Enamored

by Shoshanna Evers

  “I already told you that I became a professional Dominatrix when I was eighteen. I told you what happened, and why I got out of it. I told you that I love being a Domme now, but what I haven’t told you is . . . why it’s sometimes hard for me to submit to you, even though I trust you so much.”

  Marc sat back on his haunches, still kneeling before her, rubbing her legs with his hands. He wanted to lift her up, cuddle her onto his lap, but he could tell that she needed to still be in a position of power right now. Something about the look in her eyes. The shield was up, she was Mistress Lauren.

  “Ready for the cliché? I was raped. I know, happens all the time, and it can either wreck your life or it can break you into pieces and then you build yourself up again so you come back stronger than ever. That’s what happened to me. I was just a kid. In high school. A fourteen-year-old freshman and dating a senior. More clichés—he was on the football team, and I was one of only two freshman girls allowed on the cheerleading squad. I thought I was in love with him.”

  Marc swallowed. He’d been waiting for this story ever since she mentioned making out in the backseat of her parents’ car and not wanting anything more. Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to kill the guy who’d harmed her. His hands bunched into fists instinctively, but he forced them to relax, to go back to stroking her thighs, soothing her as she spoke.

  “I wasn’t ready. Idiot didn’t believe me. He said he knew I was shy and scared because it was my first time, but that once we got the first time over with I’d love it. I told him no, I just didn’t want to do it, and he . . . he ignored me. Like I didn’t exist, even though I was lying right underneath him, trying to close my legs, but I couldn’t, because his legs were wedged between mine. I tried to knee him in the balls, because that’s what everyone says to do if you’re going to get raped, and I knew that’s what was happening, even then. I was under no illusion that this was a misunderstanding. But with his legs between mine, I couldn’t knee him in the balls. Fuck, Marc, I felt so helpless.”

  “You were fourteen?” Marc could barely choke the words out. His Lauren, oh God.

  “I kept saying no, he kept going. He tore my skirt, and he shoved his thing inside me so hard I screamed. That’s when he said that he loved me, and he didn’t stop until he pulled out and came into a tissue. I was crying, snot was running down my face. And that was the only tissue he fucking had.”

  She hadn’t looked at him once as she told her story, but Marc couldn’t help but notice that she’d called the guy’s penis a “thing,” perhaps that’s how she thought of it back then, when she was fourteen. Damn that motherfucking rapist.

  “Lauren,” he whispered, and she looked at him, finally.

  “Pathetic, I know.”

  “Not pathetic. And I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  “Thank you. Me too. But after that, I was a take-no-prisoners bitch. I quit cheerleading. Tried to get my so-called boyfriend kicked off the team, but he just told everyone he’d broken up with me and I was trying to get back at him. No one believed me.”

  “So he got away with it?”

  “Of course. He’s grown up now, married with two kids. Lives in Arizona, I think. Or Nevada. Someplace hot.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lauren laughed mirthlessly. “He tried to friend me on Facebook.”

  Marc could barely contain the growl of anger that raged through him.

  “It’s okay, Marc. I mean, it’s not okay, but I’m okay. I learned that night that if I made it clear from the beginning who was in charge of the sex, then there wouldn’t be any more ‘misunderstandings.’ I was probably the only high school kid in existence who had a reputation for tying a guy up the moment things got intimate. It kept me safe, and it made becoming a professional Dominatrix my rather obvious post–high school career choice.” Now she laughed for real.

  “Can I give you a hug?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and they both stood. He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he could protect her forever from everything and everyone.

  “I was really hoping to have a full scene with you tonight,” she admitted. “I still do love to play the Domme, and it’s not because I don’t feel safe with you. It’s become part of me, part of my kink. It turns me on.”

  “We’re going to figure out a way to work this out, baby,” Marc said. “But I think the one good lick you gave me was about all of that flogger I feel like tasting.”

  “Really?” She sounded disappointed, but not surprised.

  “I’m not a switch, Lauren. I’m sorry. If I could be, I would. For you.”

  “But you can’t.”

  Marc looked at her, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Lauren nodded. “Let’s pretend you don’t know about me getting raped. It’s not something I really like to rehash. I’ve moved forward. I even did therapy and stuff, back then.”

  “I won’t mention it again unless you want to talk about it.”

  “Thanks.” She looked relieved. “I’m going to take a bath and drink some wine, if that’s okay,” she said, reverting back to submission with surprising ease.

  “Of course.” I love you, he almost said. But he didn’t. It felt so natural in his mind, it flowed.

  I love you, Lauren.

  But the timing wasn’t right, they were both confused and everything was weird.

  So instead he just smiled. “Enjoy your bath, baby.”

  Marc didn’t bother figuring out the time difference in Japan, and sure enough, Roman still answered his phone.

  “I knew that was going to happen, that you’d both end up miserable and confused,” Roman said after Marc relayed the evening’s events.

  Marc kept the part about Lauren’s rape out of it. He usually told Trevor and Roman just about everything, but his relationship with Lauren had extended beyond that. And he’d never betray her trust. “I had to go through with it, though. I had to try.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I keep trying to wrap my head around how to keep her,” Marc sighed.

