Recipe for Submission Sindra van Yssel When Kyra decides to research the villain for her latest thriller by going to a BDSM club, she doesn‟t expect to be shown the ropes by sexy Dom Andrew Ryan. He awakens in her yearnings she didn‟t know she had, and leads her to question everything she thinks she knows about bondage and sex, pain and pleasure. And he cooks too! Drew never wanted a regular steady relationship. Catch and release, that‟s the best way to be with subs, especially novice subs like Kyra, who have a tendency to get attached. Teach them and move on. But Kyra has so much to learn. Teaching her what her body wants is immensely satisfying, and so is having her in his bed and at his dinner table. Together they just might cook up the perfect recipe for submission.
Ellora‟s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Recipe for Submission ISBN 9781419936197 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Recipe for Submission Copyright © 2011 Sindra van Yssel Edited by Jillian Bell Photography and cover design by Syneca Models: Alex & Lisa Electronic book publication December 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora‟s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora‟s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher‟s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author‟s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author‟s imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
RECIPE FOR SUBMISSION Sindra van Yssel
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter One Kyra Mallory punched the power button on the monitor, pushed back her chair and stalked away from her computer. There was something that wasn‟t coming together, and the book was due at her publisher in just two months. What she needed was inspiration, and the only way she knew to get that was research. For her last book it had been easy. She took a plane to London and lived out of a hotel for a month, soaking in the atmosphere until at last she had all the little details that added verisimilitude to a novel. Expensive, but easy. But her current work took place right in her own backyard, in Washington DC. Going to London wouldn‟t help. She considered the places in the story. A warehouse—I’ve been in a few of those. Congress— well, I’ve been about as close as I’m likely to get. Lawyers’ offices—I used to work as a paralegal before my books started selling. BDSM club. I’ve never been inside a BDSM club. And it’s the villain that isn’t really clicking with me. Perfect. I’ll just hang out with the perverts and find out what makes them tick. She‟d read about a place where whips and chains were all part of the “fun” in an article in the local alternative newspaper a year ago. That had been part of what inspired her to make the murderer a sadist who preyed on young women. But she didn‟t really know much about that scene. Heck, she wasn‟t sure it was safe to know very much about it. But the article had tried, in addition to the titillation factor, to portray the people who went to the club as fairly sane. There was no way she‟d be able to dig up that article again. The paper was long since recycled, and the archives on the web were junk. Did BDSM clubs list themselves in the yellow pages? She doubted it. But she remembered finding escort ads on the web and being able to talk to a couple of working girls to research a book a few years past. Maybe a web search would be just the ticket. She remembered it had some sort of Latin name—she was sure she‟d know it if she saw it. Carpe Noctem. Bingo. Seize the night. The pictures showed the inside of a large warehouse, very clean and neat. A few showed smiling people in leather outfits, but nothing indecent; most showed strange pieces of furniture. I’ve got a lot to learn. Admission was steep, about the price of dinner in the sort of restaurant she went to only when she had a new book to celebrate. That money bought a one-week membership. Since the place was only open once a week, and it sounded as if they‟d sell the memberships to almost anyone who showed up, it looked as though membership was some kind of legal fiction. “Washington’s premier bondage nightclub.” Premier compared to what? Still, it made the place seem as if it made an attempt to be elegant, and therefore safe. “Fetish wear preferred.” Preferred means “optional”, right? It was Friday night, seven-thirty. If she was
5
Recipe for Submission
going to go, she‟d best start moving. It would be a whole week until she got another chance, and she wasn‟t about to spend a whole week staring blankly at the screen as she had for the last two days. She hesitated at the door. Blue jeans and a University of Maryland T-Shirt would probably make her stick out more than she wanted. Black. Everyone was in black in the pictures. She hunted through her dresser for a black V-neck girl-cut tee, which she hadn‟t worn for a while. It was a little tight. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, she thought, and then she checked herself. She was going for research, and to the last place in the world she would go if she wanted a date. Besides, the tightness of it made her feel more extra pudgy than sexy. She sighed. “To research,” she said, raising her hand in mock salute. She marched toward the door and out. Kyra double-checked the address. There was no sign, just a number on the door of what looked as if it might be a warehouse. She‟d had to park a couple of blocks away, and the neighborhood wasn‟t great. A tall, gangly man had offered to “watch her car” for five bucks, and she‟d figured she‟d better pay. He might see to it that her car got broken into if she didn‟t. She opened the nondescript door and walked in, not sure what to expect. What she saw was a small room. A young bleached blonde was perched on a stool behind a barlike desk with a cash register, her legs demurely crossed but uncovered by her short, black vinyl skirt, and her breasts barely contained by a black bustier with contrasting white stitching. Big chrome rings dangled from cuffs on her wrists. She must be a masochist. But while Kyra would have expected a worn, beaten-down expression, the girl was smiling perkily. Sure, bondage websites always seemed to show some welladjusted people, but she didn‟t quite buy it. Kyra glanced around. It could have been a club anywhere. The girl had a bunch of cardboard circles with numbers on them in front of her, some on strings and some not. Behind her, garments were hung up with the numbers dangling from the hangers. A black curtain separated the room from the rest of the club. Through it came a pounding, danceable beat, although Kyra didn‟t recognize the tune. Perfectly normal. It was a hot summer night and she was sweating in the T-shirt, so she didn‟t have a coat, and therefore didn‟t need to talk to the coat-check girl. Except she had to pay for a membership. She hesitated. She could turn back now and still have all her money, except for the fiver, but she knew the money wasn‟t really what was holding her back. “Hey,” said the girl. “Are you new? Haven‟t seen you around here before.” Kyra blinked. “Um, yes. New.” “It can be intimidating your first time, especially if you‟re alone.” The young woman flashed her a grin. “But don‟t worry, no one inside bites. Unless you ask them nicely, of course.” She giggled.
6
Sindra van Yssel
Nicely. Yeah, right. But the conversation had spurred her on. She didn‟t think of herself as brave, but she was too stubborn to let someone see her turn tail and run. She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket. When she‟d seen the address she‟d decided against a purse, and the five-dollar protection racket had made her happy she had. She‟d freshened her lipstick in the car, and that would have to do for the evening. The redhead took her money and smiled at her as she rang it up in the register. “Sub, right? Meeting someone you know?” Kyra shook her head. Submissive? Not me. “No.” “Here, take this.” The girl handed her a small ticket. “Take it to Ken—he‟s the guy with a big silver star on his leather vest. Tell him Rose sent you. He‟ll know what Doms are looking for people to play with. There‟s a few that just love to break in someone new.” Kyra felt the color drain from her face. “Break in”. That doesn’t sound good. To be helpless with a man wasn‟t her. Sure, she liked it when her dates took the initiative, but that was different. And there was always something missing from those occasions. She ignored the way her nipples tightened at the redhead‟s words. It was probably the airconditioning, and the big fan standing in one corner that blew across the room and fluttered the drapes leading in to the club. “I‟m not a sub.” She wasn‟t sure why she needed to set Rose straight, but she did. “Really?” Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Is this a place where all the women are expected to be submissive to men or something?” One of the women pictured on the website had a whip in her hand, so she‟d assumed it went both ways. “No, no. We have a number of femdom couples. And you‟ll not have any problem finding a sub to play with, there‟s always more guys looking for a Domme than there are Dommes to go around. Sorry, Ma‟am. Something about you made me assume. I‟m usually a pretty good guesser. Please forgive me.” The girl bowed her head. Kyra was taken aback. The girl had gone from perky to doormat in less than a minute. No, that wasn‟t it. The request for forgiveness was uttered as if it were a formula, the bow much the same. Rose‟s head popped back up and the smile was still there. Softer, perhaps, but still there. And at Kyra‟s silence, she spoke again. “I assume Miss has nothing to check, so have fun in there.” “Fun. Yeah.” Kyra realized it sounded stupid. Who would have a coat to check on a night like this, anyway? She looked past Rose at the garments hanging up. A few coats, but there were also dresses, shirt, slacks and jeans. There was even a bra. No, she definitely wasn‟t going to check her T-shirt, or anything else. “Nope, nothing to check.” So people are naked in there, or close. I should have expected that. Bodies were bodies, and nothing to be ashamed of as far she was concerned. But it did make her pause. Rose‟s question about her being a sub had thrown her off stride. She was there to get information, and how people perceived her shouldn‟t matter. “Rose, you‟re a sub, right?” 7
Recipe for Submission
“Um, yeah. Yes, Miss.” Kyra thought she‟d detected an unspoken “duh!” in there. She supposed it was a stupid question. “I‟m just Kyra, you don‟t have to call me „Miss‟. It‟s very nice to meet you, Rose. What do you get out of being a maso— A sub? I‟m curious.” Rose gave her a searching look. “I find it‟s the one time my attention is completely there, you know? Everything else gets pushed away, all the worries and tests and everything, and I‟m completely transfixed by my Dom. At least, when it all goes well. Vanilla just doesn‟t hold my attention. Are you a reporter?” Kyra blinked. Not quite right, but Rose wasn‟t too far off the mark. The young woman was perceptive. “No, I‟m not a reporter. I‟m just—a curious person. And very new to all of this. What do you mean by „vanilla‟?” “Wow! You are new. Vanilla is like, the opposite of kinky. Plain. Ordinary.” Plain. Ordinary. That definitely described her love life. “Ah, thank you.” Rose‟s answer hadn‟t been what she‟d expected. She was ready to hear about the pleasures of pain, the supposed superiority of men, or—well, she wasn‟t sure exactly what she was expecting. But wanting to be completely focused? That was different, and yet she could understand it. She‟d found herself thinking about other things the last time she had made love, and that was three months ago now. It wasn‟t as if she had a string of people lining up to be in her bed, and yet the actual act almost bored her. It was some fun. Just not the transporting bliss everyone else made sex out to be. Rose was smiling at her. “Everybody here is different, and no two people approach BDSM quite the same way. You‟ll see all types inside, Kyra. Just remember different is okay and be respectful, and you‟ll have no problems.” Kyra nodded. “Thank you, Rose. Should I, like, have a code name?” “A scene name? That‟s up to you. Some of us use our real names, but some people have secrets to hide. A lot of us use online to communicate, and we don‟t necessarily want our real name to be out on the internet. Pretty soon, everyone‟s calling us by our screen name. Others find that the adoption of a scene name helps them get into their scenes better, like role-playing. It‟s an expression of their identity when they‟re here, which isn‟t necessarily the way they are at work, or at home.” Kyra nodded. She was coming up blank. At least Kyra wasn‟t the name she wrote under, but it wasn‟t that common a name, either. But she couldn‟t think of anything clever to call herself at the moment. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do anything, anyway. Just going to ask people some questions. What I really need to do is talk to a Dom, someone like my villain. “Thank you,” she said to Rose. “Sure! Just obey the rules. If you don‟t, Ken will kick you out, no refunds.” She hurried through the curtain. The little ticket Rose had given her would be the thing to get her introduced, but if the “Dom” was expecting a playmate, he‟d be in for a rude surprise. Kyra Mallory didn‟t submit to any man.
