by Mimi Tulane
Even with the questions she had about his past there was something more. As she climbed behind the wheel of her car it hit her, what was truly bothering her. Ahmad represented a chance at happiness. To have that special someone that belonged to her who desired to be with her, knowing who and what she was. No judgment or pretenses. He may have begun his approach as a ruse, crashing the engagement party, but his honesty concerning his reasons placed him in a different light.
She was struggling with more than his revealing the truth of his motives to her. She struggled with the inward battle raging within. Dare she admit to herself what she desired most was no longer unattainable? She had only to reach out and accept what Ahmad was offering—a chance at love. So the real question she had to ask herself was not whether or not she was ready to have him on her terms, but did she even know what those terms were?
* * * *
Ahmad paced his suite. He was trying to get a handle on his feelings. Jocelyn hadn’t rejected him, but she was reserving any further commitment. Why did that bother him? After all, the safest bet was to guard your heart in uncharted territory. She was right. He had years to develop his feelings for her. He couldn’t honestly expect her to rush into anything with him on face value alone. You told her you loved her, and what did you think, that she would fall into your arms just like that? What the hell had he been thinking? If the tables were turned he’d probably think he was crazy. Hell, maybe she did think he was imbalanced.
Rather than continue with his train of thought he instead played back messages that had been left for him and returned the calls that were necessary. The life he chose for himself was carved out early on by the circumstances of his childhood. He was the son of a single teenaged mother who gave him up at birth. He’d never been adopted but had decent foster families. He did what most young boys did, made friends, played sports, dated. But he never belonged. He simply existed. The justice system had piqued his interest after he attended a career fair during high school. So he made sure to pursue a college career that eventually led him to apply for field agent training. The process had been long, and several times he wondered if his lack of a past would be grounds for a rejection. His acceptance into the FBI Academy at Quantico had been a pivotal turning point in his life. He graduated in the top five percent of his class and rose quickly during his time with the bureau. In some ways that all seemed like a lifetime ago. His immediate present and chance to carve out a new life with Jocelyn was what he was living for now.
He snagged a beer out of the mini fridge and then picked up the piece of paper that had her address scribbled on it. He knew the area well. His last foster family lived within the University City, Delmar Loop area. He had graduated from U-City High School then attended Washington University prior to his entry into the FBI. The Delmar Loop area was now completely transformed and one of the trendier spots to live and play. He was looking forward to spending time with Jocelyn tomorrow evening. He climbed into his shower with thoughts of her, and as other times before his cock was painfully hard because of those thoughts. What would she want him to do? He had read books, watched exhibitions, and on occasion during his own time experimented with partners. Nothing to the extent of what he knew her involvement would be. He had ordered a few porn movies as well. Would she want to use him in the manner he’d seen in those movies? He understood what was depicted wasn’t an accurate representation but the idea of her restraining him, flogging him, taking him to places he’d never been, gave him a raging hard-on.
Sliding his hand down to his cock, the hardened shaft now in his hand, he began to jerk himself off. His cock was wet and slick from the hot shower. He pictured his Angel splayed beneath him, her lips parted in a moan, her back arched from his repeated thrust. His mind wanted his hand to be her. He longed to be embedded within her sweet pussy, that he imagined was hotter, wetter and a tighter fit than his palm. His chest expanded and heaved with each stroke of his hand, recalling her scent and the taste of her lips when he boldly kissed her. His hips jerked convulsively as his cum shot out hot and poured over his fist. He pounded the shower wall with his free hand in frustration—jerking off alone sucked ass.
Chapter 8
Promptly at seven, her doorbell rang. Smoothing a hand over her bustier she walked to the door and peered out of the peephole. Ahmad stood on the front stoop dressed as she instructed. A white T-shirt that clung to his wide chest, a pair of track pants, the kind basketball players wore, and a pair of Jordans. Nice. Opening the door, she nodded her head in greeting then stepped aside to let him in. His eyes swept over her and she suppressed the smile that tickled the corners of her mouth.
“Welcome, Ahmad, please come in.” She closed the door behind him then led him to her living room, where she had a clipboard with a blank contract affixed on it waiting on her coffee table.
“I thought I’d start with a brief overview of what BDSM is and isn’t. Please have a seat. May I offer you a beverage?”
“No thank you, Mistress, I’m eager to begin,” he answered.
“Very well, the pamphlet to the right of the clipboard, I’d like you to read it over. When you are done I will answer any questions you have. Make a note of what you are unclear of directly in the notes section of the booklet. I will be placing that in your file.” When his head shot up, his expression suspicious, she chuckled. “Ahmad, I am taking you on as a submissive, albeit on a trial basis. However, I will treat your introduction as I would any paying client. The file I keep is for my personal records and kept strictly confidential. This is all my standard procedure. I would think a man that has kept a file on my life would understand the need for me to have a frame of reference?”
