My One

by January Rowe

  “Master?” she asked softly.

  Though her tone was meek, her eyes were hard and fixed on me. She obviously thought she was better than me. When she arched in her restraints and shook her long black hair like a horse, I nearly bitch-slapped her. But that would probably have gotten her off even more than she already was.

  Chapter Two

  I glared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’d pretty much cried the entire fifteen-hour bus trip from Durango to Mountain View, and I looked it.

  My plans to take a nap when I got home failed. I couldn’t sleep. Maybe I’d never sleep again. So I had showered, hoping some of my anger and pain might wash away. But the water hadn’t done anything for my mood—or my appearance. Water dripped from my long auburn knots. My nose and forehead were sunburned, but the rest of my skin was pale.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, I studied my eyes. The red looked really weird next to the green irises. Ridge used to say women with eyes like mine were once burned at the stake.

  I loved the way Ridge used to burn me at the stake. That brought on another sob.

  Biting my lip, I stroked my collar. My fingers paused over a smooth bump of inset citrine. His collar meant more than a wedding ring. It had to; my life was frequently in Ridge’s hands.

  He’d said he loved me. Just like he’d said he wouldn’t take another girl. Fresh tears fell, and I twisted the choker around my neck to expose the tiny silver padlock.

  Ridge had the key for it.

  The choker had a weak link—the eye the padlock went through. I rummaged through my bathroom drawers until I found a pair of nail scissors. Twisting and snipping, I broke the eye. I pulled off the choker and laid the mangled symbol of our mutual trust on top of the toilet tank.

  I still felt horrible. Alone and bare and vulnerable. I was now a submissive without a Dominant.

  I ran my finger over the skin where the collar had been. Super sensitive. The jewelry had also left a paler stripe on my white skin. I hadn’t counted on a tan mark. I cried again.

  My doorbell rang. It had to be Pam, my best friend. I’d called her and she’d promised to come see me once she got off work. Good old Pam. She might be vanilla, but as a woman, she surely understood heartache.

  I slipped on a robe and walked over to the door and opened it. Ridge stood there, looking unkempt.

  Dammit if my heart didn’t pound with hope and forgiveness. I wanted to feel his incipient beard scraping against my skin. I fell into his soothing, blue-gray eyes.

  But he was a cheater.

  Torn between worship and rage, I bit my lip to keep from begging him to love me again.

  He seemed to be studying my bare neck. Running his hand through his tousled, streaked hair, he said, “You’re really pissed.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I don’t want to lose you.”

  The sound of the knife ripping that girl’s panties echoed in my memory, giving me strength to stand up to him. “You should have thought of that before you got involved with that girl.”

  “I never fucked her, Briony.”

  “But you played with her.”

  Relationships like ours were based on far more than mere sex. What he’d done was unforgivable.

  Curling his fingers around my upper arms, he jerked me against him. Pressed against his muscular body, I could smell the travel on him: tobacco smoke, grease, sweat, all overlaying his musky scent.

  “I need you,” he whispered into my ear.

  That’s all I wanted to hear. He’d never cheat on me again. I sobbed into his chest.

  Patting my back, he let me cry. When I finally stopped weeping, he gently tugged at the mass of wet hair hanging down my back to lift my face up to his.

  “You’ll always be my number-one girl.”

  My gut twisted. “What? You want to keep her?”

  He moved his hands to hold the sides of my face. “You can play with her, too.”

  With a cry of disgust, I pushed the bastard backwards, out of my door, out of my house. Out of my life.

  He nearly collided with Pam, who stood on the stoop carrying a bulging canvas grocery bag. I dragged her and her groceries inside and slammed the door shut.

  “What’s going on?” Pam asked, her brown eyes wide. Her freckles stood out on her skin, visibly paling. “Why is he here?

  I shook with fury. “Damn him!”

  A frown marred Pam’s sweet, round face. “What did he do now?”

  “He came to tell me he wanted me and the other girl.”