8
Sindra van Yssel
She walked in and opened her mouth wide. It wasn‟t that she expected anything different, really. She just didn‟t think such a place could be real. A broad-chested man with leather pants was flogging a naked blonde on an Xshaped piece of furniture that held her wrists and ankles apart and left her helpless. A hairy man with nothing on but a pouch was crawling on all fours behind a willowy leather-clad Dominatrix, who had him on a leash. A woman wearing only a G-string and pasties was dancing on a perfectly ordinary table, to the amusement of several people, men and women, gathered around. Another woman was getting a spanking on a couch in the corner, and Kyra could hear each blow despite the other noises and the pounding music. A man dressed in a tux was standing next to a topless brunette lounging with her butt on one chair, her feet up in another. He was feeding her strawberries, one at a time. Who’s on top in that scene? She’s the one that’s half naked, but he’s the one serving the strawberries. She realized she‟d been standing there with her mouth open but not really breathing when she suddenly felt lightheaded. She took several deep breaths. I’m an adult. I can handle this. Feeling more stable, she looked around for a man with a leather vest and a silver star. She found him off to the side, talking to a man and a woman intently. She took a step toward him and stopped. Ticket or no, it would be rude to interrupt, and she suspected that the ordinary rules of etiquette applied double here. Rose‟s apology still bothered her. She didn‟t know the rules of behavior here, and she needed someone to teach her. It was, after all, part of what she came here to find out. But what were the consequences of getting it wrong? I don’t want to find out. A couple brushed by her, reminding her that she was blocking the entranceway. She moved off to the side, close enough that she could hear the man with the star. He was an older man, slightly overweight, with brown curly hair streaked with gray and a bald spot. Ken, Rose had called him. That didn‟t sound like something a Dom would choose, although he was clearly in charge. So it was probably a real name. “Either you like it or you don‟t, that‟s up to you,” Ken was saying. “But you can‟t do that in this club. Read the rules and obey the rules, or leave.” What was it that couldn‟t be done in a place like this? Kyra blanched at the thought. Ken and the other man were standing toe to toe, and Ken was about six inches shorter. The woman was standing off to the side, looking helpless. “It‟s a stupid rule.” “It keeps us legal.” The look on Ken‟s face reminded her of her grandfather. Somehow, her grandpa never stopped answering her questions. Sometimes she liked to hear his explanations so much that she asked about things she already knew, and that was when he got that look on his face, the one that told her that he expected better. The difference was, Ken was doing it to a man who was towering over him.
9
Recipe for Submission
The woman put her hand on her man‟s wrist. For a moment Kyra thought he‟d shake it off and yell. But then his shoulders relaxed. “All right, Ken, we‟ll be good from here on,” said the tall man. “I‟ll be watching,” Ken warned. He turned toward Kyra, although she hadn‟t been aware he had even noticed her. “Hi. I‟m Ken. Welcome to the club.” He stuck out his hand and smiled. The couple hesitated for a moment and then wandered off. It was hard to believe this kind-looking older man was the head honcho at a club where people whipped other people. “Hi. I‟m Kyra.” So much for thinking of a scene name. “I‟m new.” “Yeah, I know.” He looked at her hand, where she was clutching her ticket. “Sub, huh?” Kyra opened her mouth to protest, but bit it down. She could play the role, if it would get her the information she wanted. Ken would hardly make a very good model for the villain in her book, so she wasn‟t going to quiz him. Kindly grandfather serial killers were too much of a stretch for her, even if it did seem the neighbors of real-life killers were always quick with an explanation of how nice the person had been. “Yes.” She handed him the ticket. “Rose said to say she sent me.” The side of Ken‟s mouth turned up. “She did, did she? And what was she sending you to me for, exactly?” Kyra looked around. No one was listening to them. “To help me find a Dom?” She hadn‟t meant for it to sound like a question. Ken looked at her for a long moment. She felt as if he was trying to see right through her. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it again. “No. Sorry, can‟t help you. Feel free to look around. Maybe one will find you. There‟s a lot of subs here tonight, though.” She followed his gaze around the room. There were a lot of people in the room, but she didn‟t know which ones were submissives and which ones were Dominants. And didn‟t some people switch? Maybe she would have been safer trying to get an education in an internet chat room, although she suspected that many of the people in those didn‟t have much more of a clue about BDSM than she did. Pretending online took all the danger out of it, all the sinister aspects she needed for her villain. Some people were obvious, though. The forty-year-old woman in the schoolgirl outfit, probably a sub. Some of the guys were obvious too, half naked and wearing big leather collars. And definitely the slender blonde kneeling at the edge of the room, her back to a wall, dressed only in a black lacy bra and panties. I can’t compete with that. And even if I could, I won’t. My clothes are staying on.
10
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Two “Heya, Ken, what‟s up?” Andrew Ryan reached out to clasp hands. “Drew!” The handshake Ken gave him back was warm. “Good to see ya.” “Rose said you wanted to see me.” As soon as he came in, the pretty redhead had given him the message. “Yeah. We‟ve got a new girl here.” “Staff?” Drew didn‟t figure anything else would be worth mentioning. New people came all the time. Some people were curious, some had decided to make the jump from online to reality, and others were coming to grips with their own desires. “Hardly. See the brunette over there?” He looked where Ken nodded. There were several dark-haired women in that direction, but after a few seconds he figured out who he must mean. One was watching a whipping scene intently. He recognized the participants, Clyde and his girl Dora. The woman Ken was talking about kept flinching back from Clyde‟s backswing, even though she wasn‟t particularly close. She was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged a nicely rounded figure. Her curly brown hair looked as if it would be heaven to run his fingers through. A would-be Domme? Pretty clueless if she was, but subs didn‟t usually dress like that at Carpe Noctem. Years ago he had been that clueless, meeting a woman he‟d known online at another club. She‟d never shown up, but what he saw had changed sex for him forever. “Yeah, she‟s new all right. She asked me to find her a Dom.” “Really?” Not all submissives looked and acted the part. That was fine as far as Drew was concerned. The chase was part of the fun, and a clothed submissive was like a present with wrapping paper. He was intrigued. “Yeah, really. And she has chased off the half dozen or so guys who‟ve offered to worship her. No Dom has made a run, though.” He knew what Ken was up to. He was trying to make the girl sound like a challenge because he figured Drew couldn‟t resist. Drew smiled. “I‟m just here to socialize tonight, Ken, not looking for someone to play with.” “I don‟t see Jane here today.” Jane was his last submissive. He‟d been upfront with Jane, like he always was. Catch and release, that was what he did. A few playdates, hopefully more than a few orgasms for his partner, and he let them go. He‟d worked hard since his first experience to acquire the skills to please a kinky woman. He hoped Jane wasn‟t sulking. She was a good woman, and it wasn‟t either of their faults that what she really wanted was a Dominance and submission lifestyle, not a few nights of fun. That wasn‟t him, never 11
Recipe for Submission
was and never would be. “If Jane doesn‟t want to show up to party on any given week, that‟s her call.” “I don‟t think she‟s really a sub. But I also think it‟s not that simple.” “Jane?” The problem with Jane wasn‟t that she wasn‟t submissive enough, it was that she was too submissive. She wanted a life, he wanted some fun. Simple. She‟d make some man a great slave, or pet. And probably a good wife to boot. “She‟s really a sub, Ken.” “No. The brunette. Her name is Kyra. Don‟t tell me you‟re smitten with Jane.” Drew laughed. “Of course not. That doesn‟t mean I‟m going to chase every tail you throw in front of me.” Ken grinned. “It‟s good-looking tail.” “It is.” Ken was only tossing his own word back at him, but it annoyed him. “She is. What‟s your angle? I get the feeling this is about more than making sure one new customer gets hooked up with someone.” “Well, here‟s the thing.” Ken smiled with the look of a fisherman who has gotten a bite. No doubt Ken thought he was going to reel him in, but Drew knew better. Still, let him try. “Before she asked me to find her a Dom, Rose asked her if she was a sub and she said no, like she was insulted or something.” Drew shrugged. “So she‟s a tourist and doesn‟t want us to know it.” A few months back, after the club had gotten a bit of publicity in the local indie rag, Carpe Noctem had been full of tourists. Ken was raking it in for a while, but it drove away most of his regulars, and after that the tourists didn‟t have much of a show to watch. “Or she‟s a reporter.” “That thought had occurred to me.” “And what did that thought have to do with me?” “Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget I mentioned it.” Ken walked off, leaving Drew staring. But not at Ken, at the new girl, Kyra. She was biting her lip, still watching Clyde and Dora. Clyde had switched to a nasty little flogger with knots in it, and each one raised a mark on Dora‟s back. The girl looked as if she were watching a train wreck— horrified, but unable to turn away. Dora‟s loud moans carried all the way across the room. If he didn‟t know what a pain slut Dora was, he‟d probably have reached the conclusion that she was having a bad time of it. But he‟d gone out with Dora, years ago. He was her second Dom, and the first one who was competent. She‟d been about to give up on the scene after the first. They‟d played together a month and he‟d discovered that Dora‟s pain threshold was higher than he cared to give. She knew it too. Catch and release. She‟d found a good match in Clyde. Clyde was taking her down now, undoing the cuffs on her wrists and ankles. Good. Dora could probably take more but he wasn‟t sure that Kyra could. He saw Kyra relax. He meant what he said about socializing, and he had no wish to get mixed up with a reporter, whatever Ken thought.
