by Cynthia Dane
More cheers.
“You lovely pioneers of ass-kicking have a lot weighing on your shoulders. You always have to be on. We men expect such weird things from you, no matter how many times you tell us you’re not interested.” My Dom strokes the top of my head, weaving his fingers into my hair. “So it’s only natural that we wonder what it’s like to dominate such beautiful women.”
He yanks my ponytail so hard that I’m instantly looking up into the lights, a cry of pain tearing through my body.
The room is absolutely silent.
“When Kathryn came to me, I knew what she wanted. What she needed.” Even though my scalp burns, Ian soothes me when his other hand cups beneath my chin. My head rests against his stiffening cock. “Of course I was flattered that she wanted to submit to me. We hooked up a few times before that, but you all know how it is… two personalities like ours clashing together isn’t always the smartest idea. So imagine my surprise when Kathryn Alison showed up at my door and said she would hang up her whip if it meant sexual salvation.”
Inside my chest, my heart beats furiously. I’m aching in lust for this man. I’m burning in apprehension for myself. Although I can’t see the reactions out in the crowd, I know they’re wondering how much truth there is to Ian’s tale. It’s not that far off, is it?
He needs to keep going, though. Don’t leave the story hanging where it makes me look desperate and noncommittal, Ian.
“I’ve been a Dom for many years,” Ian continues. He eases his grip and pinches my ear. “I’ve seen all sorts of reasons women turn to submitting. Some love the sexual thrill. Others want to explore a darker side to their sexuality. Then there are women like Kathryn.”
He squeezes my shoulders, both hands encircling my throat, gently, but the pressure is so great that I’m convinced I need to struggle to breathe.
“Kathryn came to me because she needed release.”
Ian does not elaborate. Yet his tender touch sends waves of understanding through my body. Yes, Ian. I came to you for the release I craved for so long but didn’t know how to pursue. I sank deeper into the comfort of dominating without even considering how liberating it could be on the other side. Not until you showed me how life-changing it could be did I really make a turn for the better.
It helps that I also love you so much.
“Don’t look at this woman and assume she’s confused or misunderstood. Don’t judge her for her previous actions and those of today. I am humbled and honored that she has chosen to serve me. It will be my life’s goal to make sure she is taken care of and properly treated as a sub should be, but don’t think this makes her a submissive woman. I’m afraid the next time you see her in the boardroom she’ll still be slamming her boot into your balls.”
I think I hear laughter.
“The woman you see before you debuts tonight as a sub… my sub. No other man will have her the way I do, but we can give you a taste of what it means to be us. A part of my Katie’s journey on the path to pure release is confessing everything that makes her… well…”
Ian steps away, leaving me alone at the front of the stage. When I feel him near me again, it’s to have my arms spread above my head and attached to two elastic binds hanging from the ceiling. The tension in my shoulders instantly brings me pleasure.
Or is it the sensation of not being able to escape?
“Tell them, Kathryn. Tell them why you’re here tonight.”
My words are lost. I know what words I want to say, but getting my mouth, my tongue, and my lips to cooperate is like trying to wake up when the rain falls outside and the man you love is wrapped tight around you. The kind of mornings I want to experience every day for the rest of my life.
“I’m here because I need to be freed.”
I don’t expect to cry. Yet one hot tear makes its way down my cheek, and I’m blinded by the lights shining above me. Ian pats my head and touches the top of my spine.
“And how does binding you like this free you, my darling? Seems like it would do the opposite.”
I’m too hung up on him calling me “darling” in front of these people. When his words finally sink in, I respond, “They keep me in place, so I don’t have to worry about going anywhere.”
“Why’s that?”
I know that this is therapy when we’re alone, but confessing my real feelings in front of an audience is otherworldly. It’s like I’m preaching to the choir for half of them, while the others are leaning in intently, waiting to hear my eternal truths.
“People always want something from me. They want me to drop everything I’m doing to come fix their problems. I don’t have a choice most of the time. What am I supposed to do? I can’t not go. But when I’m tied up, I don’t have to go anywhere. Because I can’t. All I need to do is sit still and finally rest.”
Something stiff touches my back. It’s a crop.
There are two layers of clothes between my skin and that crop, and even though I know Ian would never strike me there, I still tremble. Having that implement of therapy touch me is enough to make me moan. I don’t, however. Not in front of these people.
“You’re under a lot of stress, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us.”
I take in a deep breath. “Under a lot of stress” is something nearly everyone in this building can say. We’re rich. We’re powerful. You may think that’s a ticket to happiness, and while it affords us many freedoms, it does not protect us from anxiety and stress. Last year a patriarch jumped from his fiftieth floor window because a deal fell through. It didn’t bankrupt him. Financially, he was still fine, but I knew his daughter, and she said that her father often felt unworthy because he wasn’t perfect. Perfectionism runs rampant with people I know. I don’t want to be like that when I get older.
“My parents wanted a boy…” Why I decided to start here with my confession, I have no idea. I suppose it’s the root of everything, isn’t it? “When they only got me, it was a blessing and a curse. I love being a woman, but even as I am, the disadvantages are too much. You can’t understand, sir. People don’t take me seriously. I’m only as good as my ability to dominate other men, both in and out of the bedroom. I will always be compared to men, and I will always lose.”
