by Blue Saffire
Let me take care of you.
I feel her breathing hard in front of me. “Why on the stage? Why the humiliation?”
I run my hands down her arms and grasp her hips, imagining them as a hand hold as I ram into her. I know she can feel my erection in her back now. I want her to feel my erection. She needs to know my intentions are not pure. At all.
“Sarah is an exhibitionist. She and Garret have been partners in an exclusive relationship for three years.”
Caroline looks back at me, stunned. “So… this is what she wants? Her choice? But he’s the Dominant?”
“Yes.”
She worries her lip again as she looks up at me, meeting my eyes. “Does it hurt?”
“It depends on your definition of hurt.”
Her breathing begins to pick up speed. “Do you want to hurt me?”
“Yes.”
She turns to face me. “Why?”
“Because it will give you pleasure.”
She’s shaking her head, as if doing so might make my words make sense. “How?”
I’m growing frustrated, and no matter how much I want to convince this woman to go with me, I let it show. “Enough.” Her eyes startle open while her mouth snaps closed as I bark out the word. “Enough with the one-word questions. I expect more from you.”
And in an instant, her innately competitive nature rears its head.
Those emerald eyes darken, her cheeks growing pink. “Then perhaps we should get started.”
I like this side of her. The strong, bold side. It’s much more fun to watch the strong ones crumble, surrender. Break, then put back together.
It’s tempting to hold out my hand in invitation. I don’t. This must be her choice.
When she says nothing for a full sixty seconds, I prepare to leave disappointed. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Caroline Murphy. If you’ll excuse me, I—”
“Did you know who I was? When I first arrived, I mean.”
“No. And I believe you were truthful when you didn’t recognize me either. Seems that fate has been at play this evening.”
She nods and licks her lips, a habit I want to break. “Then, why me?”
The insecurity that lives behind the question is telling. I can help her with that. Help her feel the power of her sexuality. Her beauty. “Why is one magnet attracted to another? Why does a wave return to meet the sand over and over?” The music of the club grows louder, a signal that the show is done and dancing will resume. I step closer to her, watch her pupils dilate, her breathing change again. “I saw you walk through the door. Saw you go to the bar. I tracked you like a heat seeking missile would track a target. Does that frighten you?”
“Yes and no.”
I smile. “A contrast of emotions is thrilling, don’t you think? As is the contrast of feelings. Pain. Pleasure. Do you want to understand?”
“Yes.” The word is raw, primal.
I don’t allow myself to smile. “Yes, what?”
She flashes me a look of confusion, then understanding dawns. Her nostrils flare, and as good as I am at reading people, I can’t tell if it’s from irritation or desire. Maybe both. “Yes, sir.”
I lift her chin, cupping it in my palm. “That’s close. From this moment forward, you’ll address me as Master X.” I turn and extend my hand to her. “Come.”
Her fingers tremble as they link with mine, and I guide her toward the door. “Where are we going?”
“A private room.”
“Why?”
I stop and turn to her, push a strand of hair back from her face. “Would you prefer we step up on stage? I’m happy to conduct our interview there, especially as punishment for one-word questions.”
“P-punishment?”
“Yes.”
“Why…” her eyes flare, “do you want to punish me?”
“To assist you in making better decisions or breaking bad habits.” I reach up and pull her lips from between her teeth. “And because I will enjoy watching your ass turn pink under my hand.”
Her eyes grow wide, and for a second, I think she might bolt. Instead, she takes a steadying breath. “Maybe we can save that for another day.”
“There will be no other day.”
Her brow furrows. “Why will there be no other day?”
“It is my preference to see no submissive more than once.”
“Are you afraid of relationships?”
Yes.
“It is my preference.”
Her eyes soften as she searches my face. “Who hurt you?”
Who hasn’t?
“I don’t dwell in the past. I make decisions based on the lessons I’ve learned, then live with those decisions.”
A smile plays at her lips. “Are you going to sidestep all my questions?”
My cock pulses. “Come to a private room with me, and I’ll show you just how direct I can be.”
Say yes.
I want to drag her from this room, or to the floor, or against a wall. I don’t care. I want to feel more of her, see more of her. When her emerald eyes lift to mine, it’s like a punch to the gut.
Yes, she wants the interview, but she also wants more. She wants me. “Caroline, do you want to play?”
She nods, very slowly. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
She swallows. “Yes, Master X. I want to play. Learn. Understand.” She lifts her chin. Another defense mechanism. “With the understanding between us that I can write my article based on my experiences of the lifestyle, this club… you. And that my article might not be to your liking.”
I nod. “If it is your truth, I agree.”
Her nostrils flare. She would never win at poker. “It will be my truth.”
I extend my hand and wait only a few seconds before her palm connects with mine. “Let’s begin our interview then, Caroline Murphy.”
6
Caroline
Let’s begin.
I know what that means. And I know what we’ll do when we get there. At least I think I know based on my research, but he’s right… I can’t know until I know.