12
Sindra van Yssel
Then he saw Kyra‟s eyes go wide. Clyde wasn‟t done with Dora, he was turning her around to work on her front. Dora‟s eyes were brimming with tears, but that didn‟t mean she didn‟t want more. The little undulations of her hips spoke volumes. Dora wanted more and Clyde would see that she got it. Kyra looked as if she was trying to decide whether to run, throw up or faint. His protective instinct aroused, Drew was halfway across the room before he knew his feet were moving. He reached her as Clyde switched floggers, to one with narrow tails that would leave lines of red all over Dora. At least it didn‟t have the knots. In fact, it didn‟t look nasty at all, but narrow tails had less air resistance than broad ones, and concentrated their increased speed on a much smaller patch of skin. He stepped in between Kyra and the scene. “Hello. I don‟t believe we‟ve met. I‟m Drew.” She was nearly a foot shorter than him, and he watched her as she slowly raised her gaze to his eyes. “Hi. Kyra.” “This doesn‟t look like it‟s your kind of scene.” Kyra stepped to the side and looked past him. “You‟re wrong.” She winced. He heard the flogger hiss and could imagine what it was doing to Dora. The fact that Dora was probably loving it didn‟t stop him from wincing on the inside too. He didn‟t try to obstruct her view again. “That‟s why you‟re grimacing every time she gets struck.” He turned around to face Clyde and Dora and, sure enough, there were red lines across her breasts. Dora‟s nipples were two hard buds, supersensitive by now, he was sure. He noticed a cane sticking out of a big black bag on the floor. Clyde‟s. He didn‟t doubt they‟d be using that too. “Maybe I like feeling her pain.” She didn‟t sound convinced, or convincing. But he was sure she‟d ruled out running. Throwing up might still be an option, especially if Clyde brought out the cane. So she was sensitive. “You‟re a sadist, then?” “No.” She said it with vehemence. And, he thought, disgust. He hadn‟t intended to try to get her to play with him when he came over. But it was only a question of time before Clyde scared her away. And the challenge of a race against time appealed to him. She was a mystery, and that appealed to him too. He dropped his voice low. “You‟ve never seen anything like this, have you, Kyra?” “No.” She took a deep breath. “And I don‟t think you came here to experience it, either. Close, maybe. But not that.” “Well, you don‟t know maybe.” She shivered and didn‟t turn to meet his gaze. “And maybe I do.” She set her jaw, and as she did, it was as if a mask fell from her face, as if he were seeing the real her for the first time. “He‟s brutalizing her.” “She likes it.” “She‟s got a self-image problem and he‟s taking advantage of it.” 13
Recipe for Submission
“And you‟re a very judgmental person. She‟s wired differently. Different from you, different from me, different from how I like my women. But just different. Not wrong.” She turned to him, eyes blazing. “And what the hell do you know about anything, anyway?” He chuckled. “You‟re a little spitfire, aren‟t you? I know this.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. Whether she was a reporter or a tourist or whatever, his words should still work. “You‟re looking for something here, for some experience.” “And you think you can give it to me.” Her chin jutted out. He grinned. “I know I can. Only under one condition.” “And what‟s that? That I do everything you say?” He shook his head. “That might be part of it, but even that only within limits. No, that‟s not the condition. There‟s only one way I can make sure that you have the experience you came for, and that‟s for you to tell me what it is.” “You‟re a sub?” That was said with nearly as much disgust as sadist, but she also didn‟t sound as if she believed it. He laughed. “Not hardly. But I‟m not psychic.” She looked him over again. “You‟re a Dom.” “Yep.” “All right. I‟ll do what you‟ve asked. I‟ll tell you what I came for. And you‟ll give it to me?” He smiled. “We‟ll see, hmm?” There was a couch free, miraculously, at the edge of his vision. It wasn‟t as popular as a few of the other couches because its back wasn‟t against a wall and people walked behind it a lot, but it would do fine for a conversation. “Let‟s talk.” He walked away, toward the couch, gambling that she would follow. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn‟t. He didn‟t mind strong-willed women—in fact he loved the challenge—but he wasn‟t entirely sure she‟d do anything without challenging it. That would get tiresome fast. So if she doesn’t follow, fine. Except for some reason his chest felt tight, as if that wouldn‟t be fine at all. Kyra stared after Drew‟s broad back. He was halfway across the room before she made her legs move. She spent a moment watching the way his butt curved in his tight black jeans, another at his muscled shoulders. Yep, he was yummy all right. Seemed a waste that he was a perv. He was expecting something erotic, kinky, and she could already imagine the look on his face when she told him she just wanted to pump him for information. Maybe I should let him have some of what he wants first. The idea sent her pulse racing and she felt her nerves awaken. Her body liked the idea, and that frightened her. Her body didn‟t get to be in charge. She started walking, trying to make it quiet down.
14
Sindra van Yssel
He stopped at a black leather sofa, sat and turned to face her. Heat rose in her face as she strode toward him. She didn‟t want to look too eager, didn‟t want her face to promise what she wasn‟t prepared to give. She sat on the end of the couch, almost on the maple arm, as far away from him as possible. He swiveled slightly so he was facing her, not trying to close the distance. “So what do you want, Kyra?” “Information. I‟m writing a novel, I‟m looking for background.” She expected Drew to back away or at least show disappointment, but he chuckled. “Poor old Ken was afraid you were a reporter. Novelist, eh? What kind of novels would make you come to a place like this for research?” “Mystery novel. The villain‟s a sadist, like you, so—I just want to ask you a few questions.” There. Nice and direct. Best to make clear their real relationship straight up. His eyes narrowed at her words before they assumed a bland expression that could mean anything. “Fire away. But I might ask a few of my own.” Now that the moment was here, she couldn‟t for the life of her figure out what question to ask. The silence lengthened, uncomfortably for her, although Drew seemed perfectly relaxed. “What is it you get out of beating up women?” she blurted. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Absolutely nothing. I‟ve never beaten up a woman in my life, and I never will. Why do you assume I‟m a sadist?” “You said you were.” “I said I was a Dominant, and there‟s a difference. A sadist likes to inflict pain. The flip side of that is a masochist, who likes to receive pain. A Dominant simply enjoys taking the leading role in a relationship.” Maybe I should be talking to someone else. “So you don‟t do any of that whipping stuff?” “You‟re pretty quick with the assumptions, aren‟t you? No, don‟t answer, that was rhetorical. You‟re making two assumptions here—one, that all whippings are painful. The other is that pain has to be a goal. Sometimes it‟s merely a path to more pleasure. And pleasure is what most Dominants want to give those who submit to them. It‟s like cooking food together—some people like it spicy, some people don‟t. Each couple has to figure out a way to modify the recipe and make it work for them.” Her mind raced. She‟d forgotten the number one rule for her villains, which is that most of them feel perfectly justified in their own minds. It’s not really painful. The pain is pleasure. She wanted it. He had it coming to him. Right. He leaned forward. “Why do you enjoy judging people so much?” She blinked. “Excuse me?” “It‟s written on your face. What‟s so fun about it? Is it a power kick? Does it make you feel better than other people?” Heat rose in her face and she‟d started to get up when he put a hand on her shoulder. She sat back down and was immediately annoyed at herself for it. He hadn‟t 15
Recipe for Submission
held her down, but she‟d responded to his gesture as if he was in control. “I don‟t have to answer that.” He smiled as if her angry words pleased him. “No, you don‟t. You‟re not even meant to. I doubt very much that you enjoy anything of the sort. But you‟re doing it, just the same. There‟s only one way to really know something, Kyra. You can ask all the questions you want, and no matter what answers you hear they‟ll be slotted in to fit with your own preconceptions. You won‟t really understand without experience.” No way. “If you think I‟m going to let you whip me, you‟re crazy.” He nodded. “You decided we were all crazy before you ever stepped through the door, didn‟t you? But if it makes you feel any better, I‟ll let you do the whipping. I don‟t think you‟ll learn as much that way, but maybe it will give you the courage to try it the other way around.” “You like that sort of thing?” He shook his head. “A lot of people like being on either side equally well. And I‟d say more masochists are capable of being sadists than Dominants. It helps to understand what the other person is feeling. But I‟m afraid I‟m hopelessly fixed on the Dominant side.” Kyra shook her head, the anger forgotten. “So why would you let me whip you?” “Well, technically, flog. A whip is a nasty little thing, capable of doing some serious damage—floggers, one of the many-tailed things you‟ll mostly find here, can vary a lot depending on what they‟re made of, the thickness of the tails, even the shape the ends of the tails are cut in. Like I said, it helps to understand what the other person is feeling. A refresher course won‟t hurt me. It might teach you something, and I like to teach. But the real reason?” He paused and grinned. “I‟ve decided to seduce you. And I‟ll stop at nothing.” You can’t seduce me unless I let you. But she‟d never had a better-looking man show an interest in her, and he was charming. She knew she was in trouble.
***** Kyra looked at the object Drew had placed in her right hand. It fit perfectly in her hand, the soft leather of the handle helping her get a firm grip. It looked nasty, its long black tails hanging ominously, a chrome ring at the other end making her think of it hanging on the wall of a dark dungeon. She ran her left hand through the tails and they felt soft and sensuous, as if she were running her fingers through the tresses of long hair. But if they were hair, they seemed to her something like the medusa‟s—wide, dangerous snakes rather than thousands of slender threads. Drew pulled off his T-shirt and Kyra stared at six-pack abs and well defined pecs. She could tell he was well built even with his shirt on, but she hadn‟t anticipated him looking quite so buff. She wondered what he‟d look like completely naked. Was his butt that firm? And what about his cock? There were some things a man couldn‟t get by
16
Sindra van Yssel
working out in a gym that nature had to give him, but anything less than extra-large would look incongruously out of place. Realizing what she was doing, she looked up and made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He didn‟t look embarrassed from her stare, or even conceited. But obviously he wanted her to know that he‟d seen her looking. They locked gazes for a moment, and then she averted her eyes. “All right,” she said. “Let‟s do this thing.” He chuckled and turned to face the cinder block wall. He stretched out his massive arms and put each hand against the wall, fingers spread wide. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled with his movement. If he hadn‟t been so built and looked so goddamn invulnerable, she couldn‟t have gone through with it. Hell, she could probably punch him in the stomach and he‟d only smile as if to ask her if she couldn‟t do better. She lifted the whip—or flogger, as he‟d called it—and swung it forward experimentally. Its black tresses swished onto Drew‟s bronze flesh with a splat and then fell limply away. He didn‟t twitch. There were no red marks, or even pink ones. Obviously, she wasn‟t doing it hard enough. She gritted her teeth and got ready to try again. She felt foolish. People were watching, she was sure of it, if only to stare at the beautiful half-naked man. But they‟d notice her too, and think her awkward. The thought made her angry, and though she knew it was irrational, she channeled that anger into her next swing. She‟d been a softball pitcher in high school, and while this was an overhand motion, it used a few of the same muscles. She swung it through the air, hearing the wind whistle through its tails until they smacked against his back with a satisfying crack. There! But despite the satisfying sound, there were no red lines. The idea of leaving a mark both repelled her and pulled her. A little damage would affirm all she believed about S&M. But if the skin even turned pink it was only for a moment and then the color was gone. “Isn‟t he a Dom?” asked a voice behind her. She whirled to look and saw the man wasn‟t talking to her but to the woman next to him. “Oh yeah. Don‟t know who she is.” “Don‟t get distracted,” Drew said, turning his head sideways so it wasn‟t facing the wall. “Focus on you and me. And try again.” “Didn‟t that hurt?” asked Kyra. “I wouldn‟t call it that. More like a cup of coffee in the morning. I‟m awake now.” What an odd way to put it. “Should I do more?” He paused then nodded. “Yes. Several, quickly, in succession. Put your back into it. Be careful not to hit my neck, or as low as my kidneys, and you‟ll be fine. I don‟t think you‟ve learned everything there is to learn yet.”
