My One

by January Rowe

  After tying a soft scarf around my vulnerable neck to hide the tan line, I headed to my office with its potted-plant jungle and Chagall posters. I slapped a trembling smile on my face.

  Apparently I’d been missed. Lawrence, my boss, was waiting for me in my office. Not that he was such a bad thing to see first thing in the morning. Ruggedly handsome, with dark, wavy hair and deep-set coffee-brown eyes, most of Lawrence’s female employees had a crush on him. Except for me. I just enjoyed his looks in an aesthetic way. Like admiring a pair of shoes I’d never wear. Pam would have tried to set us up in a heartbeat.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hi, Bri. How was your vacation?”

  “Great skiing,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie: I did get one-half day of pretty good skiing in.

  A concerned look crossed Lawrence’s handsome face. I think he knew I wasn’t telling the entire truth. He wouldn’t press, though. He was decent that way.

  He gave me an avuncular pat. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  I started work designing the Callida site, a new webstore offering vintage and antique fabrics. I had tons to learn. Like what the heck was dimity?

  The site took an enormous amount of time, but it gave me a great excuse not to go out with Thomas again.

  ***

  From: GodinTraining

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: Pic

  Date: 20 Feb

  Send me a picture of your pussy and then we’ll talk.

  ***

  Two weeks after posting on whyknot.com, the sexy lingerie arrived. I’d also gotten 341 responses from my profile. I was confident my One was among them. I had an idea of who my new Dominant would be.

  For sure he’d be different from Ridge. Almost completely his opposite. No alt artist, my new man would be an ultra-conservative businessman. He’d wear constricting silk ties and elegant striped shirts. Physically big and powerful, he would be very important in his business world. He’d have to work all the time. Whenever he did come home, I’d be waiting for him, excited, eager to reconnect with him. I’d hear him sigh when he walked in and saw me. He wanted me too.

  Work took a lot out of my Dominant. He micromanaged hundreds of people in his profession. Maybe even thousands of people. But he didn’t have to micromanage me at all. We were completely in tune with each other. He never had to issue an order or command. I always knew what he wanted, through a look, a touch, a slight movement. The set of his body, the line of his mouth told me he preferred high protocol. So I always addressed him as Sir. His smiling, crinkled eyes told me he liked looking at me in pretty underwear. The sheer pink set was his favorite. When I started to put them on in the morning, he often swept me up into his big arms, and loved me fiercely on his big bed. Those thousands he micromanaged? They just had to wait.

  The whyknot responses to my profile ballooned to 1,543. I couldn’t seem to keep up with reading the messages. Not only that, few of the men sparked my interest. I needed a break from my search.

  Happily my friend Sandi, a professional Dominatrix, or Domme as she called herself, called to invite me to meet her at Hell Mary’s. Hell Mary’s was a dungeon playspace in a remodeled warehouse in Sacramento. There wasn’t a Mary. The space was actually run by the Left Coast Pansexual Union. The cavernous club had a terrific selection of dungeon furniture, a fabulous sound system, a smokin’ hot Dungeon Monitor, and the best curly fries on the planet (they’re called “twisted fries”).

  I told Sandi I’d be there. Though I looked forward to her company, and the fries, I was worried I might run into Ridge. We used to go to the club together for public play. What if he showed up with his new girl, that awful horse creature?

  I had to get over it—and face the fact that the sexual underground was a confined space. If I could look into my ex’s eyes at one of our old haunts without flinching, that would mean I was over him.

  Chapter Three

  My nervousness about encountering Ridge increased by the time I got to Hell Mary’s. I walked in cautiously, taking in the scents of Mary’s fries and a variety of flowery, girly perfumes. He didn’t seem to be there. I savored the sound of throbbing techno music. It was good to be back.

  Normally I’d strip in the little undressing alcove adjacent to the foyer, but not today. I planned on keeping my tight jeans and tank top on. I was here to see friends and to show the kink world I wasn’t devastated by the breakup—not to play. I headed into the depths of the club. The place was dim, but I could still make out a crowd standing in front of a Saint Andrew’s cross appreciating a stylized flogging scene.