My breathing is shallow, making me feel lightheaded as I consider all the possibilities. He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t ask again, or try to convince me in any other way. That’s what convinces me to try this. Convinces me to break out of the tight cocoon I’ve hidden myself in for much too long.
Just an hour or two.
A couple hours with a man I’ve felt an immediate attraction to. And who, it seems, feels the same about me.
Besides, I never have to see him again.
He’s actually perfect for something like this. He said himself that he never sees a woman more than once. That means I can experience this… thing. Write my article from the insight of true knowing and walk away with, hopefully a couple memories to masturbate by in the coming months.
Why am I even hesitating?
I’m tough and have always had a high pain tolerance. And I know about safe words from my research and previous reading. I just have to open my mouth, and like the woman on the stage, I can be gone.
So, I’ll do this. Let him show me.
Besides, the first time he spanks me, I’ll probably sock him in the nose. That could be fun to write about. How I dommed the Dom.
Looking up into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, I place my hand in his. “Let’s begin our interview then, Caroline Murphy,” he says, his face completely blank of emotion. When he brings my fingers to his lips, I’m not even that surprised when his teeth sink into my knuckle. What surprises me is that I like it. That I want him to do it again.
There is freedom in this lifestyle, I’m already realizing.
In normal relationships, there is a jockeying for positions. There’s the initial ‘do no wrong’ where both parties show only their best sides, and then are surprised when they learn it’s not real.
All of that is avoided here. Xavier Cross knows his role. I know mine… sort of. We both know we’ll have thi
s one encounter. This one interview. There are no expectations. No, that’s not true. I’m expecting to leave his private room with a sore ass and a tale to tell.
He nods at a gorgeous woman sitting at a desk inside a set of double doors. She rises the second we appear and bows her head, her hands on her abdomen.
“Is my room prepared?”
She doesn’t look up. “Yes, Master X. To your exact specifications.” The woman is like a robot. How does he find that attractive?
“Thank you.”
The woman glances up at me. “Miss Murphy, please sign this form as consent that you are entering into this engagement consensually.”
She indicated a long piece of paper, and I look over at Xavier. “Is this a contract?”
“Yes.”
I scan the page, then get stuck on all the checkboxes. I’m to mark those I consider a hard limit.
Fisting – check.
Body waste play – checkity check check.
Blood play – check.
Needle play – holy damn big check.
Cutting – check. Do they even need to ask?
I’m almost lightheaded by the time I’m finished, then hesitate to sign my name at the bottom of the page, then add my address and phone number where indicated as well. With trembling fingers, I slide it across the table. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. Enjoy your experience.”
My heart begins to pound harder as Xavier Cross leads me to a room, opens the door, and gestures me inside. I’m expecting to see something similar to the “red room of pain,” and this isn’t far off. Except for the color. Here, silver and gold come together in a combination that should be gaudy but isn’t. The large four-poster bed is draped with the gauzy fabric, making me long for something similar in my own apartment.
There are packaged implements. I walk over to a chest and open a drawer while he moves over to a buffet of sorts and begins the process of uncorking a bottle of champagne.
Good. I think I’ll need a lot of that.
“It’s nice to see that the, um, toys are packaged and not re-used.”
The cork pops, and he expertly catches the foam in a glass. “Inventory is taken before and after a room is used. The client is charged and may keep anything he or she or zee desires.”
Zee. Politically correct, at least.
I finger the wrapping on a thick cane with little sharp looking nubs. Pulling it from the shelf, I test its sharpness through the plastic. “This looks painful.”
“It depends on your definition of pain.”
I place it back on the rack. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true. There are many factors involved with identifying pain tolerance, including the need for it.”
“Some people need pain?”
He lifts his shoulder, as if it’s a given. “Yes. And not just in this lifestyle. Cutters feel release when they make their skin bleed. Those who enjoy breath play find pleasure in their lung’s need for air. Runners embrace the pain of their feet striking concrete knowing their body will soon shift into a zone where euphoria feeds their passion for the sport.”
It makes sense, and I desperately wish I was recording this or had something to write on. I hadn’t come here expecting this. At this point, I’m thrilled I shaved my legs.
I accept the flute of champagne he hands me and toss it back in one over eager gulp. A smile plays at his mouth, and he refills it. “Only one more. I want you fully conscious for our interview.”
My nipples harden at the thought.
“What’s the difference between BDSM and abuse?”
“The cycle.”
I lift a brow. “How do you mean?”
“In domestic abuse, there is a looping cycle that is initiated by a form of physical or verbal violence perpetrated upon another. The abuser then feels guilt, which is essentially worry that he or she will be caught.”
I tap my finger against my glass. “She?”
“Of course. Women can be evil.”
My immediate reaction is to reject his statement, then I think about the cool girls in high school, and the way they verbally and even physically slapped others around. Especially the chubby girls like me.
