by Tara Jones
“Sometimes there’re teenager gangs hanging around here in the park,” I said just to have something to say.
“Yes,” she replied. “I know.”
“I don’t think they’re chavs or anything, but it’s unnecessary to take any risks,” I added, unable to stop myself from pointing out how chivalrous I was for making sure she got safe and sound to her car.
“Yes, I suppose,” she said vaguely in a tone that made me slightly worried.
Either she had changed her mind about us having...well, some sort of sexual relationship, if you could call it that when you’ve only met twice. Or there was something else.
She paused and scanned the parking lot cautiously before she walked forward and I noticed that she had something that looks distressingly similar to a small can of protective pepper spray in her hand.
“Right,” I said and took a couple of steps away from her. I raised my hands in the air. Getting pinned down on the floor and ravished was one thing. Getting my eyes sprayed with teargas or whatever it was she was holding in a cold parking lot was something else. “I’m not going to do anything, you know... creepy. Just so you know.”
She looked at me and then saw I was looking at the can in her hand.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just for precaution, but not against you. It’s just I thought I saw...”
“Saw what?”
“No, it was nothing. Just my imagination.”
“So you’re not going to spray me with teargas then, for returning the library book late?” I said with a crooked smile and stepped closer towards her again.
“No,” she replied, and I was pleased to see the edges of her lips curve upward. When she smiled broadly, two adorable dimples showed themselves.
“So, I am forgiven then?” I whispered huskily and stepped even closer to her, hoping that she would kiss me. “For returning the book late?”
She looked up at me, her brows furrowed in the cutest way.
“Of course not,” she said and an amused expression crossed her face.
“No?”
“This is just the beginning, silly,” she said and tilted her head to one side. “Next time we’ll meet I’ll punish you for returning the book late.”
“Punish me?” I said, slightly bewildered.
“Yes, of course.” She reached up and patted my cheek in an almost tender gesture.
She retrieved an elegant fountain pen and a piece of paper together with her car keys from her handbag.
For a moment she sucked on the end of the pen thoughtfully, a gesture that, although I would never be able to have sex with her right now, still made me stir and stiffening slightly.
“Ah, yes,” she said and wrote down a couple of words on the paper. “There’s a shop in Camden where you’ll find what you need, I’ve written down the address and the items I want you to buy.”
Items? Shop? What kind of shop? My thoughts were spinning as she reached up and, standing on tiptoe, kissed me lightly.
“I’ll meet you here next Thursday,” she said softly before she walked away.
I heard the sound of a car alarm being turned off and the headlights of the cream-coloured Porsche I had seen earlier blinked. As she stepped into the car it occurred to me that the colour of the car matched her coat, something which I didn’t think was a coincidence.
She waved almost girlishly as she drove pass me.
Apparently a librarian’s salary is higher than I thought, I pondered vaguely before I hesitantly unfolded the note.
I bit my lips slowly as I read the elegant, flowery handwriting.
Right, I thought.
And I stood there in the cold autumn night a long time after her car had left the parking lot, unable to decide if I was looking forward to the next Thursday or not. Unsure of whether I was feeling nervous or excited.
I threw a last glance at the note before I folded it and carefully put it in my pocket.
Probably a little bit of both, I decided after a while.
***
* * *
* * *
Dominated by the Librarian
(Male Submission)
Part #3: Surrender to Obey
by Tara Jones
“I thought ‘Forbidden Planet’ was located somewhere in Soho?” Dave said as we walked past Regency Park. He gave me a quick, curious look. “And I didn’t know you were into comic books?”
Dave was one of my closest friends. I had known him for more than ten years, ever since I first moved to London. He was a programmer, but less geeky than you might expect. Although I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had some weird comic book collection or a set of action figures–probably in the original packages–somewhere deep in his wardrobe.
“No, we’re not going to ‘Forbidden Planet’,” I told him when I understood that he had gotten the names of the two stores mixed up. ‘Forbidden X’ is... another kind of shop.”
I had decided I needed manly company for this mission, and I didn’t really want Dave to back out, so I had been deliberately vague about exactly where I wanted him to accompany me.
Because really, what the hell should I say?
“Oh, and Dave, do you mind following me to some kind of kinky sex shop where I can buy some stuff that this girl I met... Well, she’s actually a librarian and her name is Eleanor and... She‘s really hot and I can’t stop thinking about her and now she has asked me–well ordered me, to be honest–to buy certain things for our next...date? So, do you want to tag along? No?”
The handwritten note that she had given me after our last encounter seemed to burn in my pocket.
How on earth did I manage to get myself into this situation? I pondered for the hundredth time.
But disobeying was, of course, not a question. Still, I felt like I should have worn a grey trench coat, preferably accompanied with a large felt hat pulled down on my head to avoid being recognized.
My thoughts were interrupted as we reached our destination.
“You’re joking, right?” Dave said as we stopped in front of the shop.
His voice was a perfect blend of awe, genuine surprise, and perhaps sprinkled with a little bit of jealousy.