  Pam grimaced. “Like a threesome?”

  I sighed. “Not really.”

  Pam looked down at her feet, uncomfortable. The kink life was a creepy mystery to her. Like many vanillas, she seemed fixated on the “extreme sex” aspect of my dynamic with Ridge. But it was more than that. Extreme intimacy. Extreme devotion. Extreme love.

  And when it ended, extreme hurt.

  “Hey, I got ice cream,” she said, swinging her bag. “Want some?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  We went into my kitchen. She laid out three gallons of ice cream on the counter. “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  Soon we were sitting side by side on my balcony, slurping up mounds of cherry/rocky road/fudge ripple ice cream. I felt a little bit empowered by the sweet indulgence.

  “Ridge never let me eat ice cream,” I said. “He liked me thin.”

  “A girl’s got to have her vices.”

  We continued to eat, talking about the weather, and hot men, her sister’s new baby, and the relative virtues of male butts and abs.

  “So Briony, are you really through with that guy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, good.” She studied me with her sympathetic brown eyes. “I think you’d be a lot happier with um…a nicer sort of guy.”

  Pam was so sweet and sincere. She was hoping I’d seek solace with a decent ordinary man.

  I shrugged. “Got any prospects?”

  She laughed. “They’ll be lining up on your doorstep here pretty soon.”

  ***

  After Pam left my place, I recalled her encouraging words about a girl having vices. I had the strong feeling that indulging in my loves, uncovering the woman I was before Ridge, would be my salvation.

  But what had I done before I met him? Before Ridge, there was Mike, my loyal, magical Top. After three years of lovely rope bondage and impact play, he left me. Mike had to move abroad because of his work. What did I like to do before Mike? Well, I liked sex. Lots of sex. What else? Sexy underwear. I adored the way the lace and erotic contours of wicked lingerie made me feel. Powerful, strong, sexy. Ridge didn’t care for underwear. Neither did Mike. All I had now was plain underwear for work.

  Time to change that. I ordered a bunch of Victoria’s Secret stuff on the Internet. I spent several hundred dollars on lacy confections in ice cream colors and satins in bright primaries. I convinced myself I was getting a bit of my confidence and optimism back.

  Still I couldn’t sleep at night, I wanted Ridge’s touch so badly. On Tuesday morning I got a call from Thomas, an old friend from college.

  He was first in line at my doorstep—with some guidance from Pam, no doubt. He asked me out for dinner. I thought, why not? He was pretty good-looking, a generous and kind pro bono lawyer with bank. Not the worst person to try out the vanilla waters with.

  At least I would forget about Ridge for a few hours.

  I dressed for the date carefully, wearing a long form-fitting dress in a silvery knit. The dress had a built-in bra, so I didn’t have to worry about that. But old habits die hard, so I ended up skipping the panties.

  Thomas arrived at my door right on time with a bouquet of pretty pink roses. He was a tall, slender man with steel-gray eyes and short light brown hair. He smelled of crisp iris. Yum. The night might go well.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re gorgeous.”

  I smiled. “So are you.”

  Though he drove me
to an expensive restaurant in his luxe BMW, most of the evening was a blur. The whole time I was thinking how I needed to take him on a ride. Not that I felt any sparks, but I liked Thomas and I was eager to put Ridge and D/s behind me. Sex was the way to do that.

  After dinner, I invited him into my apartment for a drink.

  Thomas was happy to accept the invitation and sat down on my couch, actually expecting a drink.

  Not going to happen. Pulling up my long dress, I straddled him, chest to chest. I wrapped my arms around him. I had to be very careful with the seduction. Ridge’s slut scenes had trained me too well; my sexual skills and experience could easily frighten Thomas. I swore I’d just get the ball rolling, and then let him take over.

  I also told myself not to compare him to Ridge.

  Thomas sealed his mouth against mine, but the kiss was tentative. I rubbed my body against his, deepening the contact. I felt his erection.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” he growled.