I nod. “Go on.”
His lips tighten, and I remember that I’m in his territory. But he doesn’t correct me. He’s letting me crawl, I realize, and I’m grateful for the bit of kindness.
“Once the guilt hits, the abuser attempts to shift blame and/or make excuses and rationalizations in any way they can to avoid taking responsibility for the abuse.”
You make me so mad…
If you didn’t have such a smart mouth…
If you weren’t late…
Yeah, I’ve heard that before.
Xavier takes a step closer to me, and my hair stands up on my arms. “After this comes what is called the ‘honeymoon’ period where the abuser becomes the perfect partner. They buy gifts, do almost anything the victim wants.”
I take another sip, trying to control my breathing. “To ensure the victim stays in the relationship.”
“Yes. It often makes the victim justify staying, saying or thinking things like, ‘it’s really good most of the time.’”
He only hit me once last month.
I blink, emotion burning up my throat and into my nose and eyes. “What’s next?”
“Next is the planning phase. The abuser begins to feel a loss of the control he or she craves and starts looking, planning, on ways to regain that control, so… and this is the last step of the cycle, he or she waits and watches for the victim to ‘mess up’ so their abuse can be justified.”
I nod. It is a vicious cycle. “How is BDSM different?”
“Communication.”
I tilt my head to the side. “That’s it?”
“Communication is the key to every successful relationship, but no, that’s not it. They begin by talking about what they would both like from a scene. They discuss limits and safety measures, and come to an agreement that is mutually satisfying.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. After that discussion, they are free to engage in the scene, having already established the trust with each other.”
“That’s it?”
He frowns. “No. There is aftercare involved. After an intense scene, both partners can be drained, physically and emotionally. Aftercare can be as simple as holding your partner, or as involved as treating and caring for any injuries.”
“Does that happen often? Injuries?”
“Yes, depending on the play. Then, later, the last part of the cycle is a debrief where both partners discuss the scene, what worked or didn’t work, and how they can improve upon scenes in the future.”
“Wow.”
He smiles. “Does it seem as brutal now?”
“I honestly don’t know. On one hand, it does. It seems very violent, but it seems like it’s something one partner needs.”
“Don’t be mistaken, Caroline. In the BDSM world, as in the regular world, there will be those who don’t play by the rules and attempt or succeed in taking advantage of others. There will be sadists in both worlds. Psychopaths. Those who intend to do harm. Those who will manipulate others to bend to their will in a way that is abusive and wrong.”
I lick my lips, and he follows the action with narrowed eyes. “Why do you, Master X, enjoy this world? Is it the control?”
“In parts. The largest draw is the open communication, and the understanding it brings. You may find me to be a bastard or manwhore for not wishing to be with a woman more than once, but I have my reasons. In this setting, those reasons are respected. In the outside world…” He lifts a shoulder.
“What are your reasons?”
He looks up at the ceiling as he seems to consider the question. “I didn’t have a happy childhood, and my choices in life were made for me. As a teenager, I swore that I’d one day make my own choices, good or bad. I worked hard, learned and grew my business, giving myself financial choic
e. When it came to relationships, I found that to be trickier. The games and drama were exhausting. I chose to streamline that too.”
“Streamline it down to contracts and limits? To safe words and one-night stands? That sounds lonely.”
For the briefest moment, it’s like I punched him in the stomach. He recovers quickly. “I appreciate my privacy.” He takes another step toward me. “Are you lonely, Caroline?”
My father died of cancer three years ago, and my mom moved to Florida to live with her sister. I love her as well as my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but only see them a couple times a year. I have friends I see on occasion, and that’s it.
I think of my cactus. The only thing that relies on me for anything. A thing I named after a man I hate in order to remind myself not to fall for another prick.
Tears burn my eyes and I blink them away. “I’m satisfied.”
Silence stretches as he comes to stand in front of me and pushes a strand of hair back from my face. “Are you, Caroline Murphy?”
I swallow hard. “Today is my birthday,” I blurt out, not sure how that’s relevant or even important.
His thumb moves over my lower lip, pulling it out from between my teeth. “Happy birthday.”
God, why am I so close to crying?
I clear my throat. “Thank you. It’s a big one. Thirty.”
He moves closer, until my breasts press against his chest. “Is that how many spankings I get to give you?”
Oh dear heavens. “Um, or orgasms.” I could feel myself blushing to my roots as he laughs.
“So, are you feeling more open to me touching you however I wish?”
Yes, my body screams.
No, my mind objects.
I check in with my heart. Yes, it whispers. Be brave.
Setting my glass down, I lift my hands to his chest then up to his face where the bristle of his whiskers are rough under my palms. “Yes.”
7
Xavier
Yes.
I can’t remember a time when a single word has excited me so much, but even while it’s still ringing in my ears, I crush my mouth down on hers. It’s another thing I can’t remember doing, not in many years at least.
