by Ravenna Tate
“That sounds sad.”
“It was at times, but it was also very liberating as it taught us to appreciate the diversity in others. We each tried other clubs on our own, finally realizing that if we wanted one that had all the features and conditions we were searching for, we’d need to create it. So we did.”
“That’s an amazing story.” I turn in his arms so I can look into his eyes while we talk. “How long have you owned this club?”
“Ten years. We worked as Dungeon Monitors and as tops in other clubs, to gain practical experience. We also wanted to find out what worked well and what didn’t.”
“You must bring in a great deal of money from it.”
He grins. “This isn’t our only source of income. The three of us also own an IT consulting firm.”
“Then you’re hard workers.”
“We are, but we love what we do. Both our consulting work and this club.”
“Do you live here, in this room?”
“No. We have suites on the top floor of the building, along with a few other Doms we employ. These rooms are for private play, exclusively for our own use, or others we allow to use them.”
“I can’t even hear the noise from the club downstairs.” Although I have no idea what time it is, I believe we’ve been up here at least a few hours by now, and that people have finally arrived for the evening.
“We had them designed that way.”
“How old were you when you first understood you were a Dominant?”
“I didn’t really understand the concept, but I recognized my need for control at an early age. I was still in grade school. By the time I started dating, I had learned to balance that need for control with compassion, and I have my mother to thank for that.”
“How so?” This is so normal it makes me want to cry. Lying here, talking about our pasts and growing up. Is he like this with everyone, or am I special?
“She put the fear of God into me where treating others is concerned, especially girls. She told me a real man never puts his hands on a woman, except to help her or comfort her. And, she said that he never uses his tongue against a woman except to praise her, or pleasure her.”
I laugh. “Your mother told you that? About your tongue?”
“Hey, she wanted me to be a man of the world, but also understand that if she caught me abusing anyone, or mistreating them, she’d knock me into next week.”
“It sounds like your mother and my grandmother would have gotten along well.”
“Is that who raised you?”
“Yes. Did your mom raise you on her own?”
His expression turns so sad I wish I hadn’t asked. “After my father passed when I was five, yes.”
“I’m so sorry. How did he die?”
“He got caught in the crossfire of a robbery gone bad. He wasn’t involved in it. Just walking down the street in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s horrible.” I wrap my arms around him and pull him close.
“What happened to your parents?” he asks.
“My father took off when my mom was pregnant. She … she had issues and couldn’t take care of me. I haven’t seen her since I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you ever tried to find her?”
“I know where she is. She has no interest in seeing me.” Not even the people I work with know this entire story.
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
“No, she passed three years ago.”
We pull out of the embrace to gaze at each other again. “My mother is no longer alive, either.”
I’m not sure what to say so I simply nod.
“Do you mind if I ask you about your spanking fantasies?”
“Not at all.” I’m grateful to change the subject.
“When did you first have them?”
“Right around the time I hit puberty. I couldn’t even tell you how I knew I’d enjoy it. I’d never read anything, or saw a movie where a woman was spanked. At least, not that I recall. It was simply a scenario that filled my head whenever I thought about sex. Which was often.”
He laughs softly. “That sounds pretty normal to me.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t around. Maybe if I’d met someone like you back then, I wouldn’t have felt like such a freak.”
“When you were hitting puberty, I was already out of college.”
“True.”
The sketchy information I received on him before tonight indicated his age as forty. That makes him thirteen years older than I am, but it’s only a number when you’re lying in bed, naked. We’re both over twenty-one, and that’s all that matters.
He brushes a finger down my face. “Aside from the creep who disrespected you, tell me about your boyfriends, Macie.”
“There’s not much to tell. You’re the first guy who…” I’m embarrassed to say it. “The first guy who made me come with his mouth and fingers. The only other boyfriend I had where the relationship went far enough for sex tried to do that one time, but he was clueless and it hurt. I made him stop.”
His sweet smile sends shivers down my spine. “I’m honored I was the first. Did you ever ask him to spank you?”
“No. Only that other guy.”
“You’ve been to clubs. Did you do that on your own?”
“No. I have a female friend who knows I’m interested in BDSM, but I never discussed my fantasies in detail with her. She’s the one who took me to several clubs about six months ago, along with her Dom. But I was too self-conscious to do anything. I just watched everyone, wishing I was part of it.”
“Why didn’t this friend and her Dom introduce you to people who could help ease you into play?”
“Her Dom took an instant dislike to me. I asked a lot of questions, and he felt challenged by them.”
“Then he’s not a very mature Dom. He should have answered them for you, or found someone who could if for some reason he was uncomfortable with them. I’m sorry you had such a disappointing experience.”
I snuggle closer to him. “Well, tonight is most definitely not disappointing.”
“Not for me, either. After going through that, though, what made you decide to try this?”
