by Liz Crowe
“I really want to get dressed, climb out the bathroom window, and sneak off.”
“Look, go into the bathroom, brush your hair, wash your face, pull on your clothes, and get on out there. We’ll go get some breakfast somewhere and I’ll take you home afterward.”
“Sure.” That’s what I say anyway. Deep down inside, I want to die of embarrassment, but I do as he says. Before he leaves the room, I call out, “Hey, do you have a ponytail elastic?”
“Do I look like I’d have a ponytail elastic? I’ll ask Melissa. Hey, Melissa, do you . . .” he’s saying as he leaves the bathroom. In a minute or two, he comes back. “Here you go. She has no hair. I have no idea why she had it, but it’s your lucky day.” By then, I’ve got my clothes on, got myself pulled together, and I brush my hair back, then wrap it with the elastic. “Pretty as a picture,” he declares and kisses my forehead. “See you in a minute.”
When I step out into the living room, I have no idea what to expect, but Jaz is sitting on the sofa, his feet pulled up and one knee up, the other dropped to the cushion. He’s got an arm draped casually over the knee that’s up, and he’s talking to a girl sitting in a chair adjacent to the sofa. She’s late teens or early twenties, and her dark hair is short-short. Through her plaid button-front men’s shirt I can see that she’s wearing a compression garment to bind her breasts. Her jeans are baggy, and she’s got on Chucks. There’s a rainbow pendant around her neck, and my fingers go to my throat, but my collar’s not there – it’s still in my purse. “Kimmie! Hey, I’d like for you to meet my daughter, Melissa. Melissa, this is my friend Kimmie.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say as I hold out my hand.
She takes it and squeezes it comfortably. “Hi. Nice to meet you too.”
“Babe, come here.” Jaz is patting the sofa cushion beside him, and I sit down and wait while he drapes an arm over my shoulders protectively. “I was just telling Melissa that this is a new relationship and we’re working things out.”
I have no idea what to say, so I just choke out, “That’s right.”
“That’s cool. Relationships are tricky,” Melissa warns, sounding like a sage relationship expert. “They don’t just happen. You have to be intentional about them.”
Jaz nods. “And we’re doing just that. We’re being very sure to be open and truthful with each other.”
She levels a look at him before she says, “So she knows . . .”
Before he has a chance to answer, I chime up. “Yes. And it doesn’t matter a bit. Not one bit.” That nets me a kiss on the temple, and I beam up at him.
She asks quietly, “So should I go?” Jaz said Melissa had just broken up with her girlfriend, and I think he’s right – she needs some “dad” time.
I shake my head. “No. I probably need to go anyway.”
“Don’t you want to go get breakfast?” Jaz looks upset, like he thinks I’m leaving and never coming back.
“Are you sure? You could probably use some time together without someone else around, don’t you think?”
Now Melissa starts to plead. “Please come to breakfast with us, Kimmie. Listen, I’m sorry I surprised you like that. Please don’t be embarrassed or anything.” Bless her heart, her face is so sad that I feel bad now, even though I didn’t do a damn thing wrong.
I sigh. No way out. “So where are we going?”
Next thing I know, we’re on the road. Melissa drives his car and he rides with me. “So what do you think of my little girl?”
“I think your little girl is quite the mature woman.”
“I think you’re right. I’m a lucky man in that regard.”
“Only that regard?” I quip.
“Oh, and in other ways too,” he answers quietly, then leans over and kisses me on the cheek as I drive. I want to stop and crawl up into his lap right there.
An hour and a half later, Jaz and I park in front of my little house. I turn off the car as Melissa pulls in behind me, and Jaz turns to me. Something in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to leave with her. “Want me to walk you up to the door?”
“Yes, please.” We leave the privacy of the car and Melissa puts down her car window. I decide to be first. “Bye, Melissa! It was fun.”
“Yeah, it was! Thanks, Kimmie. Hope to see you again sometime.”
“Oh, I hope so too.” When we reach the door, I turn, my eyes searching his face. “Did I do okay?”
