“No problem,” I said quickly, understanding exactly what she was trying to say, but she had confirmed what I’d been thinking.
The force to be reckoned with, the woman who had been so brilliant, so cool, and so in control, had melted in front of me. I was convinced she didn’t remember a bloody thing.
Expect the unexpected?
No kidding.
CHAPTER SIX
When I returned to my office I immediately put in a call to a close friend back in London, Jeremy Whittle. Jeremy was a Harley Street psychiatrist and a fellow dominant. Though it was nearing late evening in London, I was sure once I told him why I was calling he wouldn’t mind the interruption. I rang him on his home phone and he answered on the third ring.
“Jeremy, James here, calling from New York.”
“James, what a surprise. How’s New York? It’s good to hear your voice but I hope everything’s all right.”
“I’m fine, yes, loving it, but I’ve stumbled into something a bit, well, confounding to be honest, and I’m hoping you can help me.”
“You confounded? I am intrigued. What is it?”
“Is it possible for someone to have sex and not remember it? Sorry, I think you need more information. I had dinner with a woman, and a couple of nights later she showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night begging me to spank her. I did, we had sex, then she left. I just had lunch with her and I’m sure she doesn’t remember anything.”
“Nothing?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Describe her behavior when she arrived, in the middle of the night, I mean.”
“Hmmm, well, she spoke very little, just said what she wanted and I obliged. It was all a bit weird.”
“And she doesn’t remember?”
“I don’t think she does, Jeremy. I really don’t. She didn’t say that, but it was definitely the impression I got.”
There was a pause, and when I heard Jeremy take a breath I immediately had the feeling he didn’t want to tell me what he was thinking.
“Jeremy? Is it that bad?”
“You probably haven’t heard of this condition, but it’s called sexsomnia, though I have to say, leaving her home and making her way to your place, that’s extreme.”
“What the bloody hell is sexsomnia?”
“The simplistic answer is, a person who sleepwalks and has sex. Apparently this woman has chosen you, but leaving the safety of her home, that’s remarkable. I’ll need to do some research on this.”
“Are you saying Amelia, sorry, that’s her name, are you saying she was able to call a car to pick her up, give the driver my address, have sex with me, go home, and all while she was asleep? That’s impossible.”
“It does appear to be an extreme case but it’s not impossible.”
“I think I’m more confounded now than I was before. This is unbelievable.”
“Yes, it is a bit, but I can assure you sexsomnia does exist, though I’ve never met anyone who suffers from it.”
“Are you saying she could knock on my door again?”
“She probably will,” Jeremy said soberly.
“What should I do if she does?” I asked anxiously. What the blazes was I getting myself into?
“Obviously it’s imperative you persuade her to stay, then try to lull her back into a regular sleep. It goes without saying that if she’s sleepwalking around New York in the middle of the night she’s putting herself in serious danger.”
“No kidding,” I muttered, “and if I can get to her stay, what about the morning? What should I say to her?”
“She’ll wake with no recall, or possibly a vague recall, and she’ll be upset so you must be very calm and reassuring. This is extremely distressing for the sexsomniac. When the opportunity presents itself, suggest she see a qualified psychiatrist who specializes in sleep disorders.”
“This is a lot to take in,” I said grimly. “She’s such a self-possessed, brilliant woman, it’s bizarre to think of her being so out of control like this.”
“I can’t make an accurate assessment without seeing her in person, but perhaps the pressure of her everyday existence is putting her in a state of excessive stress. She probably has other sleep issues as well. I’ll see what I can dig up for you to better understand this, but you must encourage her to seek help.”
“Thanks, Jeremy. I’ll let you get back to your evening. Sorry for the interruption.”
“Don’t apologize. Professionally it’s fascinating. I wish you were here, I’d like to treat her, and please keep me informed. Call me any time, don’t hesitate.”
“I appreciate that, I’m definitely feeling over my head with this. Speak to you later, and thanks again.”
“Bye, James.”
I ended the call, and turning my chair to face the window I stared out at the city.
“Sexsomnia,” I mumbled under my breath. “Bloody hell.”
I’d never heard of it, and from Amelia’s reaction at lunch it was clear that Jeremy’s assessment had been right. I had to hurry to a meeting, but the peculiar circumstances in which I suddenly found myself had captured my imagination. Poor Amelia. Was she a submissive aching for a dominant, or did her submissive fantasies live only in her head and she was finding a way to act on them?
Though I’d planned on a quiet evening, possibly doing some reading or sitting in front of the television, after a shower and a quick bite to eat I poured myself a glass of wine and opened up my laptop. Entering the word Sexsomnia in the search engine, I found a ton of articles, but as I perused them I discovered there wasn’t as much information as I’d hoped, but it did confirm what Jeremy had told me; it was a rare condition.
When I finally closed my computer and went to bed I had a thought. If I gave her what she craved when she was awake, might it help to stop her nighttime wanderings? Then I realized I couldn’t seduce her in her waking state and not tell her why, though I was very attracted to her. Suddenly things began to feel very complicated. Just how involved did I want to become with this woman? I certainly couldn’t abandon her, but my work was demanding, and a relationship, especially a complex one, wasn’t exactly on my radar. I felt a yawn coming on. Very little sleep the night before and researching Amelia’s condition had worn me out.