17
Recipe for Submission
She nodded back, which didn‟t do him any good as he‟d already turned his face away. “Put your back into it.” That was another way to say is that the best you can do? But he was right. One didn‟t just pitch with one‟s arms, either. And while she didn‟t think she could drive with her legs, she could get more of her torso involved. She turned her left shoulder toward him and swung, turning her torso as she did until her right shoulder was leading as the flogger splatted against him. She was high this time, getting his neck as well as his upper back. Damn. She moved back. Drew didn‟t flinch. “I‟m fine, just aim better next time.” Her weight shift had caused the flogger to hit earlier than she‟d intended, and that wouldn‟t happen from where she was now standing. She struck again, the same way, the black tails spreading themselves out across the bronze flesh as they made the smacking sound that made her want to cringe. But she didn‟t. She brought it back down low, completing a circle, and struck again and again, in a sort of reverse of the windmill motion she‟d once used to accelerate a softball. Each motion made a bit of pink show on his back, and if she managed to hit the same spot, it stayed for longer the second time. But she couldn‟t hit any harder. Nothing she could do with the black-tailed flogger was going to convince him that people shouldn‟t be hit by such things. And worse, she was losing faith herself. Even at high speed, it was more like he was being hit by the whirling flaps of an automatic car wash than by a dangerous tool of violence. She didn‟t stop until her arm was getting sore and she could feel the sweat making her shirt stick to her. Drew turned his head, sneaked a peek, and then relaxed his grip on the wall. He turned to face her. “Now, mystery girl, do you really think that you‟ve abused me?” He took the whip from her compliant hand and hooked it to a snap on his belt without looking down. “No,” she admitted. “I don‟t.” “Why not?” “Because you‟re so big, and—” “And?” “And it was your idea, anyway!” “Exactly. I consented. And it was real consent, not just a matter of going along with it because I don‟t know what will happen if I say no, or I‟ve got to do this to keep my marriage together, or any of a number of varieties of manipulated consent. I said yes, and I said it in a way that made you believe it.” Kyra shrugged. She wasn‟t sure what he was getting at or how it was going to help her with her book. “Yeah, like I said, it was your idea.” “The strongest consent of all. Look over there, at Clyde and Dora, the couple you were watching earlier.”
18
Sindra van Yssel
Kyra turned, expecting to see that they‟d progressed to something worse. Instead, Dora was down from the cross, although still naked, and Clyde had her wrapped up in a warm hug. Other than the fact that it was in public, and she was naked and he wasn‟t, it looked as loving as two people could possibly be. “You almost wouldn‟t believe he‟d been beating her, would you?” Kyra asked. Then the couple turned, rocking gently in their embrace, and Kyra could see the pink stripes on Dora‟s back and butt. “Almost.” Drew put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel his presence right behind her. She wanted to run her hands over his body, touch his nipples with the tips of her fingers, trace every line of those muscles. He even smelled good, damn him. “She too consented. If you ask around, you‟ll find that‟s what this whole group of people here is about—consensuality. Submissives are given safe words to say if at any time they wish to withdraw their consent. And while there are always a few people in any group who can‟t understand or don‟t want to obey the rules, a submissive who says her safe word can expect to be supported by her Dom. If not, then she‟ll be supported by the whole community, including me. And Ken will bounce the Dom‟s sorry ass out of here.” Kyra turned her head to find his face right there at her shoulder, close enough for kissing. “You‟re trying to convince me that I shouldn‟t make a Dom the villain.” “No. I‟m trying to convince you that the villain isn‟t really a Dom. And that not all people who play the dominant role in a BDSM relationship are villains.” She knew it was dumb but she moved so that her face was even closer to his. She could feel his breath across her lips. She hadn‟t been kissed in quite a while. “And how are you going to make me believe that, hmm?” She tilted her nose and looked at his eyes, challenging him. Stupid. But she did it anyway. His lips brushed against hers and she felt hers open in response. He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her securely. “By showing you. But I‟ll need one thing from you.” “And what‟s that?” “Your consent.” “It‟s just for research,” she insisted. “Of course.” He kissed her full on, his tongue slipping through the opening her lips had made. She couldn‟t really pretend that kissing was part of research, but it felt so good to slide her tongue against his. She felt her body pressing against his, instinctively trying to get friction against the tingling peaks of her breasts. She ought to pull back. She didn‟t want to. He let her go. “Could we go someplace more private for it?” she asked. “We could, but we won‟t.” “Why not?” Maybe showing off was part of his thing. Look what I got a woman to let me do. It wasn‟t too late to call the whole thing off, go home and read a good book.
19
Recipe for Submission
“Because it‟s not safe. Part of the reason for a club like this is whatever I do to you is being watched by people, people who won‟t let me harm you. I trust myself, but you shouldn‟t trust me.” Now that he said it, it made sense. “You‟re right. And I don‟t.” He laughed. “I hope you don‟t make a habit of going home with strange men, because whether they‟re into this scene or not, it‟s really not such a great idea.” “What do you care?” He nodded. “Ah yes. This is just for research. But it‟s built-in for me to try to protect women. Especially the woman I‟m playing with, no matter how casual the relationship. It‟s not something I can turn on and off.” She raised her eyebrows. “And how do you feel about women protecting you?” He shrugged. “It‟s not necessary. I can take care of myself.” There wasn‟t any bravado in his voice. He was just stating a fact. She was tempted to tell him he was a sexist pig, but his words hadn‟t done anything to put a damper on her libido. She hated to admit it, but his self-reliance turned her on, and it was a refreshing change from men who wanted her to be their mother. “There‟s a St. Andrew‟s cross free. Let‟s go.” He took her hand and led her over to something very much like what Dora had been tied to. Two wide planks of wood leaning at a sixty degree-angle to the floor formed an X, braced in that position by various wooden supports. Bolted at each extremity of the X was a metal plate, from which dangled an O-shaped piece of chrome. Everything looked extremely solid. She stood in front of it, eying it skeptically. “What do I do?” She wasn‟t sure she was going to like the answer. “Nothing yet. First we negotiate, but I didn‟t want to miss our chance to grab the furniture. This is the ideal place for a beginner to experience a flogging, because you can lean into the wood.” Kyra shrugged. “I could just put my hands against the wall, like you did. I‟m not going to get any more turned-on by it than you were.” “Of course not.” He smiled. “First, you need a safe word. Let‟s try „banana‟. If you need things to come to a stop, for any reason, just say that word, and say it loud and clear so I can hear it. Don‟t worry about who else hears, but make sure that I can. Everything will stop immediately, and I‟ll help you get to a seat on one of the chairs or a couch, whatever‟s available. We‟ll talk about what went wrong, when you‟re up to it.” Kyra shivered. All that didn‟t make her feel safe at all. “What are you going to do that I need that kind of attention? Maybe you‟d better tone down your expectations.” “Would you ride in a car if you weren‟t sure the brakes worked, just because you knew you weren‟t going to be going very fast?” “No.” “Then you don‟t play without a safe word, either.” 20
Sindra van Yssel
“Fine.” “What is it?” “Banana.” She giggled. It seemed so silly saying it, as if a yellow fruit would be out of place amongst all the black leather. “Good girl.” She felt a warm glow at the words, and yet if anyone in normal circumstances called her girl she‟d have been upset. She was half inclined to tell him so, for form‟s sake, but form seemed as out of place as a banana in the softly lit club. “What I propose to do is have you lean against the frame while I flog you with the same flogger you used on me. Obviously, I‟m stronger, so I could make the tails hit you harder, but I‟m not going to do that unless I get your express permission. If I ask „harder‟? I expect an answer, yes or no. There‟s not a good answer or a bad answer to a question like that. There‟s only your answer.” “That doesn‟t sound too bad,” she said. “It sounds as if I‟ll be in control the whole time.” “That‟s true. You are. But you might not feel in control, and you might even enjoy feeling out of control. Now I‟m going to suggest two things to enhance your experience. One, that you take some clothing off, so you can feel the flogger against bare skin. And the other is that you let me put cuffs around your wrists, and attach those cuffs to the rings at the top of the X-frame.” Her first instinct was to say not only no, but hell, no. Be cuffed to that thing, unable to get away? Be naked in front of all these people? Neither was part of her agenda. She glanced around. There were plenty of people who were less dressed than she‟d be if she took her shirt off, or even her shirt and her jeans. Some of them were good-looking too, so it wasn‟t as if all eyes would be on her. He‟d taken off his shirt for her, not that it was precisely the same thing. She had to admit she‟d get a perverse thrill out of stripping. But the other part. Bondage. Not able to get free. Oh, yeah, she‟d feel out of control then, for sure. She supposed it was the sort of thing she ought to experience, but it scared the shit out of her. “Would I be able to get free of the cuffs anytime I want to?” “Just say banana and they‟ll come off you.” In other words, no. Not unless I trust him to take them off. She supposed if it came to it, with all these people around, she could get help if she really needed it. That had probably been part of what he‟d been getting at, telling her it was safer to do it here than in private. The silence stretched, but if he was uncomfortable with it she couldn‟t read it on his face. He stood there as if he had all night to wait for an answer. Maybe he did. “I‟m willing to try the cuffs. If you‟ll really get them off me the moment I say the word.” “I will.”