His arms wrap around my waist. “Baby, you did great. I think she really likes you.”
“I really like her too. She seems like a great kid.”
“She is. She’s had a really rough time of it since Meredith . . . well, ancient history. Anyway, I’m glad you went with us. Although I was hoping that we’d . . .” He nuzzles my neck and I suppress a little giggle.
“I know. There’s time for that. In the meantime, why don’t you work on that contract, Sir?”
“I’ll do that, sub.” As his hand sweeps a stray hair off my face, I draw my hands behind me and lean against the door, and he reaches around to hold my wrists together tightly. “I meant every word, angel. I love you. We’re just getting started.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Everything’s okay. “Good. Because I love you too. And I think we’ve got something to work with here, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. Call you later?”
“I’ll be upset if you don’t.” I lean out and give him a peck on the lips. “Get back to Miss Melissa out there. Talk to you in a bit.”
“You know it. Bye.” With that, he gives me a peck back and heads to the car, and I stand and watch as they drive away, everyone waving.
There’s laundry to be done, and the dishwasher to unload, and the bathrooms to clean. But I spend most of the day on the sofa, napping and daydreaming about Jaz. I hate that he’s just a dozen or so miles away but I can’t see him. Thinking about all of it, I can’t believe it’s all happened so fast, but I also can’t imagine not being with him. I basically just mope about all afternoon and evening, and when my phone rings at around eight, I snatch it up and answer without even looking. “Hello!”
His voice is pure silk. “Hey. Have a good day?”
“Spent most of it thinking about you. Did you and Melissa have a good visit?”
“Yes. And we were right: She needed some ‘dad’ time. Her girlfriend left and spread some really nasty rumors about her. She’s pretty torn up about it.” There’s silence for a few seconds before he adds, “She needs a mom.”
I nod to myself. “I’m sure she does. Every girl does, straight, gay, or bi. They all need a mom. Although I’m betting the two of you were pretty close while she was growing up.”
“Always. Still are.” He starts to chuckle. “She said, ‘You know the only reason I thought what she was doing was gross is because I’m a lesbian.’ Her way of smoothing it over, I guess. But it’s still a shock when your college-age daughter comes in and finds your girlfriend sucking your dick.”
I smile there, alone in my living room, and say, “Girlfriend, huh?”
“Unless you don’t want to be.”
I purr into the phone, “I love you, Jaz Givens.”
“And I love you, Kimmie Hendricks. I guess I should hang up. I’ve got to put my bed back together before I can get in it for the night. You wrecked it.”
I feign indignation. “I had help.”
“Yes you did. Will you come over and wreck it again soon?”
“I absolutely will.” I try my best sexy voice. “Or you can come here and wreck mine.”
“I’d like that a lot.” My eyes close and I sit and enjoy that feeling of warmth running through my veins at the thought of being in his arms. “So I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Night, babe.”
“Night, Sir. Kisses.”
“Mwah, little girl.”
Clutching the phone to my chest, I sigh and smile. If someone had told me ten years ago that I’d be in love in my fifties, I would’ve told them they were insane. But it’s true. Ass over teacup
– I’m all in.
Chapter Seven
Club? 6:00?
I text back quickly: See you there.
We’ll go out for a drink after if you want.
I send one of those cute little “thumbs up” things and think about his warm hands all over my skin. Little snaps like popcorn popping run up and down my spine as I imagine it.
At five ‘til six, I walk into the club and sit down on a stool. As soon as my butt hits the vinyl top, he walks in. Watching him stroll across the floor toward me makes my whole body sing, and I want him desperately. Reaching for me, he gives me a little peck on the lips. “Scene with me?”
“You bet.”
“Go change. I’ll snare us a room when I come out.” He takes my hand and leads me that direction, then turns me loose in the doorway with a smile.
Laying out the new things I’ve bought, I smirk to myself. Boy, is he going to be surprised, and that’s what I want, so I slip on my short satin robe to make sure that happens. Dressed and ready, I wander back out to find him at the bar. His eyes are locked on my neck as he watches me come up to him, and he whispers, “Room three,” and leads me away and down the hallway.