The outside of the shop didn’t look like what I had anticipated. I had thought it would be some sort of Ann Summer shop in stark pink. And since it was located in close to Camden market, I had indistinctly envisioned lots of black latex and leather outfits in the shop window.
Clearly I was mistaken, because the shop looked more like a sophisticated lawyer’s office and had a classically designed logotype in strict black and grey that vaguely reassembled an Italian fashion brand.
“Wait a minute...” Dave continued. “Does this have anything to do with that young girl you’re dating at your work? What’s her name again? Josephine?”
“Well...” I paused.
Josephine, the young, pretty trainee at my office I had been briefly involved with had been giving me long, hurt looks for weeks.
Apparently she had taken it rather personally when I had arrived to the office one day with bite and claw marks decorating my neck from my new lover. My ex-girlfriend Christine hadn’t commented on it at all, but her icy glances had forced me to start wearing suspicious turtleneck sweaters to avoid becoming the latest gossip at work.
Luckily however, Josephine had apparently moved on, because earlier this week I had walked in on her kissing one of the handsome project leaders by the automatic coffee machine at the office. So Josephine’s hurt looks had been replaced by challenging Alpha male stares from the project leader, instead.
Why is my life so complicated? I wondered and stifled a sigh. It was annoying, but I could live with it.
But I couldn’t tell Dave all that, so I felt slightly guilty when I finally lied and said offhandedly, “Yeah, Josephine sent me here.”
“Wow,” Dave said and whistled softly. “She’s into that? BDSM and stuff? Does she let you tie her up, too?”
“Well, what d
o you think we’re here for?” I asked rhetorically to avoid answering his question and I smiled a crooked smile that I knew could mean anything.
I didn’t really want to admit that my newfound lover had future plans that I was pretty sure didn’t involved her getting tied up. There was a certain possibility that it would be other way around, but you could torture me for hours before I would admit that to Dave.
A part of me hoped that the handwritten note that Eleanor had given me before we parted was a joke. That it was some sort of ‘I dare you’ game I hadn’t figured out yet.
But what if it was not? A small voice whispered in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. What do you think she’ll do to you?
I shook my head, trying to get rid of the naughty thoughts that threatened to invade my mind. To be honest, I felt slightly guilty that the idea of what she would do to me held such power over me.
“Come on, don’t be such a ninny,” I said, and before Dave–or myself for that matter–changed his mind, I pushed brass handle to the glass door open. “I’ll buy you a beer afterwards.”
The windows had been tinted, possibly to provide potential customers with a certain amount of privacy during their shopping. The shop was large and looked like a combination of a pharmacy and some sort of modern, elegant spa, with one large difference: The items on display were most certainly not the kind you could find at any pharmacy or spa.
“You owe me more than a beer for this,” Dave muttered behind me.
The shop assistant, a tall woman in her early thirties with auburn hair, was helping a middle-aged couple choose between different kinds of sex toys and I heard them discuss the pros and cons of rubber versus silicon like they were discussing which kind of curtains they would like to have in their sitting room. The shop assistant gave crisp and professional comments that almost made me look twice to see if they really were still discussing dildos or not. I tried not to blush as the shop assistant finally held up the winning toy for the middle-aged couple to admire before she wrapped it. The couple left the shop with an air of satisfaction and ‘mission accomplished’ surrounding them.
Clearly, someone is going to have a nice time on Friday, I concluded and felt a twang of jealousy over their natural approach to buying sex equipment.
Personally I rarely felt awkward in any situation, but this was an exception to the rule.
Dave, meanwhile, had wisely fled the exhibition of dildos in their glass cabinets and was inspecting various full-body latex suits in different colours and materials. The clothes made me slightly uncomfortable, because there always seemed to be too many holes in them for my imagination.
“Can I help you, sir?” the tall shop assistant asked in her cool and professional tone.
Her auburn hair was cut in a neat bob exactly to her cheek and she was dressed in a smart grey office suit that would let her blend in at any business meeting downtown. She was actually quite attractive, I realized, with her almond-shaped eyes and perfect white teeth.
If I hadn’t been messed up by a certain short and curvy red-headed librarian I would have tried to hit on her. As if on cue Dave started to move closer, pretending to inspect some of the dildos that looked like futuristic space ships.
“Ah, yes–” I started to say, but Dave interrupted me.
“Are these any good?” he asked and pointed at a rubber dildo that seemed to be designed for more than one person.
Dave smiled a roguish smile; the kind that one day would get him into serious trouble. A lot of women seemed to think that Dave, despite being geeky, was charming in his own way, something I never really understood. Perhaps it was his Scottish heritage or simply his rather playful, mischievous nature.
This time, however, he had clearly met his match.
“Yes, they’re quite popular,” the shop assistant replied without even a hint of embarrassment. “They’re from the new autumn collection and were recently rewarded five stars in QX.”
I stifled a smile as the shop assistant mercilessly continued, unaware that she was deflating poor Dave’s attempt to flirt with her with an almost cruel efficiency.
“Is it a present for your boyfriend, or is it for your own enjoyment?” she continued professionally.