“It sounded like the perfect setup. No strings attached, no commitments beyond one night, and if I find out it’s not what I like after all, I can leave without hurting anyone.”
Sadness passes over his face for a moment, confusing me. Did he interpret my words to mean I’m not having a good time?
“But I don’t want to leave. I’m having a fabulous time, Dakar. I mean Sir.”
“I am, too.” He pulls me close, but I’m left with doubt and the impression I’ve hurt him somehow. I’m getting sleepy now, but I want to keep him talking to make sure everything is all right. For reasons I don’t understand, that’s essential.
“What about you?” I ask. “You’re gorgeous and sexy. Why are you unattached?”
His soft chuckle warms my heart. Maybe I only imagined the sadness in his eyes? “First of all, thank you for the compliment. I was engaged in college, but she wanted no part of this lifestyle. Once I realized that any intimate relationship I had must include it, we broke up.”
“That’s very sad.”
“It was, but it taught me a lot about staying true to who we are, and how vital that is to a relationship.”
“What about submissives? Don’t you have any?” Please say “no”!
“I’ve had two. Both times, our dynamic went beyond the initial stage of determining whether we were compatible in both play and sex, but both subs had been in poly relationships beforehand and preferred that aspect of the lifestyle. I’m not poly and I know that, so we parted ways. Again, I have to stay true to who I am.”
My heart is pounding. “Sounds like we’re both searching for something elusive.” Our gazes lock for long moments. Breathing is difficult again.
“What are you searching for, Macie, because a moment ago, it sounded
like you aren’t looking for anything long term?”
I was right. He did misinterpret my words. “What I meant was this was the perfect setup to explore my spanking fantasies. I’d had such unfulfilling experiences trying to do that, so I thought this would be ideal. But I’m searching for the same thing most people are. Someone to love me, and whom I can love in return. Someone to grow old with.”
It’s the boldest thing I’ve ever said to anyone. Putting my heart out there isn’t something I do easily. When you do that, you’re likely to get it stomped on. His gaze turns thoughtful, and that’s far better than hurt or disappointed. He pulls me close again. “We are searching for something elusive, indeed.”
Not exactly what I had hoped to hear. I’m such a fool. What made me conclude that simply because this man kissed me and made love to me, he’d fall in love and want me with him forever? I’ve never been one to romanticize any situation, but isn’t that exactly what I’ve done with this night?
I’m an idiot.
“We should try to sleep a bit. You must be as tired as I am.”
“I am.”
He kisses me, and it’s sweet and tender. I swallow hard, blinking back tears. “Sleep well, Macie.”
“You, too, Sir.”
Everything will be all right. This night will end, and then I can go home and try to forget those ice blue eyes, that dark hair, and the way my body comes alive each time he touches me.
Chapter Seven
When I wake, Dakar is walking around the room, gathering the toys he used earlier. My clothes are neatly folded on a chair. I have no idea how long I’ve slept, so I glance around for a clock, but there isn’t one. I hope it’s not morning already. The night went by far too quickly.
There’s a knock on the door, and when Dakar answers, a man dressed in black pants, a white t-shirt, and wearing a thick leather collar pushes a cart in. He doesn’t speak or glance at Dakar, but merely leaves the cart in the center of the room and exits.
“Is it morning?” The scents of eggs and pancake syrup waft past my nose.
Dakar smiles at me. “No. It’s not even midnight. But I was starving, so I figured you must be, too, by now. Come and have something to eat.”
I’m thrilled that I still have hours left with him. He pulls chairs up to the cart, and we sit across from each other. “Who was that man who brought the food?”
“One of the submissives who function as domestic servants in the building.”
“Interesting. There’s certainly more to this lifestyle than I learned by reading the articles.”
He gives me a thoughtful look. “Does that mean you want to learn more, or you’ve seen enough by now?”
I’m embarrassed he picked up on my surprise over his description of the man who brought in the food. “I’m curious to know more.”
“Ask away. That’s why you’re here, after all.”
Yeah. Thanks for reminding me this is a survey. Nothing more. “Why do you use submissives as domestic servants? And, more importantly, why are they called ‘servants’ at all?”
He finishes chewing the food in his mouth and swallows before he speaks. A true gentleman. He doesn’t speak with his mouth full. “They’re called ‘servants’ because their dynamic is to serve. It’s how they’ve chosen to be submissive to the three Doms who own the club, and to the Doms who work for us.”
“So, if I decide I’m a submissive, I have a choice how to live that life?”
“Of course you do. Finding a Dom is a complicated process, Macie. Just as finding the right submissive for any Dom is also complicated. Or, it should be. As humans, we’re attracted to people for all kinds of reasons. But attraction is only part of the picture.”
“Can you give me an example? Let’s say, merely for the sake of illustration, that you were attracted enough to me to consider having me as your submissive.”
