Undeniably His: Bliss Series, Book Five

by Hall, Deanndra

  I still can’t wash my hair because of the color, but I get myself showered and use some of the new perfume I bought when we went shopping. It’s a lot subtler than what I’ve always worn. I consider it part of the new me. Then I pick out something comfortable to wear, put on some socks and athletic shoes, and decide I’m going to the park. It’s a pretty day, and all I need is a light cardigan. I buy a box lunch, carry it over, and sit on a bench near the pond to watch the birds and the moms with little kids. Kids are something I never considered in my life, and I guess it’s a little too late. Oh, well. Nothing I can do about that. But I realize now that my job was my whole life, and that’s really not healthy. Yeah, I know―it’s a little late for a revelation about that too―but at least I finally get it.

  When lunch is over, I stop at the mall to look at jewelry and find a couple of nice pieces at one of the better department stores. While I’m there, I see a set of pearls. That’s something I’ve never had. I don’t know where I’d ever wear them, but I’m buying them anyway. They’re a present to myself, and maybe someday I’ll have an occasion that will call for them.

  By the time I get home, it’s time to do some prep. Three bottles of water to flush my bladder out very nicely, and then three enemas. I never know how orientation is going to go, and I’ve got to be ready. Something else I won’t have to look forward to several times a week―enemas. That gets old after a while.

  I have to fight the urge to put on gobs of makeup. It’s the new me. Surely they’ll be happy to see me just like I am. I hope so, because today I’m not planning anything radical.

  By the time I get to the club, I feel pretty good about myself for the first time in a long time. I walk in and the first person who sees me is Brian. The smile that stretches across his face is enough for me to know that I’ve done good. “Look at you! The girls said you look like a new woman, but they didn’t do you justice. You look beautiful!”

  “Thanks! Funny part is, it’s a lot easier to look like this than, well, you know,” I say and wink at him.

  “You look … healthy,” he says. I think that’s one of the nicest things anybody’s said about me in a long, long time. Healthy. I feel healthier. “And not as ‘sex-pot’ sexy. Really … cute.” Nobody’s ever used the word “cute” to describe me, but it makes me feel good to hear it.

  The fetwear I chose for tonight is a deep burgundy with silver accents. It’s a cupless corset with a demi bra over it, a matching thong, and a pair of silver stilettos. Hey, it’s fetwear. I still have to dress out in the club.

  Brian has me go to his office and wait. That’s the way it usually goes. The Doms in training come in, they go to the training area, they go over a bunch of stuff, and then he comes and gets me and brings me out. There’s a kind of mystique to it, and I think that’s good for them. It makes them sit up and pay attention, which is most definitely what he wants. It’s what I want too. I don’t want some distracted Dominant working with me. That’s a great way to get hurt.

  While I’m sitting there, I look at some of the books on the shelves. They were Dave’s, and he just left them here. There’s War and Peace, Animal Farm, and Anarchical History of the Government. Wow. Quite the collection. A couple of anatomy books are interspersed within the others, and I’m guessing that was for the occasional knucklehead or idiot who knew nothing about the human body.

  I wish I knew what was being said, but if Brian caught me eavesdropping outside the room he uses for training, I’d catch hell for sure. While I’m there for orientation, I’m his submissive. I take orders from him. Dave said he always wanted me to do orientations with him because I knew what was expected of me and he didn’t have to worry about me. To some women, that would’ve been a slap in the face. To me, it was a huge compliment.

  After what seems like forever, he finally appears in the doorway. “You ready?” I just nod. “Okay. It’s showtime. Safeword?”

  “Red.”

  “Good. Works for me. Protocol in place so they can watch. Let’s go.” With that, he turns and leaves, and I fall in behind him, eyes appropriately downcast.

