cat suit would be really delicious…"
I adjusted the suit a bit, and it was too tight but better than all the others.
"We have to get going," the instructor said through the door. "Those suits are thin but if you wear them for any length of time in this warmth, you'll overheat. Most accidents in triathlons are due to people overheating while waiting for their wave of swimmers to leave the shore."
We emerged and made our way to the boats, where an assistant instructor was loading up our gear. Since he was already certified, Drake took over as my buddy, helping me with my equipment and swimming with me on the outing.
The dive itself was pretty cool, even if half of it was spent just getting used to the equipment, trying out various safety procedures, and practicing. Finally, we took the boat out a bit near a line of corals and we all dove down and spent time just swimming over them, exploring them and all the sea life they held.
After about half an hour, we returned to the marina and when it came time to get the suit off, it proved just as hard to get off as on. I struggled alone with the zipper for a while in the change room, not saying anything. Finally, my father called to me.
"Sweetie? Do you need some help?"
"Yes," I said. "Its just as hard to unzip."
Drake came in and took hold of the zipper and gave it a few good yanks, but to no avail. We tried every imaginable way to make the zipper budge but nothing. The instructor came in with some oil and drizzled it over the zipper, but that did nothing to help matters, just made my hands and Drake's hands all slippery.
Drake was in his board shorts and sandals, his chest bare. Dad and Elaine were back in their street clothes, and there I was, in that old worn suit that was too small in the bust, and I was starting to get really hot.
"Phew," I said and waved my face with a hand. "I'm getting hot."
"We need to get you out of this," Drake said, his brow furrowed.
"Is everything all right in there?" my father called out.
Drake went out, leaving me in the change room.
"There's a problem with the zipper. It'll take a bit but we may have to cut her out of the suit. Why don’t you two go back to the hotel and we'll meet you back there for a drink before dinner?"
My father agreed. "I'll send the limo back. Are you sure everything's all right?"
> "No problem," I heard Drake say.
Meanwhile, I was starting to seriously sweat, a trickle of moisture running down the back of my neck and forehead.
Drake and the instructor came in and both took turns yanking on the zipper, but to no avail. Then just when the instructor was going to get a pair of scissors to start cutting me out of the suit, Drake was able to get the zipper down about six inches, right below my bust.
"Maybe you should take the top off so you can cool off," Drake said. I tried to pull the arms off but it was too tight, the zipper not down far enough.
"Goddammit," he said, frustration in his voice. I held the top of the suit and he pulled and jerked it but nothing.
"I'm feeling a bit faint," I said, the sweat now running down my neck and face.
"Christ," he said, his voice low. "We have to cut you out of this – now."
The instructor brought the pair of scissors but they weren't up to the job and so they had to find a box cutter. The instructor went out to his truck for a tool box, searching through his tools for one. Luckily, Drake was a surgeon and was as good with box cutter as he was a scalpel. He was able to cut around the zipper and down to my crotch, peeling the suit off me. I wobbled a bit from dizziness, and just about fainted. Once the suit was off, they had to lay me on a bench in the equipment room. The instructor brought in a fan and Drake poured water over me, and in a few minutes, my heart stopped beating so fast and my hearing started to recover. But I lay there in my lacy bra and underwear, soaked through to the skin, my pubic hair and nipples visible through the sheer wet lace.
I was too sick to be very mortified, and the instructor just kept his eyes averted as Drake fanned me and held a cool cloth to my forehead.
When I was finally cool enough, I sat up and just rested for a moment, to make sure I didn’t faint when I stood up. The instructor brought me a bottle of fruit juice and some ice cold water and soon, I was feeling better. I put my sundress on over my wet bra and panties and Drake and I left the marina as another group of hopeful trainees entered the building.
We took the limo back to the hotel, and Drake pulled me into his embrace while we drove back.
"You scared me," he said, running his fingers through my hair, which was starting to dry. "You were overheating and could have developed hyperthermia if we hadn’t gotten you out of the suit. Plus, you have quite a sunburn."
"I'm just glad it's over. I thought I was going to faint."
"You almost did."
He tilted my head up and kissed me, softly, and I felt completely protected and cared for.
"I feel really tired," I said once we were back at the hotel. We went up to my room and my father and Elaine came right into the room through the adjoining door.
"What took you so long?" my father said.
"We had trouble with the suit and had to cut Kate out of it. She overheated a bit."
"Is she OK?"
Drake nodded. "She just needs to rest. Get some more fluids into her."
My father came over to where I lay on the bed. "Maybe you should stay in your room for dinner. Drake can order something in for you. They could send up some turkey and fixings."
I nodded. I felt incredibly fatigued as if I'd just survived an ordeal. I didn’t want to go to the dining room.
"I'll just stay here and watch TV."
Drake put his hand on my father's arm.
"I'll make sure she's all right. She needs to just rest. We can order something from room service when she gets hungry. You two go ahead."
My father and Elaine came by and kissed me on the cheek and then left us alone.
"I'm hungry," he said, checking out the menu. "What would you like to eat? Do you really want turkey? Or something local, fresh?"
I shook my head. "Whatever you want. I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit."