21
Recipe for Submission
She nodded. There was no way she could ever know for sure, but she believed him. “I‟ll go get them. The other stuff will stay out in the car, so you‟ll know that the scene isn‟t going to involve anything we didn‟t agree on.” He didn‟t wait for her affirmation but walked away, his long strides eating up the distance even though his pace didn‟t seem rushed. She supposed that gave her time to think about the question of removing clothes. Was this how most BDSM relationships worked, with the person in the submissive role making all the decisions? She wasn‟t convinced. “This isn‟t the real thing,” she told him when he returned. “It isn‟t?” “No. I don‟t think Dora gets a choice as to whether she‟s going to strip or not.” He chuckled. “They‟ve been at this for a while. They‟ve built up trust. You‟re right, in a way. Clyde gives the orders and Dora obeys. But don‟t think he does it lightly. Dora can walk out of that relationship anytime she wants, and Clyde knows it. He‟s got to trust her too, or every order he gave he‟d be worried that things would come crashing down around his ears if he got it wrong. They‟re partners.” “Do you worry about every order?” She somehow couldn‟t imagine that. Even if he was taking it slow, he seemed utterly sure of himself. But maybe not of her. “I try to do it right. But the answer is no. I don‟t let myself get in so deep that it‟s the end of my world if someone doesn‟t want to play with me again.” He grinned. That’s good. That’s just what I need, no emotions involved. “But since you don‟t think it‟s the real thing if I give you too many choices, Kyra, take your shirt and your jeans off. And your shoes. I want to see your body.” With those words she realized that her notion that she could be in her underwear here and not be watched was totally wrong. He would be watching, intently. And she‟d pushed him into ordering her. Fuck. She decided her best bet was to be as blasé about the whole thing as possible. So she kicked off her shoes, then gave them each another kick so that they were resting against the bottom of the wooden cross. She pulled off her shirt and gave him a glance that she hoped looked casual. Judging from the smile on his face he liked what he saw, or he found her amusing. Or both. Casual, casual. She shimmied her jeans off her legs. He was watching her all right, and the look he gave her made her think he was looking at a totally different woman than she saw in the mirror every morning. He looked her over from head to toe and then back up again. She didn‟t want him to be repulsed, but she was definitely not used to that kind of attention. “So. Let‟s get this over with.” She put out her wrists, trying to forget she was standing around in her underwear. The cuffs were leather, soft on the inside, an inch and a half wide, with a row of rivets on the outside and a ring not unlike the ones on the cross. He attached them to her wrists, then lifted them and twirled her around to face the cross. He held her wrists
22
Sindra van Yssel
in his left hand, pulled them to the side along one line of the X, and ran a nylon strap through the ring on her right cuff and the ring on the cross and tied it off. Then he moved her left wrist over to the other side and did the same there. It all happened so fast she didn‟t have any time to resist, or decide whether she wanted to resist. That feeling that she was going to be in control the whole time had vanished. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The wood against her body was ungiving, and cool to the touch. “Legs apart, so I don‟t have to cuff those up too.” But that wasn’t in our agreement. I only told you that you could cuff my wrists. But then, he hadn‟t touched her legs. He was responding to her comment that she was the one in control, trying to show her who was boss. Fine. She spread her legs, glancing down to make sure they followed the line of the cross. It’s just playacting, right? Something soft brushed against her bare shoulders. The flogger, but it wasn‟t being swung, just being swished about above her. It caressed her shoulder blades like water from a shower and then trickled lower still, down the small of her back. When it reached her panties it felt completely different. No longer a series of individual drops but a single large mass. She understood why he wanted her clothes off; it really felt like another experience when the flogger touched bare skin. Given the way he looked at her, she knew that wasn‟t the only reason he had for wanting her clothes off. The flogger swooshed through the air and landed in a cascade of small stings on her left shoulder, followed by another set on her right. It wasn‟t painful, any more than it had been when he was first dangling it. It was more like turning the shower on high. Something tense inside loosened, and as she relaxed she felt the frame taking more of her weight. The flogger whispered and tickled, swooshed and stung. The nerves on her back seemed to come to life at its touch. She anticipated each kiss it gave her, but she couldn‟t guess the where. It moved in constant motion behind her, and struck wherever Drew chose. She felt herself drifting, out of her control and into his. A tail flicked around to the side of her breast. Muted by the lace and satin between it and her flesh, it still made an impression on her sensitive skin. At first she thought he might have made a mistake, but then came the same sensation on the other side, perfectly matched. Maybe he doesn’t make mistakes. That’s nonsense, everyone makes mistakes. But he didn‟t seem to, not with the flogger. Every touch of it was matched by one on the other side, whether on her shoulders, on her ass, or wrapping around to her breasts. Her nipples were aching. When had that happened? The feeling on her shoulders had intensified every time the flogger touched her there, but it didn‟t interest her anymore. She could only anticipate when he might choose to placate the tension in her breasts. It was like scratching an itch. It didn‟t really make it any less intense, but it felt so good for the moment. And she had no control of when he dealt with that itch, either.
23
Recipe for Submission
It was driving her crazy. Banana. She could say it and he would stop. But she didn‟t want him to stop, exactly, and she felt like a fool saying the word just because she wanted to be touched. She squirmed against the frame, trying to get relief, rubbing her breasts against it. It helped some, but not as much as another sting from the flogger would. And it was making her wet. She was going to soak her panties if she wasn‟t careful, and she wasn‟t wearing anything to cover them. He‟d know. The thought didn‟t help at all. His arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn‟t an intimate touch, not at all. She wasn‟t sure she‟d complain if it was, but intimate touching certainly wasn‟t in their agreement. The annoying thing was that it drew her breasts away from the frame, so she couldn‟t— Oooooooh. The tips of the flogger striking her nipple, through the lace and satin of her bra, stung for only a moment. Maybe it would have felt more intense without the bra. But it was exactly what she wanted. And then the other side. She moaned. “Yes!” She was afraid he‟d go back to her shoulders, making her wait for it, but he didn‟t. It wasn‟t a blow, just a very intense tickle, the way the whip caressed her breasts. She arched her back and he gave her more, and more. It didn‟t seem as if it would ever be enough. And then, suddenly, the tails of the flogger curled up between her legs and she felt them right at her most sensitive spot. And what she thought would be the cruelest thing imaginable turned out to be pure pleasure, making her pussy clench and her core feel as if it was on fire. She felt something hard against her pussy—the handle, it had to be. If she wiggled right, she could rub her clit against it, and ohh—her orgasm took her over totally, her skin tingling and her body shaking as waves of pleasure cascaded over her. “Oh yes, yes, yes.” “Oh yes,” he echoed, whispering in her ear. He held her as her body sank against him. Her wrists ached as her weight pulled against the cuffs, but only for a moment. She heard the flogger clatter to the floor and in a flash the cuffs were loose and the only thing holding her up was him. I could stand if I wanted to. I think. Why did I let him do that? But she knew the answer. It had felt too good to make him stop. Somewhere along the line she‟d stopped analyzing and started letting herself feel. He picked her up as if she was weightless and carried her to a couch. He didn‟t say anything and neither did she. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his sweaty chest, embarrassed by what she had experienced in public and yet feeling far too good to regret it. His fingers stroked through her hair. She wiggled and realized that unless he was holding the whip handle in his lap he was rock hard—and she had definitely heard the flogger fall to the floor. If he‟d been as out of control as she had been, he‟d be moving right now, trying to get some level of release by rubbing himself against her bottom. But he wasn‟t. She opened her eyes. When had they closed? She wasn‟t sure. But at some point all she had wanted to do was feel. I ought to look up and see his face, but I can’t. I ought to say
24
Sindra van Yssel
something. All she had agreed to was to be bound and to experience the flogger. She thought that she had already seen all the flogger could do when she saw it turn his back a little pink. She‟d had no idea. He‟d taken advantage of her. She tried to be angry. Anger would move her to action. But somehow she couldn‟t manage it. It wasn‟t welcome if it would move her from her very comfortable position on his lap and in his arms. I really don’t know him at all. She knew his arms were strong and he knew his way around women. Am I really so simple, that right now that’s all that matters? It had been a long time since she‟d gotten what she needed at such a primal level, and she wasn‟t willing to give it up yet. In a few minutes, maybe. Finally she drew back. “That was…interesting,” she said. He chuckled. “I thought so.” He held her gaze for a moment before she turned away. “I need to get my clothes.” “You look more lovely with them off.” She resisted the urge to tell him she looked fat with them off. She wriggled against his grasp and, to her disappointment, he let her go. “Come back once you get them,” he told her. She nodded. Even though she had most definitely finished, there was something undone between the two of them. His pleasure, perhaps? She was scarcely going to get him off there in the club, and his advice against private meetings seemed sound. She started to walk and then noticed that her clothes weren‟t where she had left them. She looked around and spotted them at his feet, with the flogger and two cuffs lying on top of them. He couldn‟t possibly have carried them over; he‟d been with her the whole time. He chuckled at her expression. “I have friends here,” he explained. “And they noticed my hands were full and that I was busy doing something important.” “Doing what important?” “Holding you.” “Oh.” She reached down, intending to spill the cuffs and the flogger off her clothes with one smooth yank. Then she thought better of it and carefully set them aside. He was looking into her cleavage, and he didn‟t turn to look elsewhere when she caught him at it. She wasn‟t sure whether to be annoyed or gratified at his frank stare. He knows what he likes, that’s for sure. And oddly, it seems to include me. Getting dressed in front of him seemed more intimate than stripping had been. The silence lingered. She didn‟t imagine he was at a loss for words. He looked too confident, too sure of himself. “Thank you,” she said at last, and only after she was dressed. “My pleasure. Do you understand a little better now?”
25
Recipe for Submission
“If everyone ends up feeling like that I think I understand the attraction, yes. But what was in it for you?” “I gave you pleasure. Isn‟t that enough?” Was it? “Is that all a Dom wants?” “No.” She thought he‟d go on to explain, but he didn‟t. The whole thing was too embarrassing to pursue, anyway. All these people saw me half naked. Worse, they saw me come almost entirely from being flogged. What must they think of me? She wanted to get away. “Maybe I‟ll, uh, run into you someplace.” He chuckled. “I‟m usually here Friday nights. You know where to look if you want me.” If I want him. Oh, I want him all right. Far too much for my own good. “Well, um, yeah. Thanks again.” “I mean for more research, of course.” Did his eyes have a twinkle? Was he putting her on? “Yes. Research.” She turned and walked out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Her cheeks were burning. She imagined most of the people in the club had something to look at other than her, but she was sure at least one person was staring at her the whole way. Right now she needed fresh air and a chance to think. She didn‟t get it right away. A big blond man was standing outside, neatly coiffed and dressed smartly in a white shirt and blue-striped tie. He wouldn‟t have looked too out of place as a K Street lobbyist or a congressional staffer, or maybe a lawyer. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he sidled up next to her. “I just want to think,” Kyra told him, hoping she wasn‟t being too rude. He was probably one of the people who went to the club. There were a few people in there in business attire. He smelled like tobacco, so he was probably out for a smoke. If Drew hadn‟t unsettled her so much she would have tried to interview him. “Please, you look new.” She stopped, and blinked. “So?” “They won‟t let me in. My wife‟s in there. Did you see her? Looks like you, dark hair, a little overweight…” Well, thank you very much. She certainly hadn‟t seen her twin in there, but there were plenty of brunettes in the club, and she might have seen his wife, she might not have. She supposed she was naïve to think that everyone in there was an unattached single, or playing with their significant other. She felt sorry for him, but she really didn‟t want to get involved in the middle of a relationship she knew nothing about. “Didn‟t notice, sorry.” She walked quicker, hoping that would shake him. Somewhat to her surprise, it did.
