RecipeforSubmission

by Sindra van Yssel

  Drew pulled off his T-shirt and Kyra stared at six-pack abs and well defined pecs. She could tell he was well built even with his shirt on, but she hadn’t anticipated him looking quite so buff. She wondered what he’d look like completely naked. Was his butt that firm? And what about his cock? There were some things a man couldn’t get by working out in a gym that nature had to give him, but anything less than extra-large would look incongruously out of place.

  Realizing what she was doing, she looked up and made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He didn’t look embarrassed from her stare, or even conceited. But obviously he wanted her to know that he’d seen her looking. They locked gazes for a moment, and then she averted her eyes. “All right,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”

  He chuckled and turned to face the cinder block wall. He stretched out his massive arms and put each hand against the wall, fingers spread wide. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled with his movement. If he hadn’t been so built and looked so goddamn invulnerable, she couldn’t have gone through with it. Hell, she could probably punch him in the stomach and he’d only smile as if to ask her if she couldn’t do better.

  She lifted the whip—or flogger, as he’d called it—and swung it forward experimentally. Its black tresses swished onto Drew’s bronze flesh with a splat and then fell limply away. He didn’t twitch. There were no red marks, or even pink ones. Obviously, she wasn’t doing it hard enough. She gritted her teeth and got ready to try again.

  She felt foolish. People were watching, she was sure of it, if only to stare at the beautiful half-naked man. But they’d notice her too, and think her awkward. The thought made her angry, and though she knew it was irrational, she channeled that anger into her next swing. She’d been a softball pitcher in high school, and while this was an overhand motion, it used a few of the same muscles. She swung it through the air, hearing the wind whistle through its tails until they smacked against his back with a satisfying crack. There!

  But despite the satisfying sound, there were no red lines. The idea of leaving a mark both repelled her and pulled her. A little damage would affirm all she believed about S&M. But if the skin even turned pink it was only for a moment and then the color was gone.

  “Isn’t he a Dom?” asked a voice behind her. She whirled to look and saw the man wasn’t talking to her but to the woman next to him.

  “Oh yeah. Don’t know who she is.”

  “Don’t get distracted,” Drew said, turning his head sideways so it wasn’t facing the wall. “Focus on you and me. And try again.”

  “Didn’t that hurt?” asked Kyra.

  “I wouldn’t call it that. More like a cup of coffee in the morning. I’m awake now.”

  What an odd way to put it. “Should I do more?”

  He paused then nodded. “Yes. Several, quickly, in succession. Put your back into it. Be careful not to hit my neck, or as low as my kidneys, and you’ll be fine. I don’t think you’ve learned everything there is to learn yet.”

  She nodded back, which didn’t do him any good as he’d already turned his face away. “Put your back into it.” That was another way to say is that the best you can do? But he was right. One didn’t just pitch with one’s arms, either. And while she didn’t think she could drive with her legs, she could get more of her torso involved. She turned her left shoulder toward him and swung, turning her torso as she did until her right shoulder was leading as the flogger splatted against him. She was high this time, getting his neck as well as his upper back. Damn. She moved back.

  Drew didn’t flinch. “I’m fine, just aim better next time.”

  Her weight shift had caused the flogger to hit earlier than she’d intended, and that wouldn’t happen from where she was now standing. She struck again, the same way, the black tails spreading themselves out across the bronze flesh as they made the smacking sound that made her want to cringe. But she didn’t. She brought it back down low, completing a circle, and struck again and again, in a sort of reverse of the windmill motion she’d once used to accelerate a softball.

  Each motion made a bit of pink show on his back, and if she managed to hit the same spot, it stayed for longer the second time. But she couldn’t hit any harder. Nothing she could do with the black-tailed flogger was going to convince him that people shouldn’t be hit by such things. And worse, she was losing faith herself. Even at high speed, it was more like he was being hit by the whirling flaps of an automatic car wash than by a dangerous tool of violence.

  She didn’t stop until her arm was getting sore and she could feel the sweat making her shirt stick to her.

  Drew turned his head, sneaked a peek, and then relaxed his grip on the wall. He turned to face her. “Now, mystery girl, do you really think that you’ve abused me?” He took the whip from her compliant hand and hooked it to a snap on his belt without looking down.

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re so big, and—”

  “And?”

  “And it was your idea, anyway!”

  “Exactly. I consented. And it was real consent, not just a matter of going along with it because I don’t know what will happen if I say no, or I’ve got to do this to keep my marriage together, or any of a number of varieties of manipulated consent. I said yes, and I said it in a way that made you believe it.”

  Kyra shrugged. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at or how it was going to help her with her book. “Yeah, like I said, it was your idea.”

  “The strongest consent of all. Look over there, at Clyde and Dora, the couple you were watching earlier.”

  Kyra turned, expecting to see that they’d progressed to something worse. Instead, Dora was down from the cross, although still naked, and Clyde had her wrapped up in a warm hug. Other than the fact that it was in public, and she was naked and he wasn’t, it looked as loving as two people could possibly be.