  I enjoyed the sound of unmasked desire in his voice, and almost suggested he take me on the living room floor. But I refrained, directing him to my bedroom. He lifted me up and carried me. I liked that.

  He didn’t bother to turn on the light, which made me sad. I wanted Thomas to see my naked body, and I wanted to see his. At least I could smell him. I hoped his touch would be as inviting as his iris scent. He undressed, and I undressed. I heard the tear of foil.

  After a moment, he lay on the bed. “Come here, sexy.”

  I snuggled up close to him, enjoying his scent, the heat at his throat. He kissed me again. I didn’t feel any urgency in him.

  “Mmm,” he said. “You are so sexy.”

  He covered my breasts with his hands. I recalled how much Ridge loved my boobs, especially my nipples. He knew how to pamper them, excite them, torment them. Thomas massaged my breasts. Rather than stimulated, I felt like I was a milked cow. His movement was mechanical, an obligation rather than opportunity.

  His hands now slid down to my tender folds. I groaned, and not with pleasure. He was clumsily going ’round the bases. First base, second base, now third base. Sure enough, he eased a finger inside my vagina. Did he want to see how wet I was—or get me off? Surely he’d sense I was wet. Ridge had tutored me well; I was ready pretty much all the time. Thomas gave me short little thrusts. If giving me an orgasm was his goal, he needed to adjust the angle. I pressed my pelvis against his finger.

  There. Now thrust.

  “You’re one wild thing,” Thomas said, sounding pleased with himself.

  He pulled out his finger and levered himself over me, his penis settling into my body. Sliding in effortlessly, he began to move. Down and up, rise and lower, with gentle strokes.

  “Oh baby, you feel so good,” he said.

  His movements continued, and I just lay there. Surge and suck, surge and suck. Over and over. In and out. In and out. His stamina was remarkable, and his cock filled me well enough, but at the end of the day it was still surge and suck.

  “Oh baby,” he said, never altering his rhythm.

  I sighed and moaned, when all I really wanted to do was scream with boredom. Surge and suck. Finally—blessedly—it was over.

  He rolled off me. “Was it good for you?”

  I just sighed, pretending to be happy. Ridge would have known I hadn’t come close to having an orgasm.

  The long, tall pro bono lawyer with bank who was supposed to help me forget about Ridge then fell asleep.

  ***

  At about two the next afternoon Pam called me. I felt guilty, because I’d have to admit Thomas wasn’t the cure for Ridge.

  “So? How did your date go?”

  “I had a good time, Pam. Except the sex wasn’t too good. It was boring.”

  “Oh. So you had sex.” After a prolonged silence, she added, “Okay, so maybe Thomas isn’t such a hot lover. How about a different nice guy?”

  “I don’t think I’m wired that way.”

  “You need a guy to tie you up and beat you to have fun? Bri, that’s abuse and it’s unhealthy.”

  I was surprised. Pam had never confronted me directly about the kink life. Maybe for the first time, I could explain it to her.

  “Ridge never beat me, Pam, and he didn’t have to tie me up to get me off. He was so creative with the…um…fantasies he fashioned for us. He was devoted through and through.”

  “Give me an R-rated example.”

  I was silent, struggling to recall an R-rated scene. I desperately wanted Pam to understand me. I finally recalled one encounter.

  “Okay. One time he asked me to come to his house with a bucket and Spic and Span. I was to be his cleaning wench.”

  “You hate cleaning.”

  “I hate cleaning my own apartment, not his. Cleaning for him made me feel all melty and happy inside. I was making life good for him. After I was finished with each chore, he’d tell me I was a good girl, sending me into a massive high.”

  “Sounds like his fantasy was just an excuse to get free maid service.”

  “I guess I’m not explaining this very well. He dressed me in—”

  “A little French maid’s costume?”

  The image amused me. “No. That would be cliché. I was a cleaning wench. Not a maid.”

  “What’s a wench?”