The crop curls around my ear and strokes my cheek. “You forced yourself to be strong, even when you wanted to be vulnerable.”
“Yes. I missed out on a lot of opportunities to explore that side of myself.”
I can practically hear the arrogance in his haughty voice. “And what made you decide to explore the role of a submissive, Kathryn?”
Yeah, I bet you’d love this public ego stroke, Ian. “Someone put the idea in my head a while ago. It made sense. So I started my journey, and here I am.”
“Yes, here you fucking are.” The crop taps my cheek. “Making up for all that lost time. With me.”
Inch by mind-numbing inch, the crop makes its way down my chest, touching my stomach, my thigh, and then around to my ass. Tension multiplies in the audience. They want to see him strike me. That’s why they’re here, after all.
In truth, I want him to smack me with the crop too.
Not here. Not like this. This isn’t the time for that. Yet.
“Say it in front of all these people, Kathryn. Free your emotions once and for all. Tell us what you’ve been hiding in your heart even from your closest confidants.”
I bite my lip as it begins to tremble. Let go of my emotions? Let them run free from my mouth. Course over my tongue and spill for all to see? Bare my heart and leave it exposed to the elements? In front of this neck-biting crowd?
“I feel guilty because I wasn’t born a boy.”
“And?”
“I feel like it’s my fault my mother had a breakdown and moved. I should have tried harder in school so I could prove to my father that I am worthy to take over the company one day. And I… even though I love to Top, I still feel gui
lty that I am here doing this, because now everyone is going to look at me differently. Treat me differently! Aren’t you? Aren’t you all?”
Even Ian is silent. I doubt he thought I would dive into that.
The audience wasn’t expecting it either. The few people I see are transfixed on me, eyes clouding in thought and consideration. Did they even know they would judge me? I bet not. I bet they were going to laugh, get hard or wet, and move on with their lives. I don’t care. Deep in their minds, they would judge me. How do I know this?
Because I would have judged me.
“Face it. The only way a woman is taken seriously around here is if she’s constantly busting ass and balls alike. The moment we decide to serve for a change, to let go of everything we’re hauling around, we’re seen as weak. Do we treat men the same way? Do we look at male subs and assume that they can’t hold their own out in the real world? I would ask you to think about the amount of female subs you know who run businesses, volunteer, teach, and take over the fucking world every damned day.”
“All right, Katie…”
“No!” I shake in my binds, more tears falling down my face as Ian gives me a warning tap on the ass with the crop. “I’m not done!” Before he can interrupt me, I talk over my Dom. “I’m not any less because I switch now. I’ll always be a Domme. But even if I made a complete turn from Domme to sub, I would still be strong and capable. So don’t think that because I’m up here like this that I’m not worthy of your respect. I didn’t plan on this. I didn’t know this was inside me until recently. And…” I swallow, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. “I never planned on falling in love with a Dom.”
One of the women sitting up front clasps her hand over her mouth. She looks like she’s going to have a super hormonal cry, but the man she’s with rubs her back until she puts her hand down, lips wibbling, but eyes dry.
My binds come undone, making me fall forward and brace myself on my palms. Ian hooks his hands beneath my shoulders and lifts me up. The leash around my neck pulls at me, and I’m led to the other side of the stage, my jacket pulled off my body until I stand in nothing but my corset and boots.
Ian is rougher than I expected. He forces me over a leather bench, my wrists bound to a handle and my feet latched into a spreader. He doesn’t say anything. Nobody says anything. More than once the crop taps my ass as it sticks out in the air behind me. More warning shots.
I’ve been a bad girl. Tonight I’ve interrupted my Dom countless times. It’s like my training didn’t even matter.
Ian, however, looks those little things over unless he’s really in a mood. He said so himself that he finds my insolence hot to a point. Except now we’re in public. We’re on a stage with everyone watching. The attention is off my switching and how Ian Mathers can’t keep his sub under control.
“Sorry, but you know I have to,” he whispers into my ear. This is right before his hand lands on my ass, sending pain as bright as the day through my body.
I yelp.
“I thought I had trained you better, my love.” Ian says this louder, for the audience to hear. “If I thought you would behave like this, I would have kept you at home.” Another spank. “These nice people are watching and hoping to see an obedient sub. Now, are you going to play by my rules, or do I have to keep punishing you until you can’t continue?”
Blood covers my taste buds… I’m biting my lip too hard. “I’ll obey!” This cry is almost wiped out by the pain I feel. And this is from his hand… with a corset covering my ass!
“That’s what we like to hear.” The crop delicately touches me in lieu of Ian’s hand.
I’m not soothed. I know that as soon as he gets going with that thing, the pain will be even more intense than the flat of his hand.
“Since you’re being so obedient…” Ian takes a step back with the crop. “I think it’s time we all finally freed you.”
“We all,” he says.
“What do you say?’ I hear the crop whiz through the air as Ian opens his arms to the audience. “Will you support this woman feeling the same fucking shit you assholes all feel?”
