Don't Come

by Jessica Gadziala

  I was vaguely aware of footsteps but was too busy trying to figure out why my body was reacting the way it was, like something terrible had happened, when I had consented to it.

  "Okay, pet, okay," DOM said, voice soft as he moved to kneel down in front of me, his fingers snagging my chin to lift it gently, his eyes moving over my face with concern. "It's okay," he went on, raising his other hand where a warm, soapy washcloth was held. He moved it over my cheeks, washing away tears, but a new wave just kept coming. He cleaned the snot and cum from my nose, my mouth, my chin, neck, and chest, dropping the used cloth onto the floor as he reached down for me, sliding a hand across my back, another slipping under my knees, lifting me up and off the ground, cradling me to his chest.

  And I curled in, too freaked to worry about it not being smart to cuddle into him. My body felt like it had been through a war, was shaking and sweating. The tears just kept coming. And my throat only felt worse with each swallow.

  If he was offering me comfort, I was going to take it.

  "Here," he said, dropping me down on the bed, then turning away for a short moment, walking into his closet, then coming back, the biggest, fluffiest baby pink faux fur blanket I had ever seen in my life in his hands. "Here, pet," he crooned, opening it up, covering me in it.

  Knowing this was what I told him I needed, I took it, wrapped it tighter around my naked body, curled onto my side facing away from him.

  More tears.

  More shaking.

  More holding onto my saliva until it was completely necessary to swallow it.

  "Adley," DOM's voice called, still soft and sweet as the bed depressed behind my body, his large frame moving to sit up at the edge, his back against the headboard. His hand landed tentatively at my hip. "Adley, do you need something else? You need to talk to me."

  I couldn't talk.

  Because talking would hurt, first of all.

  But also, I didn't know what to say. That my body was acting completely out of my control? That it was freaking me out?

  Not able to share that, at least not yet, my body whipped over, my head dropping down on his chest, my body snuggling in, needing the strength, the reassurance that he had to offer.

  "There you go," he praised, arms wrapping me up, gently stroking down my arm and back. "I got you." Those words shivered through my system, landing with certainty in my core. He had me.

  "I don't know what's wrong with me," I admitted to his chest, feeling his warm skin, the hair tickling over my cheek. "And my throat hurts. Really hurts."

  His arms did his reassuring squeeze thing. "Your system is just overwhelmed, Adley. It's misfiring. You're okay. Just breathe through it. It will get less and less. And as soon as you don't need this," he said, giving me another squeeze, "I will go get you something cold to drink for your throat."

  "Okay," I agreed, knowing I should have let him get me it right then, but seeming to need this contact more.

  There was a long silence with nothing but his heartbeat beneath me. "You didn't show me yellow or red."

  Was that worry in his voice?

  Concern that he had accidentally crossed a line?

  "I know," I agreed, giving him a squeeze of my own.

  "Did you like it?"

  Did I?

  In some ways, no. In others, very much so.

  "I liked..." Ugh, it sounded so cheesy! My eyes pressed tightly closed even though he couldn't see. My cheeks heated.

  "You liked what?" he asked, hand moving up to gently sift through my hair.

  "I liked pleasing you," I admitted, voice low.

  But I was glad I got the words out a moment later. Because a rolling, approving sound moved through DOM's body and into mine.

  "Fucking love hearing that, pet," he said, and his words had meaning behind them. "But don't let your desire to please me come above your comfort level, okay?"

  "It didn't," I insisted. "I just... that was a lot," I admitted, lulled by his - and, let's face it, the giant fluffy pink blanket's - warmth, and his understanding, and desire for open communication, allowing me to break through my usual walls of self-preservation. "I've... I have always been the one in control... during that."

  "Got a feeling that you are the one always in control all the time," he observed, his fingers slipping into my scalp, gently rubbing in a way I knew was going to put me to sleep if he kept doing it. "Live alone. Work alone. Don't have a steady man. All the components of a control freak."

  "You wouldn't say that to me if I were a man," I objected, shaking my head, feeling a bit of righteous anger well up even if I didn't want to piss him off because it might mean he would stop rubbing his fingers across my scalp. And that would be a crime against humanity.

  "That you like control? I like control too, Adley."

  "But you say it about me as though it is a character flaw. It isn't."

  "I didn't say that. You're projecting," he said, tone casual, not accusatory, though I felt myself bristle anyway. "There's nothing wrong with keeping a tight fist on your career and living situation."

  "But you think there is something wrong with being controlling in my relationships."

  "I think," he started, pausing for a second, thinking his words through. It never occurred to me before how refreshing that was. Every man I had been with, during casual - and especially heated - discussions, they blurted out exactly what was at the tips of their tongues, not pausing to make sure the way they were phrasing it was productive and fair. "I think that you control your relationships because you know that none of the men you have dated have been strong enough to give you the safety to submit. I think you are silently resentful of that. So you control when it starts, how it goes, and, inevitably, how it ends."

  "You think I doom them to fail?" I asked, wanting to be offended, but maybe seeing a little too much truth in his words.