  I laughed. “I don’t really know. I think it’s sort of a slutty servant from the middle ages. At least that’s the way Ridge treated me. He dressed me in coarse and heavy skirts that dragged on the floor, and tied me into this amazing corset he’d made. The corset was soft suede, and it engineered my body into this marvelous shape. I ended up with this tiny little waist, and my breasts all rounded and pushed up and out.”

  I felt a stab of pain. I wanted to wear that corset again. A sob slipped out.

  “Did the corset hurt?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I was just remembering how much I loved that outfit. No. It didn’t hurt me. The corset felt like pressure. Like his hands embracing me, firm and loving.” I sighed, distressed with my longing to feel him again. “I cleaned his house in those long skirts, the tight corset. Every once in while, he’d throw me over his knee, lift up those skirts and molest me with his touch and kisses. I was so mad because he wouldn’t let me have an orgasm. I’d be right at the edge, and he’d send me back to scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees, frustrated and hurting. Oh, how he liked to stand and watch, looking down at me as I scrubbed, licking his lips, enjoying the way my breasts would shake, nearly spilling out of the tight corset.”

  Pam sighed on the other end. I had a feeling I was losing her interest.

  “Well anyway,” I continued. “My breast did eventually pop out of his engineering marvel, and the game was over. He finally gave me a good hard fuck on his sparkling kitchen floor. See? No beating and no bondage. It was a lot of fun, though.”

  “Didn’t you ever have ordinary sex with him?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. I guess it’s going to be hard to forget about him.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  When Pam got off the line, I finally admitted vanilla just wasn’t for me. I needed to find a new Dominant. Just like Victoria’s Secret, I’d order him up on the Internet.

  The hottest BDSM personal website was called whyknot.com. I hadn’t met Ridge that way, but I figured a fresh start required a fresh method.

  Sitting at my computer with a bowl of ice cream, I investigated whyknot. The profiles didn’t seem too graphic or vulgar.

  I registered as “sweetsub”. After a few minutes, I had my profile up:

  Profile of sweetsub

  Single submissive woman (29) with bottom tendencies seeks experienced Dominant with references. Real life only!

  I’m a computer geek who adores yoga, ethnic cooking and playing the piano.

  Your intelligence, imagination and emotional maturity are more important than beauty (normal-looking is fine). Let’s talk and see where it leads.

  The picture of my fa
ce was a skillfully pixilated abstraction. Not because I’m ugly, but because I can’t out myself. The company I work for has some very conservative clients.

  ***

  From: LordThick

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: Are you the one?

  Date: 16 Feb

  My Dearest sweetsub,

  What can I offer you? Pleasure and pain. Control and freedom to explore your deepest, darkest desires.

  I’m a well-rounded sadist and lawyer living in the City. I am a reasonably fit (thirty-nine years old) and attractive (eight-inch cock) natural Dominant. I am financially stable. My particular skills include suspension bondage, single tail, and verbal humiliation.

  I’ve been in the life now for twelve years, and am now looking for the one. Are you her?

  1. Can you pass as vanilla in public?

  2. Do you regard submission as a sacred calling rather than a naughty sex game?

  3. Will you serve me with all of your holes—and as my domestic and valet?

  If you can answer yes to these questions, e-mail me and we’ll meet early next week.

  Sincerely,

  Thick

  I’ve attached:

  1. a set of pics of me and my attributes

  2. an inventory of my toys and equipment.

  3. a detailed negotiation/limits contract

  4. two references from former submissive partners

  ***

  From: shaylaMR

  To: sweetsub

  Subject:

  Date: 16 Feb

  Hi sub sister! I am a female slave looking to find another slave that is into pain since i am not. Master is and so i am hopeing to find me one that is. Master is a loving and careing person. He has taught me alot and i am hopeing i can find another slave that i can share him with.

  Please write me back

  shayla

  ***

  On Monday I forced myself to be upbeat as I got ready for work. At least I wouldn’t be sitting around pining for my ex-Dominant. I was always more than Ridge’s sub. I had a nice career as a web developer.