  My eyes fell on the Dungeon Monitor. A cross between kink lifeguard and bouncer, the DM ensured safety.

  I had a little crush on this particular DM. He was a big, intimidating, conventional-looking guy who worked most Saturdays. The folks at Hell Mary’s all admired him and his efficiency. Striking in a manly way, he was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in preppy khaki. Quiet and dignified, he was also pretty much a hard ass. Dominants like Ridge regarded him with some antipathy. Lots of single women tried to get his attention, inviting him for a little private play, but he never accepted. “On duty,” he’d say gruffly.

  Though I was attracted to the DM, I was also kind of afraid of him. In fact, I’d never spoken to him, and he’d certainly never spoken to me. If we came in contact, he’d stare straight through me like I didn’t exist. Which was proper and right. Ridge was plenty obvious about letting everyone know I was his girl.

  But nobody owned me anymore, so I decided to saunter over to say hello to the unattainable hunk. Maybe I could get the DM to acknowledge me with a little nod or something, boosting my confidence.

  The closer I got, the more menacing he seemed. He must have been at least six feet five. His short sand-colored hair and square jaw gave him a military look, like he was a trained and effective killer. His massive arms folded across his chest, he scrutinized the flogging scene as if he was a judge in a competition.

  “Hello, Sir,” I said in a trembling voice.

  He looked down at me warmly. “Hello, Briony.”

  I blinked up at him, startled.

  He said hello. He even knows my name.

  I scurried off, frightened by the contact.

  Why did his casual kindness scare me so much? Was it because it was a real-life interaction? Unlike getting fucked silly by my make-believe conservative businessman, or reading the cyber-demands made by suitors clogging up my whyknot.com mailbox, he was real.

  I ran over to the booth where Sandi and Will were sitting.

  Sandi stood and wrapped her arms and exotic floral scent around me, pressing me into her huge bosom. Then she pulled me down to sit next to her.

  “I’m so glad you came, sweetie,” she said.

  Sandi was a gorgeous platinum blonde in her fifties, and a pro. She beat and humiliated men for money. She had a waiting list for her services a mile long. But she was a doll. A Xena doll.

  Wearing a robot-like pink leather breastplate and tight silver satin pants and hip-high pink boots, she was a BDSM Goddess come to life. Will, on the other hand, was a BDSM worm come to life. A gaunt, lanky man in his forties, he sat in the booth across from us. He adored Sandi. But they’d never be partners. He couldn’t afford her. Sandi treated Will as her girlfriend.

  “How you holding up?” Sandi asked me.

  I shrugged. I was at least sleeping, and getting plenty of attention in the cyber world. “Okay, I think.”

  “Are you going to play?” Will asked.

  “No. I’m here for the fries.”

  “Have some of mine, sweetie,” Sandi said.

  I obeyed. Salty and crisp, they were fantastic. Relaxing with my fatty indulgence, I thought about how much I’d been craving those fries. Ridge liked me slender, so he never allowed me to eat fatty foods. No dimples or rolls permitted on my body, all the better for display. He might have had a fun, light touch in private, but in public play, he was overbearingly posses
sive. I refused the leash, so he kept a literal tight hold on me by wrapping his fist in my hair. He was always concerned I might be enticed away by a “better” Dominant. Ironic, considering how he ended up cheating on me.

  I shook my head, just to feel my hair long and loose, caressing my shoulders. Freedom. And I’d have that liberty until I found my One. I ordered some more fries plus a milkshake.

  Someone stroked my hair. I looked up, coming face to face with a stranger. I couldn’t even say what he looked like, I was so shocked.

  “Do you want to play?” the stranger asked.

  I reached up to my bare neck. I shook my head. He left.

  If I wanted to hook up with some random Dominant, I’d be lasciviously lounging across some dungeon furniture. I’d also be naked, broadcasting forlorn and needy. I thought that was still the protocol at Hell Mary’s. Single subs were fair game only if they were naked, and actually alone. Had the rules changed sometime during the four years since I’d been single?

  At that point, I should have seen the handwriting on the wall and gone home. But I didn’t.