  "I didn't say that," he said, his hand swatting my ass over the blanket in a playful reprimand for assuming things. "I think you're a smart girl, Adley. And because you have a good head on your shoulders, you will amuse yourself with someone you know is not worthy of you for a while, but you won't waste too much of your time on someone who can't give you what you really need."

  That was... deep.

  And accurate.

  Scary accurate.

  How could this man, this man I barely knew, know so much about me so soon? More than anyone else - maybe even my closest friends - did?

  "And what do I need?" I asked, a bit uncomfortable, not wanting to admit how right he was.

  "Someone who respects you in life, but understands that your submission in the bedroom is a gift he should take care of."

  "Where is this mythical creature you speak of?" I asked, feeling like levity was needed here because his words were ringing too true, were having too much impact, were maybe giving me a little too much hope. "I bet he is off playing Scrabble with Big Foot and the Easter Bunny."

  "Don't be cynical, pet," he said, almost sounding sad that I was. "Now that you know what you want and need and deserve, you will know what to look for. And you will find the man for you."

  Why, in the moment, my stomach dropped at the idea of finding another man, yeah, I was trying not to notice, not to analyze, not to think about at all.

  Because that was dangerous territory, only promising safety with retreat. And I didn't want to turn back around yet.

  The silence hung for a long moment, getting more and more awkward before I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  "Thank you for the blanket. It's the softest thing I've ever felt." And it was. It caressed over the skin made red and sensitive by the flogger. "It's huge too," I added. It covered my shoulders and went well beyond my feet. I had it wrapped around me twice, and there was still slack.

  "Never would have known they make California King faux fur blankets in a range of every pastel color known to man had you not asked for it."

  "Ooh, what other colors?" I asked, angling my head up, wondering
if there was one I could get to match my bedroom.

  His hand moved up to brush my hair behind my ear. "Everything from cream to peach to mint and a bunch of other girl colors. Bedding store over on 5th," he explained.

  Right.

  5th Avenue

  Where Saks, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, and Tiffany called home.

  I guess I wasn't getting a pretty cream faux fur California King blanket for my place. Unless they had some kind of layaway plan for it.

  Which, of course, they would not.

  At least I had this one.

  On the nights DOM wanted to see me.

  "You want something cold to drink now?" he asked, his fingers gently swiping across my throat.

  It would mean no more snuggling. And I knew better than to expect he would crawl back in bed with me. Aftercare was over. I was fine.

  It was time for him to start putting his guards back up again.

  I guess that meant it was time for me to do the same as well.

  "Yeah," I agreed, rolling off because my hands were trapped; I couldn't press up and move off with my dignity intact. "Please," I added, elbows jutting out, trying to find the edge so I could get free.

  "Here, let me help," DOM said with a smirk, reaching under me to snag the blanket, then yanking hard, making me unravel until I was belly-down and naked on the bed, letting out what was probably a very middle-school girl giggle.

  DOM wasn't laughing though. His eyes were intense as he moved toward the bed, running a finger down one cheek of my behind, making a shiver move through me.

  "Like my mark on you," he told me, voice deep.

  "I like your mark on me too," I admitted as I moved to press up.

  "Nope," he said, yanking the blanket out of my hand when I moved to reach for it again. "You don't need that. Come on."

  With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me to battle out whether I should slip into my clothes instead, seeing as that wasn't exactly against his command.

  I mean, who just walked about bare-ass naked around their, ah, sexual partner? When they were mostly dressed. He had his pants back in place. Sure, his shirt was still open, but eighty-percent of him was covered, while zero of me was. Well, not zero. I did still have my collar and the little chain between my breasts. So one-percent of me was covered.

  "Adley," DOM called, and I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and walked out just like I was. It wasn't like he didn't know what every inch of me looked like, right? He had me bent over that bed, staring at me from behind for like twenty minutes. "Good girl," he said, sparing me only a small look before turning back to his fridge. "I don't think I have ever realized until now that I don't keep shit in here," he admitted, shaking his head at himself as I moved to stand next to him and look in.

  He wasn't wrong.

  There were two black take-away trays with clear lids showing some kind of Chinese and some kind of Mexican, a few condiments, a half-full Brita pitcher, what looked to be expired creamer, and a stick of butter.

  That was it.

  In the whole fridge.

  I guess when you had a hotel below you - and therefore room service - you didn't really need to keep a stocked fridge.

  "I can order down," he said, but there was something in his tone I couldn't place.

  "It's okay. I'll just have some of this," I said, reaching for the pitcher, and pulling it out to put it on the counter. He was being more tense than usual as he found a glass and put it down for me to fill. Maybe he was putting his walls back up. I was finding that, outside of Dom-mode, he didn't show the soft and sweet sides I knew were there. Or, if it was there, he didn't offer it up to his subs.

  Because that was all I was.

  I had to remember that.

  And as I finished the water that seemed to only burn down my throat, I knew I had to go get my clothes and get going, put my own guards back up.

