My One

by January Rowe

  The DM was kicking me out.

  He thought I was a dumb, irresponsible sub on the rebound. My face burned with embarrassment and fury. It wasn’t fair. I was going to help Drew, instruct him.

  But I couldn’t argue with the DM, even if he was wrong. The DM was the first and final law in the playspace. And if I ever wanted to return to Hell Mary’s again, I had to obey him.

  Angry and humiliated, I left and went home.

  The DM was going to be sorry he kicked me out.

  One of these days he was going to show up at my apartment because Sandi would tell him where I lived. Dressed in his usual khaki, he’d ask for forgiveness and invite me out for coffee. I’d refuse the first time. Maybe even the second or third. But eventually I’d succumb because he was so sweet and sincere. He’d take me to a very elegant coffee shop, and we’d talk. He’d tell me he was a consultant: He built bridges all over the world. I’d be impressed with his raging success, delighted to know something about this mysterious hunk’s life.

  I’d gaze into his gorgeous eyes, attracted, and wonder if I should forgive him for humiliating me. His eyes would be gray, or maybe green? I didn’t know what color the DM’s eyes really were: Hell Mary’s was way too dark. I decided his eyes would be blue. Pure, brilliant blue. Not gray-blue like Ridge’s.

  So we’d drink our coffee and eat our lovely little cakes and pastries, and the DM would admit that he kicked me out of Hell Mary’s because he wanted me for himself. He’d been watching me, desiring me all this time.

  I liked that idea a ton. Lying back in my couch and closing my eyes, I imagined him as my One.

  After I forgave him, he gave me a tour of his dungeon in the basement of his Victorian mansion. He wasn’t just a famous bridge-builder; he was an utter genius in BDSM engineering. He built the dungeon. It had real stone walls and real torches and metal cuffs hanging from the walls. The textures of his restraining devices and the smell of burning oil utterly enchanted me.

  So did the variety of his erotic inventions. Beneath his concerned and courteous air, his evident compassion, lay something far more interesting. A confident, creative, perhaps even cruel dominance. I wanted to experience it.

  His entertainments came with expectations. It turned out the DM had lots of rules, insisting on high protocol. Unlike Ridge, he had lofty standards. He had rules about how I should address him, what I would wear, the way I would walk. He had rules about the permissions I must ask him for, and how to ask for them. I learned his expectations quickly—his punishments were memorable, and his rewards were spectacular.

  I responded well to his strictness, his delicious control. His skill with his inventive erotic machines and his mastery of rope bondage made me weak at the knees. And the big DM was, of course, an extraordinary lover. He gave me orgasms so vibrant, I fell in love with him that first night. It took him longer to feel the same affection for me, as he demanded perfection. But eventually he molded me properly. He collared me. His collar was an engineering marvel like his machines. The device was made of some strange futuristic material that warmed my neck and body when we were separated, always reminding me how much he loved me. Unlike Ridge’s collar, this device had no weak spot. I was so proud to wear it.

  One night he had me put on a dress made of rope. He’d created it, just like his machines. I loved the way the dress felt. Tight and a little scratchy, sending me just to the edge of pain. After weaving it on me, the DM allowed me to see myself in the mirror. My breasts were exposed, outlined in rope, my waist tied and cinched. My private parts were partly hidden by a short ropy skirt.

  The engineer-DM’s creation had transformed me into a BDSM deity. All sex and voluptuous submission. I shuddered with pleasure. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled with pride when he gazed at me.

  Then he took me out for our first public play at Hell Mary’s. I was thrilled.

  The entire BDSM club seemed to hush when we entered.

  “Sir,” I said softly, intimidated by the attention.

  He allowed the assemblage to get a good look at the two of us, and then he headed to a corner of the club.

  I followed a few paces behind him, solemn and docile, as he’d taught me. I heard whispers discussing my dress, my dignified demeanor, my sexy walk. He stopped in front of the wheel. My breath hitched with joy.

  “Come here.”