  There’s a hush that falls on the room when we step through the doorway. “Candidates, this is my submissive, Melina. To her, I’m Master Brian. I took the lists of things you said you were interested in and combined them into one workable scene. Remember, if you want to try something that we don’t cover and you know little to nothing about it, there are more experienced Dominants in the club who will help you. Ask around, or ask me or Melina here who might be a good mentor in that discipline, and we’ll see if we can find someone for you.” He picks up a pair of leather cuffs. “One of the main things that I found on virtually every list was bondage. Submissive, move to the bondage horse,” he says and points to it. When I reach it, he says, “Bend over it side to side. I’m going to cuff her ankles and wrists together and go from there.”

  By the time it’s all said and done, I’m cuffed, flogged, and have all kinds of anal things stuffed in me. He also goes over the enema process, safety and hygiene with anal sex, and several other points. When that’s done, he goes over fisting, which someone apparently asked about. None of this was discussed with me beforehand, but that’s okay. He asks before he starts and I tell him that I’d rather not, but it’s his call. God knows I’ve had enough junk stuffed up my cooch. I don’t want somebody’s whole hand. That leads him to tell the guys that if they want to learn about it, he’ll find a submissive, but that I’m not comfortable with the process. They seem to understand.

  Then it’s question and answer time, and he invites them to ask me questions if they want. He has the spots turned on where we are, so it’s hard for me to see into the audience. A couple of guys ask him about specific things. Another asks about protocol, and one asks if his submissive stays naked at home or wears clothes. I don’t think that’s a bad question. “Yes, you back in the back. What’s your question?”

  And then I hear that voice. “Could you give us your best guesstimate of the ratio of submissives to Dominants in the club?”

  “At last count, our membership was about one hundred and twenty dominants to two hundred and twenty-five submissives―in that neighborhood. So about one and three-quarters submissives to every Dominant. Bear in mind, many of those are couples, and not everyone is an active member, so your mileage may vary.”

  “And is there a median age?” the voice asks.

  “We’ve never looked at that, I don’t think. I can ask Dungeon Master Adams about that, but I’ve never scrutinized it.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” the voice says and then goes quiet. God, I want to hear him talk some more!

  But in twenty minutes, Brian dismisses me with a kiss on the forehead so I can go home and he can finish up with them. I know from past experience that some won’t make it in. But I’m pretty sure the good-looking Dominant will.

  And I can’t wait to see what happens next.

  Chapter Three

  By the time I get there Friday night―I was having a massage, bless my heart―there are three of the new Dominants there. Not a one of them gives me a single glance. I just sit down at the bar in my usual spot, grab a drink, and look around.

  And in ten minutes, he strolls in. I see him as he waves to Brian, then disappears into the locker room. I’m watching one of the other new Doms talking up one of the younger submissives when he steps out into the common area.

  Hooo-leeeeee shit. The hair on his chest and trailing down his abs is as dark and gorgeous as what’s on his head. His leathers fit to perfection, and those must be the most expensive boots I’ve ever seen. His first stop is the bar, and he asks again, “Is this seat taken, ma’am?”

  “No, sir. It’s not. Please―have a seat.” I’m hoping that will encourage him to talk to me.

  Instead, he says, “Hi, Master Brian. Can I have a ginger ale?”

  “Sure!” Brian pours one and hands it over and when he does, I see the guy tip his head my direction.

  “May I?” I h
ave no idea what he means, and apparently Brian doesn’t either because he shrugs. “Ma’am,” he says, turning to me, “that hair color and cut really suits you. You look very, very nice.”

  I can feel myself blush. “Thank you very much. It’s new.”

  “I noticed. Somebody did a good job.” He takes a sip of his drink and then says, “I’m hoping to meet a couple of submissives tonight. Hoping somebody will want to scene. Do you …” Oh, please, god, let him ask me! my brain hums. “… know anybody who would be a good prospect? A pretty submissive who knows what she’s doing?”

  What am I, dog meat? I want to scream. I can’t believe it. Looks like I am invisible. “No, sir, not right off hand.”

  He just nods and takes another sip before he says, “Oh, well, maybe somebody will come wandering in.” And he grins, never looking up at me. “I suppose I should get up and mingle or I’ll never meet anybody. Good talking to you, ma’am,” he says as he rises and walks away.

