I got up and walked over to the CD player as though it was suddenly very important. I bent all the way over to fiddle with the buttons, which was totally unnecessary, but given that the slit on my leather dress went all the way up to the middle of my ass, I gave him quite a glimpse of my drawers. I stayed bent over and slid one foot up and down my calf absently.
When I finally turned around and walked back to sit on the couch, he had that desperate look in his eyes. It reminded me of my dog when he rolls over expecting a treat, but I’m eating my own meal with no intention of giving him anything. I watched Brian’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as I resumed my icy stare, rotating between scathing eye contact and looking at his Cave Dick with disgust.
He spent the next forty-five minutes or so hopping and flopping and rolling and lunging his way around the room. He did some combination of a lunge and a push-up at one point, and I watched in fascination as his erect penis slid in and out of its cave like an eel. Could he fuck himself? Was this a being that could have sex with itself, in which case I should be jealous rather than pitying him? I never asked. Brian wasn’t really the talkative, bonding type, but I still wonder sometimes.
By the time he was finished with his exercises, he was covered in sweat and panting. And I had just barely managed to hold it together without breaking character once.
“So, uh, is mine the smallest penis you’ve seen today?”
I assumed the answer to this was supposed to be an affirmative, so I nodded absently just in case it wasn’t the answer he was after. Besides, it was the truth.
He sighed deeply.
“So that means I have to do the special treatment … again?”
“Yes. Do we really need to go over this every time?” I asked to distract from the fact that I had no idea what special treatment meant.
He walked over to where he had folded his clothes and returned with a water bottle that he had cut the top off of. He knelt in front of me and placed the bottle directly in front of his knees. Now I was intrigued.
“May I commence the chant, Doctor?” he asked gravely.
“You may,” I responded, sliding to the edge of the couch in anticipation.
He pulled his penis out of its cave with one hand and started to jack off with the other. From what I could see, he was only managing to get two fingers on there.
“I drink cum, therefore I am. I drink cum, therefore I am,” he chanted, keeping intense eye contact.
I laughed menacingly without really meaning to as I realized his intention. Suddenly the water bottle made more sense. I had come to adore watching a man consume his own spend. Most do it to be emasculated, but there’s something primitive about a man who takes it without complaint that gives me lady-wood. I managed to regain my composure in spite of my excitement.
“I drink cum, therefore I am. I drink cum, therefore I am!” he shouted.
He kept chanting over and over, continuing to get louder until I was quite sure he could be heard in every part of the Dungeon. He was screaming the phrase by the time he shuddered and ejaculated into the bottle. He shivered and looked up at me expectantly.
“Do I really need to drink it, Doctor?”
“Yes. Why do I need to repeat myself? If you aren’t going to take your treatment seriously and take your medicine as directed, I’m simply going to have to stop seeing you.”
He picked the bottle up and held it to the light, gazing at its contents with total disgust. He then lowered it to his face, making the mistake of inhaling deeply to smell it. He recoiled with revulsion, and looked at me with pleading eyes. When I simply glared and looked at the bottle pointedly, he sighed, and I knew he was going to do it.
He slowly tipped the bottle up and opened his mouth in preparation for its contents to slide onto his tongue. It had become more viscous with his stalling, so he had to shake the bottle to get it to flow in the direction he needed it to. Just as it was about to flop out into his mouth, he panicked and flipped it back up. Now I was irritated.
“You’re wasting my time here. I have patients waiting who are actually interested in following my treatment and aren’t just here to muck about. Take your medicine. Or get out.”
He whimpered, but lifted the bottle back to his mouth and started shaking it again. The semen, which was now tepid and goopy, slid back toward his mouth, and he moaned as it poured out onto his tongue.
“Swallow it,” I said, when I noticed that he was just holding it in his mouth.
He looked desperate for another option, but did as he was told and took his medicine.