“Please don’t knock on my door tonight,” I muttered as I yawned again, and moments later I was asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
To my great relief Amelia did not buzz me awake in the middle of the night, and as I went about my day making phone calls, market watching, and intense meetings, the questions about what to do with her continued to rattle through my brain. When I spoke to her late in the afternoon to confirm dinner at my place she sounded completely normal. Normal for her that is. Clipped speech, somewhat removed, busy, busy, busy. It was a relief, and I was almost pleased she wasn’t all warm and fuzzy and eager to see me.
I’m not great in the kitchen, but I do enjoy the occasional putter and I was looking forward to it. I was feeling upbeat as I shopped on my way home, picking up some wild-caught salmon, a package of rice pilaf, and some asparagus spears I’d roast in the oven. After taking a shower and setting the table I decided to start cooking after Amelia arrived. It’s relaxing to share a glass of wine while preparing dinner, and I hoped watching me would help to alleviate whatever nerves she might have.
Everything was set, but when seven o’clock became seven-fifteen I began to worry, not to mention relieved that I hadn’t started our dinner. Had she chickened out? I couldn’t imagine a woman like Amelia getting cold feet, but I didn’t really know her so it was possible. At seven-thirty I rang her fully expecting her voicemail, but this was Amelia, and of course she had to surprise me; she accepted the call.
“Amelia, are you all right? You were supposed to be here at seven.”
“I’m so sorry James. I’m on my way right now. I hope I haven’t ruined your dinner.”
There was a tone to her voice I didn’t recognize. She almost sounded contrite. M
y radar beeped.
“No, I was waiting for you to arrive.”
“I can be very naughty sometimes.”
There it was. The invitation. Out of nowhere. The day before, over lunch, she had been almost shy. What was it she’d said? I might not be able to stay over. What the hell?
“You know what happens to naughty girls,” I said, lowering my voice and deciding to go with the proverbial flow.
“I do,” she said breathlessly. “They get spanked.”
“So you know what to expect when you arrive. A hot bottom to sit on while you enjoy your hot meal.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m leaving now.”
Yes, Sir? She’d said, yes, Sir.
Ending the call I poured myself more wine, then changed my mind and splashed some scotch into a heavy glass tumbler. This woman was all over the map.
She’d been totally cool during our dinner date, then showed up at my door two days later in the middle of the night—apparently sleeping walking no less—only to be mortified at lunch when I told her what she’d done. Now suddenly she was behaving like my submissive. My brain couldn’t quite cope with it all, but as I downed the last of my scotch I had to admit that Amelia was more intriguing than disturbing, and the thought of easing her out of my life wasn’t appealing, at least, not yet. By the time she arrived I was composed, and when she walked in looking sexy as hell in a tight burgundy cashmere sweater and black gabardine pants tucked into high-heeled ankle boots, I was more than ready to punish her for being late.
“You look very nice, but slacks?” I scolded. “When you come here a dress is obligatory. Understood?”
“Yes, James,” she nodded looking appropriately demure. “I’ll make sure next time.”
“Are you ready for your spanking?”
“Yes, Sir, no, Sir.”
“What does that mean?”
“I am, but, uh, I’m nervous about it.”
“Are you indeed?”
“And, um, embarrassed.”
I studied her. A red flush had moved over her cheeks and I sensed she was telling me the truth. I’d always loved the phrase, a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, and as I studied her I decided that’s exactly what she was.
“You’ll be more embarrassed when I bare your bottom,” I declared taking her hand and leading her to the couch. “Those trousers of yours are thick, they have to go.”
“Go?” she squeaked. “You mean, I have to take them off?”
“Absolutely. Push them down to your knees then lay over my lap.”
The red flush on her face was turning crimson, and as I sat in front of her watching her unzip her pants, I got the distinct impression she’d never done anything like it before. Either that or she was an Oscar-winning actress. Under her trousers she was wearing a sexy pair of white-lace, French-cut knickers. The sight made my best friend very happy and he began to stir to life, then stiffened even more as she tentatively stretched herself over my knees.
What a truly delicious vision it was.
Black slacks half-way down her legs, and her gorgeous pale backside barely covered by white lace waiting for my hot hand to turn it a beautiful shade of pink.
“Now then, naughty girl, what have you to say?”
“I’m sorry, James,” she quivered. “I, uh, got caught up. I should have called.”
I claim to be an experienced, worldly dominant, so why had it taken so long for the penny drop? Probably because she’d managed to send my head into a spin, but at that moment it became abundantly clear she had wanted this to happen. She had been waiting for my call, she knew exactly what she was going to say, and she knew the outcome.
“You played me,” I exclaimed landing a sudden, sharp smack.
“OW!”
“Right?” I demanded delivering several more in quick succession.
“OW! OW! Yes, Sir, yes, I did.”
