Enamored

by Shoshanna Evers

  He’d seen some incredible performance art done in the underground sex clubs in Kabukicho in the past, however. Women posed and tied in intricate, uncomfortable poses that suspended them from one foot, or that forced them to balance in such a way to avoid inescapable pain from the rough-hewn, thin hemp rope used to bind them until their breasts turned purple, their arms so tightly bound behind them that Roman had to wonder how they didn’t dislocate their shoulders.

  The moans and soft pleading of the bound woman became a part of the performance, a part of the art. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

  Tonight, however, he wanted one of those girls to himself. He envisioned a beautiful, naked Japanese woman kneeling before him, perhaps with one of those ropes tied tightly right over her clit. He could make her a dress out of rope and every step she’d take would be exquisite erotic torture, both for her, and for him. His own torture came from knowing that nothing she did would fill the hole in his heart left by Elisabeth choosing Trevor over him, permanently.

  If he paid his Japanese escort, she’d do anything. And to get his mind off of Elisabeth, anything was exactly what he needed right now.

  Lauren lay next to Marc in his bed, his question to her still lingering in the air like the scent of that moment in her past, the smell of sweat and fear. It was something she had no desire to return to. She’d long ago buried it and moved on. How, then, could she answer him when he asked her what had happened to her?

  Lovers in bed told secrets, she supposed. Her submissives, the ones she became attached to or dated for a while often used her as their confessor, as if in hope she’d punish them and absolve them of their sins. But no one could remove her memories, and memories that hurt were what kept her strong when she felt weak. Right now, after finally fucking Marc the way he wanted to fuck her—

  —the way she wanted to be fucked, too, at least in the moment—

  . . . she felt too open, too vulnerable. Was it any wonder that her shield, as Marc called it, had gone back up?

  “Marc,” she whispered. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Tonight was a big deal for me. Letting go like that . . . it was a big deal. I’m thrilled I was able to do it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat—”

  “Good,” he said. “Me too.”

  “But we need to back up a bit. Having sex, having me finally bottom for you with none of the ‘who’s on top nonsense’ as you said, will have to be enough for tonight.”

  “I just want to know more about you. Everything. I want to know everything.”

  Could she give Marc everything? Her body, yes. Her mind, her soul?

  No. Not yet.

  “I’m not there, Marc. I can’t tell you everything, but someday, perhaps when we are back to being just friends and I no longer feel . . . like this . . . I can tell you about how I became a Domme.”

  Marc frowned. “Damn it, Lauren, every time you talk about our time ending it feels like you’re the one holding the whip, and I’m feeling the lash. It hurts like a bitch.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. Well, I do, but not like that. Not your feelings. Please don’t take it personally.”

  Marc rolled over in the bed, not looking at her. “How can I not take it personally?” he asked the wall.

  “I can tell you part of the story, how about that?”

  He rolled back over to her. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured. “I’m not trying to rush you into revealing things you aren’t ready to talk about.”

  “Yes you are,” she teased, and tickled his neck, making him laugh despite the sincere worry on his face.

  “Maybe just a little.”

  “No judging me, that’s the rule, okay?”

  “I don’t judge, but I also don’t like you making rules for me.”

  She laughed. How easy it was to fall back into her old ways. Being Marc’s sub was still too new to her for it to come naturally. Of course she’d slip and start making rules.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Forgiven,” he said, kissing her forehead. Absolved of her first sin, she supposed. And she didn’t believe for a second that he wouldn’t judge her actions. How could he not? Just the fact that he was so excited about her being an anal virgin proved he still held some traditional beliefs about women and innocence.

  Lauren hadn’t been innocent since that night, long ago. But skipping that, even then, she’d gone way too far. If they weren’t talking in bed, still in a state of post-coital harmony, it would be different. If he was the Marc she could talk to and tease as a fellow Domme, the story would be different. It would be funny, even, because she could make the most terrifying of stories amusing with simply her tone, her gestures.

  She had none of that at her disposal now. How she wished they were back at WhipperSnapper, sitting in the dark at their booth, watching the dog-and-pony show as they shared conquests. If he had asked her this question a month ago, it would have sounded different. Felt different. Tonight, it sounded exactly the way her own experiences with hearing her subs’ secrets felt: like a confession. One she needed to be forgiven for.

  She didn’t want forgiveness. She wanted to go back in time to before the bet, or fast-forward to next week so she didn’t feel like she was giving him a part of herself, a personal part that he would hold on to and remember forever, knowing Marc.

  “Long story short,” she said, “I was a professional Dominatrix by the time I was eighteen. It’s what I did instead of going to college. And let me tell you, I learned a lot. The most important thing I learned is that when a man wants something from you, he has to earn it.”

  “You’re mine, Lauren. I won the bet, doesn’t that count for earning it?”

  “Apparently it does,” she whispered.

  “So men paid you?”

  “Yes. I didn’t sleep with them. Sleeping with your clients was like flushing your money down the toilet. They’d get attached, you’d get attached, you’d break up . . . and suddenly you were out of a paying client. So there was no sex involved. I worked at a club, I had a list of regular clientele. They came to me.”