One of the more awkward parts of Brian’s session was the flip that happened after the fantasy had played out. This was fairly common with clients, but none were quite as pronounced. He avoided eye contact, rudely rejected all conversation, and seemed to be genuinely ashamed of what he had done. The first time, I was bothered by it, but I also felt sorry for him. As time went on, I just shrugged it off. He treated me with an absolute lack of respect, but he was the one who had just paid to wiggle around naked on the floor with his tiny penis and perform some kind of ritual in which he drinks his own semen, while I got paid to sit fully clothed and judge him. I hardly felt like I was the one who should feel uncomfortable in that situation.
I arrived back in the dressing room at the same time as Raven and found Erin and Storm on the couch watching a Pablo Picasso documentary. I sat on the floor between Erin’s legs, and she started to rub my neck in slow, sensual strokes.
“You seem tense. Tough session?” she asked.
“Nah, it wasn’t too—Raven, what the fuck is on your underwear?”
She was in the middle of getting changed from her scene, and there was an unmistakeable large brown streak across the back of her white granny panties. She turned to look at it in the mirror, shrieking as she ripped them off and threw them across the room.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God!” she squealed, dancing in place naked and shaking her hands with revulsion. I had never seen Raven act like such a pansy. “I played with Dan and he wanted to ride me around like a pony. He was naked, but I thought I had a towel covering me. Oh, my God. Fucking skid mark. Fucking fucking fuck! Skid mark! Ew!” she yelled, running into the bathroom and turning the shower on.
The rest of us were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Apparently, Raven could handle doing things to people the rest of us deemed unacceptably revolting, but when the tables were turned, she had a meltdown.
Storm managed to stop laughing long enough to ask, “Why can’t men wipe properly? Like what is the problem there?”
“And you guys wonder why I only do bitches?” Erin replied.
Storm continued, “I have this one really old client who always has tiny little chunks of poo clinging to his butt hairs. I make it a game to see if I can knock them off with the paddle.”
I choked and Erin pounded me on the back.
“That—is—disgusting!” I coughed out.
“Humans are disgusting,” concluded Storm with stereotypically Russian nonchalance.
“Amen,” said Erin, “but not you, my love,” she mumbled against my ear. “You’re perfect.”
I tried to ignore how she had addressed me, but I was a little concerned. Erin came across as tough, but she was a sensitive soul and she loved to be in love. She had moved in with the last girl she had been with after two weeks, and the rumor was that she had been engaged on three separate occasions. I wasn’t judging. I wished I could throw my cynicism to the wind more easily and believe in love like that. But it seemed like a really good way to get hurt.
She knew perfectly well that I had a boyfriend whom I was committed to, but she had gradually started dropping more hints about us, as though she was pretending he didn’t exist. I had attempted to get her to come home with me and play with him in the hopes that it would make me feel less like I was breaking the rules of my open relationship, but she was offended at the very suggestion.
“I’m not interested in him. I only want you
,” was her answer.
I sighed. “What if we only come as a package deal? He’s been relaxed about what’s going on between us, but if we don’t start including him, I’m not going to be able to keep doing this.”
She ignored what I was saying.
“If you were my girl, I wouldn’t let anyone else be with you.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m not your girl.…” I teased.
“Yet.”
36. BOY
We “latex bombed” the local burger joint after work one night. For no real reason at all, a group of us converged upon this mundane establishment dressed in our finest latex outfits. Raven’s latest useless meathead boyfriend was there along with Boy. I wondered how she managed to get her man of the hour to be okay with her having a slave. Or five. Last I checked, she also had two slaves who came in and cleaned her house, a regular foot guy, and some guy who liked to be forced to spend money on her in ridiculous designer shopping sprees. He called it “financial domination.” This was all in addition to the clients she saw at the Dungeon. I didn’t see how a vanilla guy could possibly fit into that picture, which, I supposed, was why the BDSM scene was so incestuous. Raven’s new date was a personal trainer, which was a change from the string of struggling musicians she had just gone through.
