Aching to Submit

by Natasha Knight

  “Are you all right?” Kyan asked.

  She could barely meet his eyes. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel well all of a sudden,” she said.

  “Let’s find you a seat,” he said, taking her arm.

  She looked at him. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll just go. I forgot to eat dinner,” she said. That was true, she hadn’t eaten yet. She’d been too anxious about the night. “I’m probably just hungry.”

  “I’ll get you something to eat. Come,” he said, but she stopped him.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll be late. I’ll just grab my coat out of your office,” she said.

  “Shall I walk you out at least?”

  “No. I’m sorry; I don’t want to be any trouble. You’ve done so much already.”

  He nodded, his expression one of pure concern. “I’ll make sure they let you in,” he said, studying her. “Would you please call me later or e-mail me at least to let me know you’re all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, his kindness only making her feel worse. “I will. Thank you,” she said, reaching out to take his hand and squeezing it. “You’ve been so kind and really, I don’t deserve it.” Her eyes reddened. Again.

  He only watched her for a moment. “If you need anything at all, Sophie, anything…”

  She nodded and quickly retraced her steps. In his office, she gathered her coat and left, choosing to walk home instead of taking the tram even though a heavy rain-soaked Amsterdam.

  Chapter Five

  Over the next few days, Sophie tried to busy herself with the house, trying in some strange way to make up for her betrayal of Michael by her attendance at the club. She’d memorized Kyan’s mobile number and had started countless e-mails to him, but had sent none, not even one to tell him she’d made it home.

  She’d lied to Michael that last night they’d made love. It wasn’t that she couldn’t orgasm easily; it was just she needed more now. Since the nights at the club, she’d masturbated countless times, imagining Rebecca as she was bent over the back of the chair, seeing the crop come down on her ass, clenching her own cheeks as she fantasized that it was she who was bent over the chair, Michael holding the crop while a stranger watched from beyond. She remembered the sound of Samantha’s gasp as her husband’s strap had struck her buttocks while witnesses watched, no one batting an eye, as if it were completely normal. She heard again the echo of that one tear as it dropped onto the floor.

  A deep longing consumed her.

  She checked her watch. It was a little after one in the afternoon. Michael would be home by six tonight. She went up to their shared office and sat down behind the desk, opening her laptop. She fished out Kyan’s business card from its hiding place, her heart racing at the thought of what she was about to do, even though she had to do it. This wasn’t something that was going to leave her alone.

  Dear Kyan,

  I have been thinking of writing you, but to be honest, just wasn’t sure what to say. I very much appreciated you taking me under your wing and helping me at the club. I think I would have gone running if you hadn’t.

  I would like to come back, but I suppose I’m afraid. I want to experience what I saw; I’m just not sure I can actually go through with it. I’m not looking for a sexual relationship; things are… complicated. I’m confused to say the least. I don’t know why I want this, why I can’t just let it go. I want to let it go, I want it to let me go. Is that even possible?

  Sophie

  She was sweating by the time she read it over for the hundredth time and forced herself to hit send, listening to the swoosh as it left her mailbox, still wondering if she’d done the right thing or if she was crossing a line.

  She shut down her computer and stood. What was she doing? What did she want? What did she expect from Kyan?

  Downstairs, she put on her coat, grabbed her purse, and headed out to the market. She needed to buy food for dinner tonight and while she was out, maybe she’d pick up a new set of cufflinks for Michael. She’d barely returned home when her phone signaled a new e-mail had arrived.

  Forcing herself to wait until she was at least inside the house, she dropped the bags on the counter and looked at the new message on her phone. It was a simple one, just a few sentences.

  Sophie, I’m at the club now doing some paperwork. Why don’t you come by and we can talk. I’m alone and we can just talk. Front door is unlocked.

  Kyan.

  Her heart raced. She checked her watch, just after two. Four hours before Michael would get home. It would take her fifteen minutes to get there; she’d have plenty of time. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about clothing if the club was closed. They’d just talk. Maybe he could help her figure this out.

  Putting the salmon into the refrigerator and the ice cream in the freezer, she went back out the door.

  The club looked different during the day, just like a normal house—like her house must look from the outside. It made her wonder what happened behind the closed doors of all other seemingly ‘normal’ looking houses.

  It was a sunny day, which meant every outdoor table was taken at the cafés even though it was early April and still quite cold in the city. She scanned the crowds as she quickly made her way up the stairs and opened the door to enter the club.

  “Sophie,” Kyan said, looking up from his seat at the front desk.

  “Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her. The inside also looked different in the daytime. He’d drawn a curtain aside where she hadn’t realized there was a window and sunshine poured through it. Again, nothing scary about the place. Not what she’d expected before she’d finally collected enough courage to walk inside.

  Kyan shut off his computer and stood.

