RecipeforSubmission

by Sindra van Yssel

  Something soft brushed against her bare shoulders. The flogger, but it wasn’t being swung, just being swished about above her. It caressed her shoulder blades like water from a shower and then trickled lower still, down the small of her back. When it reached her panties it felt completely different. No longer a series of individual drops but a single large mass. She understood why he wanted her clothes off; it really felt like another experience when the flogger touched bare skin.

  Given the way he looked at her, she knew that wasn’t the only reason he had for wanting her clothes off.

  The flogger swooshed through the air and landed in a cascade of small stings on her left shoulder, followed by another set on her right. It wasn’t painful, any more than it had been when he was first dangling it. It was more like turning the shower on high. Something tense inside loosened, and as she relaxed she felt the frame taking more of her weight.

  The flogger whispered and tickled, swooshed and stung. The nerves on her back seemed to come to life at its touch. She anticipated each kiss it gave her, but she couldn’t guess the where. It moved in constant motion behind her, and struck wherever Drew chose. She felt herself drifting, out of her control and into his.

  A tail flicked around to the side of her breast. Muted by the lace and satin between it and her flesh, it still made an impression on her sensitive skin. At first she thought he might have made a mistake, but then came the same sensation on the other side, perfectly matched. Maybe he doesn’t make mistakes.

  That’s nonsense, everyone makes mistakes. But he didn’t seem to, not with the flogger. Every touch of it was matched by one on the other side, whether on her shoulders, on her ass, or wrapping around to her breasts. Her nipples were aching. When had that happened? The feeling on her shoulders had intensified every time the flogger touched her there, but it didn’t interest her anymore. She could only anticipate when he might choose to placate the tension in her breasts. It was like scratching an itch. It didn’t really make it any less intense, but it felt so good for the moment. And she had no control of when he dealt with that itch, either.

  It was driving her crazy. Banana. She could say it and he would stop. But she didn’t want him to stop, exactly, and she felt like a fool saying the word just because she wanted to be touched. She squirmed against the frame, trying to get relief, rubbing her breasts against it. It helped some, but not as much as another sting from the flogger would. And it was making her wet. She was going to soak her panties if she wasn’t careful, and she wasn’t wearing anything to cover them.

  He’d know.

  The thought didn’t help at all.

  His arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t an intimate touch, not at all. She wasn’t sure she’d complain if it was, but intimate touching certainly wasn’t in their agreement. The annoying thing was that it drew her breasts away from the frame, so she couldn’t— Oooooooh. The tips of the flogger striking her nipple, through the lace and satin of her bra, stung for only a moment. Maybe it would have felt more intense without the bra. But it was exactly what she wanted. And then the other side. She moaned. “Yes!” She was afraid he’d go back to her shoulders, making her wait for it, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a blow, just a very intense tickle, the way the whip caressed her breasts. She arched her back and he gave her more, and more. It didn’t seem as if it would ever be enough.

  And then, suddenly, the tails of the flogger curled up between her legs and she felt them right at her most sensitive spot. And what she thought would be the cruelest thing imaginable turned out to be pure pleasure, making her pussy clench and her core feel as if it was on fire. She felt something hard against her pussy—the handle, it had to be. If she wiggled right, she could rub her clit against it, and ohh—her orgasm took her over totally, her skin tingling and her body shaking as waves of pleasure cascaded over her. “Oh yes, yes, yes.”

  “Oh yes,” he echoed, whispering in her ear. He held her as her body sank against him. Her wrists ached as her weight pulled against the cuffs, but only for a moment. She heard the flogger clatter to the floor and in a flash the cuffs were loose and the only thing holding her up was him. I could stand if I wanted to. I think.

  Why did I let him do that? But she knew the answer. It had felt too good to make him stop. Somewhere along the line she’d stopped analyzing and started letting herself feel.

  He picked her up as if she was weightless and carried her to a couch. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his sweaty chest, embarrassed by what she had experienced in public and yet feeling far too good to regret it. His fingers stroked through her hair. She wiggled and realized that unless he was holding the whip handle in his lap he was rock hard—and she had definitely heard the flogger fall to the floor. If he’d been as out of control as she had been, he’d be moving right now, trying to get some level of release by rubbing himself against her bottom. But he wasn’t.

  She opened her eyes. When had they closed? She wasn’t sure. But at some point all she had wanted to do was feel. I ought to look up and see his face, but I can’t. I ought to say something. All she had agreed to was to be bound and to experience the flogger. She thought that she had already seen all the flogger could do when she saw it turn his back a little pink. She’d had no idea. He’d taken advantage of her. She tried to be angry. Anger would move her to action. But somehow she couldn’t manage it. It wasn’t welcome if it would move her from her very comfortable position on his lap and in his arms.

  I really don’t know him at all. She knew his arms were strong and he knew his way around women. Am I really so simple, that right now that’s all that matters? It had been a long time since she’d gotten what she needed at such a primal level, and she wasn’t willing to give it up yet. In a few minutes, maybe.

  Finally she drew back. “That was…interesting,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I thought so.” He held her gaze for a moment before she turned away.

  “I need to get my clothes.”

  “You look more lovely with them off.”