We were gathered around a huge, picnic-style table enjoying our burgers when the talk inevitably turned to one of our clients.
I choked down a laugh as Erin blatantly rolled her eyes at Meathead’s latest ignorant remark.
“So you’re telling me a dude can be into cross-dressing and not be a faggot?” he yelled across the table.
“Keep it down, baby,” Raven said, taking his arm.
“What, like you’re trying not to draw attention to yourselves dressed like that?” he responded.
His tone was disrespectful and I saw Boy bristling. I can only imagine how difficult it was to sit there and listen to someone disrespect your Mistress, who you treat as a goddess, and not be able to say anything without sounding jealous. He focused determinedly on his fries.
“Not that kind of attention, bro,” said Erin, unable to remain quiet. He didn’t seem to catch that her use of “bro” was mocking him.
I could see where this conversation was heading and it wasn’t going to end well. I sought a quick subject change by asking, “Raven, would you be okay with it if I took Boy as my date to a formal at the hospital on Friday? Wes can’t go, so I need a date.”
I wanted to go with someone since I would already be completely outnumbered by drunk men, and thought Boy was the perfect solution to give me a buffer.
“What’s mine is yours, love. Boy”—she looked at him intently—“if Scarlett isn’t completely pleased with your behavior, there will be hell to pay. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Yes, Goddess,” he replied obediently. I could tell he was excited.
Erin, on the other hand, looked appalled.
“If you’re going to keep acting like I’m not even here, maybe I should just leave,” she snapped.
“Wait, what the fuck did I do?” I asked with genuine confusion. I couldn’t see the landmine I was heading for.
“We haven’t exactly put a title on what’s going on here,” she said, gesturing between us, “but I would’ve expected a little more consideration for my feelings.”
“I can’t take you to a work event,” I said flippantly, still hoping she was kidding. She wasn’t.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I’m trying not to draw attention to myself and if I show up with you, people will talk.”
“You’re such a hypocrite. So you’re totally fine with fucking me, you just don’t want anyone to know about it? You think I would embarrass you?”
“It’s just a stupid work event. These people have sticks up their asses. I don’t want them thinking I’m a lesbian.”
As the words tumbled from my mouth, I could hear how awful they sounded. The hurt and anger in her eyes were justified. I wanted to step out of my body and slap myself.
“Well, since we wouldn’t want there to be any confusion about your sexual preferences, we won’t do this anymore. Fuck. You.”
She got up and left.
Everyone else around the table except Raven awkwardly avoided eye contact.
“Want a hand up out of that hole you just dug for yourself?” she offered, but I could hear the reprimand in her voice.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just … I can’t show up with her without causing a shitstorm that I don’t need right now.”
“It’s not that you can’t, but you won’t. If you really felt something for her, you wouldn’t give a fuck what it caused. You’d be willing to deal with it. She just realized that’s probably never going to happen.”
All I could do was sigh and shake my head. As much fun as I was having with Erin, I didn’t see it as anything more than that. And it wasn’t really anything to do with being a lesbian or not. I knew that was a cop-out. Outside of the bedroom, we had almost nothing in common.
Except stubbornness and pride. We both had that in spades.
After I initially tried to apologize and she shut me down, I refused to try again. And she carried on like there had never been anything between us. It would be months before we dropped the bullshit.
* * *
In the end, taking Boy as my date nearly caused more talk than taking Erin would have.
The formal was being held in the lobby of the new hospital. It was packed with wealthy donors, doctors, hospital administrators, and some of the construction team. Everyone was dressed to the nines and mingling in small groups around the elaborately decorated room, clustered more heavily near the bar stations. Boy looked dapper in a tux and was much better at making small talk than I was. He could certainly turn on the charm. What he couldn’t seem to turn off was the programming that said I was his Dominant.