  I obeyed and he bent my body to the wheel. The front of my chest lay against the smooth wooden surface. I rubbed my rope-enhanced breasts against it, eager. He cuffed my wrists to the axle. Spreading my legs wide, he strapped my ankles to the wheel support. Now I was well and truly bound. I felt warm and melty. I was ready for him to show everyone in Hell Mary’s what a real D/s couple looked like.

  But everyone, including me, had to wait. He wanted to display me first. He lifted up my short ropy skirt, bunching it up on my back, exposing my ass, among other parts. And then, after a proprietary slap, he went off to go talk to his friends. I’d never been displayed like that before. Ridge wouldn’t exhibit me bound and nearly naked and alone because he didn’t want me to seem available. The hunky DM was far too secure to worry about anyone taking liberties with me.

  My friends all came by to say hello. The DM hadn’t given me permission to respond, so I didn’t. Lots of different people came by to gawk and comment. They’d been wondering where I’d been and were happy the DM had finally found someone as good as me. They also remarked about what a pretty little ass I had, and too bad that my sweet cheeks were about to be blistered. Ridge’s slave girl even lingered, telling one of her friends how she’d enjoy some discipline from the DM. She was jealous of me.

  The DM had no intention of punishing me. That part of my learning curve was long over. No, he was paying me a huge compliment by displaying me so brazenly, so proudly. Soon he would play with me, confident I would honor him in all ways.

  I heard him behind me, stripping off his clothing. People nearby, especially female people, made sounds of appreciation. As well they should—he was the sexiest man in the world. I felt the skin of his chest against my shoulders, his big hands grasping my hips. His massive erection pressed hard on my lower back. My insides swirled in anticipation, my pulse quickening.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked me.

  “Oh, yes, Sir.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Yes, Sir. I need you.”

  He grunted and pulled away from me.

  I heard rustlings and sighs behind us. We had gathered an audience. I even heard Ridge’s girl make sounds of envy.

  After another affectionate slap, the DM demonstrated his erotic inventions on my pretty little ass, one by one. He was showing off his machines, pretending to test them out. Nobody at Hell Mary’s had ever seen devices like his before. Our audience murmured and gasped.

  And then after a while, he got down to business, igniting my heat with his toys. I was the one gasping. The DM had conditioned me to hunger for one special machine, a device that delivered sweet puffs of air. Finally, he caressed me with that toy.

  I tried to get closer to the pulsing sensations, arching my back, exposing my swollen folds to him and his pleasure machine. My breasts were crushed against the wheel. I loved the pain mixed with delight. He teased and kissed my hot core with the feathering air puffs. I was approaching orgasm. Too fast. I desperately wanted him to find release at the same time as I did.

  “Please Sir, I can’t take much more,” I said.

  “You can.” He stroked and touched my flaming, aching clit with the beating air stream. “You will.”

  I was saturated with moisture. I concentrated on anything and everything but the machine’s unbearable, silky light touches. I focused on Hell Mary’s background music. The song seemed to throb in time with the pulse of the DM’s toy. Biting my lip, I examined my dignity, my training. In the excitement of our first public play, my discipline was lapsing. But I didn’t want to be proper anymore. I wanted to writhe and cry and demand. I took in the scents
of the club. I smelled burning. I smelled the distinctive odor of burning clit. My clit.

  I gyrated, trying to tug my wrists out of their restraints.

  “Sir!” I cried. “Please!”

  I heard him rumble, low and ravenous. He slammed his huge member into me, powering me headlong over the edge. I screamed all the way down.

  Hell Mary’s shook from the force of my orgasms.

  My fantasy receded. I wasn’t wearing a rope dress. I wasn’t bound to the wheel. I wasn’t in the throes of orgasm. I was lying on the couch in my apartment, panting, hot and unsatisfied.

  Chapter Four

  From: AssFucker4u

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: me + u

  Date: 2 March

  I saw you’re add. Im 18 and experenced Dominate. Beside bondige I like motorcles fistting 4-weeling and anel sex too times aday. IM me.