Dave blanched visibly and it looked like his eyes would fall out of their sockets. I don’t think I had ever seen him taken that aback.
“I-I-I’ll wait outside,” he said finally and threw me a haunted look before he left the shop without any further comment.
“Oh dear,” the tall shop assistant remarked and tilted her head to one side, as her gaze followed Dave as he stalked out of the shop without looking back.
“Don’t worry. He’ll get over it,” I assured her.
“So, how may I help you today, sir?”
“Well, I’m here to buy a present to my girlfriend,” I lied smoothly. “She has... ah, expressed certain desires that she would like to perhaps try getting tied up?”
By me, of course, I wanted to add, just so that there could be no room for misunderstanding, but I decided not to say anything more.
“Ah, yes, bondage has become increasingly popular,” the shop assistant told me, and with a small smile she added, “A lot of girls fantasize about that.”
“I see,” I said neutrally as she guided me over to a glass display cases where various handcuffs in both metal and leather were placed in neat rows.
“So, your girlfriend...” the shop assistant said and gave me a sideway glance. “Does she have approximately the same diameter of her wrists as you do, by any chance?”
I had a sinking feeling that she had seen straight through me the moment I walked through the door and I could almost see my lies evaporating in front of me.
“As a matter of fact, yes, she does,” I lied on bravely.
I left the shop with a discreet, glossy plastic bag with various items wrapped in pink paper.
The shop assistant had almost been gleefully amused over my attempt to deceive her and had happily played along, including insisting to wrap all the items in ghastly pink paper with large red bows.
“I hate you,” Dave greeted me.
It had started to rain a little, and he looked rather miserable in his thin jacket, which wasn’t thick enough for the chilly autumn weather.
“No you don’t,” I replied and smiled at him. “I got her phone number for you.”
“Really?” Dave stopped dead in his tracks the street. His face lit up.
“Yeah, really,” I said. “And I think she’s into bondage. Now let’s go and get a beer. This weather is horrible!”
The rest of the week seemed to drag forward in slow motion.
Dave rang me and told me that his date with the intimidating shop assistant had gone quite well, and that they would see each other again. He seemed to be rather smitten and never wanted to hang up or stop talking about her. I knew he hadn’t had a serious date for over a year, so I was happy for him and hoped it would work out between them.
On Tuesday I had a meeting with my boss to discuss the possibility of getting promoted to senior graphic designer, an opportunity that only a couple of years ago would have me celebrating madly, but these days I had to pretend to be pleasantly surprised. I managed at least to say something appropriate, like ‘how thrilled I was over this development’, hopefully without looking too nauseated by my own theatrics.
My job as a graphic designer was still a reasonably hip job that paid fairly well and I had an office in inner London, so I shouldn’t complain. It paid the mortgage and let me lead a cool and trendy life in London, but with time I had come to understand that it was also–with a brutal efficiently–killing my creativity little by little.
It wasn’t what I had dreamt about ten years ago when I finished art school, but things could have gone considerately worse, I reasoned. I still had friends from college that worked as telemarketing assistants during the evenings to support their hippie art lifestyle. They were completely ignorant of the fact that they would nev
er be ‘discovered’ one day. Some days, however, I envied them.
Nevertheless, the days moved forward and finally Thursday arrived.
I left the office early, taking the advantage of the last of the beautiful sunny day by walking through Hyde Park to the underground station at Marble Arch. It would take me ten minutes longer than if I had just walked to the closest underground and changed trains to the Central line, but I wanted to enjoy at least a little of the sunlight before it disappeared. In late October in England, sunny days were few and far in between.
I picked up a bouquet of roses on my way home. I wasn’t sure if Eleanor was the kind of girl who liked roses, but most girls did. And although she most certainly wasn’t like most girls I had dated before, I concluded that almost all women (regardless of which planet they came from) liked flowers. I felt a little bit ridiculous for choosing warm orange-red roses that would match her hair, but I couldn’t help myself.
After a quick shower at home to wash away the stress from the busy day at work, I left my flat and headed over to the library. I had unwrapped the items from the appalling pink wrapping paper that the evil shop assistant had insisted on, ‘since it was a present for my girlfriend’, and placed the boxes directly in the grey shopping bag, which was sophisticated and discrete with only the initials of the shop name printed in black.
I wasn’t completely sure what Eleanor had in mind for the evening and I had spent the better part of the week wondering if she wanted to have dinner with me or if she would simply ravish me in her car on the parking lot. The latter idea seemed more appealing, but I wouldn’t mind a film and dinner either. I had come to realize–much to my own surprise–that I would like to know more about her. Usually I don’t care that much about my casual partners, but Eleanor was different. I just couldn’t figure out why.
I even went so far as to try and find information about her online. There were quite a few ‘Eleanor Marston’ listings in the white pages, but the library didn’t have an employer’s register online, which was slightly annoying. I was pretty sure Dave would be able to find more information about her, but I was unwilling to admit to him who she was and tell him the whole story. Plus I didn’t want to appear too curious or creepy. ‘Stalker’ was a description I rather tried to avoid.
