“You.”
Kent smiled. “I’m flattered. But you barely know me, so what is it that brings you to the person you think I am?”
For a moment she thought he meant that he was something other than what he appeared to be. She shook off the thought. He was right. She barely knew him, and she had turned him in her mind into an archetypal master.
“The first word is bondage, Angela. Being tied up. Not being able to move.”
Angela took a deep breath. “I’d like that, if it’s safe. If I can trust the person I’m with.”
“A hot like, or a lukewarm like?”
Was that what she came here for, was to be tied up? Not exactly. But the idea definitely made her pulse race. “Kinda hot.”
Kent chuckled. “Okay. Here’s another word. Pain.”
Angela made a face. “Um. Not really.” She turned her face. Obviously a lot of people were into that here, and she didn’t want to disappoint him, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t a masochist.
Kent took hold of her chin and steered her face back so her gaze met his. “I’m not just hearing your words here, Angela. I’m watching your expression.”
She took a deep breath, and forced herself to keep her eyes on his.
“Toys. Kinky sex.”
Angela blushed. “Um, sure,” she said.
“Hot?”
“Yes.”
“Exhibitionism. Showing yourself off.”
She shook her head. No. Even though his gaze seemed to make her insides melt in the most pleasant way.
“Submission.”
Angela bit her lip. The word sent tingles from her chest to her groin. She took a breath. “Yes.”
Kent smiled. “I think we’re getting somewhere. You want to trust someone enough to let them touch you anywhere, don’t you?” He stroked the inside of her left thigh with the back of his right hand, nudging her skirt a little higher. The way she was, legs spread, she knew he could see her panties now. They were soaked through. Surely he could see how very wet she was.
She wanted to close her legs and slide back, but not as much as she wanted to hold them open. “Yes,” she said. “Anywhere.”
“You’re not to wear panties again in my presence. Do you understand, Angela?”
She nodded. They weren’t much of a barrier anyway, not when he so easily nudged them aside to slide two fingers into her.
“When I lift your skirt I want to see everything, Nothing held back.”
“E-even if we were out there, and not in your office?” She tilted her head to indicate the rest of the club, but she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. She wasn’t an exhibitionist, she was pretty sure of that.
“If we were. You’re not ready for that, yet. I won’t ask you for anything you’re not ready to handle. But even if we were out there, yes, I expect your obedience.”
Obedience. Now there was a word she didn’t much like at all. But from this man, who
expected
it, it was hot. And the fingers wiggling in her pussy were rapidly short circuiting her brain. “Yes, Sir.”
“You’re not a pushover. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t decide to submit, when
you
want to. In fact, quite the contrary. To submit takes strength. It takes a force of will, not a weakness. Can you feel that?”
His fingers started pumping in and out of her, and she struggled to hold her position. He hadn’t asked her to move, after all. It did take will, she realized. He was right.
“I’m not into pain, not for its own sake. What I am into, Angela, is very intense states of mind. And sometimes that’s aided by very intense physical feelings. But if I don’t think it will intensify your pleasure, I won’t be doing it to you. Do you understand?”
Angela nodded. “But what about your pleasure?”
“My pleasure doesn’t come from causing other people pain. For some people out there it does, and hopefully they get matched up with someone who enjoys receiving. But that’s not me, and I’m glad it’s not you, either.”
He pulled her T-shirt up, bunching it an inch above her breasts. Her bra was so transparent that it didn’t really conceal anything, but she was past the point of embarrassment. She hoped he didn’t think her tummy was too fat.
If he did, he didn’t show it. “You have wonderful curves, Angela. Seeing you gives me pleasure. Feeling you inside…that gives me more pleasure.”
It was doing pretty well by her, too. Little jolts were going through her body each time his fingers pushed in their farthest. Physically, he wasn’t doing anything she couldn’t do for herself, although his fingers were bigger and longer and rougher. But the fact that he was doing it—the fact that she was letting him—made her almost ready to explode.
His other hand felt her breasts through the lace—lace that now seemed rough against her taut nipples. He circled inward, rolling her right nipple between finger and thumb in a way that was almost but not quite painful. He seemed to know how much she could take, squeezing and pinching in a way that made her nipple burn with pleasure.
At some point she had started rocking her hips in time with his thrusts, urged on by a primal instinct she wasn’t conscious of. A single stroke of his thumb across her clit sent her over, making her whole body shake with the force of her sudden ecstasy. She felt as if she were melting, a formless liquid in his hands.
His hands withdrew, and he smiled at her as he stood up. It took her a moment to catch her breath. If it hadn’t been for the smile in his eyes as well as on his lips, she would have thought she had displeased him.
“You respond very well to letting me have my way with you,” he said, his voice soft. “But submission is more than passivity. It means doing what you’re told, not just allowing things to happen around you.”
After that wonderful orgasm, she was happy enough to do anything. He’d probably want a blowjob, which was fine with her. She licked her lips at the thought.
“Oh, very tempting,” he said, apparently reading her thoughts. “Very, very tempting. But for now, stand up.”
She got to her feet, grabbing onto the hand he offered her thankfully. She felt a bit wobbly.
“Take your panties off.”
Oh, right. She’d agreed to that, hadn’t she? She slipped her fingers into the waistband and pulled them down until she could step out of them.
“When you hear a command, please say ‘Yes, Sir.’ It lets me know you’ve heard, and it’s a way of acknowledging the dynamic we share. And since we are both turned on by your submission, acknowledging it will increase our enjoyment.”
Our enjoyment. His and hers both. She was happy to oblige. “Sorry, Sir.”
“No need to be sorry while you’re still learning the rules.”