26
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Three Drew Ryan sat back and sipped his water. He‟d have rather had a beer, but there was a strict no alcohol policy at Carpe Noctem. Excessive drinking and playing didn‟t mix well, but the real reason was that the city would put up with a lot more as long as an alcohol license wasn‟t involved. Normally he didn‟t much care. Tonight, watching, he definitely wanted a drink. In front of him was a hot scene, the sort of thing Drew normally would have enjoyed watching, or better yet being involved in. Bart Barnes had a new submissive and was breaking her in. Bobbi was a cute little thing, with red hair, small breasts, and rings in her nipples. He was turning her ass a pretty shade of red with a leather-covered paddle while she sucked on the black rubber strap-on of a tall muscular blonde he‟d played with a long time ago named Alice. Alice was a switch and happy enough to help with the scene, but she didn‟t look as if she were really getting off on it. Bart had offered him Alice‟s place, and he had to admit he‟d have enjoyed it more than Alice was. The redheaded sub was trying her enthusiastic best, but he suspected she would have been happier if she‟d been able to provide more pleasure for her efforts, rather than sucking on a piece of rubber. Yet he‟d said no for some reason he himself didn‟t understand. He‟d passed on paddling the girl while she sucked Bart off too. He took another sip of water and his face wrinkled up. Yeah. I definitely need a beer. And probably a shrink. Why am I so hung up on Kyra that I can’t enjoy the lovely ladies around me? She isn’t going to come. No way. She ran out of Carpe Noctem last week like a fox being chased by a half dozen hounds. And what is she to me, anyway? She‟d said she was a mystery writer, but he hadn‟t found any mystery writer named Kyra in bookstores or online. Which only meant that she wrote under a different name, he supposed. In any case, he couldn‟t find her and she couldn‟t find him, unless she walked into the door past Alice and Bart and the redhead. He very much doubted that she would. What was it about her? She‟d been negative, almost hostile, about the scene to start with. She‟d warmed up nicely when she got to experience it, way more than Drew had expected. He hadn‟t expected to make her come, but when he‟d noticed that she was so close he couldn‟t resist pushing her over. And then she split. Hell. She was probably better off without him, anyway. He‟d wanted to show her just how good BDSM could feel, but he‟d overdone it. If he wasn‟t going to get her out of his mind, he‟d be better off heading back home and seeing what happened to seared tuna steak if he added a dash of Chinese mustard to the sauce it was served in. Serving it on top of the sauce, rather than pouring the sauce on top, had been a step forward for both the eyes and the palate, but he wanted more complexity to the taste before adding it to the menu. Pierre, the head chef at
27
Recipe for Submission
Ryan‟s, had suggested tarragon, but that would take things in an entirely different direction from what he intended. Pierre was a good man, with the talent to run his own place, and he didn‟t want to step on the man‟s toes. But if he got it right Pierre would acknowledge it, and the debate would be over. He glanced at his watch, it was five after nine. He‟d need more than a taste to know if he‟d gotten the recipe perfect, and he wouldn‟t be positively disposed that soon after eating Pierre‟s pasta carbonara. He remembered the argument over that one, when Pierre had insisted it could be made better with pecorino Romano than with Parmesan. It had established a pattern—Pierre would cook the dish his way and Drew would cook the dish his, and they would see if their palates could agree. Pierre had been right that time. He‟d sit tight for another ten minutes. He forced himself to look in front of him. If he‟d been there he‟d have been ready to come by now. Alice, on the other hand, was unmoved. She curled up a lock of Bobbi‟s hair in her hand and pulled. Alice loved having her hair pulled, so naturally she assumed Bobbi did. With the woman‟s face in her crotch, her mouth full, and making all sorts of squealing sounds because of the paddling, he doubted Alice could read the sub‟s reaction, but Bobbi didn‟t look happy. He caught Alice‟s eye and shook his head. Alice got it and let go. So I’ve done my good deed for the day. He watched as Bart reached his arm around Bobbi‟s waist and got his hand between Bobbi‟s legs. The tone of Bobbi‟s squeals changed. He‟d have her coming soon. He normally would have stayed to watch, but knowing the three were heading to a successful conclusion despite their mismatch was good enough for him. He got up and headed to the door. He thought about letting Ken know that Kyra could call him but it was pointless. She wasn‟t going to show, and Ken would gossip about it. He nodded to the man at the door and headed out into the fresh evening air. As close as it got to fresh in the middle of the city, anyway. There were a few people outside smoking cigarettes, a couple of leather-clad people he knew right next to the door and a big blond guy he didn‟t recognize in a suit and tie a ways off. He‟d heard one of the Dommes, Mary Beth, say that her ex was lurking around outside and that Ken knew not to let him in, so maybe that was the guy. He made a mental note of what he looked like and kept going. He‟d parked his pickup a few blocks away, on Belsan Street, which was really more of an alley than a street. The real streets had letters and numbers rather than names in this part of town. He didn‟t like to park too close to the club. There were plenty of people who needed the spaces more than he did, and the walk through the neighborhood helped him make the mental transition from restaurateur to Dom. There was little danger of being recognized, but few people from the economically depressed area would be likely patrons of his upscale restaurant. Now it would help him make the transition back. He passed a couple of neighborhood kids playing checkers on the stoop. It was too late for the kids to be up, much less out, but if their air conditioner was busted he could
28
Sindra van Yssel
understand why they‟d rather be playing under the porch light than inside. It‟d cool down as the night wore on, at least. He looked up the street and there she was. Kyra was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing behind her and then looking forward. When she saw him she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, not sure which way to run. She had a skirt on this time, a flouncy one that ended an inch or two below her knees, and a white buttoned blouse. He walked right up to her and she didn‟t bolt. “Hi, Kyra.” He watched her face go through several different emotions, her features changing too fast for him to guess at all of them. “It‟s you,” she said. “Last time I checked.” “I mean, hello.” She glanced down at the sidewalk, then back up. “It‟s nice to see you.” “Thank you. Hi. You‟re looking mighty easy on the eyes yourself. You going to the club?” Now that he was closer, he could see that she was wearing a black bra underneath her shirt. She had to be aware it was obvious—and sexy. So this time she‟d dressed up some, and she didn‟t look Domme at all. “I had been thinking about it,” Kyra said. “You look like you‟re just leaving.” “I can go back, if you want to go back. I‟d even be your escort.” He grinned at her, turned and offered his arm. She hooked her arm around his elbow and smiled at him. “Thank you.” She bit her lip. “But I‟m still not sure I want to go. I came because I thought I—” “You thought what?” “I owed you something. For last time.” He smiled and shook his head but didn‟t dislodge her arm. She wasn‟t walking forward, so he didn‟t move either. “You don‟t owe me anything. It was my pleasure, totally.” “Where were you going?” “Home. To cook. I wasn‟t in the mood for Carpe Noctem this evening.” He mentally added without you, but he wasn‟t about to admit that to any woman. It’s a phase. It will pass. She looked at him oddly for a moment. “Take me with you?” “Home?” “Yes.” It wasn‟t as if he‟d never taken someone from the club to his house before. For all the wildness that went on at Carpe Noctem, one could have more fun in private. He wasn‟t sure why taking Kyra to his house seemed like a big deal. He wasn‟t worried about her being a stalker. The look of indecision he‟d seen on her face before she noticed him gave him a sense of comfort there. So what’s my hang-up? He trusted his
29
Recipe for Submission
instincts, though. Mostly. “You know it‟s not safe to go home with strange men. We barely know one another, really.” “I‟m not entirely sure it‟s safe walking these streets by myself either. Or parking my car in this neighborhood. Heck, crossing the street anywhere is pretty dangerous, driving is an invitation to death, and flying isn‟t much better.” She shrugged. “I‟m willing to take this particular risk.” “An invitation to death?” “Perhaps I was being overdramatic.” “It sounds like the title to a book.” “It does. It is.” He laughed. “Sweet.” He could offer to take her back to the club, if he really didn‟t want her in his home. He could simply tell her they were going to the club, that might work. Might scare her off too. He wanted to have her again, to hear her breath grow heavy and feel her pulse quicken. Home was the right place for that. He wanted to see her taste his food. He blinked. He took his dates to Ryan‟s and let Pierre do the cooking, usually. He always enjoyed it when a woman chose to eat something that was his invention rather than Pierre‟s, but he didn‟t make a habit of telling them. Tell a woman he could cook gourmet food and they‟d want to set up a very different arrangement than an occasional kinky date. So as good an angle as it was for seduction, he‟d always forgone it. But then, he‟d already told her he was going home to cook. He supposed most people didn‟t do that at nearly ten in the evening. “Home then?” she asked hopefully, interrupting his thoughts. He was going to say no. “Please?” she added. Fuck. He couldn‟t help himself. “That‟s „please, Sir‟.” She hesitated a moment. “Please, Sir?” Some submissives would have averted their eyes with those words, but she looked straight into his. And reached up and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, revealing a hint of cleavage. It wasn‟t the slightest bit indecent, and he could walk past a woman on the street displaying more flesh without even taking a second look. But his heart sped up. He took a deep breath. I am so screwed. “My car is this way.” He steered her into a turn and started walking toward Belsan Street again. The side of her breast bumped against his arm and set his pulse racing again. “Yes Sir.” “Are you doing research again?” She blinked. The question had caught her off guard, which had been his intention. She had been wrapping him around her little finger and he didn‟t like that one bit.
30
Sindra van Yssel
“Yes,” she said at last. “Just research.” Her walking got more stiff and her breast didn‟t brush against him again. Had she really come down to repay him for the orgasm he‟d given her before? That story he didn‟t buy. Research, now that was plausible. Except that from the look on her face she‟d forgotten it until he brought it up. But she clung to him tightly when they turned down Belsan Street. He steered her around a knocked-over trash can. “This isn‟t a very safe neighborhood,” Kyra said. “It‟s not bad, but no, I wouldn‟t want to go walking long distances if I was a single woman. And that pausing and looking back and forth bit you were doing definitely makes you look like a target. These people aren‟t very well off, but there‟s not that much crime. It‟s well patrolled—a couple of the cops poke their nose into Carpe Noctem now and then.” “Does that bother people?” Drew shrugged. “Some, maybe. But it reminds people that what we‟re doing is legal, even if society doesn‟t approve of us, so Ken—that‟s the owner—welcomes the police. And they‟d come whether they were welcome or not, so being friendly would be the best policy anyway.” “Interesting.” He glanced at her but couldn‟t get anything from her face. Research mode. It was a safe place for her to be, for both of them. He opened the door of his pickup. It was a climb to get into the front seat, and he gave her rear a boost to help her in. She frowned at him. “I could have made it.” “Sure.” He knew that. “But then I would have missed out on the chance to put my hand on your lovely ass.” He closed the door and walked around to the other side. He didn‟t know whether he was flirting with her or trying to chase her away, but he knew he had a grin on his face when he got into the truck. “You always help ladies into your truck that way?” He started the engine. He wasn‟t going to brag about his conquests, not to her. She said always, so he could tell the truth. “Nope.” He let in the clutch and eased his truck down the narrow alley. “You‟re a sexist pig, aren‟t you?” “Nah. I respect equal relationships, or ones where the women are in charge. I‟ve got some good friends who are Dommes—that‟s with an extra m and an e—and I couldn‟t imagine them any other way, really. One thing I‟ve learned, and you see it nice and clear if you hang around kinky folks, is that people aren‟t all made to be any one way.” “But you like to be top dog.” He chuckled. “Yeah.”