  “Help. That guy asked me to play.”

  “Dressed in that rag?” Sandi laughed, her ample breasts shaking in their breastplate. “What kind of standards do these men have?”

  Her humor annoyed me. “The point is—I’m not naked.”

  Will snorted. “Like clothes matter with a body like yours.”

  I stared at him. “You’re not supposed to notice a fellow sub’s body, Will.”

  “I may be a submissive man,” he replied, “but I am a man.”

  I sighed loudly. “Doesn’t wearing clothes mean something around here? Isn’t that a clue that I’m here just to hang out?”

  “No, darlin’, you’re a regular,” Sandi said. “People know you, and what you offer.”

  “Well, I’m not offering right now.”

  Slurping my milkshake, I watched the DM at work, curious. I’d never really paid that much attention to how he did his job. He controlled the club silently, using a laser pen. You’re too close to the scene, he warned a group of observers. Your bottom’s circulation is impaired, he signaled one Top.

  I wondered if the DM was a trained killer. I assumed he had to have a real job during the day; DMs are volunteers. I imagined him as a preppy hit man. The idea creeped me out. More likely he was a conservative businessman who just happened to have big muscles.

  I wondered what he’d be like as my One. I couldn’t see the DM in a suit and tie. All muscle and sovereignty, he just didn’t fit into the elegant suit of my fantasy. Maybe he was a consultant. Sure. A khaki-wearing consultant. Yeah. Companies with big internal problems would hire him to straighten them out. A Dominant-for-hire. He had to travel a whole lot. I missed him. So I’d go down to the well-stocked private dungeon in the basement of his mansion and dust. Fondling and fingering and cleaning every whip, bench, paddle and clamp down there, I’d anticipate the next time he’d entertain me with his careful attention.

  A real-life man braced himself over our booth. He wore nothing but a gold-studded codpiece, a mat of curly fur covering his body, and a singletail whip looped over his shoulder. A scent of mint and recent sex wafted from his hairy skin.

  “You want a trip to subspace, little one?” he asked me.

  “Um,” I managed to say.

  For a second, I longed for the feel of Ridge’s hand wrapped in my hair, protecting me from the come-ons of strangers like Master Codpiece. I even looked across the table to Will for help. As I did, I saw someone else observing my interaction with Cod. The DM.

  The DM frowned at us with narrowed eyes. He must have known something about Cod that I didn’t. I got the impression that if I gave the DM a small signal of distress, he would take the three steps over to our table and intervene. The big DM would kick Master Codpiece right out of Hell Mary’s.

  Nobody wants to get kicked out of a BDSM club.

  But I didn’t need any help from the hunky DM. I had no intention of playing with the hairy stranger. And it was my job to say no if I wasn’t interested, not the DM’s. A sub has to be able to defend herself against unwanted advances. If I was too weak to withhold consent, I had no business being involved in the dangerous game of BDSM. I either said no or embraced slavery.

  I looked Master Codpiece in the eye and smiled. “No thanks. I’m in the middle of a consensual scene-deprivation scene, so I can’t play.”

  Cod left our booth without complaint.

  Helping myself to some fries, I felt victorious. “How well do you know the DM, Sandi?”

  “We used to DM together at another club, maybe three years ago?”

  I had no idea Sandi was ever a DM. “Huh.”

  I flicked a glance at him. He was bringing a glass of water to a couple involved in a suspension bondage scene. Setting the glass down on the floor, he pointed it out to the Domme with his light.

  “So what’s the scoop on him?” I asked. “How come he doesn’t take a partner?”

  “All duty, no play. Private sort of man. And,” Sandi added, smirking, “he’d rip a little thing like you in two.”

  I shot her a dirty look. “Curiosity isn’t the same as desire, Sandi.”

  Sandi’s retort was interrupted when Lenore, a barely legal submissive and regular at Hell Mary’s, came over to our booth. Tonight her short hair was an amazing turquoise blue, and she wore a black latex top and nothing else. Her top looked like it had been molded to her thin body.