This room isn’t as familiar to me as some of the others. I’ve only been in here maybe three times. It doesn’t have a lot of equipment in it, and I wonder what he’s up to. When the door closes, his first act is to take me in his arms and kiss me. “Wow. Do all Doms do this with their subs?” I ask with a giggle.
“Only the good ones. Come over here and sit down.” Before I do, I untie and drop the robe on the floor, and he’s treated to a view of my new fuchsia shelf bra and crotchless panties. His eyebrows shoot up in delight and a huge grin spreads across his face. “Well, sub, thank you for that view. It’s spectacular. Guess there’s no need to book a sightseeing tour of Europe – I like the sights here a lot better!” In a low, sexy growl, he adds, “After all, these are totally interactive.” Once we’re perched on the edge of the bed, he takes both my hands in his. “The contract. Do you want to see it?”
I don’t even have to think about it – I’d already decided. “Yes. I do.”
“Okay then. I made up one that’s pretty generic. We can add or delete before the final one is drafted. See what you think.” He reaches in his gig bag and hands me the folded paper.
He’s right – it is pretty generic. It’s mostly who’s in charge and how, meaning the knowledge of and say in what I eat, where I go, what I do. There’s an agreement over sharing of the housework; I like that. There’s a section governing disagreements, as in being respectful, listening to each other’s opinions, working toward compromise, and what we’ll do if no compromise can be reached. Simple and clear. Problem solved. In thinking about it, I think it might be nice to not have that much responsibility for a change.
This section makes me feel comfortable about the whole thing:
Upon the decision to cohabitate, the Dominant will make every effort to maintain an account for the submissive which includes any monies she brings into the contract, as well as regular contributions to increase the amount. This account will be surrendered to the submissive at such time that the contract is broken.
So I’ll be taken care of if he breaks the contract. I like that. And then I see a section that takes my breath away.
Upon being presented with the Dominant’s collar, the submissive will wear the collar at all times except when not practical (showering, heavy manual labor, hair cutting/coloring, etc.) or at the discretion of the Dominant. Return of the collar by the submissive will be perceived as a breaking of the contract, rendering all agreements null and void. Requesting the collar’s return shall signify a breaking of the contract by the Dominant, and the submissive’s services are no longer required.
He’s basically negotiating a marriage. Stopping myself isn’t an option when I realize what he’s outlined. “So are we going to live together?”
Jaz just shrugs. “I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far. Those sections are so that if we do, we’ll both be protected. Do you think that’s adequate?”
“It’s more than adequate. I can see you put a lot of thought into this.”
A sweet smile crosses his face. “I put a lot of thought into this because it’s really important to me.”
“Thanks.” I fold it and hand it back. “I don’t see anything that needs to be changed. I guess it’s just a matter of you deciding if and when you want this to take place.”
“When we want this to take place. Sounds good to me. I’ll make up clean copies for signing so that both of us have one.” With that, he stuffs the contract back in his bag, then returns his attention to me. “Now, as in the contract, show me your presentation pose and we’ll work out the kinks. Oh. I think I just made a joke,” he snorts. I giggle and do as he instructed before, kneeling, leaning back, and grasping my ankles with my hands. He instructs me further, telling me that I can rest my weight on my hands and ankles as I lean back. “Let’s be honest here. Neither of us is twenty-five anymore. If that’s not comfortable for you, it can be modified until it is. The only kind of discomfort I want to cause you is the type you want. So if something hurts unnecessarily, you need to say so.”
“Yes, Sir.” I can’t help it – I giggle again.
“What?”
“I guess it’s official.” Seeing his brow furrow in puzzlement, I offer, “You’re my Sir.”
His eyes close and the corners of his mouth turn up almost imperceptibly. “I guess I am. I hope you don’t live to regret that.”
“I doubt that I will. Is this good, Sir?” I ask when I’ve got the presentation to a point where I think I can tolerate it for a long period of time.