I heard him talking on the phone, his voice soft. Then he came over and sat beside me on the bed. He took my wrist and felt my pulse and then leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"Just rest a bit. I'll watch some headlines."
He stretched out on the bed beside me and turned on the television, switching channels until he found the international news. I closed my eyes and just drifted, the sound of some news anchor's voice lulling me into a pleasant dreamlike state.
I woke up to find Drake spooned against me, his arm around me, his hand flat under my left breast. I rolled over onto my back and he adjusted himself, his eyes a bit sleepy. He kept his hand on my breast.
"You like keeping your hand there?" I said, and smiled.
"I was just taking your pulse, making sure you were OK."
"Yeah, right…"
"Seriously," he said, his face poker-straight. "You overheated. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I was feeling your apical pulse, just under your left breast."
"Oh," I said, feeling a bit silly. "I didn't realize doctors did that."
He leaned in, grinning and nuzzled my neck. "No, you sweet thing, I was just kidding. I just like squeezing your lovely breast. But I did also feel your pulse and it was perfect. I could have felt it here," he said, slipping his hand down my body from my pubes to my inner thigh. "It's called the femoral pulse, but I thought that might be a bit dangerous…"
Just then there was a knock at the door. Drake jumped up. "That's room service with our meal."
He opened the door and a waiter came in with a cart covered in white linen, with several dishes covered with metal domes to keep the food warm. Drake signed for the bill and gave the waiter a tip. When we were alone, he lifted the domes and examined the food.
"What did you order?"
"Fresh fish and vegetables, some salad. Not much of a turkey man. Hope you're hungry, because I sure am."
My stomach did feel empty as I sat up, watching Drake as he arranged our table, setting out the dishes and pulling the chairs into proper position.
"Come," he said, motioning to the food. "You need some food in you, get your blood sugar up. I'm going to keep you busy tonight and you need your strength."
That sent a rush of desire through me. "You have it all planned out?"
"You know it."
He pulled a chair out and motioned to me so I got up and smoothed my hair and my sundress and sat beside him. Then, he proceeded to feed me my meal, the fish delicious and cooked in some very simple herbs.
"Do you always feed your subs?"
"I don't usually eat meals with my subs, but I enjoy looking after them."
"Why?" I asked as he spooned some rice pilaf into my mouth. "Why don't you eat with them?"
"The relationship is just about sex."
"Eating is too personal?"
He nodded. "But I like taking care of a sub's needs. All of them. It also reinforces my dominance, which is necessary for submission to work. A sub needs to feel totally cared for, totally safe and cherished if she's going to submit completely. That, your complete submission, is what I want."
I let him feed me, enjoying the look of pleasure on his face as he did.
"Have you figured out why you want a woman's complete submission?" I said and watched him eat. "I imagine, given your training, you'd have some theories..."
He shrugged a shoulder and cut up some fish, picked a piece and held the fork up to me. "I need control. I love having a woman completely under my control."
"What does that control give you?"
"When she's tied up completely, willingly, waiting for me to do what I want to her, I am," he said and paused, taking in a deep breath. "Completely satisfied. It also makes me incredibly hard. Hearing her moans of pleasure, seeing her response to my touch, my words? Nothing else can get me off as well. But it's that she wants it, that she chooses it, that she trusts me completely to have her under my control that gets me off."
"Lara said she taught you to top someone. You can't get off if the woman takes control?"
He chewed his food for a moment, his head tilted to one side.
"I can, and di
d when Lara topped me. I actually tried out pain, but it did nothing for me personally, either giving or receiving. Lara even got me subs who were painsluts to see if I enjoyed it, but it did nothing for me. I always felt bad for damaging such lovely flesh. A surgeon is used to cutting into the body, but it’s always to heal, fix, improve. We create wounds, yes, but the patient never feels pain while we do it and we pride ourselves on a patient who experiences the least pain possible post-op. I'm curious about sadists and masochists, but in an entirely clinical way, not sexual."
He stopped and looked at me pointedly. "You don't have to worry. There isn't a sadist hiding inside of me, waiting to get out. I had ample opportunity to see if there was, and no."
"I'm not worried."
"Good. Don’t ever be."
I sighed. If only Dawn could understand…
"What was that sigh about?"
I shook my head. "I just wish this person could understand, Drake. I can't see that they ever will. They had a very traumatic experience and that's made them unable to understand. You and I? We can want each other and be good for each other, satisfy each other's kinks, but this will always be dangerous for you. You have to really think seriously about this. We'll have to really be extremely careful if we carry on when we get back to Manhattan."
"If we carry on? You mean, when we carry on back in Manhattan. I'm not giving up on you that easily. I have yet to plumb your depths, Kate. I want to plumb them. See how deep you go."
That made me very warm, the thought he wanted to take me as far as I could go.
We finished up the meal and I felt perfectly satisfied.
"Let's go for a walk along the beach now that the sun is down," Drake said.
I put on my sandals and we went out to the beach, the last rays of the sun orange-yellow on the ocean waves. The air was markedly cooler and it felt good on my sunburnt skin.
We walked along and he told me about his band.
"Just a bunch of guys from college," he said, his arm around my shoulder. "We started to play during our Junior year and never stopped. We found our niche and even though we're older than most bands, we enjoy playing."