We were midconversation with a group of department heads I recognized from my validation meetings. They were all much more relaxed and pleasant with a few drinks in them than I remembered them being. I was enjoying the conversation, but needed to excuse myself.
I turned to Boy and asked, “Will you hold my drink while I go to the ladies’ room, please?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied automatically, taking my wineglass.
I should have just played it off and walked away, but I glanced up in alarm to see whether any of them had heard it. They definitely had. And they definitely picked up on my distress. I forced a smile and headed for the bathroom.
Fuck.
When I returned, Boy looked close to tears. He handed my drink back to me, and I noticed he’d had it refilled.
“I’m so sorry, Goddess. It just slipped out!”
I looked around to make sure no one had caught this one and then said, “It’s fine. Just no more Goddesses or Mistresses. Stick to my name if you need to call me anything.”
He nodded.
“Which, to be clear, is Jenny, not Scarlett.”
How had I not anticipated this happening? It was my fault we hadn’t gone over the ground rules ahead of time. Boy was a nervous wreck the rest of the night and overcompensated by trying to make it up to me.
We were chatting with Ellen, one of the nurse managers, when he asked pleadingly, “May I get you anything, Jenny? Something else to drink?”
He said my name as a benediction. Poor guy couldn’t help himself. He was too well trained.
“Sure, I’ll take another glass of wine.”
He practically ran to the bar.
“Would you like anything?” I asked Ellen.
“Probably shouldn’t, but why the hell not … I’ll take another gin and tonic.”
I turned to tell him, but he was already in line. I had to shout to get his attention.
“Boy! Will you grab a gin and tonic for Ellen too, please?”
One look at Ellen’s face, and I started to laugh. I didn’t know what else to do. My worlds we
re bleeding together whether I wanted them to or not.
37. ALEX III
It had only been the beginning. A few months later, I was supposed to be getting ready for a meeting, but instead I was stressing about the session I knew I had booked with Alex that evening. I was once again out of ideas of things to make him do and felt like I had repeated the same sessions over and over. Maybe this wouldn’t bother some girls, but it seemed unacceptable to me. How hard could it be to come up with something new and perversely revolting to make another human being do? Preferably something that took a really long time given that I had four hours to kill. I always came up against the same barriers though. The first was that I wasn’t willing to violate the rules of the Dungeon, so that took a number of options off the table. The second obstacle was my own comfort level. I really didn’t want to make him do something that would potentially make him ill or permanently hurt him in some way. We had already crossed well beyond anything I would have imagined myself being comfortable with, so I was getting more flexible out of desperation. There was, however, still a line in my mind that I wasn’t willing to cross.
I had spent most of my morning on the jobsite musing upon this when I had a flash of inspiration. Thinking back to the tampon tea, I realized I hadn’t crossed a line, but had managed to introduce novelty simply with the threat that I was going to. I knew Alex’s ultimate fantasy was to be forced to eat shit. Several times, I had mixed up disgusting food concoctions to resemble feces, but he had to have been able to tell the difference. What if I took real shit into the session and threatened him with it only to have him eat a fake poo concoction? If I played it the right way, his mind would be blown. In that moment, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable, if not ingenious, solution. I just needed some feces.
I thought about using dog poo, but a walk at lunch didn’t yield anything. When it reached late afternoon and I felt the urge to go, it seemed as though the gods of fetish were smiling upon my idea and had provided. I dug through the kitchen drawer by the coffeemaker and grabbed a few sandwich bags to take with me to the bathroom. I tucked them in my laptop bag and walked over to the bathroom trailer. As I squatted over a sandwich bag at my serious job, at a children’s hospital of all places, I came to recognize that something within me had shifted. Thankfully, I had the bathroom to myself because I couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of it. At one time, doing this would have been inconceivable to me, but then it just seemed like the best solution to a problem. No big deal. All I could do was shrug and embrace the madwoman I had become.
The Scarlett Letters Page 24