  “Sounds like your fantasy come true,” he said.

  “I did a lot of drugs back then, Marc,” she admitted. “I self-medicated to stop myself from thinking about the things I was doing.”

  He seemed taken aback by this. “You don’t do drugs now. You didn’t even take the pain medicine the doctor prescribed you when your back went out.”

  “Yeah, just the muscle relaxers.” She smiled. “They’re good for a snoozle-nap, at least. This is why I don’t want to tell you this stuff, by the way.”

  “What? Why?”

  She laughed softly. “Because you remember everything. Everything I’ve ever done, ever said. Like an elephant.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. “So . . . you quit?”

  “Yes, I quit. And shortly after I quit doing drugs I had to quit working at the club and being a paid Dominatrix. I worked by the hour, Marc. I made a shit load of money. But without the haze, without the fog in my brain to keep myself from really seeing what I was doing, I couldn’t keep doing it.”

  Marc held her, snuggled against her in his sheets. Being with him felt so good, sometimes. A lot of the time. And it scared the hell out of her.

  “So what sort of things did you do, if you didn’t sleep with them?” Marc asked.

  “Well, I don’t sleep with the subs I play with at WhipperSnapper, at least not while we’re there.” She frowned. “I’m not sure this is the best conversation to have. You’ll think less of me.”

  “No, I won’t. And when I accept everything about you, unconditionally—including your past, then maybe you’ll believe that.”

  Lauren paused, still wrapped in his arms. She’d forgotten a lot of what she’d done, blocked it out or blacked out and did it anyway, as if sleepwalking.

  “F
ine,” she said. “I’m going to gross you out. Just remember that this is my past, that I was high—which is not an excuse, but I’m gonna kinda use it as one. I was also dead broke and suddenly had the chance to make more cash in one hour with a client than I could make working a regular job all day. Men worshipped me. I felt safe at the club where I worked.”

  “But you quit.”

  “Well, now I do it for fun. I do what I want, not what I’m told I must do to make my money. It’s a whole new world. At WhipperSnapper, when I walk through the room and the male subs follow me on their knees, hoping I’ll pick them, it’s a refreshing change from when I had to stand in a line of other Dominatrixes and hope to get picked by the customer.”

  “Really? That happened?”

  “Yeah. Kinda humiliating. But that’s what happened the first time any new client came in. There was this one chick—this tall, muscular babe who looked like a bodybuilder. I’d always lose to her. And some guys loved this blonde woman who dressed like a teacher, it was her schtick. That is, until I was given a chance. Then any client I took on only wanted me.”

  “Nothing gross yet. I thought you were going to gross me out,” Marc teased.

  “Um, I used to drink a ton of water so I could pee all over one of my clients. I called him the Pee Guy.”

  Marc laughed, and now it did feel like they were back at their dark booth, comparing conquests. It encouraged her.

  “That wasn’t the grossest part,” she said. “Have you ever heard of a panty cocktail?”

  “Do I want to?”

  “No. You do not.”

  Marc tickled her, an intimate gesture he’d never done before, making her drop her shield again and laugh. “Now I have to know,” he said, “or I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.”

  “You probably won’t be able to sleep if I tell you. Let’s just say it involves my old panties that I wore while exercising to get them nice and sweaty. Musky. You know. And then I took those used panties to gag the client.”

  Marc nodded. “That could be hot for a guy who loves the taste of pussy.”

  She sighed. “You’re not letting me get to what made it a panty cocktail. Are you ready?”

  He leaned over and pinched her nipple, flicking it lightly to watch it peak under his fingers as they spoke. “With that kind of lead-up this better be good. It’s like starting a joke by saying ‘This is the funniest joke ever.’ ”

  “What?!” Lauren swatted him playfully. “Forget it, I’m not telling you.”

  He pinched her nipple again and grinned. “I insist.”

  “Well, if you insist, sir. But don’t say I didn’t warn you . . . anyway, I’d have the client kneeling on the floor, his hands tied behind his back, my used panties shoved into his mouth . . . and then I’d pour a cup of my urine through the gag. I didn’t bother being careful, so it would get on his face, dribble down his chest. And in that position, he’d be forced to drink not just my urine but it would take on all the . . . flavor of the panties.” She stopped laughing. “I guess now you see why I had to do drugs to get through the day.”

  “So you’ve never fantasized about giving me a panty cocktail?” Marc asked. “Seriously, I need to know.”

  “Seriously, no. I have never fantasized about that. It was Pee Guy’s fantasy and he paid me well to do it for him. For an extra fifty dollars, I let him keep the panties when we were done.”

  Marc nodded. He could see why she’d be unable to continue working as a professional Dominatrix if that was the sort of thing she was doing and she wasn’t even into it.

  “You think I’m disgusting,” Lauren said.

  “What?” He straddled her, pinning her hands down so he could stare into those beautiful blue eyes of hers. “I think you are an incredible woman. Nothing about you is disgusting.”

  “Then you think I’m a whore.”