“All right, if this is your standard procedure I don’t have issues with you keeping any records pertaining to my trial period.” He spoke in a measured cadence, tapping the pen he had in his hand upon his knee. Reading his body language, which belied the projection of calm he exuded, Jocelyn smiled. Her ruse to ferret out information was working. If he wanted this to work he’d have to trust her. But before he could stab a hole with the pen into the knee of his track pants, she sought to put his mind at ease. “Ahmad, I don’t have a need to blackmail you or post this on some social network. I keep files on all my clients as a way to know them better. What they like or dislike, their needs and the desires they may express, and of course their questions. I chart their growth, and keep notes purely for administrative reasons…nothing more.”
She watched as he pondered her words then proceeded to read the booklet. The booklet was one of her and her cousin Rasheed’s making. It explained the history of BDSM, the need for a safe word, and included a section on questions every potential submissive should ask when seeking a Dominant. As Ahmad read over the booklet, jotting down notes here and there, Jocelyn took the time to study his profile—the deep set of his eyes, his thick eyebrows, and angular chin. His dark waves at the crown of his head faded into a barely-there taper along his temples and nape. She felt her pussy contracting with thoughts of how his waves would feel beneath her palms while his full sensual lips sucked on her clit per her instructions.
She checked that errant thought. Sex was not something she offered paying clients. However, Ahmad was something of an enigma and perhaps the chance at something more. She supposed she’d ponder that if the need arose. Her pussy on the other hand had already cast its vote. Taking Ahmad on as a submissive on a trial basis might be the opening for something that was beneficial to them both. If that kiss was any indication she didn’t think Ahmad would be opposed to a deepening of their agreement. A few weeks were what she had planned. Who knew what would happen in that time?
She left him seated, working on the questionnaire, and walked out into the hall, toward the thermostat, to check the temperature. Was the room growing a bit warm, or was it just her? Either way the temporary reprieve it offered would give her time to regain the composure she was slowly losing when in this man’s presence.
* * * *
&
nbsp; It took him a few minutes to draw his mind in and actually absorb his reading material. Jocelyn had answered the door in only what he could describe as a “come and fuck me” getup. A black satin bustier and lacey panties complete with garters and seamed stockings. The heels she wore only made her long legs appear endless and the sheer silk robe that she left open just completed the entire package. When she moved he caught the soft scent of her perfume. It took all his willpower not to openly gawk at the play of her firm, high ass when she led him to the living room. In a split second his mind’s eye called up a vision of him kneeling, his face planted squarely against the seam of her ass, his tongue delving between the globes, rimming her puckered opening. He wondered what she would taste like, the thought causing his taste buds to water.
Before he arrived he had wanted to stop and pick her up some flowers, but thought better of it. She gave him a set of instructions and bringing by an FTD bouquet wasn’t in them. Besides, this wasn’t a “normal” date. He was there to enter into a willing agreement that hopefully would lead him to something more permanent with his roadside angel. It was pure relief to reach the stylish living room and take the seat she offered. He wanted her badly and was glad for the loose fit of his track pants. His cock was hard as steel, making sitting preferable to exposing his obvious arousal from her appearance.
The booklet was informative, much more than anything he’d come across on the web. He was impressed that Jocelyn wasn’t interested in having uneducated, supplicating playthings. She truly educated her clients and offered them an experience. He also noted that in bold letters her brand of Dominance did not include sex. He hoped his unruly cock remembered that. Yet he wondered, in light of his desire to have her as his, if she would loosen that particular stipulation?
He read over the safe, sane, and consensual policies she adhered to and thought of his safe word. To choose one that meant something to him, is what the booklet said was best—a word that did not have too many syllables and was easily remembered. He was pretty sure of his choice so now the moment had come for him and Jocelyn to go over his questions…and to form a personal contract.
He prided himself on being a damn good contract negotiator, and planned to broker a contract that would not only get him the most of his experience but gain him access to her heart.
* * * *
“Do you have any questions for me Ahmad?” Jocelyn sat down across from him, ready to answer his questions. “What prompted you to become a Dominatrix?”
Jocelyn blinked back her surprise. Okay, so he wanted to know why she chose a lifestyle that included Dominance. A valid question, even if it surprised her. It shouldn’t have. Granted she had assumed his lead-off question would be along the lines of asking about the toys she used or types of fetishwear she wore. However, Ahmad had already proven to be anything but typical. So she took a deep breath and put some serious thought behind her answers.
“I started off as a submissive actually. You could say I literally learned from the ground up. I had a wonderful Mistress who saw the potential in me to grow. Under her guidance, I became a switch, and then a Domina.”
“But what is it that you get out of this lifestyle?” he asked.
“What I get out of it is the total freedom of losing, then finding oneself, within another’s care, being the instrument that brings that about. I simply enjoy the exhilaration and the stimulation that the journey can afford.” She clasped her hands and pursed her lips in thought. “When I was a submissive I learned discipline, service, and devotion to my Mistress. As a switch I began the transition toward dominance, something she encouraged. She taught by example, and with an open discourse for power exchange. She was comfortable within her role as Mistress but had no problems teaching me creatively by employing role reversals.” Jocelyn noted the rapt attention Ahmad exhibited. He was not showing signs of humoring her to get what he wanted. He didn’t seem put off or squeamish with approaching the subject at hand but seemed engaged, asking questions that had her own curiosity piqued concerning the man himself.