  She resisted the urge to tell him she looked fat with them off. She wriggled against his grasp and, to her disappointment, he let her go. “Come back once you get them,” he told her.

  She nodded. Even though she had most definitely finished, there was something undone between the two of them. His pleasure, perhaps? She was scarcely going to get him off there in the club, and his advice against private meetings seemed sound. She started to walk and then noticed that her clothes weren’t where she had left them. She looked around and spotted them at his feet, with the flogger and two cuffs lying on top of them. He couldn’t possibly have carried them over; he’d been with her the whole time.

  He chuckled at her expression. “I have friends here,” he explained. “And they noticed my hands were full and that I was busy doing something important.”

  “Doing what important?”

  “Holding you.”

  “Oh.” She reached down, intending to spill the cuffs and the flogger off her clothes with one smooth yank. Then she thought better of it and carefully set them aside. He was looking into her cleavage, and he didn’t turn to look elsewhere when she caught him at it. She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or gratified at his frank stare. He knows what he likes, that’s for sure. And oddly, it seems to include me.

  Getting dressed in front of him seemed more intimate than stripping had been. The silence lingered. She didn’t imagine he was at a loss for words. He looked too confident, too sure of himself.

  “Thank you,” she said at last, and only after she was dressed.

  “My pleasure. Do you understand a little better now?”

  “If everyone ends up feeling like that I think I understand the attraction, yes. But what was in it for you?”

  “I gave you pleasure. Isn’t that enough?”

  Was it? “Is that all a Dom wants?”

  “No.”

  She thought he’d go on to e
xplain, but he didn’t. The whole thing was too embarrassing to pursue, anyway. All these people saw me half naked. Worse, they saw me come almost entirely from being flogged. What must they think of me? She wanted to get away. “Maybe I’ll, uh, run into you someplace.”

  He chuckled. “I’m usually here Friday nights. You know where to look if you want me.”

  If I want him. Oh, I want him all right. Far too much for my own good.

  “Well, um, yeah. Thanks again.”

  “I mean for more research, of course.” Did his eyes have a twinkle? Was he putting her on?

  “Yes. Research.” She turned and walked out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Her cheeks were burning. She imagined most of the people in the club had something to look at other than her, but she was sure at least one person was staring at her the whole way. Right now she needed fresh air and a chance to think.

  She didn’t get it right away. A big blond man was standing outside, neatly coiffed and dressed smartly in a white shirt and blue-striped tie. He wouldn’t have looked too out of place as a K Street lobbyist or a congressional staffer, or maybe a lawyer. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he sidled up next to her.

  “I just want to think,” Kyra told him, hoping she wasn’t being too rude. He was probably one of the people who went to the club. There were a few people in there in business attire. He smelled like tobacco, so he was probably out for a smoke. If Drew hadn’t unsettled her so much she would have tried to interview him.

  “Please, you look new.”

  She stopped, and blinked. “So?”

  “They won’t let me in. My wife’s in there. Did you see her? Looks like you, dark hair, a little overweight…”

  Well, thank you very much. She certainly hadn’t seen her twin in there, but there were plenty of brunettes in the club, and she might have seen his wife, she might not have. She supposed she was naïve to think that everyone in there was an unattached single, or playing with their significant other. She felt sorry for him, but she really didn’t want to get involved in the middle of a relationship she knew nothing about. “Didn’t notice, sorry.” She walked quicker, hoping that would shake him. Somewhat to her surprise, it did.

  Chapter Three

  Drew Ryan sat back and sipped his water. He’d have rather had a beer, but there was a strict no alcohol policy at Carpe Noctem. Excessive drinking and playing didn’t mix well, but the real reason was that the city would put up with a lot more as long as an alcohol license wasn’t involved. Normally he didn’t much care. Tonight, watching, he definitely wanted a drink.

  In front of him was a hot scene, the sort of thing Drew normally would have enjoyed watching, or better yet being involved in. Bart Barnes had a new submissive and was breaking her in. Bobbi was a cute little thing, with red hair, small breasts, and rings in her nipples. He was turning her ass a pretty shade of red with a leather-covered paddle while she sucked on the black rubber strap-on of a tall muscular blonde he’d played with a long time ago named Alice. Alice was a switch and happy enough to help with the scene, but she didn’t look as if she were really getting off on it.

  Bart had offered him Alice’s place, and he had to admit he’d have enjoyed it more than Alice was. The redheaded sub was trying her enthusiastic best, but he suspected she would have been happier if she’d been able to provide more pleasure for her efforts, rather than sucking on a piece of rubber. Yet he’d said no for some reason he himself didn’t understand. He’d passed on paddling the girl while she sucked Bart off too. He took another sip of water and his face wrinkled up. Yeah. I definitely need a beer. And probably a shrink. Why am I so hung up on Kyra that I can’t enjoy the lovely ladies around me?