A wide grin covers his face. “For the sake of illustration? What makes you think I’m not attracted enough to you to consider discussing such an arrangement?”
I’m stunned into silence.
“Let me answer your question, because I believe I know where you were going with it. If we, for example, were to discuss your becoming my submissive, first we would talk about our needs within this lifestyle. What are each of us looking for? How do we see this playing out in our day-to-day lives? What are your hard limits? What are mine? What are soft limits for each of us? How negotiable are the edges of the soft limits?”
My brain finally works again. “There’s a lot more to consider than in relationships outside this lifestyle, isn’t there?”
“Yes, because this isn’t something any of us take as lightly as most people take their intimate relationships outside of it. Let me rephrase. This isn’t something we should take lightly. Obviously, there are individuals who enter into arrangements without a clear understanding of what they have undertaken.”
“Did that happen to you with the two subs you mentioned before?”
“In a way, yes. I knew they had both been in poly relationships before, but to be fair, they each assured me they would be happy without that aspect of their dynamic. It turned out they were mistaken. One of them told me she had hoped that she could convince me to add that to our dynamic, after she’d been with me for a while. When I tried to explain to her that it doesn’t work that way, she called me a prude.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “It happens all the time. That’s why this lifestyle can be both liberating and frustrating at the same time. It’s much more difficult to find compatible partners than people outside of it imagine.”
“Would we date? You and I, if we were considering my becoming your submissive?”
The smile he gives me is tender. “Yes, of course. Our relationship would progress as any other does, except we’d have the aspect of play, and our individual dynamic to develop.”
“So, let’s say there was something you wanted your submissives to do, and I didn’t want to do it. Would that be a deal breaker?”
“For some Doms it would be, depending on what that ‘something’ was. For myself, the only deal breaker for me would be hard limits on any type of impact play. I adore it.”
Heat rises up my neck as I smile, letting the memories from earlier wash over me.
“Do you have any more questions right now?”
“No. I’m sure I will, but right now we shouldn’t let this food go to waste.” My stomach has won over my brain, at least for the moment.
“I agree.”
He’s given me a great deal to think about. I need some time to process it. We eat in silence for a few moments, and I’m glad to see he’s not shy about it, because I’m ravenous and I’m eating as much as I want.
“I love to see a woman actually eat instead of pick at her food, as if that’s what she’s supposed to do because she’s female.”
“I have never picked at my food. Obviously.”
His stern frown stops me in the act of bringing my fork to my mouth. “Please don’t do that.”
I place my fork down, waiting for his next words.
“Don’t put yourself down like that.”
“I’m not a small woman, Sir. Let’s not pretend I am.”
“Since when is ‘small’ the benchmark?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You say that as if the standard is small, whatever that actually means. I told you I think you’re beautiful, and I meant it. So let’s make a rule for the remainder of the night. You’re not to say anything derogatory about your body, your face, your size, the amount of food you eat or don’t eat, or the way you look.”
The corners of my mouth lift. “What happens if I break the rule?”
“We’re done, whether it’s morning or not. I call you a cab.”
Well, he certainly has my number. “All right. I agree.” I extend my hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
A sexy grin splits his face. “That’s not how I like to seal a
pact.”
“How do you like to seal it?”
He stares at me for a few seconds before leaning over the table to plant a very hot kiss on my mouth, tongue and all. I taste the eggs and toast he ate, but that doesn’t bother me. By the time he releases it, my pussy is soaking wet again, and food is the last thing on my mind. But he returns to his meal as if it’s the most important thing in the room.
“Tease,” I whisper.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” My body is alive with tingles at the look on his face. It’s pure alpha, and erotic images dance through my head.
“I believe you said something.”
He probably heard me anyway. “I called you a tease, Sir. You have to admit, kissing me like that and then pulling away was teasing.”
“I prefer to call it foreshadowing.”
I nearly choke on the food in my mouth as I laugh at his comment. “All right. It could be called that.”
“Thank you for agreeing with me. After we finish, we’ll talk about your punishment for the smart-ass comment.” I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Don’t even think about trying to argue your way out of it.”
I won’t, because I can’t wait to find out what he intends to do to me. As we continue our meal, everything he said earlier races through my mind. “What makes you think I’m not attracted enough to you to consider discussing such an arrangement?”
Yes, he really did say that. What began as a silly fantasy for me suddenly seems more real than I had dared to believe. But is this something I can do? Is this a lifestyle I want to live? Having to kneel and call him “Sir” should be things I balk at. They’re so subservient. Why, then, does the image of doing them every day of my life give me shivers and evoke a longing, deep within me? Is that why I have these fantasies to begin with? Am I a born submissive?
“Sir, may I ask a few more questions about the lifestyle?”
“You may ask as many questions as you like, Macie.”
“Are people born Dominant or submissive, the same way people are born gay, straight, transgender, or bisexual?”
