by Hawke, Jessa
Tomorrow it is, then.
* * *
“Whoa, looks like they sucker-punched you a good one!” George crows, almost knocking over his tall glass of ice-cold lemonade as he leans over to rub the sore spot on Hank’s jaw. “Who was it this time?”
Hank winces as George’s hand catches on a particularly tender spot. “Security at a club.”
George frowns and sets his glass down on the porch table; Hank watches as fat beads of condensation slide down the length of it and plop heavily onto the wood, staining it forever. “I thought you don’t do clubs anymore,” he says to him, scratching at his stubble.
“I don’t. I heard Iliana’s back in town, so I decided to see what she was up to.”
“So the girl goes clubbing. What’s it to you?”
“Wasn’t a regular club.”
George’s light green eyes seem to perk up with interest. “Old girl’s a rug-muncher, isn’t she?”
“Shut your prejudicial trap, asshole. She’s not a lesbian.” Is she? Based on what he saw last night, it’d be difficult to rule anything out with Iliana; then again, she’s always been a bit of a mystery.
George raises his hands in mock self-defense. “Truce, truce, man. You know I’m just kiddin’ around. I wasn’t raised with any of these new-fangled terms the youngsters use. I’m accepting of whatever wherever.”
This much, at least, is true. For all his blustery talk, George is one of the least judgmental people Hank has ever known. Early on in their training, there was a scandal with one of the recruits who turned out to be gay; now it was no longer as much of a problem, but just like in the army, there was a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that left the recruit completely in emotional and, sadly, physical shambles when the other trainees found out. It was George who had stood up for him, telling the others to back away and standing in front of the man’s shivering body, held fetus-like until the room was clear. Hank thinks on this for a moment, wondering whether or not to divulge the truth of the night before to him.
“It was a BDSM club.”
George blinks once, twice. “Like some of that kinky shit?”
Hank nods. “Went home, did some research on it. It’s all about power plays and pain, some dominance and submission bullshit. Scared the hell out of me.”
“That because you’re afraid a little girl can control you? Sorry, buddy, but from your past relationships, I’d say you were used to being led around by the balls.”
Hank laughs aloud. George has a point there. When he’s in a relationship with someone, he tries to do everything for them—cooking, cleaning, watching out for emotional needs. The difficulty comes when women find out that underneath that bad boy Navy SEAL exterior of toughness, he’s actually a sweet guy inside. Maybe he should refrain from laughing at Iliana’s choices. At least she’s being honest about what it is she wants out of a relationship; Hank wonders what it would be like to stop hiding from what he really feels inside and just be with somebody who accepts that the uniform he wears is just that—a shell, a casing for the real man within.
“Greetings, gentlefolk,” comes a soft female voice laced with sarcasm. “How have you been?”
Iliana is a sight to behold. Gone is the dark makeup, the leather-clad long legs. She is long beige pants and a blue button down tucked in at the waist, the kind of clothing that looks good only on women of a certain body build. George lets loose a cry of joy, heaves himself off the porch swing, and grasps her in a huge bear hug.
“Lady love! How have you been all these years?”
Iliana laughs aloud at his exuberance and winks at George from her smashed position in the huge SEAL’s arms. “I’m fine, George, just fine. Working over at the pet store now, taking some weekend pre-requisites at Marymount for vet school.”
“That’s terrific!” The conversation goes on for many minutes without Hank joining in; George’s enthusiasm is contagious, but he still feels apprehensive about speaking to Iliana. He never fully knew her during their SEAL days and after last night, he’s quite certain he does not know her now. Gone is the loner girl from boot camp; in her place is a shining, happy woman whose sense of self shines through her every action.
“Ever going to look at me again, Hank?” she asks, breaking through his reverie.
Hank flushes. “I…it’s not every day I get thrown out of a public place, Iliana.”
“I know,” she says, looking at him with kindness. “You thought you were protecting me. But I don’t need protection, Hank.”
“He was touching you.”
Now it’s George’s turn to look concerned. “Someone was touching you?”
“Yeah, I turn around and one of those freaky jerks is putting his hand on her leg like she belongs to him or something.”
Iliana’s face turns cold. “Watch what you say about those jerks, Hank. I’m one of them.”
“Yeah, about that. How can you DO all of that weird stuff?” Hanks asks.
“Whoa, whoa,” George cuts in, feeling the tension rise up in the air between them. “This isn’t some stranger you’re talking to, Hank. Remember what you said about reserving judgment? Come on now, she’s a former SEAL, man. If she’s doing this, she has her reasons.”
Iliana considers the strong-jawed man, cocking her head to one side. “Thank you, George,” she says, but the look on her face is thoughtful.
“Why’d you leave the SEALs, anyway?” he asks, saying out loud what he and Hank had been truly wondering about all these long years.
She ducks her head, letting the long curtain of her hair conceal her face momentarily. The silence between the trio is long and heavy; as the moments tick by, Iliana considers the trust bond between them. What finally decides her is Hank’s action from the night before. Certainly, he rushed to her side because of some misguided jealousy, but there was also that bred sense of protecting your own kind; even after so many years, even after she dropped out, she knows that Hank considers her one of his own. You always do. Navy SEALs swim together, run together, dive together, and work together. They live and they die together.