  ***

  From: AlnNapa

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: Hello

  Date: 16 March

  Dear sweetsub,

  I am part of a unique and loving polyamorous 24/7 BDSM household living on 300 acres in Napa. The family consists of me (Al), my alpha sub Lacie, my sub Yasmine, and Yasmine’s switch slave trudy. Along with the occasional playtime visitor, we have one or two longer-term female pets. We have no children.

  Given the preponderance of women in this family, your being bi would be a big plus.

  Like you, we practice Yoga (ashtanga) and enjoy ethnic cooking (North African is my specialty and Lacie cooks Japanese). We also love to travel, and of course, care for the vineyards.

  We tend toward heavy play, but will be highly considerate of your limits. If you’re interested in exploring a relationship with us, take a look at our website: www.als_kinkfamily.com or come visit us sometime. (A chaperone is perfectly welcome.)

  Be well,

  Al and family

  ***

  When I returned to work, I launched into the final design of the online fabric store. Lawrence came in to see me about lunchtime. He looked tense.

  “I’d like to run something by you. Can you come into my office?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, following him.

  He’d never invited me to his office before. He was one of those hands-on, hang-out, don’t-view-me-as-an-authority-figure-I’m-just-here-to-support-your-creativity kind of bosses.

  Lawrence’s office was very nice. Sleek and modern, in soft beiges and whites, the space was largely empty.

  “Have a seat.” He shut the door and walked over to sit behind his desk.

  I dropped into a beige leather chair. He seemed nervous, avoiding eye contact, shuffling some papers on his desk.

  I got the horrible feeling I was going to get canned. My stomach curled into a hard, painful ball. What if I lost my job? I’d already lost my identity as Ridge’s girl—I needed to think of myself as a competent designer.

  He finally raised his kind brown eyes to look at me. “I’d like to discuss a potential assignment with you.”

  I sighed, the tension in my body easing. I wasn’t going to get laid off. So why did Lawrence seem so stressed?

  “It’s a rush job?” I offered.

  “No.” He dropped his eyes again. “Not really. You’ll have plenty of time to finish up Callida first.”

  “So what’s the project?” I asked, puzzled by Lawrence’s discomfort.

  “It’s a website re-development.” He moved around his papers again. “The potential client is moving into internet sales. He asked for you specifically.”

  “All right.” I didn’t see the problem. And why all the “potentials”?

  His brown eyes connected with mine again. “The potential client is Sterling Hoyne of Hoyne Enterprises, Bri. He operates some kind of upscale sex club in LA.”

  “Oh.” I finally understood Lawrence’s concern.

  “I’m sorry about this, Bri. I would never have discussed this project with you if Hoyne Enterprises hadn’t asked for you.”

  Lawrence really was sweet and protective.

  But Sterling wanted me to design his site because he was an old friend. An old lifestyle friend. The LA “sex club” wasn’t actually a sex club. In fact, sex was prohibited. Called the Vault, the hip BDSM-themed club was exclusive, membership only. Slick and kinky, offering drinks and staged “scenes”, it was the kind of place that attracted edgy movie stars.

  I’d never been inside the Vault. Without some special favor from Sterling, I wasn’t important enough to get in.

  “I’m fine with developing the site, Lawrence.”

  “I won’t even let you say yes until after you talk to Hoyne and find out what he’s expecting you to do.” He sounded agitated.

  A few days later Sterling came up from LA to talk to Lawrence and me about his plans. We met in the conference room. Lawrence was tense and suspicious.

  Sterling hadn’t changed much since I’d seen him last: slender and elegant, with salt and pepper hair and groomed mustache. His dark eyes held mine for a long moment, and I felt heat. There’d been some energy between us back in the day.

  Years ago, when Sterling ran workshops in various sadistic arts, I was his stunt bottom. Our relationship never went any further than that, but I enjoyed helping him. I’m pretty sure he enjoyed it too.