  Did he? No. It was her past, and if the past was what made her into the woman she was today, then he could never judge her for it.

  Lauren looked up at him, panic crossing her face. “You’re hesitating. Why are you hesitating?”

  “I’m determining whether or not I think you’re a whore, and the answer is a definitive no.”

  Her face relaxed marginally. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He leaned down, letting his weight settle on her, kissing her forehead. “Do you ever miss anything about those days?”

  “No.”

  “Tell the truth.”

  “Sometimes I miss the money,” she whispered.

  If anyone other than Lauren had whispered that to him in bed, his oh shit she’s a gold-digger radar would have gone off. But he’d known Lauren—the girl who took him to his first ever Rocky Horror Picture Show—for years, and she’d never once asked him for money. Sure, when they went out anywhere, he paid. That was a given, and as far as Marc was concerned, he was old-fashioned that way. He paid for the woman he was with, friend or date. And they did love to place bets. Usually the bet was initiated by Marc, because he loved bets.

  He smiled at her. Yes, he did love his bets. Especially when they ended with Lauren underneath him. In the past, if she lost a bet she’d have to shout something like “You’re the king of the world!” or something equally ridiculous while they walked through Times Square. When he lost, he always gave her money. It was the one thing he had so much of it meant almost nothing to him, but he loved how it lit up her face.

  “Are you having financial problems, Lauren?” he asked. “Because you know if you ever need money, you can just ask.”

  “No,” she said shortly. “I mean, no, thank you. I can’t do that. It would make me feel . . . obligated to you.”

  “Maybe I want you to feel obligated to me,” he said, trying to joke and failing. Because maybe he did.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why would you want me to feel obligated?”

  “I don’t. I don’t know, baby.” Because I don’t want this to be over so soon, he thought. But he didn’t say it.

  “I have a question for you, Marc.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How did you feel today, watching me spank Elisabeth at the club?”

  “I wasn’t jealous. I know you’re not a lesbian, and that you respect the fact that Elisabeth’s married to one of my best friends.”

  “I know, I mean . . . how did you feel about seeing me as a Domme?”

  How did he feel? Marc rolled over next to her and stared at the high ceiling in his bedroom. He rubbed his shaved head, the stubble rough against his hand, and thought about it.

  “No thinking, just feeling,” she said. “You’re not used to being asked how you feel about something, are you?”

  “It’s not really a guy thing. I mean, we feel. Obviously. But I wasn’t planning on analyzing how I felt seeing you as a Domme when I want you as my sub.”

  “Did it bother you?”

  No, it didn’t. She looked so happy. And anything that made her happy, made him happy. But he was too dominant to be her sub. There wasn’t a switch bone in his body, unlike her. Roman had been right about that. Lauren truly did have the ability to submit and enjoy it, if tonight was any indication.

  “Roman said I was going to have my hands full,” he finally admitted. “But I thought you looked hot as hell. As always.”

  “It was fun spanking Elisabeth. Wish I got more than just two licks in. I wonder how their honeymoon is going?” Lauren murmured. She sounded sleepy. No doubt she was, after their evening together.

  “They are having an awesome time, no doubt. We could go on vacation too, if you want. Anywhere.”

  Lauren rolled on top of him, much to his surprise. He wasn’t as annoyed as he thought he’d be, though. Not after the way they’d fucked earlier.

  “If you had asked me to go on vacation with you before this particular bet, I would have said yes b
ecause we love each other’s company. But now I’m worried about that whole obligation thing.”

  “You’re not obligated to me. Well, you are for the week because of the bet. But Lauren, baby—when it comes to money, I have enough that I can give you anything you need or want and it won’t hurt my wallet. I promise.”

  “This feels like a test.”

  “It’s not a test. I want to get you out of your element so we can be somewhere, somewhere no one knows you as Mistress Lauren.”

  “How about we go to LA?”

  Marc laughed. He was imagining Europe, a cruise, hell even a safari. Something more exotic than Los Angeles.

  “What’s in LA?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I was just brainstorming. It’s only for a few more days, our bet. Let’s just stay here.”

  “No,” Marc said. “I want to show you what I can give you. Yeah, I have a nice penthouse in a building I own. But if you were mine, I could give you anything. Anything at all. I want to prove it to you.”

  “You have nothing to prove, Marc. I know you’re a fucking billionaire. You’re one of the BAD Boys for God’s sake. I get it. What I really want, you can’t give me.”

  “Yes I can. What do you want? Anything.”

  “I want to be the Domme.”

  Chapter Eight

  Roman opened his suitcase and pulled out his whip, showing it to the tiny Japanese beauty he’d paid a small fortune to keep him company that evening. She bowed and nodded. From what he gathered, she didn’t speak a word of English, but that was fine. He’d spoken Japanese with the woman who was in charge of her dealings and hadn’t said much to the girl at all.

  He wasn’t in the talking mood, and if she thought he couldn’t speak her language, it might make the evening even more interesting. She knew the word “okay.” So he’d check in with her using that. Also in the suitcase were a few long coiled wraps of thin hemp rope, perfect for tying her up with.