“Games are fine, I’m always happy to play so long as you know you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes and you will absolutely, get what you want, but more than what you want. You’re a very bright woman and I’m sure you understand what I’m telling you.”
“Yes, Sir, yes, I do, but please don’t spank too hard.”
“Too hard is a relative term,” I replied pulling down her lovely knickers, “and it will be me who will determine the severity of your punishment.”
“Ooh, yes, Sir.”
She’d begun wriggling, and firmly holding her waist I sent my hand to work applying vigorous swats across her bottom. When her arm suddenly came flying back behind her I decided to stop, and holding her wrist at the small of her back I smoothed my palm across her hot, stinging skin.
“Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“I’ve learned you have a very hard hand,” she whimpered. “It hurts.”
“That’s why it’s called punishment, and if you don’t answer me the way you know you should I’m perfectly happy to continue.”
“NO! I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve learned I’d better not try to manipulate you anymore and I’d better be on time.”
“Excellent. You can try to mess with me whenever you want, just be prepared for the consequences. If you ever need a hot bottom just tell me. I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As I thought about what I’d just said, her ardent request the night she’d appeared at my door flashed through my mind. Something was happening between us. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I could feel its subtle presence as I continued to rub away the sting.
“Amelia,” I said softly, “I mean that. Any time you need this, all you have to do is tell me. I can spank away all your guilt and shame, but I can also give you a very sensuous spanking. Just speak up. Remember that.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, then I heard a long sigh and her body fell limp.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a warm, happy woman who sat across the table from me over dinner, and though she shifted uncomfortably in her chair a few times, I saw the tell-tale half-smile when she did. She’d been spanked just as she’d wanted, and her backside was stinging just as she’d always imagined it would. She was awake, wide awake, and her dreams were coming true. After we’d cleaned up the dishes and I was wiping down the counter, she came up to me and circled her arms around my neck.
“Thank you for a delicious meal,” she purred, “and thank you for the other stuff too.”
“You mean putting you over my knee and giving you what for?” I grinned, pulling her against me.
“Yes, that. Would you be interested in taking me to your bed and ravaging me?”
“I thought you said…”
“Forget what I said. I changed my mind. Call it a woman’s prerogative.”
“I see. Well, yes, I think I could be persuaded.”
“Would this help?” she murmured, rubbing her hand on my crotch.
“Ah, yes, that would definitely help,” I replied, feeling my cock stirring to life, and moving my lips to her neck I began softly kissing, delighting in her soft moans.
“I love that,” she whispered. “I don’t know why it makes my toes curl.”
“Hmmm, let’s see what else makes your toes curl.”
Breaking our hug I wrapped my fingers around hers and led her down the short hallway to my bedroom, then slowly removed her clothes. I do enjoy undressing a woman, and I like to take my time, but she was impatient and began shimmying out of her slacks. The moment they were off I pushed her on to the bed, pulled down her knickers, and flipped her on to her stomach.
“Your backside is still delightfully pink,” I remarked, roaming my hand over her lovely curves. “Just as it should be, but I think you need a lesson in patience.”
“I’m not surprised it’s still pink,” she said looking over her shoulder at me with a pout, not responding my last remark. “You smacked me hard.”
“As I’ve already told you, hard is a relative term, and I spanked you just hard enough.”
“If you say say
so.”
“I do, cheeky girl,” I grinned, then quickly stripping I stretched out next to her. “Tell me what else you think might make your toes curl?”
“Uh, well, I’ve never been tied up.”
The innocent comment sent me back to her nocturnal visit. I had tied her up. I’d been right. She had no memory of it.
“And just how tied up would you like to be? There’s quite a range. Do you want to jump in the deep end or stick your toe in the water?”
“Um, maybe my toe.”
“Right, so up to your ankle then.”
I heard a quick intake of breath and felt a quiver of excitement. Most of the women with whom I’d had the pleasure of sharing my kink, liked me to push them past their comfort zone. Amelia was of the same ilk. Slipping from the bed I disappeared into my closet, and opening my bag of naughty tricks I found my fur-lined cuffs and spreader bar.
“What’s the pole for?” she asked as I reappeared.
Her eyes had moved from the bar to meet mine, and her face was filled with apprehension.
“To keep your ankles conveniently spread,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “First though, some rules.”
“Rules?”
“Indeed. Rule number one, your safe word. If you start to feel panicky, or you have a cramp, or you’re truly scared, say red. Red means stop. Got it?”
“Yes. Red. Got it.”
“Yes, Sir.” I said firmly. “That’s rule number two. I’m in charge. You answer me with yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Next, do what I say, when I say. Your job is to obey me. What do you think will happen if you don’t?”
“Uh, you’ll spank me?”
“I will punish you. Spanking is only one way to discipline a willful girl.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Oh, I see, Sir,” I said sternly, landing a sharp slap. “If you want to play the game, you have to follow the rules.”
“OUCH! Sorry, Sir.”
Her eyes were sparkling up at me. I knew that look. Her erotic need was firing, her fantasy was being realized, and she was loving it.
“Good, I think we’re getting somewhere. I want you bent over the bed, so scoot your hips around and put your feet on the floor.”
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