  This apartment was no place for Adley, the woman. It was only for Adley, the submissive. Case closed. I needed to toe that line very carefully.

  "Okay, I, ah, should get going. I have a client at noon tomorrow, and about a dozen things to do before then."

  He gave me a small nod but said nothing.

  Not knowing how to take that, I gave him a nod back and moved down the hall toward the bedroom, quickly jumping into my clothes, so quickly that I forgot my bra and ended up rolling it up as best as I could and shoving it in the waistband of my pants under my shirt.

  I pulled the chain out of my shirt, ready to walk to the side of the bed to find the key.

  "No," DOM's voice cracked, making me stop and stiffen. Turning, I saw him moving into the room, eyes stern. "You don't unlock it," he informed me, going for the key himself. "That's my job. Come here," he said, making me walk over to where he was standing beside the nightstand. "Turn and lift your hair."

  It felt weird for the leather to be gone, this thing that had marked me as his, that showed his dominance over me. I didn't understand the falling in my stomach, but it was there nonetheless.

  "No, keep holding it up," he instructed as I heard the chain slink down onto the surface of the nightstand before the drawer pulled open.

  And then a cool piece of metal slid around my throat, tight enough that I couldn't see what it was, but loose enough that it was a necklace, not a choker.

  I heard another click.

  A clasp, I guessed.

  "This will stay on you when you are not here," he told me, running a finger along the chain, then moving to turn me. "I have the key," he added, holding it up between two fingers.

  So it wasn't a clasp.

  It was a lock.

  He was keeping me collared even when he wasn't around.

  It shouldn't have, but absolutely did, send a thrill through my system.

  Unsure what to say, if there was even anything to say, I gave him a small nod.

  "Tomorrow night. Same time."

  "Yes, sir," I agreed, turning to walk away because he made no move to walk me out.

  I didn't stop in my kitchen for an ice pop I had made out of leftover non-alcoholic margarita mix that was about to go bad, something sure to ease the gargled-glass feeling in my throat.

  I made a beeline for the bathroom, flicking on the light impatiently, moving to look in the mirror at the necklace.

  My collar.

  It was simple, really, understated, not something you would ever guess was anything more than a style choice with its thin white gold chain that had no clasp for me to undo. In the center of the throat was a small circle made of delicate woven vines of white and rose gold. If you looked very closely, you could see the small hole meant for the key. But without knowing, you would likely just think it was part of the design.

  It was really pretty honestly.

  And I wondered if the pink was a choice because of the pink blanket I had made him get.

  Or if maybe he got all of his submissives the same one.

  That thought turned my stomach sour as I reached to grab my bra out of my waistband and toss it into my hamper, reaching for my other clothes, stripping them off, watching myself in the mirror, seeing his marks on my breasts, faint but pink. I turned away from the mirror, looking over my shoulder at my ass that was red and raised. Squinting, I could even see a spot or two where the skin had torn ever so slightly.

  His mark.

  His collar.

  His.

  But not really.

  Not in that way.

  You know, the way girls like me wanted to belong to a man. Not casually.

  On a sigh, I shook off the thought, moving into the shower, and attempting to wash the thoughts away.

  Not that it mattered.

  I would be back in his hands the next night.

  And I had no doubt that my mind and body would simply continue this battle.

  Ugh.

  SEVEN

  The Dom

  I collared her.

  Fucking... collared her.

  Not a pla
y collar. Not just something for her to wear when we were together, to remind her who she belonged to in those situations.

  No.

  I put a motherfucking training collar around her neck that I told her she could not take off.

  Jesus Christ.

  I wasn't even sure how it happened.

  I had left work that afternoon to head over to the toy store to pick up a play collar. But their line of discreet collars was right beside them. And there was the white and rose gold one.

  Seeing it, all I could think was This would suit her.

  It was one thing to throw it into the order and buy it.

  Weird.

  Fucked, really, for me.

  But it was a complete other to take it out and put it on her.

  I had been in this lifestyle for years.

  I had known dozens of submissives.

  I had put play collars on all of them.

  But I had never put a training collar on anyone.

  That shit was to be taken seriously.

  It was a commitment.

  A play collar was just an agreement to take care of your sub during and directly after play.

  A training collar was a dedication to take care of your sub physically, mentally, and emotionally. Period.

  It was like a fucking engagement.

  I might as well have put a ring on her finger.

  "Fuck," I growled, walking over to the cabinet and pulling down the Scotch, pouring three fingers because the situation called for it.

  I barely knew the woman.

  Well, that wasn't true.

  I knew her a lot better than she knew me.

  Adley Isabella Myles.

  Graduated with an ICAM degree at twenty-two, and hit the ground running, eventually going for extra training to pull together a career that permitted her not only to do graphic design but also website development - allowing her to do a job from start to finish without having to bring in a third party.

  Judging by her portfolio, she had her shit together. She hustled hard and made something of herself in the eight years since college.

  Her personal social media was locked down hard, but she was active - and professional - on her work pages.