Rules. Wasn’t she breaking all the rules by coming here, by being with this man? Even the air she was breathing, her lungs still catching up from before and her heart still pounding harder and faster than it usually did, seemed to break the rules. She didn’t like rules. Did she? And he had a whole new set of rules, it seemed, rules that violated the ones she’d lived her life by. But she had to admit the idea that she was supposed to go panty-less when she was with him made her wet. So that when he lifted her skirt he could see everything, he’d said. The skirts were a rule too, maybe. She wore pants all the time at work.
“I’d like to make you come, Sir,” she said, looking up at him. She’d leave it up to him to tell her the how and the where.
His eyes blazed for a moment, and she knew he wanted her. Right then, right there. But what he said was very different. “Next time, perhaps. There will be times when we both do, and times when only one of us does. A D/s relationship—Dominance and submission—isn’t about keeping score or making things even. It’s asymmetrical, so we don’t have to keep score. You don’t have to repay me for your orgasm because if I made it happen, you know that I did so because I wanted you to have it. You’re practically naked. I’m clothed. You’ve come, and I haven’t. Next time it might be exactly the opposite, but it will still be all part of the fun. Our fun.”
She nodded. She supposed it was true. Pleasuring her must have been exactly what he’d wanted, as he said, because he was definitely in control.
“Let’s go watch for a little while, little angel, and we’ll see what excites you and what scares you. You’ll find my guests put on quite a show.”
* * * * *
Angela’s head was still whirling when she drove home. Kent had walked her to her car, and they’d shared a blistering kiss on the sidewalk at two in the morning. He’d invited her to stay the night, but hadn’t pressed it when she passed. She had a lot to process, and he seemed to understand that.
She’d promised nothing, but by the time she got home, she knew she would be meeting Kent again at Dark Xanadu next week, and they’d made a date for a weeknight as well. She was still a bit stunned by the things people would do right in front of everyone else. She wasn’t sure what she’d say or do if he’d asked her to have a “scene” with him out there on the floor when the club was in full swing.
She imagined him asking, and her own voice saying, “Yes, Sir.” She shuddered.
Chapter Five
Angela entered the Mumbai Curry Restaurant in Rockville to find Kent was already there waiting for her. She was right on time, so he’d gotten there a bit early. She smiled. She might be prepared to be the submissive in their relationship, but he wasn’t taking her for granted.
His smile when he noticed her made her think of how she felt when she was eating dark chocolate—a kind of decadent grin of pleasure, of savoring the moment. For that matter, he looked good enough to eat himself. His pale green shirt wasn’t a shade everyone could get away with wearing, but on him it looked exquisite. She’d worn a cherry red sweater and a long, black wool skirt. Sensible clothes for the weather, but was she a bit underdressed? He didn’t seem to mind. His quick survey of her body reminded her that the sweater was a bit tight.
She hadn’t been at all sure she was going to obey his request not to wear underwear. But she’d ducked into the bathroom at a McDonald’s a block away and tucked her panties into her purse. Her skirt was long enough—there was no chance anyone would see up it or that the heavy fabric would flutter too high in the light breeze—but nonetheless the fact that she knew she was bare beneath made her feel exposed. Something in Kent’s smile made her think he knew, too, that she had followed his wishes.
She smoothed her skirt beneath her and sat across from him. She regretted her choice of wool almost instantly. It was fairly smooth wool, and it normally didn’t bother her even if she went without pantyhose, but against her bare bottom it was decidedly itchy. She squirmed, trying to get comfortable. Then she met his eyes again. Did the man really know everything that was going on in her head, or did he just manage to look as if he did?
“It’s a very pretty skirt,” was all he said. “Very practical, at least as regards the weather.”
She blushed, not knowing whether he was referring to the texture that made her squirm, or if he meant that something shorter and easy to flip up would be more convenient. Yet he hadn’t made a move the previous evening to get inside her. Clearly he had enough patience to wrestle with a long skirt.
“So how did you know I like Indian?” Angela asked.
“I didn’t. I figured you’d say something if it didn’t suit your fancy. Just because I’m a Dom doesn’t mean that I have to have the upper hand in every decision. In fact, life gets pretty dull that way. When we’re not making love—and that encompasses a whole number of things—I’d like to you to speak up for yourself.” He smiled.
“As a matter of fact, I do like Indian, so you’re fine.”
“Lucky guess.”
They studied their menus for a while. “What would you like?” Kent asked.
“The beef vindaloo looks yummy.”
Kent raised an eyebrow. “Pretty spicy.”
She was about to retort that she knew, when she realized that he wasn’t warning her, just commenting. She’d liked her food spicy for a long time. When the waiter came, Kent ordered lamb korma for himself, and vindaloo for her. She smiled. He was doing the ordering, but asking for exactly what she wanted. He may think that he liked to be Dominant only in the bedroom, but that wasn’t quite all of it.
“Cooked for American tastes?” The waiter’s voice intruded on her musing.
“Oh, no,” replied Angela, recognizing the euphemism for cutting down on the spices.
The waiter looked doubtful, but Kent looked amused. Angela waited until the waiter was gone to ask, “What are you smiling about?”
“A lot of people think that people who do BDSM somehow have their wires crossed, that something isn’t quite right. But some people like their backrubs quite hard, a sensation I would interpret to be somewhat painful, but which others find pleasurable and even relaxing. One of the lighter floggers is actually less intense than a deep backrub. Some people prefer their Indian food a bit mild, and others…well, I suspect my brain would interpret the vindaloo as a bit painful, too. But your body—everyone’s body—responds to a whipping or a spicy dish the same way, by generating endorphins.”