“Very good. You look beautiful. Eyes downward. Now, I’ve got to get everything else ready. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” He heads back to the bed and tinkers around with some things laid out there. I’m not sure what all of those things are, but I do sneak a peek to see a bundle of rope and something with a long electrical cord. I have no idea what he’s planning, but honestly, I’m not afraid. I trust Jaz. Everything he’s done with me has felt so right that the idea of something new is exciting, not frightening. Being patient and waiting is hard when I know he’s going to blow my mind.
When he comes back to me, he has rope. “Stand up and everything off.” And I spent some money on this getup too. Oh, well – who cares, right? Once I’ve complied, he turns me with my back to him. He reaches around me and begins the process of tying around my torso in various patterns, isolating each breast, securing me in every direction. Then I realize: For all intents and purposes, he’s made a sling out of rope, a sort of on-the-body hammock. I start to guess what he’s going to do.
And I would be right. There are already ropes with hooks hanging from eye bolts in the ceiling, tied off on a cleat on the wall. Unwinding the rope from the cleat and pulling it down, he passes two of the hooks, large chrome S-hooks, through his rope creation and hooks them into something at my shoulders. The other two are hooked to something at my hips. He tightens the ropes and then says, “Kimmie, trust me. I won’t let you fall. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir. I believe you.”
“Good. Here we go.” I watch as he ties off the ropes at my shoulders, then begins to tighten the ones on my hips. In a matter of seconds, my feet rise off the floor. As soon as my hips are at the level he wants them, he begins to lower my shoulders. I’m trying to figure out what he’s going to do next when he pulls my arms behind me and ties them. Curiosity about what will be done for my legs is satisfied when he pulls one up and secures it with rope to the suspension rope coming off that hip. He goes to the other side and does the same, and suddenly, I realize I’m trussed up like a hog on a spit. There I hang, swaying gently like a bird feeder in the breeze. And I’m pretty sure this is when the fun begins.
I couldn’t have been more right once again. Out of nowhere, a black scarf appears and wraps around my head, covering my eyes. When he’s
satisfied that I can’t see, I hear him doodling around with something. The minute he turns it on, I hear it crackle to life.
But when it touches me, I’m completely unprepared. The electrical charge, like a light switch on a cold winter evening, snaps my skin alive and makes me shriek. “Hush. Keep silent.” It makes contact again, and it takes everything in my being to keep from screaming out. “Safeword?”
I don’t have to think about it. Whatever he’s planned for me, I want to experience it. “No, Sir.”
“Very good.” As he’s speaking, Jaz draws a hand over every spot he’s zapped, calming the nerve endings as he goes. It’s then that it occurs to me: He has very soft, warm hands. It’s like being calmly and quietly stroked into oblivion, and I remember what he told me before with the Wartenberg. As he starts again, I try hard to concentrate only on the point where the wand makes contact. Now, instead of just zapping random spots, he begins to trail the wand over my skin, gently wandering about on my body, leaving behind a tingling path over which he runs those hands. Before I realize it, I’m lost in the sensations, the electricity lighting up my nerve endings until my skin’s hypersensitive, followed by the soothing warmth of his palm. Just tingle, smooth, tingle, smooth, and a cadence develops. My breathing has started to fall into rhythm with his movements, and I feel myself anticipating the next touch of his fingertips, longing for it.
Before I know it, I’m gone. My mind is somewhere else, waiting for the next touch, aching for it, and then silently rejoicing as it materializes. Over and over he completes the dance between electricity and hands until I thank the universe for the colors rippling through my mind and the sound of wind chimes inside my head. I’m so wrapped up in it all that I barely notice when the strokes become slower and farther apart, and I just let myself go with it. When the wand goes silent, I’m sad until I feel his hands touching me everywhere, my cheeks, my chin, my shoulders, my breasts as he pulls downward to my nipples, down my belly and my back simultaneously, drawing big circles on my ass, then down both legs, fronts and backs. I want to cry out, God – don’t stop!