  “What about letting her be the Domme—to someone else. Not to you. Make sure she always knows who’s in charge, and that’s you. It will make it so you don’t lose her respect, and so that she doesn’t start trying to Domme you after an exhilarating session with someone else at the club.”

  Marc thought about that. It could work, as long she didn’t try to Domme another man. For some reason, that idea made him feel uncomfortable and jealous. But having her top a woman?

  “Wonder if a threesome could work—where I top Lauren and she tops the other chick . . .”

  Roman laughed. “That sounds like fun, but you better be prepared for Lauren to get jealous if you even look at the other chick.”

  “Fuck. All right. Here’s what I’m going to do. When we get back to New York, I’ll take her out. Let her have her fun as a Domme, as long as I get to watch. And I’ll tell her that whatever she does to the other girl, I’m gonna do to her later at my penthouse.”

  “Look at you,” Roman said, sounding impressed.“Now that is a good idea. It’ll make the whole thing into a real mind-fuck and a lot of fun.”

  Marc grinned. It certainly felt like a great idea. He’d have to run it by Lauren first, maybe tomorrow, after they’d rested up from their flight back to New York. See what she thought. But maybe this was the answer.

  Roman said, “I’m going to hang up now, man. Read your emails if you can actually manage to get some work done. No big deal, just a few million on the line.”

  Marc couldn’t tell if Roman was being sarcastic. A few million dollars was a lot of money, but compared to their combined billions, it kind of wasn’t. Strange even now, for a guy who grew his fortune from scratch. “Gotcha. Thanks for taking care of shit out there.”

&
nbsp; “Oh it is definitely my pleasure.”

  “I bet, motherfucker,” Marc laughed, and hung up.

  This could solve everything. It would give Lauren the chance to be the Domme while still being his submissive. He might not be able to fulfill her fantasy of being her sub himself, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least give her an opportunity to be Mistress Lauren, at least some of the time.

  The rest of the time, she could be his. No matter what happened in their relationship, her happiness was still his highest priority.

  She was humming in the bathtub. Marc smiled. Maybe she’d want some company.

  Back in Manhattan, Lauren walked with Marc up the narrow three-flight walk-up to Tiff’s apartment. It was sweet of her to invite them to her birthday bash, and Lauren didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to play. She felt great, dressed to the nines in one of her new leather Domme outfits.

  Maybe it was the outfit that had her feeling so good. Or maybe it was the deeper connection she felt with Marc now. Finally telling Marc everything, getting it all off her chest, had lifted a burden she hadn’t even realized she carried.

  He’d told her his idea for them on their flight back to New York, and she loved it. She could still be a Domme! And she could still have Marc. Tonight would prove to them both if this would work, or if Marc wouldn’t be able to handle her playing Domme to others as well as he promised he would.

  “I’m going to watch,” he had told her. “So I’ll feel like I’m part of it. And, as my submissive, if I tell you to do something to your sub, then I expect you to obey, even during a scene.”

  Lauren frowned. But their week wasn’t up until the next day.

  Kind of fitting, since tomorrow was their friendiversary. Six years of being best friends, Dom and Domme. Six long years of being attracted to each other and never acting on it until she lost their bet.

  She laughed. It no longer felt like she’d lost. She’d won, really, because she’d discovered something new and exciting about herself. She’d discovered the power of letting go, and the enjoyment she could get from submission. But only to Marc. She couldn’t see herself submitting to anyone but him.

  “Do I at least get to pick the guy?” she had asked. “Tiff said there’d be a whole crew here who rarely go to WhipperSnapper.”

  Tiff’s roommate—lover?—Natalie answered the door and cheered, gesturing them inside the crowded apartment. Young men and women were scattered all over the place, and since Lauren and Marc were rather late to the party, it was already in full swing.

  “No men,” Marc said in her ear. “I want to be the only man in your life. But you have your choice of women.”

  “Most of the girl subs are collared,” she retorted. “It’s usually the men who follow me around like lost puppies.”

  Wait—did Marc really just say he wanted to be the only man in her life? The thought both thrilled and terrified her, quieting the din of the party. Because if she were to choose one man, it would be Marc. It had always been that way, even as friends. Either way, right now they needed an uncollared submissive woman.

  As if on cue, Tiff came over. Sure, during business hours she was Marc’s secretary, but she was also a total kinkster. Three years ago she’d overheard Marc talking at the club about needing to hire someone efficient to be his secretary, and she’d had the balls to come up to the booth and ask to apply for the job wearing nothing but neon spandex and a pixie haircut. It worked.

  “Happy birthday,” Lauren said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks! I couldn’t help eavesdropping, Mistress Lauren,” Tiff said, reminiscent of what she’d said to Marc that night. “And if you need a girl, I happen to be one.” Then, gesturing to Marc, “He always forgets that.”

  “How could I forget?” Marc looked Tiff up and down appraisingly and grinned. She was showing a lot more skin for the party than the business casual–wear she usually wore at Marc’s penthouse when she worked. Marc and Tiff had never scened with each other since they worked together professionally.

  “I know sir, I know, I’m not your type,” Tiff laughed and glanced back at Lauren. She was cute.