  “You almost wouldn’t believe he’d been beating her, would you?” Kyra asked. Then the couple turned, rocking gently in their embrace, and Kyra could see the pink stripes on Dora’s back and butt. “Almost.”

  Drew put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel his presence right behind her. She wanted to run her hands over his body, touch his nipples with the tips of her fingers, trace every line of those muscles. He even smelled good, damn him. “She too consented. If you ask around, you’ll find that’s what this whole group of people here is about—consensuality. Submissives are given safe words to say if at any time they wish to withdraw their consent. And while there are always a few people in any group who can’t understand or don’t want to obey the rules, a submissive who says her safe word can expect to be supported by her Dom. If not, then she’ll be supported by the whole community, including me. And Ken will bounce the Dom’s sorry ass out of here.”

  Kyra turned her head to find his face right there at her shoulder, close enough for kissing. “You’re trying to convince me that I shouldn’t make a Dom the villain.”

  “No. I’m trying to convince you that the villain isn’t really a Dom. And that not all people who play the dominant role in a BDSM relationship are villains.”

  She knew it was dumb but she moved so that her face was even closer to his. She could feel his breath across her lips. She hadn’t been kissed in quite a while. “And how are you going to make me believe that, hmm?” She tilted her nose and looked at his eyes, challenging him. Stupid. But she did it anyway.

  His lips brushed against hers and she felt hers open in response. He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her securely. “By showing you. But I’ll need one thing from you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Your consent.”

  “It’s just for research,” she insisted.

  “Of course.” He kissed her full on, his tongue slipping through the opening her lips had made. She couldn’t really pretend that kissing was part of research, but it felt so good to slide her tongue against his. She felt
her body pressing against his, instinctively trying to get friction against the tingling peaks of her breasts. She ought to pull back. She didn’t want to.

  He let her go.

  “Could we go someplace more private for it?” she asked.

  “We could, but we won’t.”

  “Why not?” Maybe showing off was part of his thing. Look what I got a woman to let me do. It wasn’t too late to call the whole thing off, go home and read a good book.

  “Because it’s not safe. Part of the reason for a club like this is whatever I do to you is being watched by people, people who won’t let me harm you. I trust myself, but you shouldn’t trust me.”

  Now that he said it, it made sense. “You’re right. And I don’t.”

  He laughed. “I hope you don’t make a habit of going home with strange men, because whether they’re into this scene or not, it’s really not such a great idea.”

  “What do you care?”

  He nodded. “Ah yes. This is just for research. But it’s built-in for me to try to protect women. Especially the woman I’m playing with, no matter how casual the relationship. It’s not something I can turn on and off.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And how do you feel about women protecting you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.” There wasn’t any bravado in his voice. He was just stating a fact.

  She was tempted to tell him he was a sexist pig, but his words hadn’t done anything to put a damper on her libido. She hated to admit it, but his self-reliance turned her on, and it was a refreshing change from men who wanted her to be their mother.

  “There’s a St. Andrew’s cross free. Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her over to something very much like what Dora had been tied to. Two wide planks of wood leaning at a sixty degree-angle to the floor formed an X, braced in that position by various wooden supports. Bolted at each extremity of the X was a metal plate, from which dangled an O-shaped piece of chrome. Everything looked extremely solid.

  She stood in front of it, eying it skeptically. “What do I do?” She wasn’t sure she was going to like the answer.

  “Nothing yet. First we negotiate, but I didn’t want to miss our chance to grab the furniture. This is the ideal place for a beginner to experience a flogging, because you can lean into the wood.”

  Kyra shrugged. “I could just put my hands against the wall, like you did. I’m not going to get any more turned-on by it than you were.”

  “Of course not.” He smiled. “First, you need a safe word. Let’s try ‘banana’. If you need things to come to a stop, for any reason, just say that word, and say it loud and clear so I can hear it. Don’t worry about who else hears, but make sure that I can. Everything will stop immediately, and I’ll help you get to a seat on one of the chairs or a couch, whatever’s available. We’ll talk about what went wrong, when you’re up to it.”

  Kyra shivered. All that didn’t make her feel safe at all. “What are you going to do that I need that kind of attention? Maybe you’d better tone down your expectations.”

  “Would you ride in a car if you weren’t sure the brakes worked, just because you knew you weren’t going to be going very fast?”

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t play without a safe word, either.”

  “Fine.”

  “What is it?”

  “Banana.” She giggled. It seemed so silly saying it, as if a yellow fruit would be out of place amongst all the black leather.

  “Good girl.”

  She felt a warm glow at the words, and yet if anyone in normal circumstances called her girl she’d have been upset. She was half inclined to tell him so, for form’s sake, but form seemed as out of place as a banana in the softly lit club.