  She isn’t going to come. No way. She ran out of Carpe Noctem last week like a fox being chased by a half dozen hounds. And what is she to me, anyway? She’d said she was a mystery writer, but he hadn’t found any mystery writer named Kyra in bookstores or online. Which only meant that she wrote under a different name, he supposed. In any case, he couldn’t find her and she couldn’t find him, unless she walked into the door past Alice and Bart and the redhead. He very much doubted that she would. What was it about her? She’d been negative, almost hostile, about the scene to start with. She’d warmed up nicely when she got to experience it, way more than Drew had expected. He hadn’t expected to make her come, but when he’d noticed that she was so close he couldn’t resist pushing her over. And then she split.

  Hell. She was probably better off without him, anyway. He’d wanted to show her just how good BDSM could feel, but he’d overdone it.

  If he wasn’t going to get her out of his mind, he’d be better off heading back home and seeing what happened to seared tuna steak if he added a dash of Chinese mustard to the sauce it was served in. Serving it on top of the sauce, rather than pouring the sauce on top, had been a step forward for both the eyes and the palate, but he wanted more complexity to the taste before adding it to the menu. Pierre, the head chef at Ryan’s, had suggested tarragon, but that would take things in an entirely different direction from what he intended. Pierre was a good man, with the talent to run his own place, and he didn’t want to step on the man’s toes. But if he got it right Pierre would acknowledge it, and the debate would be over.

  He glanced at his watch, it was five after nine. He’d need more than a taste to know if he’d gotten the recipe perfect, and he wouldn’t be positively disposed that soon after eating Pierre’s pasta carbonara. He remembered the argument over that one, when Pierre had insisted it could be made better with pecorino Romano than with Parmesan. It had established a pattern—Pierre would cook the dish his way and Drew would cook the dish his, and they would see if their palates could agree. Pierre had been right that time. He’d sit tight for another ten minutes. He forced himself to look in front of him.

  If he’d been there he’d have been ready to come by now. Alice, on the other hand, was unmoved. She curled up a lock of Bobbi’s hair in her hand and pulled. Alice loved having her hair pulled, so naturally she assumed Bobbi did. With the woman’s face in her crotch, her mouth full, and making all sorts of squealing sounds because of the paddling, he doubted Alice could read the sub’s reaction, but Bobbi didn’t look happy. He caught Alice’s eye and shook his head. Alice got it and let go.

  So I’ve done my good deed for the day. He watched as Bart reached his arm around Bobbi’s waist and got his hand between Bobbi’s legs. The tone of Bobbi’s squeals changed. He’d have her coming soon. He normally would have stayed to watch, but knowing the three were heading to a successful conclusion despite their mismatch was good enough for him. He got up and headed to the door. He thought about letting Ken know that Kyra could call him but it was pointless. She wasn’t going to show, and Ken would gossip about it.

  He nodded to the man at the door and headed out into the fresh evening air. As close as it got to fresh in the middle of the city, anyway. There were a few people outside smoking cigarettes, a couple of leather-clad people he knew right next to the door and a big blond guy he didn’t recognize in a suit and tie a ways off. He’d heard one of the Dommes, Mary Beth, say that her ex was lurking around outside and that Ken knew not to let him in, so maybe that was the guy. He made a mental note of what he looked like and kept going.

  He’d parked his pickup a few blocks away, on Belsan Street, which was really more of an alley than a street. The real streets had letters and numbers rather than names in this part of town. He didn’t like to park too close to the club. There were plenty of people who needed the spaces more than he did, and the walk through the neighborhood helped him make the mental transition from restaurateur to Dom. There was little danger of being recognized, but few people from the economically depressed area would be likely patrons of his upscale restaurant. Now it would help him make the transition back.

  He passed a couple of neighborhood kids playing checkers on the stoop. It was too late for the kids to be up, much less out, but if their air conditioner was busted
he could understand why they’d rather be playing under the porch light than inside. It’d cool down as the night wore on, at least.

  He looked up the street and there she was. Kyra was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing behind her and then looking forward. When she saw him she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, not sure which way to run. She had a skirt on this time, a flouncy one that ended an inch or two below her knees, and a white buttoned blouse. He walked right up to her and she didn’t bolt.

  “Hi, Kyra.”

  He watched her face go through several different emotions, her features changing too fast for him to guess at all of them. “It’s you,” she said.

  “Last time I checked.”

  “I mean, hello.” She glanced down at the sidewalk, then back up. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Thank you. Hi. You’re looking mighty easy on the eyes yourself. You going to the club?” Now that he was closer, he could see that she was wearing a black bra underneath her shirt. She had to be aware it was obvious—and sexy. So this time she’d dressed up some, and she didn’t look Domme at all.

  “I had been thinking about it,” Kyra said. “You look like you’re just leaving.”

  “I can go back, if you want to go back. I’d even be your escort.” He grinned at her, turned and offered his arm.

  She hooked her arm around his elbow and smiled at him. “Thank you.” She bit her lip. “But I’m still not sure I want to go. I came because I thought I—”

  “You thought what?”

  “I owed you something. For last time.”

  He smiled and shook his head but didn’t dislodge her arm. She wasn’t walking forward, so he didn’t move either. “You don’t owe me anything. It was my pleasure, totally.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “Home. To cook. I wasn’t in the mood for Carpe Noctem this evening.” He mentally added without you, but he wasn’t about to admit that to any woman. It’s a phase. It will pass.