  Lauren assumed Tiff meant she wasn’t Marc’s type because she was a lesbian, but the mischievous look in her eyes made Lauren wonder if Tiff also meant she wasn’t his type because she . . . wasn’t Lauren.

  “I plan on watching,” Marc said. “Are you okay with that?”

  Tiff blushed. “Yes, sir. As long as you don’t let what happens at my party affect our professional relationship. I need my job, and I don’t want to fuck my way out of it, if you know what I mean.”

  “No fucking. Birthday licks only,” Marc grinned. “But yeah, I know what you mean. What happens here stays here. Just don’t fall in love with my woman. She’s taken.”

  Lauren playfully smacked him. “Only for one more day, sir.”

  He looked at her. “Please tell me that’s a joke. I can’t lose you tomorrow. It’s our friendiversary.”

  No, he wouldn’t lose her, not if she could help it. But if he couldn’t handle her being a Domme at least at a party like this or at the club, then how could their sexual relationship continue? They’d always be friends. Best friends. But tonight was going to play a big part in determining what their future together held—as a couple.

  “Let’s go play,” Lauren said, winking at him, trying to lighten the mood.

  Tiff took Lauren by the hand and led her to one of the two bedrooms in the back, which they’d decorated for the party with colorful scarves thrown over the lamps, swathing the room in atmospheric lighting. On both the headboard of the bed and nailed to the studs on the wall were attachments for restraints.

  “Did you put these up for the party, or are they a regular part of your bedroom decor, Tiff?” Lauren asked, testing the cuffs on the wall for strength.

  “Natalie and I put them up for fun last year. But we borrowed most of these for tonight,” Tiff said, running her hands along the array of whips and paddles set up on top of the low metal dresser.

  “Oh good! We can use something new, then, if you’re up for it.” Lauren looked at the implements more closely. “Nipple clamps, nice.”

  “I’m up for anything.” Tiff asked. “Hell yeah.” She looked at Marc and shook her head. “Promise me this won’t be weird on Monday, sir.”

  “I promise.” He stepped back and leaned against the wall in the corner, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you get your kink on before.”

  “We’ll use the stoplight system, Tiff,” Lauren said. “Red is your safeword, and I’ll stop immediately. Yellow to slow down. And if everything is good, I’ll check in with you and you tell me green.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  A shiver of desire and anticipation run through her, a feeling of power. She loved hearing the words “yes, Mistress” even if it wasn’t coming from Marc. Marc stood in the corner of the room, and then slowly circled the two women like a prowling lion. It turned her on, knowing that even while she was the Domme to Tiff, she still had to submit to Marc. What a crazy situation she’d put herself into.

  Crazy good.

  “I’m going to take off your top, birthday girl,” Lauren said. “And then I’m going to put some nipple clamps on you. Do I have your consent?”

  Tiff looked like she might faint with excitement. “Absolutely, ma’am.”

  Marc watched with obvious interest as Lauren stripped Tiff’s top off of her, revealing her bare breasts.

  “Beautiful,” Marc commented, and Lauren didn’t feel even a twinge of jealousy, since she knew that Marc loved her own large breasts, loved her curves, and Tiff was a skinny little thing, though with wide hips that gave her enough of a feminine shape to make her very attractive, especially with her small breasts uncovered.

  “Thank you, sir,” Tiff said, almo
st as if she were thanking him for handing her the morning invoices to be sorted or something, instead of his compliment of her naked upper torso.

  Nope, Marc and Tiff had never scened together for a reason. No chemistry, which was fine by her. Lauren smiled as picked up the pair of claw-clamps. She liked them because they could be tightened or loosened, and since they didn’t completely impede blood flow to the nipples, could be safely left on much longer than the more fierce types of clamps.

  With slow, careful movements, Lauren touched each of Tiff’s nipples, bringing them to tight, erect buds, and then attached the nipple clamps.

  “Oh my God,” Tiff moaned.

  “How are we doing?” Lauren asked her.

  “Green, Mistress Lauren. Hurts so good.”

  “I want to do some more things that will hurt so good, how does that sound?” Lauren asked, looking over her shoulder at Marc, who watched, his pants bulging. Good. She loved that this was turning him on as much as it was turning her on.

  “Face the wall, arms up,” she ordered, and Tiff obeyed. Lauren cuffed her hands above her head, and ran her hands over Tiff’s legs, which were covered in plain black leggings. “Have you ever been whipped?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress, but not by anyone with your legendary skill.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lauren teased. “Well, everywhere but out of these restraints.”

  She looked down at the selection of implements displayed on the dresser-top and picked a flogger, but Marc shook his head, and handed her a long single-tail whip.

  “Remember,” he whispered in Lauren’s ear, nibbling it as he spoke. “Whatever you do to her, I’m going to do to you later. And I’m really fucking good with a single-tail.”

  Lauren swallowed hard and nodded. The whip was so long she’d have to stand across the room to lash at Tiff’s naked back properly.

  “I’m going to whip you five times,” Lauren said, knowing that she’d lowered the number because she’d be getting it back in kind later that evening. “And you’ll count off, and thank me.”