31
Recipe for Submission
“Hmm.” She sat back and got that unreadable expression on her face. He glanced at her a couple of times after he finished negotiating the traffic circle he‟d been in, but she didn‟t get any more transparent. He was used to sensing the moods of the women he played with. He‟d been accused of being psychic more than once. And he‟d been able to read Kyra fine a week ago, in the club, but not now. He wasn‟t sure he liked it, but it was certainly a challenge. What she had said the week before about the submissive being in control was true in a way. Usually Drew could pick up on things before his play partner voiced them. He watched and he listened, and then he gave out orders. But if he couldn‟t manage to get Kyra to tell him what she wanted, and couldn‟t get her to betray it with her gestures or her face, he‟d have to guess. Or he‟d have to do what he wanted, and hope it worked for her too.
32
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Four Kyra looked around the old house. Drew lived in the Kalorama neighborhood in a brownstone row house. Inside, the little irregularities of the plaster walls made the rooms look both softer and colder, which wasn‟t a bad thing after a summer‟s day. A black leather couch was the only thing that looked remotely kinky, and even that was an everyday item. She wasn‟t precisely sure what she wanted. More information, sure. Whether it was for her book or because she found Drew fascinating, she hadn‟t decided yet. Maybe both. She had the intention of presenting it to him as a simple proposition, to give him as much pleasure as he‟d given her the week before so they could call it quits. She wasn‟t sure she wanted to quit, yet. She had more research to do. She grinned. “You like something you see. Tell me.” His voice was soft but it was a demand. And he certainly hadn‟t said please. “That picture. The landscape. It‟s not what I expected.” “You thought that my walls would be full of bondage photographs or something?” “Something like that.” “I have a friend, one of the Dommes I mentioned earlier actually, who takes bondage photographs. Very artistic, actually. She does lovely things with light and shadow. There are a couple in the bedroom, if you‟d like a look.” He nodded toward the stairs. “Second door on the right.” She smiled at him. “Is that where you want me? I thought you were going to cook.” “Did you have dinner?” “A salad.” It hadn‟t been much, but she was trying to lose a few pounds and her evenings usually didn‟t require her to have a lot of energy. And men usually liked to hear that women were trying to look better, as if it was all for them. “Is that all?” He looked dismayed. She‟d seen colossal salads, loaded with meat and all sorts of fat and calories, but he seemed to assume the truth. He bent down and she tilted her face up for a kiss, but he moved right past that and kissed her neck, sucking too gently to leave a mark. Her neck tingled and she arched her back to press herself into his body. He nibbled his way to below her ear, and by that time the tingles stretched all the way to her core and she was feeling decidedly warm. He had wrapped his arm around her back, holding her to him. “Are you hungry?” She‟d forgotten about her stomach, and it made a noise to remind her, which she hoped he couldn‟t hear. She pitched her voice low and sultry. “Not for dinner, exactly.”
33
Recipe for Submission
He chuckled. “Your stomach gave you away. Go on and look at the photographs if you want to. For your research, of course. I have never left a woman‟s needs unmet in this house, and I don‟t intend to start now.” He let go of her and she barely kept her balance. Before she could say a word he‟d turned and headed for the kitchen. Never left a woman’s needs unmet, indeed. And you turn and leave me like this? But she damned well wasn‟t going to beg. She supposed going up and looking at his “artistic” bondage pics would be just the thing. It would be research, after all. And a little good-natured disgust would leave her less turned-on and more in the mood to just have food. Fine. She stomped up the stairs. The first door on the right was a bathroom. It wasn‟t pristine but it was clean and it didn‟t smell. Had he said second door? She wasn‟t sure. She didn‟t intend to go snooping. The second door was the bedroom. A queen-sized four-poster bed occupied the center of the room, with a black and tan duvet over it. He’s either a sprawler or he has company in that bed often enough to get a large one. A momentary jealousy washed over her but she pushed it away. I don’t have the right to judge. Maybe I wish my bed were filled more often. Clothes were piled in a large plastic basket in the corner, and the large oak dresser had a few drawers that were open an inch. She took a couple of steps in and looked around at the light blue wall. There were two framed black-and-white photographs. One was of a nude woman, in profile, reclining diagonally. She appeared to be lying on some stairs, although a tarp or sheet was crumpled under her. Her arms were stretched over her head and she looked relaxed. Comfortable, even. It took Kyra a moment to notice that a rope was wrapped around the woman‟s wrists three times, binding them together. The second picture took her longer to figure out. At first it was only clear that there was a woman and a pier and some water, because the angle was so unusual that it took a moment to resolve the patterns of light and dark into objects. The woman was bending out over the water, her skirt billowing up and displaying her bare ass. Her hands were bound behind her—no, more accurately her arms were, as they were joined at the elbow in a way that didn‟t look comfortable to Kyra at all. She wasn‟t even sure she could get her elbows behind her like that. But nothing about the woman other than her arms indicated any sort of strain at all. She hadn‟t expected pictures that needed to be stared at for a while. She‟d figured either his idea of “tasteful” would be a centerfold spread or that the pictures would be tamer than a lingerie catalog. These pictures were neither. She found herself sitting on the bed, wondering how the women in them felt. She could only see the one face, and it was positively serene. Was that a pose, something present for the moment the shutter blinked and then gone again? She looked satisfied. Maybe she‟d just been fucked. Maybe she knew she was about to be. Or perhaps she‟d surrendered to the moment. Did she look like that after Drew had made her come in the club? Maybe, for a moment, before the heat rose in her cheeks and she felt she had to get out of there, had
34
Sindra van Yssel
to get some fresh air. What would it have been like if she‟d been able to bathe in the sensation? As a way of cooling off, this isn’t working. She breathed in. A lovely smell was wafting up the stairs, hinting at the sea and lemons and reminding her that she was hungry. She lay back on the bed for a moment to stretch and then stood. The sensitivity her skin had felt when he kissed her was still there, and now she was salivating at the idea of such good-smelling food. She used to joke she could go days without noticing her body except for the annoying demands that it made on her, insisting on sleeping and eating, stopping her from living in her world of words. Now she felt so aware of it she could barely think. She walked down the stairs. “One minute!” he called out. She found the dining table in a nook next to the living room. Where the bed was oversized, the table was small and round, made for no more than three to eat at. A blue and white tablecloth hung over it, and two plastic placemats were set out. One had the presidents on it, in sequence, the other a periodic table of the elements. She sat down in front of the presidents. The meal sure hadn‟t taken him long to prepare. Maybe he was heating up a microwave dinner. Sometimes those smelled better than they tasted, as if the makers could have only one or the other and decided that smell was a better advertisement. He arrived a moment later with two blue delftware plates and placed them both in front of her. “Bon appétit, mademoiselle.” She thanked his retreating back as he bustled back to the kitchen. On the smaller of the two plates was a pile of couscous, fairly plain, with a few pine nuts and sprigs of something green in it. On the larger one something like steak, cut into flat strips and very rare, sat in a pool of off-white sauce. Little green rectangular flakes had been sprinkled on top of the meat. She wasn‟t sure quite what she was supposed to do with it. He dropped off two plates like the ones in front of her on the periodic table, disappeared again, and reappeared with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. “Um, what is this?” It smelled like fish, looked like meat, and either way it was undercooked. It looked good and smelled good, and she wasn‟t going to be so rude as not to eat it. “Tuna. In my own sauce, with nori as a garnish.” He sounded pleased with himself. “That‟s the seaweed stuff they serve with sushi?” “Right.” Fair enough. She could eat sushi, and that had raw fish in it. She was used to tuna steaks being sort of a uniform grayish tan, but these were just seared around the edges, and quite red in the middle. Still, she never trusted fish from the market enough to eat it raw. She picked up her fork uncertainly.
35
Recipe for Submission
“Relax, Kyra. The food is safe. Try it. If, once you do, you honestly think it would taste better if it was cooked more, we can,” he paused, looking as if he was having difficulty keeping his face neutral, “um, fix it.” She nodded, skewered a bite-size piece of tuna with her fork and swirled it around in the sauce before putting it in her mouth. Then she thought she‟d died and gone to heaven. It was salty, sweet and a bit spicy, and despite all the complexity of the sauce she could still taste the contrast between the seared outside and the cool inside of the fish. She hardly had to chew it, it was so soft. “Oh my god that‟s good!” He smiled. “Thank you. I don‟t usually serve dinner without vegetables, but since you had a salad for dinner, I thought you were pretty well covered for the green stuff.” “Mmm. I still think you were a meanie for getting me all revved up with that kiss, but given this meal, you‟re forgiven. Do you always cook like this?” He shook his head while savoring some of his own food. “Normally I eat at my restaurant, Ryan‟s.” “I thought your name was Drew.” “Ryan is my last name.” “Oh. You own a restaurant.” Okay, not the most brilliant of responses. “Can‟t spend my whole day tying up girls and making them scream in pleasure,” he said. “No money in it, for one thing.” She laughed. “If there were, would you do that instead?” He shook his head. “No. I think I like variety too much.” He cooks, he’s at least as tidy as I am and he knows how to make me melt inside. Figures he likes “variety”. Even if he wasn‟t talking about his choice of sexual partners, she thought she had a good picture. No matter how she felt, Drew wasn‟t a guy to get attached to. To do some research with, sure. And a fun time, definitely. She was curious about one thing. “What‟s with the place mats?” He smiled. “Oh. Sometimes my nephew comes over. I bought them back when he was four and I did a lot of babysitting for my sister. I found out that I liked looking at them at breakfast better than ordinary ones, so I bought a few more and threw out the rest. I‟ve got planets, Spanish words, all sorts.” “How old is he now?” “Fifteen. He still comes over, but it‟s not exactly babysitting. We usually end up playing board games or just chatting.” She took another bite of tuna and closed her eyes, letting herself concentrate on the taste. “This is fantastic. You‟re spoiling me.”