  “What I propose to do is have you lean against the frame while I flog you with the same flogger you used on me. Obviously, I’m stronger, so I could make the tails hit you harder, but I’m not going to do that unless I get your express permission. If I ask ‘harder’? I expect an answer, yes or no. There’s not a good answer or a bad answer to a question like that. There’s only your answer.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” she said. “It sounds as if I’ll be in control the whole time.”

  “That’s true. You are. But you might not feel in control, and you might even enjoy feeling out of control. Now I’m going to suggest two things to enhance your experience. One, that you take some clothing off, so you can feel the flogger against bare skin. And the other is that you let me put cuffs around your wrists, and attach those cuffs to the rings at the top of the X-frame.”

  Her first instinct was to say not only no, but hell, no. Be cuffed to that thing, unable to get away? Be naked in front of all these people? Neither was part of her agenda. She glanced around. There were plenty of people who were less dressed than she’d be if she took her shirt off, or even her shirt and her jeans. Some of them were good-looking too, so it wasn’t as if all eyes would be on her. He’d taken off his shirt for her, not that it was precisely the same thing. She had to admit she’d get a perverse thrill out of stripping.

  But the other part. Bondage. Not able to get free. Oh, yeah, she’d feel out of control then, for sure. She supposed it was the sort of thing she ought to experience, but it scared the shit out of her.

  “Would I be able to get free of the cuffs anytime I want to?”

  “Just say banana and they’ll come off you.”

  In other words, no. Not unless I trust him to take them off. She supposed if it came to it, with all these people around, she could get help if she really needed it. That had probably been part of what he’d been getting at, telling her it was safer to do it here than in private.

  The silence stretched, but if he was uncomfortable with it she couldn’t read it on his face. He stood there as if he had all night to wait for an answer. Maybe he did.

  “I’m willing to try the cuffs. If you’ll really get them off me the moment I say the word.”

  “I will.”

  She nodded. There was no way she could ever know for sure, but she believed him.

  “I’ll go get them. The other stuff will stay out in the car, so you’ll know that the scene isn’t going to involve anything we didn’t agree on.” He didn’t wait for her affirmation but walked away, his long strides eating up the distance even though his pace didn’t seem rushed.

  She supposed that gave her time to think about the question of removing clothes. Was this how most BDSM relationships worked, with the person in the submissive role making all the decisions? She wasn’t convinced.

  “This isn’t the real thing,” she told him when he returned.

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. I don’t think Dora gets a choice as to whether she’s going to strip or not.”

  He chuckled. “They’ve been at this for a while. They’ve built up trust. You’re right, in a way. Clyde gives the orders and Dora obeys. But don’t think he does it lightly. Dora can walk out of that relationship anytime she wants, and Clyde knows it. He’s got to trust her too, or every order he gave he’d be worried that things would come crashing down around his ears if he got it wrong. They’re partners.”

  “Do you worry about every order?” She somehow couldn’t imagine that. Even if he was taking it slow, he seemed utterly sure of himself. But maybe not of her.

  “I try to do it right. But the answer is no. I don’t let myself get in so deep that it’s the end of my world if someone doesn’t want to play with me again.” He grinned.

  That’s good. That’s just what I need, no emotions involved.

  “But since you don’t think it’s the real thing if I give you too many choices, Kyra, take your shirt and your jeans off. And your shoes. I want to see your body.”

  With those words she realized that her notion that she could be in her underwear here and not be watched was totally wrong. He would be watching, intently. And she’d pushed him into ordering her. Fuck.

  She
decided her best bet was to be as blasé about the whole thing as possible. So she kicked off her shoes, then gave them each another kick so that they were resting against the bottom of the wooden cross. She pulled off her shirt and gave him a glance that she hoped looked casual. Judging from the smile on his face he liked what he saw, or he found her amusing. Or both. Casual, casual. She shimmied her jeans off her legs.

  He was watching her all right, and the look he gave her made her think he was looking at a totally different woman than she saw in the mirror every morning. He looked her over from head to toe and then back up again. She didn’t want him to be repulsed, but she was definitely not used to that kind of attention.

  “So. Let’s get this over with.” She put out her wrists, trying to forget she was standing around in her underwear.

  The cuffs were leather, soft on the inside, an inch and a half wide, with a row of rivets on the outside and a ring not unlike the ones on the cross. He attached them to her wrists, then lifted them and twirled her around to face the cross. He held her wrists in his left hand, pulled them to the side along one line of the X, and ran a nylon strap through the ring on her right cuff and the ring on the cross and tied it off. Then he moved her left wrist over to the other side and did the same there. It all happened so fast she didn’t have any time to resist, or decide whether she wanted to resist.

  That feeling that she was going to be in control the whole time had vanished. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The wood against her body was ungiving, and cool to the touch.

  “Legs apart, so I don’t have to cuff those up too.”

  But that wasn’t in our agreement. I only told you that you could cuff my wrists. But then, he hadn’t touched her legs. He was responding to her comment that she was the one in control, trying to show her who was boss. Fine. She spread her legs, glancing down to make sure they followed the line of the cross. It’s just playacting, right?