I don’t hear anything at first. Then, as if a wave passes through everyone, there is muted applause and a few cheers of support. These types of people aren’t going to get too involved. They prefer to sit and quietly watch shows, not join in… so to hear as much as I have means a lot. I wonder if any of my fellow Dommes are showing me support.
It doesn’t matter. Because Ian is with me, and by channeling the energy of the audience, he’s going to free me.
Possess me.
Take me.
Even though we planned this… even though we went over it countless times in the days leading up to this night, I’m still startled when the crop hits my ass and sends shock through my skin. I’m numb. I’m weary. My inexperienced body is already losing purchase as I fight for God knows what.
Every strike represents one of my insecurities being purged from my body. This I know. This I gladly accept with famished cries that echo in the room.
“What’s the first thing you want eradicated?” Ian pulls my ponytail, forcing me to look into the lights. “What are we freeing you from?”
“My guilt,” I say, exasperated. My ass must be beet red beneath my corset.
“Be more specific. You need to think concrete ideas for this to work.”
I struggle to find the words. “That I’m not good enough to run my family’s business.”
Crack! My ass is on fucking fire!
It works. That toxic thought I had is blasted from my brain. I can practically see it spill from my ear, snivel on the floor, and then disappear over the side of the stage. My mind is liberated from that crippling fear of disappointing my family.
“What else?”
My fingers are curled into the bench, turning red, then white. “That I’m not womanly enough. Maybe I don’t want kids. Maybe I don’t even want to get married someday. Is it so bad to want to live alone from time to time?”
Crack!
Shit! I fucking feel that one! What, Ian, did I strike a nerve with talk of marriage? Or was it the kids? I remember how much your mother wouldn’t shut the hell up about grandbabies. You’re an only child, right? Well, so am I. Suck it up. We can ruin our family lines together, the Bonnie and Clyde of genealogy, the Paul Bunyan and Babe the Big Blue Ox of family trees… well, shit, that’s nowhere near as sexy, but you get my point, Ian. You get my fucking point.
“What else, Katie?”
Once my legs stop shaking from the last impact, I say, “I feel guilty about turning into a switch. What if the other Dommes don’t want to work with me anymore? What if I’m turning traitor? I don’t want to lose my friends and acquaintances because I’m finally embracing who I am. I can be a Domme and your sub.”
Crack!
I think I’ve got the point now.
My ass is raw beneath my corset. Ian balances the crop on my back and steps away, turning to the audience. He slowly unbuttons his shirt.
I contain a new cry. He’s going to do it.
He’s going to fulfill his promise.
“I have a confession to make too,” Ian says, letting his shirt hang open. “I’ve been selfish. A real asshole, depending on who you ask.” He glances in the direction of Eva’s table. “From the beginning, I’ve asked Katie to do nothing but give to me, and I’ve done nothing but take from her. I took from her until she barely knew who she was anymore. For that, I am sorry. But, you see, I had some things to figure out about myself as well. For one, I had to ask myself how far I was willing to compromise with a Domme. Was it love, or was it my dick acting like a proud fool for doing what it’s done to her?”
My body is shaking again, but it’s not from subsiding pain. It’s anticipation.
When Ian takes off his shirt and tosses it aside, I’m grinning.
There, on his bare back, is the mark I left on him with semi-permanent body ink.
It’s not subtle. I practically graffitied that man’s skin with the intent of showing the world…
…That he belongs to me.
That I’ve marked him.
There are some murmurs loud enough for me to hear. I don’t know what they’re saying. I don’t know their tone. All I know is that Ian Mathers is gorgeous with my initials emblazoned on his back, the same mark I’ve left on other men before. They all know what it means.
I’ve Topped him. Maybe only once. Maybe every fucking night. They don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Ian did this for me. It may not have been what he craved for deep inside, but he did it for me. He gave back. He explored that side of him with me. He asked for it. He played along. He proved that he’s listening and will do anything to have me.
If that’s not fucking love, then what the hell is!
Ian snatches the crop off my back and stands behind me. “What man wouldn’t want to worship this goddess? What prince wouldn’t sit at the feet of this queen? She may bend before me today, but Kathryn Alison has not forgotten her other self. That’s how much I love her.”
Tears hit my chin. I can’t believe this is happening.
“I love you too,” I say. “I love you so much it makes me feel guilty and ashamed, because how can I love a Dom?”
Crack!
Fuck. Me.
“I’ve asked myself the same question,” Ian says, breathless. “How could I fall in love with a Domme?”
This time when the crop hits my ass, I feel the frustration in both of us.
Somebody save us.
“None of that matters now.” The crop lands on the floor beside my feet. Ian unties me from the bench, stands me up, and turns me toward the audience. I feel like a meat-shield. “Because at the end of the day you’re still my sub, and you belong to me.”
I sink to my knees. Ian holds my arms up. My ass is so sore I can barely lean on it.
“Do you hear that?” Ian’s voice is so loud that it shakes me to my core. Or maybe I’m hyper-sensitive to everything going on now. “It doesn’t matter what you think of us. Because we only need each other.”