“Growing up,” she begins, “my daddy was mean. A lot of people never knew because on the surface, he was a terrific family man. Mama always looked so well-cared for. He would open bottles for her, trim the hedges, drive me to school. In reality, it felt like we couldn’t even leave the house without him having to know everything. When we would come back, he would have to know every single detail of where we had been and who we had talked to; he would check in with the people with mentioned, as if we had committed a crime and he was looking to see if our alibis ever panned out. I can’t even say that he had booze to blame it all on. He was just mean.”
George and Hank are quiet. They have to be, since they are re-evaluating the adolescence they spent growing up next to the monster. It’s hard to believe, but maybe that’s the whole point. After all, there’s no doubt that men like that exist in this world, and that they’re very hard to detect, especially if they’re working hard to hide it. But Iliana is talking again.
“So one day, my old man did all of this up until it was time for me to leave for college. He didn’t want me to go; after all, it’s harder to control your daughter when she’s miles and miles away. So I told him I was going whether he liked it or not, and that’s when he punched me square in the mouth and kicked me out to the curb. I guess he figured I’d come back with my tail between my legs because I had nowhere else to go. That night I ran, and when I was too tired to run, I slept.”
“Where?” Hanks asks, before he can stop himself.
“Sometimes on the street, sometimes in some dude’s car.” A pause here and neither man presses her. “Someone suggested I join the Navy, and I figured it was the right place for my personality. My whole life, I was this dominant aggressor living with another dominant aggressor. Turns out the only place I like to take and give orders is in the bedroom. Either of you know anything about dogs?”
“Some,” says George. “Had
a pet schnauzer as a kid.”
Iliana shakes her head. “Animals have a chain of command that makes more sense than human; if you think about it, a dog that is happy is one that feels like its owner is in charge; with someone else making the decisions, a dog is free to just dog about, growing, evolving, and being happy. That’s how I feel about what this lifestyle, you know? I thought that being in the navy would let me work out some of my aggression, but I don’t do well with authority. Don’t get wrong, SEALs work hard and play hard, but by the third week, I knew that I just wasn’t a team player in the way I needed it to be. So I left.”
“George always thought it was because you couldn’t handle it,” Hank says, and gets a punch in the arm from the other man. Iliana smiles.
“No, that wasn’t it. It just wasn’t the right fit for me. I will say though, that they do discipline very well. After I left, I felt so aimless, like the whole world was against me and I had to fend for myself. It made me so grim and angry at the world. That’s when my weed dealer invited me to a party and I met Master Slick.”
“Fun name,” George mumbles.
“I was a virgin when I met him, and you’re none too popular in the lifestyle when you’re so fresh and new. Some people feel like they have to train subs, but Master felt differently. He said I had been a submissive my whole life, that I didn’t need to do a thing. He would take care of everything.”
“Was that Slick at the club?”
Iliana shakes her head sadly. “No. It ended up not working out. I wanted to experiment with being a top, and Master felt that that threatened his alpha status, so we parted ways. It was very painful, but after it was over, I got to try being a Domme, and I found that I liked both roles equally well, depending on the changes that were going on in my life. That definitely helped tame the aggression a little bit, and it focused me. Now I’m going to be an animal doctor, so, you know, just a normal girl after all.” She smiles wide.
George and Hank are momentarily speechless. The summer wind curls around their hair like an old friend, chilling their arms just a little bit.
“I don’t exactly know what to say to all that,” George speaks up finally. “I guess I’m glad you found your way in the world.”
“And what about you two?” asks Iliana, her smile gently teasing. “Are you happy?”
There’s no answer, just smiles and shrugs all around. It’s an interesting moment, hanging on the precipice of possibility so delicate that it becomes what is known as one of life’s pivotal moments. “It’s hard being a Navy man, I know,” Iliana says, breaking into the awkwardness with her butter knife of a voice. “Sure might be fun to give someone else control of the reigns for a minute, wouldn’t it?”
She is joking, but also, she is not.
“Psh, no girl can control me in the bedroom,” George bursts in, blustery again. “Especially not one who was too wimpy to make it through Hell Week.”
It’s been six years, but once a SEAL, always a SEAL. “Are you saying,” Iliana asks slowly and dangerously, “That I can’t rise to the occasion? Oh honey. Do not be fooled by ninety pounds of female. I’m as bad as I was back then. I can bring grown men to their knees and make them like it.”
And just like that, the air on the porch has changed. It’s an ultimatum, a challenge is what it is. And it’s one that Hank and George cannot help but answer. Bad SEAL blood, perhaps. Never step down from a mission.
“You’re on, baby girl,” says Hank.
“Yeah, which one of us are you going to take on first?”
Iliana looks from one man to another. It goes against her principles, really, to make light of the way she lives, but she’s always been as good as her word. Besides, this might really be very exciting.
“Both of you,” she says finally, a mischievous little grin lighting up her features.