  “Come in.” He came round the desk. “I’m glad you contacted me,” he said, reaching to greet her with the customary three kisses on her cheeks.

  The touch of his face against hers was light, but it still made her shiver.

  “I was just going to get some coffee. Would you like some?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, that would be great.” They were just going to drink coffee; nothing was going to happen.

  He locked the front door and gestured toward the one behind the desk. “Let’s go into my office,” he said.

  “We’re alone?” she asked as she stepped inside.

  “Yes. Take off your coat and sit down. And relax, Sophie. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing will ever happen that you don’t want to happen, understand?” he asked.

  She looked up at him and exhaled to a nervous smile. “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just so… I don’t know. I’m nervous, I guess.”

  “It’s understandable. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black.”

  “Easy,” he said, pushing the button on the machine.

  She listened to the beans being ground and watched him place a cup to catch the stream of liquid. It was such a domestic, simple task. For some reason, she’d never imagined him doing something as normal as making coffee. There was that word again—normal.

  “Here you are.” He handed her a cup and made one for himself, then took his place behind his large, heavy wooden desk.

  She saw the office as if for the first time while sipping her coffee. It wasn’t large, but the furnishings were comfortable. The desk took up a good portion of it and across from it sat two chairs, one of which she occupied. One large window overlooked the street.

  “Tell me something,” he began, looking into his cup and taking a sip before setting it down, resting his forearms on the desk and looking at her. “Why did you lie about not having a BSN the first night?”

  Her expression went from polite to caught red-handed and she fumbled with her coffee for a moment before regaining hold of herself.

  “Let’s just be very straight with each other. I’m not asking to make you uncomfortable and I understand your fear. I just want to be clear going forward—I wa
nt you to understand that I’m not a stupid man and I won’t accept lies. I think I can help you figure this out, perhaps even help you find what you’re looking for, but let’s just lay our cards out, shall we?”

  Sophie stood. “I’m sorry, maybe I should go. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Sit down,” he said, without moving an inch. “Now, Sophie. Sit down.”

  Her stomach felt heavy and her knees were already weak as she slid back down onto her seat.

  “Are you in a relationship? Truth—you get one chance to answer honestly.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Your partner is vanilla?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  That confused her. “Yes. I mean, he’s never… done anything or…”

  “Have you told him what you wanted?” Kyan asked.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want him to look at me like there’s something wrong with me. Like I’m a pervert,” she said outright. “I couldn’t take it if he was… disgusted by me.”

  “If you don’t trust him to accept you as you are, why are you in a relationship with him?”

  “It’s complicated, Kyan. It’s just… complicated.” She looked away for a moment, then turned back to him. “I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember and the one time I thought I could tell a boyfriend just a little bit about it, well, let’s just say it didn’t go well and I can still remember how embarrassed I was, how ashamed. I can’t do that again, I can’t go through that again.

  “I’m sorry I lied about my BSN and that I may have implied that I was available, or at least if I led you to believe I was. It wasn’t my intention. I just… this is something I can’t get out of my head. I thought if I tried it just once, maybe it wouldn’t be what I fantasized about at all. Maybe it would just go away.”

  “So let me make sure I’m understanding this. You’d like to experience this without your partner finding out in the hopes that you will discover it wasn’t what you wanted after all?”

  “Yes?” she more asked than answered. They both knew it wasn’t that simple.

  Kyan studied her for what seemed like hours, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. He then opened the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved a leather paddle, setting it on top of the desk between them. She couldn’t peel her eyes from it, the long narrow instrument filling her with fear of the actual pain a spanking entailed even while every conscious part of her wanted nothing other than that very thing.

  But she wanted it with Michael.

  She met his eyes.

  “I don’t know if I agree with how you’re going about this, Sophie. There’s an intimacy that comes with this that maybe you don’t understand. Perhaps your desire for it is too strong and doesn’t allow you to see that logic.”

  Her eyes darted once more to the paddle. “Maybe it will hurt so badly I’ll never want it again,” she said nervously. What was she implying? Was she really going there with him? She knew he was right about the intimacy and if she did this, she’d cross a line, perhaps one she could not recover from.

  “Would you like me to give you a taste of what you think you want?” he asked outright.

  At first, she was stunned. It took her some time to recover and she thought about what he said, what he was offering. His words confronted her; he confronted her. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that why she’d come back today? It wasn’t for a friendly chat at all. He was no fool and it was time she took some responsibility.

  She shook her head and dropped her gaze. “I can’t do that to him,” she said, smiling a weak smile that was just sad.

  When she raised her eyes to his again, he was watching her, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “You’re honest, Sophie. You’re a good person, you love your…?”

  “Husband. His name is Michael.” Saying his name out loud almost brought him into the room and her guilt lessened just a little.