“When I became a Domina, I understood the journey from reliance upon myself to that of surrendering to another—the process that it involves, especially with strong personality types. A popular misconception is that a person that submits is somehow weak or weak minded. Under my Mistress’s guidance those preconceived notions were dispelled. However, my own journey didn’t happen overnight and each submissive’s journey is his or her own.”
As Jocelyn shared her past with Ahmad, she remembered fondly her Mistress’s training. She was fully aware that she was opening up a part of herself that she normally kept closed off. “I was always a strong-willed person. When I was younger, my mother often said I was stubborn and thought I knew everything.” That statement caused Ahmad’s lips to quirk in a smile. Jocelyn chuckled. “I met my Mistress while living on a military base. My father is now retired but at that time he was still a colonel in the army. My Mistress was stationed at the same base serving as a drill sergeant, so training was definitely her forte. Training with her became a quasi-boot camp for me.” Jocelyn laughed.
“Did your parents condone this, your introduction and subsequent training within the BDSM lifestyle?”
“Yes and no. They were aware I was involved in what they thought was a college course in human sexuality but didn’t know the particulars. My parents, although somewhat conservative, were never prudes and my sexuality was nurtured but ultimately left up to me. The real fact of the matter was I had met my Mistress at a BDSM club off base.”
Jocelyn had surprised herself. She rarely spoke of her personal origins to anyone outside of her cousins Mac and Rasheed, and even they didn’t know just how long her journey had been to get to where she was now. There was just something about Ahmad that allowed her normally guarded self to relax. At no time did she detect a note of judgment from his line of questioning. He simply asked his questions, thoughtfully nodding his head from time to time.
“By the time my father got his next overseas assignment, my Mistress and I were living together as roommates. In fact, my Mistress was planning to discharge from the military and start her own fetish club. My parents knew I wanted to finish school in the States so I think they felt relieved to know that while they were going to be overseas, I’d be safe stateside attending college with a responsible roommate. So they shipped out and gave me their blessing to remain.”
Ahmad handed her the completed booklet and she gave the pages where he jotted his notes a cursory scan. “You don’t seem to have many questions concerning mechanics.” She read over his wants and desires and arched a brow. “You desire to belong solely to me as my submissive and my man?”
“That is correct, Mistress. I want to know you as both a Mistress and woman. I want to court you, woo you, if permitted make love to you. I’m not looking for a temporary situation, Jocelyn, I’m playing for keeps.” His voice was firm and edged with latent desire. Jocelyn looked him squarely in his eyes before speaking.
“I don’t let just anybody within my bed or my heart, Ahmad. In fact I’ve never had that one someone to call my own. On some levels I avoided it.”
“Why, Jocelyn, did someone hurt you in the past?” His eyes were full of concern and just a spark of fire that told her he was reserving his reaction based upon her response.
“No, Ahmad, no one has broken my heart. My lifestyle, on the other hand, would take a bit more explaining than I care to share with just a casual acquaintance,” she answered truthfully.
“Is that why you never dated anyone long-term?”
Jocelyn’s brows knitted together. “So are the bleak details of my love life something you have tucked away in your files?” Her tone was drab.
“I may have some pertinent information regarding my competition,” he answered smoothly. Despite herself, Jocelyn began to smile and relax even further. “You know I should be pissed at you for spying on me.”
Ahmad smiled as well, and Jocelyn’s heart skipped a beat. Tho
se pearly whites were luminescent against the rich tone of his skin. That oh-so-kissable mouth held a dazzling grin, just for her benefit. Or so she liked to think. “Mistress, forgive me, but at the time, amid the danger of what my life represented, I wanted you safe. If my methods have incurred your wrath, then I submit myself to you for whatever punishment you may deem fit to mete out.”
Jocelyn was taken aback by Ahmad’s entreaty. The smoldering look he was giving her was making her pussy flood. Her nipples were becoming distended peaks painfully pressing against the fabric of her bustier. How was he eliciting such a base response in her? On the surface he might have been just joking with her teasingly. Yet the growing bulge he was displaying between his legs was a sign of something more. He was as aroused as she by the idea of her doling out her choice of discipline for his presumptuousness. The fact remained that she truly did not see his actions as deserving of punishment and thought of Ahmad to be a throwback to chivalry—which had her just as confused as her body’s reaction to him.
She should have been furious and refused his desire to have her. But “it” was there. That elusive signal she always knew would be the precursor of her knowing that the one she longed for, her Mr. Right, had come along. The only recourse she felt at her disposal was to give into what they both wanted. And yes, she wanted him, now.
Her plan to ease him into this was not only unraveling but shredding. Rather than fight the building desire that was rolling over her, instead she issued a command. “Stand up.” Ahmad hesitated for a fraction before jumping to his feet. “Hands behind your back—go to parade rest.” Once he had complied, Jocelyn acted on the heated impulse he stoked within her. She walked over to where he was standing and without any warning, gripped the back of his neck, pulled his head forward, and took his mouth in a searing kiss.