  The small spark I shared with Sterling in the conference room grounded me. I had a full, rich BDSM life before Ridge, and I’d have one again. Getting kicked out of Hell Mary’s was just a temporary setback. I’d return to the playspace soon. With my new Dominant.

  The three of us settled down at the conference table. Sterling sat next to Lawrence, and I sat across from them both.

  “Vault patrons will soon be getting a key as a gate pass,” Sterling said. “This is the prototype.”

  He presented Lawrence with a six-inch-long brass dungeon key. Eyebrows raised, my boss studied the medieval-looking key for a moment. He then handed it to me.

  It felt as heavy and substantial as it looked.

  “Once the key pass is in place,” Sterling continued, “we’ll expand our Internet storefront to sell items with the same design.”

  “What kind of items?” Lawrence asked, his eyes narrowed. The whole sex-club thing bugged him.

  “Earrings. Key rings. That sort of thing. Nothing racy.”

  My boss wasn’t convinced until Sterling showed us drawings of the exact items he intended to sell online.

  I understood Sterling’s implicit marketing plan. Folks who bought the edgy trinkets didn’t even have to know what BDSM was. It would be enough to know the jewelry came from the exclusive, glamorous Vault.

  I had a preliminary plan for the Vault Internet storefront before Sterling left.

  ***

  From: Control

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: Hmmm

  Date: 17 April

  Hmmm…beat you, spread those legs of yours past your ears, fuck you, make you cry. Stick my cock down your throat. Maybe piss all over you after I’m done.

  You have my permission to contact me.

  ***

  From: Submale69

  To: sweetsub

  Subject: You

  Date: 26 April

  i know your profile says You are a submissive. But i was wondering if You might Domme me. Just once. i beg You to be this worm’s Mistress. i am very oral. i am very subservient. i will spoil You rotten, Mistress.

  steve in Sacramento

  ***

  I finished the fabric store website in record time so I could start designing the Vault website. Within a week I had the first mockup. Two weeks after that, the site was in beta test.

  Sterling called to thank me and to invite me down to LA for the weekend.

  “Think I could clean up well enough so that you could give me a personal tour of that fancy club of yours?”

  “Without doubt. But I was thinking of a more private interlude. Just you and me. For a session at my house. What do you say?”

/>   My heart leapt at the chance to scene with a skilled and familiar Top. Could he be my One?

  “I’d love to.”

  ***

  Sterling lived in a gorgeous Mediterranean Estate in Santa Monica. All stucco, rounded windows, wrought iron-railed balconies and old Hollywood glamour.

  Informally dressed in shirtsleeves and jeans, Sterling grilled steaks for us out on the back patio.

  I sat at the edge of the pool to watch him cook. Swishing my bare feet in the tepid water, sipping on my microbrew, I wondered if he was as lonely as I was. Being a BDSM hero to the glamorous and hip could be constricting. He couldn’t make mistakes. Especially public ones.

  When we sat down to dinner, I asked him, “Why do you suppose we never hooked up before?”

  His dark eyes fixed on mine, and he didn’t answer me right away. “You were always looking for love. And you still are.”

  “What makes you think I still want love?”

  “Because you do, my darling girl. But you won’t find love with me, and you know it. No D/s role play. No sex. Just S&M and a memorable endorphin rush.” His voice seemed to crack with passion and promise.

  That was good enough for me. At least for the moment.

  After dinner, he took me down to the basement. It was hard not to run, I was so eager to connect with him. When we stepped through a vaulted door and I saw his spectacular private dungeon, I could barely breathe.

  More scientific lab than ancient torture chamber, his dungeon was Dr. Frankenstein meets 2001: A Space Odyssey. Silver padded examination tables, curved gray plastic counters, banks of blinking machines.

  “Incredible,” I whispered, heading into the playspace.

  Despite the futuristic ambiance, his toys, displayed in orderly rows behind shimmering Plexiglas, were twentieth century or older. Sighing happily, I glanced back at Sterling. He stood at the threshold. Shutting the door, he sealed the room.