  I’m fuming. Absolutely, positively fuming. I suppose I’m nobody. That’s the message I got. Brian has this strange look on his face when he sees my expression. I can only imagine how I look. “What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”

  I roll my eyes and try not to growl. “He wanted to know if there were any pretty submissives here who knew what they were doing. Guess I don’t fit that description so I’m not a candidate. And that ma’am business―that’s getting on my last nerve, Brian. I mean it. He compliments my hairdo and then more or less tells me I’m not pretty.”

  “He didn’t say that, Melina.”

  “No, he didn’t. He implied it.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Yes. He did, Brian, and you know it.” I didn’t think I could get any lower than I did on Monday, but I’d say I was wrong. “I’m going to the restroom, and maybe I’m going home. I should just hide out there, huh?”

  “Melina …”

  “No. Stop it. I get it, really, I do. The Dom pool here is getting younger and younger, and I’m getting older and older. They just don’t have to be quite so fucking obvious about it.” I’m seething, really boiling. I might as well give up my membership. Baron apparently enjoyed playing with me the other night, but he isn’t even here tonight, and I got the impression he doesn’t want anything permanent. I stalk off to the bathroom, feeling about as defeated as I’ve felt in a long time.

  I stay in there for a good while. Sitting on the second toilet from the end, I look at the pinpoint pattern in the ceiling tiles and try to picture objects in it. A dog? No. That looks more like a sheep. Then I count wall tiles, which would be easier if I were in the end stall against the wall, so I count floor tiles instead. Then I count the holes in the drain screen on the floor drain―twenty-two. Weird number.

  After a bit the toilet seat cuts off the blood flow to my left leg and it starts to go numb, so I figure I might as well go on out. The club provides personal towelettes in the stalls, which is nice, so I clean myself up, pull up my skin-tight boy shorts, and head back out. There’s nobody at the bar, so I scan the room and find Brian standing over against the far wall, talking to …

  Fuck. He’s talking to the southern boy. Great. I hope to god he’s not repeating what I said, and I know Brian’s not like that anyway. Still, it makes me wonder. When he comes back to the bar, I ask him, “So, having a good conversation with our newest wonder Dom?”

  “Yes. Just telling him some things he needs to know.”

  “And?”

  “Learned something interesting,” he says and goes back to wiping glasses with a dish towel.

  “Like …”

  “Hello again, ma’am,” that voice says, and I jump a little. “Oh! Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I had no idea he was anywhere around. Apparently besides looking amazing, he has mad ninja skills. Who knew? “Oh, that’s okay, sir. No problem,” I answer and duck my head toward my glass. I’m going to kill Brian if he did what I think he did.

  “Could I speak to you for a minute? Privately?”

  Now I am pissed. Damn it, Brian! “Yes, sir.”

  “Come over here with me, please.” He starts toward a sofa on the far wall and I follow, my face burning. Now I’m going to get some lame-ass apology, I just know it, one that will make me feel even more pathetic than I already do. When we reach the seating area, he says, “Please, have a seat.” He sweeps a hand toward the sofa and I plop down, ready to be decimated. Oh, this should be shit-tastic. I can barely wait.

  “First, I think I should probably introduce myself. I’m Boone,” he says and sticks out a big paw. It engulfs mine, and it’s warm and comforting. “If I recall correctly, your name is Melina.”

  “It is.” I’m giving him nothing to kick my ass with. Nope. Not doing it.

  “I think I owe you an apology.”

  “No, sir. I don’t know why you would owe me an apology, so I don’t think so.”

  “Yes. I do. You know what they say about what happens when you assume something?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I made an assumption and I shouldn’t have.”

  Now he’s got my full attention. What, he assumed I was eighty-five? “Oh? What’s that, sir?”

  “Based on the fact that when I was in here you were always at the bar, and the fact that you were Master Brian’s assistant for the orientation, I assumed you were his submissive.” My mouth drops open, and then he says, “I know, I know―you aren’t wearing a collar. That should’ve been a hint, but I overlooked that completely. I’m sorry if you thought I was blowing you off. I wasn’t. I just didn’t want to encroach on territory that wasn’t mine to forage in.”