George and Hank look at her incredulously. “Both of us at once?” George asks, gulping a little.
Iliana nods. Let the games begin.
* * *
I know they want me. I know what they are thinking, that they’re drinking in my body and face and wondering what it would be like to dominate me, but the fact of the matter is I want them both at once. That was hard for them to wrap their minds around it at first, but I told them that their very first lesson about my world is that nothing is done without consent. It’s hard to get men like that to open up about what they feel and want, but I told them it needed to be done if we were to actually do this.
George was very forthcoming. He wanted to be tied down and spanked, and he didn’t care if it was me or Hank doing it. Good old George; he never did quite manage to find a way with words that worked for him, but amongst friends, he never hid who he was inside. Hank was a tougher nut to crack. You know the type, wound up tighter than a fist punch arcade game at a fair. The harder it tries to contain itself, the harder it springs out.
I delivered the contract later that week to each of them separately. It was fairly standard: hard and soft limits, toys allowed and not allowed, possible safewords. When I got them back, Hanks’ definitely took me by surprise. What a dirty boy was hiding under that camouflage all these years. He’s a man who speaks my language, who craves giving over control in a way that only few people truly can. He may not understand the psychology of what I do, but I think this is going to be a real breakthrough for him, at least according to the points he checked off in the contract. How interesting this is going to be—it turns out he is the kind of person who thrives off of the thrill of being caught in the most compromising positions. Which does not come as a surprise, really, considering the repressed sexuality of the world in which he works. Men who have high-stress jobs like that are usually the ones who keep everything bottled up; sometimes, you just want someone to acknowledge how you truly feel inside in a new and kinky little way. I laugh, remembering this. So much fun, indeed.
After our meeting, during which we discussed the contracts at hand, George and Hank looked at me, apprehensive until the last. I could see it in their eyes; they were still not able to take me seriously. In their eyes, especially George’s, I was still the weakling who couldn’t make it through BUD/S. So you can say that perhaps I feel like I have something to prove. And that’s nothing a little punishment can’t fix. I guess you can say that I’m still SEAL-ready at heart.
I prepare with care for this occasion. I’ve rented my favorite room at the club for the night; I’m a regular there, so I know the room will be set up exactly how I like it. I’m dressed from head to toe in pale grey silk, almost like a harem concubine. One of my favorite things is giving off the impression that I’m far more submissive than I actually am in domination scenarios; it gives me almost the element of surprise, and I like how off-balance it throws people. Of course, the outfit also works for when I want to give my pleasure over to somebody else, but there’s been nobody since Master Slick that I’ve trusted quite so much, so it’s nice to be able to put the silk to good use. Besides, one of the scarves can be used as a terrific blindfold, which makes it doubly handy.
As I test each of the metal hooks and chains in the room, I think with excitement about the evening ahead. I think I’ll start with some wine. And I’ll make them feed it to one another while looking deep into each other’s eyes. I can feel this sexual energy between them that they’ve been denying for oh-so-many years, and I want to make them connect with each other in this new way, to establish a trust that will hopefully last throughout the evening. Then I want them to lick the remaining droplets and any excess off each other’s lips. With their tongues.
I softly caress the red velvet couch with my right index finger. Yes. It will do very nicely for that part of the evening, reflecting the ruby tones of the wine I have.
What’s next? Oh, there are just so many options! It makes me a little giddy to think about it, but I reign myself in. I have control over the situation; they are my pack, and I will make the decisions here so that they can know what exactly is expected of them. That’s
the real fun here.
In his contract, George specified that restraints would be something that he is willing to try. So I think I’ll shackle him to my favorite one. While he stands there, weight coming off a little at the wrists—not too much, I have no desire to loosen any of his joints, I’d like to keep my new pet—I’m going to have Hank indulge in one of his fantasies. And what are those, you may ask.
You see, Hank is about as straight as they come, but what he really wants to do is to be forced to take another man’s cock into his mouth. Since he and George have known each other for years, I figure, whose cock better to try than his? A smile slips around my lips as I think about this. I’m going to tell him exactly what to do. My idea is that George needs to earn his release, so at first, Hank is just going to tease him. He’s going to lick him up and down, but not take him into his mouth. No, no. Before he can do that, George must recite the tenants of Basic Crew Training that we learned during SEAL camp. It’s my little nod to the Navy, so sue me. If he gets them right, I’m going to let Hank slide George’s cock into his mouth, but if he gets it wrong, he’s going to feel the end of my crop across his thighs and have to start again.
The crop has a little heart at the end of it, and I know from personal experience that it stings. George is really going to feel the love, so to speak.
Mmm. This is quite delicious to picture. Hank is going to bury George deep into his throat for as long as he can; I just love the sounds he’s going to make, those gasping, guttural noises that you emit only when something is truly obstructing your airway. And when he has to draw back from George’s cock, I’m going to give him exactly two seconds to recover before he has to ask for more.
And yes, he has to ask for more if he wants to continue playing. In fact, he has to say, “More, Mistress?” No, not mistress. What is it they call authority figures in the Navy?