  Lenore gave us a soft smile. “Mistress Sandi, Will, Bri,” she said. “My Dominant would be most pleased if you’d peel off a piece of my shirt so I might see the beauty beneath.”

  She leaned close to me. I ran a finger under the neckline of the top and pulled off a small strip of latex. Lenore shivered.

  Will and Sandi did the same.

  Lenore thanked us and left, beaming. Once she was gone, a man took her place. I thought I’d seen him in the club before. Compact and muscular, he looked down at me with raw lust.

  I didn’t even let him ask the question. “Look, I can’t play. I have to spend more quality time with my vibrator.”

  Will laughed at my joke.

  “Ah,” my suitor said. “You’re pretty and spirited. The most satisfying kind of girl to see on her knees.”

  The DM didn’t even look in our direction; apparently he was okay if I played with this man.

  After a few exchanges along those lines, the muscular man left without a fuss. But my courage was waning. The attention was getting to be more tedious than flattering. It was time for me to go home.

  I said my goodbyes to Sandi and Will and slipped out of the booth.

  Unfortunately, I ran into Ridge and his black-haired girl on my way out.

  Ridge was as handsome as ever, wearing cargo pants low about his hips, his chest bare and glorious with his fantastic tattoos. I tried to be strong and fight off my longing for him.

  His girl was naked except for a wide golden collar studded with jewels and piercings everywhere that counted. To be sure, Ridge’s jewelry embellished her nipples. No citrine for her; she was a ruby kind of girl.

  Using subtle hand signals, Ridge ordered her to take seductive slave positions. Most of them were outright lewd. A crowd gathered around to admire her. The girl had the body of a perverse angel, dazzling and flexible. A hot flash of jealousy zapped my heart.

  The DM stood in the crowd, too, but he was watching me, not Ridge’s girl. The DM probably thought I’d have a fight with my ex.

  Ridge didn’t even know I was there. And the girl was way too occupied with her slave displays. Ridge gave her another silent hand command, and she threw her body prone in front of him. On her way down, her insolent eyes caught mine and she smirked at me.

  Bitch. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. I wanted to kick her where she lay. But I didn’t. In this den of twisted pleasures, nonconsensual violence was frowned upon.

  I should have continued on out the door, but I didn’
t want to give Ridge’s slave the satisfaction. No way was she going to drive me out of Hell Mary’s—even if I was already on my way out.

  I headed off to a dark corner of the playspace, trying to get my anger and jealousy under control. The music throbbed around me and I could hear the cries of pleasure from a sub enjoying sex nearby. I wanted to cry.

  “Hey, Bri,” someone beside me said.

  I turned to look. Drew. Drew was young, enthusiastic and inexperienced. He sported a headful of scraggly red hair and lots of ideas.

  “Hi, Drew.”

  He pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his ragged backpack. “Want to give a new Top a chance at fireplay?”

  I loved fireplay. Such a delicious combination of fear and sensation. Ridge was so good at it, too. The dramatic waves of fire racing over my breasts and stomach always mesmerized me. The kiss of the flame wasn’t actually dangerous if the firestarter knew what he was doing; it felt like a warm massage.

  Drew was a nice kid, too. Maybe I could help him out.

  “Hmm,” I said, staring at the singed hair on his forearm. He’d been practicing on himself. Had he figured it out yet? Drew’s interest in edgeplay was always two steps ahead of his skill. “Maybe. But I’ve got some ground rules.”

  Grinning widely, he could barely contain his excitement.

  Suddenly, Drew stopped bouncing up and down with his bottle of rubbing alcohol. Apparently we’d drawn the attention of the DM.

  The big man sliced the air between Drew and me with his laser light. Up and down. Down and up.

  The signal bewildered me. I’d seen the DM do the same thing with his laser when he was trying to warn off a scene onlooker when he was about to get hit in the face with a flogger. It was an order to “back off”. But who was in danger here? Drew or me?

  Drew didn’t care who was in trouble. “Gotta go,” he said, backing away from me and the laser light.

  The DM stepped over to me. “Fireplay with Drew? Your judgment is terrible, Briony. Go home. Come back after you get over Ridge.”