  That’s why he tipped his head toward me while he was looking to Brian! He was asking permission to talk to me! I’m still pretty sure he doesn’t really want anything to do with me, but that explains a little. “Oh! No, sir. No, we’re just friends. I’m very, very good friends with the former Dungeon Master, Dave, but he’s married now. Brian is too. So no, sir, I’m not his submissive. I’m also not collared by anybody.”

  “Well, that’s somebody’s loss right there,” he says with a grin. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I can’t believe nobody’s snapped you up yet.”

  I feel the hair on the back of my neck start to rise. “Uh, no. No, sir.”

  I almost fall off the sofa with his next question. “Would you ever consider scening with me?”

  He’s got to be blind. “Um, sir, are you sure about that? I’m a bit, um―”

  “Stop right there. I know what you’re about to say, and I don’t give a damn unless it bothers you. I don’t know how old you are but, for the record, I’m thirty-two.”

  “Forty-two, sir.”

  “I thought you were younger than that, but it doesn’t matter. That’s never mattered to me. But I have to say, I think you’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.” The smile he gives me isn’t a fake one. I don’t think this guy has the ability to be a lying piece of shit. He doesn’t strike me that way.

  And that’s a new compliment for me. “Um, thank you, sir. Nobody’s ever called me adorable before.”

  “You are. So, about my question―”

  “Sir?” I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I’m about to ruin everything, but not being honest at this point isn’t an option. “I think there’s something you should know.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “Um, I work at an adult store. But that’s a new job. I start Monday. Until this past Monday, I was a, um, an, uh, an adult film star.” I wait, but he doesn’t react―at all. “I have been since I was eighteen. It’s the only job I ever held until now.”

  “Why aren’t you doing it now?”

  Oh, god. He’s going to make me say it. But I’m not going to lie to him. “They told me they didn’t need me on set anymore because I’m too old.”

  His eyebrows shoot upward and his mouth falls open. I don’t know what’s about to happen. Then, in barely over a
whisper, he says, “Well, those stupid motherfuckers. I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t talk like that in front of you, but they’re about the dumbest sumbitches I’ve ever heard of. I can’t imagine what the hell they’re thinking, and I’m sorry they did that to you. They’re going to regret it, I promise you.”

  I know he’s trying to be kind, but this has to be the lowest point of my whole week. I’ve had to sit here and admit to a guy this good-looking and kind that I’m too old to hack it in the business anymore. This is unbearably painful. I don’t even realize what’s going on when I feel something tickle my cheek and realize it’s a tear. Now I’m sitting here crying in front of him. Fuck me. I’m the biggest loser in town.

  And then he reaches up, wipes the tear from my face, and smiles. “Now you listen to me. Stop that cryin’. You’re better off without them if they don’t appreciate you.” His voice is gentle and I feel like he’s hugging me without ever touching me. “So how ‘bout this? We sit here and talk tonight, and then tomorrow, we go to dinner before the club opens. And then if we still think it would be a good idea, we can scene together. What do you think? Would that work for you?”

  Now I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating. “You mean like a … date?”

  There’s that laugh. God, I love that laugh! “Yep! Like a date. Whaddya say? Does that sound appealing?”

  I’m sure I’m misunderstanding. “Look, you don’t owe me that much of an apology, really. You don’t have to―”

  “This isn’t about an apology. It’s about getting to know you. And I’d really like to get to know you. Unless you’re not interested in getting to know me.”

  “No! I mean, yes, I’m interested in getting to know you! Yes. Please. Okay.” I can’t believe what’s happening. My heart is hammering out of control. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  “Okay. What do you want to drink? I’ll go get us a couple and bring them over,” he says, standing.

  “Whatever you’re having is fine with me,” I reply, still stunned. By the time he gets back and hands me my drink, my head is spinning.