  “You love your husband. If you’d said yes to my proposition, I may not have believed that, but I do now. I’m also willing to bet he loves you enough to accept this side of you.” He paused and sipped his coffee. “And by the way, this isn’t something that just goes away. It’s the way we’re built; it’s as much a part of you as your right arm is. You’re only causing yourself and perhaps Michael pain by holding on to it so tightly.

  “Go home, Sophie. Be with your husband, talk to him. Trust him. Hell, bring him here and I’ll talk to him.”

  She nodded, smiling a small, real smile. She felt an intense relief at having told Kyan the truth. At telling at least someone the truth. He was right, she knew it. She needed to talk to Michael. But did she have the courage to go through with it?

  “Thank you,” she said, rising to her feet. “Am I allowed to come back?”

  “Anytime you’d like, you’re always welcome. And truthfully, I’d be hurt if I didn’t see you again.”

  Kyan walked her out. Rather than taking the tram, she walked home, thinking about how she was going to do this. How she was going to tell Michael.

  * * *

  Michael watched his wife walk out the door of a place called L’Opera. The man she was with kissed her on the cheek, but the way he held her afterwards was what had Michael fisting his hands in rage. He remained in the shadows until she disappeared down the street, noting how the man watched her go. Once she was out of sight, the man went back inside and Michael stalked up to the door, taking the stairs fast. He didn’t knock. Instead, he pulled the door open, surprising the man inside. Once there, he drew his arm back and punched the stranger on his jaw, sending him backwards.

  “That’s my wife you had your hands all over, asshole!” he said, preparing to land a second blow. “Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” He would have struck again but just then, someone grabbed his arm. He turned, trying to break free, only to find a huge guy pulling both his arms behind his back.

  “Boss,” the guy started, “you okay? Want me to call the police?”

  The man rubbed his jaw and stared at Michael. It didn’t look like he was angry, which was strange, Michael thought.

  “No, John. Thank you. You must be Michael,” he said, extending his hand in a friendly gesture.

  Michael yanked against the grip the man had on him, but the way John had wrapped his arms behind his back, it wasn’t possible to free himself.

  “Let him go, John. It’s okay.”

  “It is far from okay,” Michael said, tugging himself free as soon as the hold on him was relaxed. “What the fuck is this place? And what was my wife doing here?”

  “This is a BDSM club and your wife was here because she has an interest in the lifestyle. She’s done nothing that would compromise your marriage and our relationship is a friendship, that is all. If you’d like, I’d be happy to tell you more about the club.”

  “Fuck your club,” he said. “BDSM?”

  Kyan nodded. “You know what that is?”

  “I’m not a fucking idiot,” he said. He looked around, running a hand through his hair.

  “John, it’s all right. Why don’t you go get ready for work,” Kyan said.

  John nodded. “I’m right around the corner, boss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Kyan van de Brink. I’m the owner of the club.”

  Michael turned to look him over once, twice. Was this his competition? Was Sophie having an affair with him? He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. About the same age and physical body type.

  “Michael Perron.”

  “Dutch?” Kyan asked.

  Michael nodded once. BDSM. What was going on in her head? Was this why she’d been so secretive? Was this what she was trying to hide from him? “Look, I need to know what the hell’s going on. I come home early from work to surprise my wife, find an e-mail on h
er computer from you, and when I get here, I see you kissing her off.” That brought the anger back.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, I promise. Your wife is committed to you.”

  Michael could only stare at this man, but some part of him knew he was telling the truth.

  “Let’s go sit down. Have a beer. I know I could use one.”

  Michael nodded and followed Kyan through the heavy curtains to enter the deserted main floor. Kyan grabbed two bottles of beer from behind the bar and found a table. The men sat down across from each other to talk.

  Chapter Six

  Sophie lit the candles on the dining room table. At precisely six PM, she heard the key in the front door just as the timer went off. She heard Michael’s step in the hallway, but instead of going to him, she ran to take the salmon out of the oven. She set the pan down on the counter and slipped off her apron, intending to meet him in the living room, but instead collided with him when she turned to walk out of the kitchen.

  “Hey!” she said, bouncing off his chest.

  His hands closed over her arms to catch her. The pressure was just a little harder than she expected.

  “Right on time.” She looked up at him. He looked different, disheveled. Her stomach was in knots and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat a bite of the meal she’d prepared. She was going to tell him tonight. She’d been practicing how she’d say it ever since she’d gotten home this afternoon. But now that he was here, well, it was different.

  “Smells good,” Michael said, still holding onto her, his eyes searching her face as if they were looking for something. She had the impression he couldn’t have cared less about the food as his hands kneaded the flesh of her upper arms.

  “I just took the salmon out; we should probably eat before it gets cold,” she said. Something was off.

  “M-hmm.”

  He was acting strange. He released her arms and she went back into the kitchen. He followed her in.

  “You’ve already had a glass?” he asked, taking a wineglass out of the cupboard and pouring from the bottle that stood open on the counter.