36
Sindra van Yssel
“I love to see someone enjoy their food. Too often people either plow through their dinner as if it was a thankless but necessary chore, or they are too busy starving themselves to get thin to enjoy anything at all.” “Well, um, I could stand to lose a few pounds.” “You‟re perfect the way you are.” “You‟re a sweetie. It‟s nice of you to say so.” He shook his head. “I‟m sure some men care about nothing more than a thin waist. But I think you‟ll find most of us like the curvy parts of a woman. Breast men and ass men outnumber waist men by a good margin.” “And which are you?” He leaned forward, dropping his voice until it was almost a whisper. “I want it all, Kyra. Your breasts, your pussy, your ass, your legs, your lips, your eyes, your submission. I like my sex the way I like my food—I want to savor every last morsel.” She blushed and then melted as she looked into his eyes. “I-I came over here to repay the gift you gave me, really.” She had been about to add and ask a few questions but stopped when she realized she didn‟t know what the questions were. “What about the gifts you gave me, Kyra? Trust, for instance, when you let me clip your wrists to the cross in the club? You don‟t owe me anything. But if you want to give, then you‟ll have to surrender once again.” “And you‟ll come this time?” “And I‟ll decide this time who comes when and where and how many times.” How many times. God he’s full of himself. But I bet he can deliver. If he’s half as good in bed as he is cooking… She took a scoop of her couscous, turning her eyes from him to the food. She might as well give up on evening the score, anyway. She didn‟t much like to cook—that was indeed a sometimes necessary task to be rushed through, as far as she was concerned— but she could if she needed to. She doubted he‟d be impressed. Nothing she made was as good as the meal he‟d whipped up in a few minutes. He didn‟t rush her. They ate in silence for several long minutes until both their plates were empty. She didn‟t feel stuffed—the portions hadn‟t been huge—but her taste buds were more than satisfied. She looked up at him, not sure what to say. She squirmed in her chair in response to the dull ache between her legs at the idea of saying I surrender to him. But the words stuck in her throat. For a moment, their gazes locked, and then he stood, pushed his chair back and walked around her. Her gaze followed him, thinking at first he was giving up on her, and then sighing in relief as she felt his hands touch her shoulders. His fingers deftly unbuttoned the top button on her blouse. “Do you remember your safe word, Kyra?” Her heart beat faster. What was he going to do that she needed a safe word? Although she supposed if she didn‟t want him unbuttoning her blouse she could use it 37
Recipe for Submission
for that. He really should have asked. But there was something sexy about this man taking too. Her nipples tightened at the thought. He‟d take her clothes, take her body. He expects me to remember a word? “I don‟t remember.” “It‟s banana.” “Oh.” “Did you want to use it now?” “No.” He undid another button, and another. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders. “You have beautiful breasts, Kyra.” She blushed. From the angle he was at he probably had a nice view down the cleavage her bra created. “Do we have to talk about them?” He chuckled. “No.” He unbuttoned the last button and then pulled the blouse off. She took a breath. No big deal. Nothing they hadn‟t done last week. His hands massaged her shoulders and upper arms, kneading out tense muscles. She relaxed. When he unclasped her bra in the back it was like another muscle unclenching, until she thought about him watching. He slid her bra straps off her shoulders and they fell down her arms. That was further than they‟d gone last week. “Hey!” “Shhhh,” he whispered with a trace of amusement. “No talking about them.” And lest there be any doubt about what “they” were, he slid his hands forward to cup her bare breasts, her nipples poking at his palms. “It‟s cold in here,” she lied. He kissed her neck behind her right ear and whispered, “I turned off the air conditioner while you were upstairs.” “Why?” “Because I planned to take your clothes off. And you‟re not cold. You‟re turnedon.” That didn‟t help her nipples relax at all. Neither did his thumbs, which were brushing against her now-aching peaks quite deliberately. “All of them?” “I thought I might leave your skirt on, if you ask nicely.” She didn‟t know what to say. She wanted her modesty, but she found herself craving more than a make-out session. I want him inside me, that’s what I want. I want him fucking me. “Your panties, though, have to go.” Oh. “Now,” he insisted. “You want me to take them off?” She wasn‟t sure what she expected, whether he‟d reach in and grab them.
38
Sindra van Yssel
“Yes, Kyra. I want you to take them off.” His forefinger and his thumb were playing with her right nipple. He wasn‟t pinching, just rubbing very firmly. Much more of that and it would start to feel like pain, but it didn‟t yet. It did make her frantic, made her want to grab his wrist and control it and make him ease off. “Too much!” she cried. “That‟s not your safe word,” he murmured, and started doing the same thing to her left side, making both peaks ache. She arched her back into him and shuddered. She couldn‟t come just from having her nipples stimulated, could she? She still didn‟t want him thinking she was submitting to him. She lifted her butt and pulled up her skirt to get to her panties, but she tried to turn it into a bargain. “Okay, okay. I‟ll do what you say.” She put her underpants on the table where he could see them. She‟d done her part, now he‟d give her back control. Right? He did let go, but only to scoop her up off the chair. He carried her away from the table and took advantage of the way her breasts were close to his face to suck one engorged peak into his mouth. “Oh god.” The wetness of his mouth was soothing relief, but the pull on her breast was adding coals to the fire. Her pussy was aching for his touch. All she could do was hold on to him while he carried her through the living room and up the stairs. Toward the bedroom. “Fuck me, please.” She hadn‟t intended to say the words out loud, and was surprised to hear them come out of her mouth. His eyes danced, as if he knew it had slipped out. The fact that she put her hand to her mouth right after probably hadn‟t helped. He pushed the door to his bedroom open with his foot and then carried her to the bed. He set her down carefully, almost as if she might break. “Spread your legs.” His tone made it clear it was an order, not a request. She did as she was told. He flipped her skirt up. She felt the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical thing, burning her pussy. Her knees shook as she fought the urge to pull back and cover herself up. If only he would fuck her hard and fast, she wouldn‟t feel so naked. She‟d feel less embarrassed to be completely naked in front of him than with her skirt slid up so he could stare. He crawled up onto the bed, but made no move to take his own clothes off. “You have a beautiful pussy, Kyra,” he said, and then he leaned forward and gave it a long lick, starting at the bottom and sliding unhurriedly until his tongue swirled around her clit. She couldn‟t help it. She closed her thighs around his head, wanting to hold it there. But he was stronger and moved back. “Spread your legs for me or I‟ll tie them in place,” he growled at her. He‟d do it too, she knew. She had half a mind to make him, but she took a deep breath and parted her thighs once more. “Good girl.” The words filled her with warmth. They shouldn’t make me feel so good. And I’m a woman, not a girl. She was angrier with herself for liking being told she was a good girl 39
Recipe for Submission
far more than she was with him for saying it, but she opened her mouth to scold him anyway. His tongue danced around her clit once more, and all that came out of her was a moan. She reached for him to grab his head, to force his face against her, and stopped. He‟d probably tie her arms for that. Maybe. She had to get some kind of control over what was going on. She pulled at the back of his head, craving it more, harder. If she could have gotten his tongue all the way inside her she gladly would have. She rotated her hips, trying to increase the friction against his mouth, his nose, his chin, anything. In less than a second he was on her. His hands grabbed her wrists and forced them back to the bed. She tried to close her legs and found his knees in the way. As if to make a point he pushed back, spreading his knees and forcing her thighs even farther apart. His face leaned over hers and she felt his hot breath against her lips. “You don‟t learn, do you? I‟m in control. Not you. Not unless you say your safe word, and then and only then will you walk out of here unmolested.” She wasn‟t going to say it. She wouldn‟t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could push her that far, and besides, she didn‟t want to leave his bed, much less his home. But something in her would not give in. She stuck her tongue out at him. He didn‟t blink. “And never, ever stick that out unless you intend to use it. And have it used.” His lips crushed hers in a kiss, and his tongue pushed inside her mouth. Their tongues danced and wrestled, slipping over one another. His face pressed her head back, the mattress compressing behind it before she was trapped between his kiss and the bed. He kissed as well as he cooked, and she found herself hungry for it, her lips pressing back, her tongue overpowered but still questing to get deeper into his mouth. When he finally drew back, she wanted to say thank you, but different words came out instead. “When you kiss me like that, I can‟t say my word, can I?” He stared at her. Damn my smart mouth. “Well?” he said. She didn‟t say a word. “I didn‟t think so. Don‟t you dare move an inch.” He lifted his leg up and over her thigh and then rolled out of bed. She wondered if she‟d really pissed him off, but he didn‟t sound angry. Just firm. Unyielding. In control, of himself and her. She didn‟t move. He opened a drawer and came back with rope. He was quick about it, tying her wrists to the upper corners of the bed and her ankles to the lower ones. She let him, ignoring the voice that told her that it wasn‟t safe to be tied up in the house of a stranger, especially one who kept rope right near his bed in case he needed it. She would be at his mercy. She wanted to be at his mercy. This is crazy. But I want it. “Now I‟ll do what I wanted to do in the first place.” He moved back onto the bed, between her legs, and kissed her pussy with an exaggerated smack.
40
Sindra van Yssel
The touch of his lips sent shivers up her spine and sparks straight to her core. She felt her pussy clench, wanting to have something inside it to squeeze. She felt his hands on the inside of her thighs and thought a finger or two would do nicely if she wasn‟t going to have his cock right away. But he didn‟t penetrate her. He stroked down, his rough fingers pressing into her flesh, pulling from each side of her labia and then down several inches, stretching sensitive skin. She felt her pussy lips spread and his tongue dove in to take advantage, licking her, tasting her. His nose tickled her clit for a moment, making her tingle, and then it was gone. Fortunately his warm, wet tongue soon replaced it, soothing the tingle and making it worse all at the same time. His fingers crawled upward as his tongue continued its assault. They pulled at her skin and the touch of his tongue intensified. Her clit felt huge and engorged. Muscles in her belly twitched as she felt the heat rise. She was losing control. Her orgasm was so close a few more touches would do it. “Please. Yes. Like that.” He drew back. “Would you like to come?” “Yes, goddammit!” He knew the answer, why was he even asking her? His fingers stroked lazily around the inside of her thighs and she pushed with her hips, trying to make contact with his knuckles at least. She succeeded, once, but it didn‟t put her over the edge, just made her teeter more frustratingly. “Yes, I would,” she said, thinking maybe if she didn‟t swear at him he‟d help her come. But she already felt it receding, and he did nothing but watch her eyes. “A sub says „yes Sir‟ when asked a question like that. Or even „if you wish, Sir,‟ if she trusts her Dom to understand she means yes. Whether you get to come, of course, is still up to me.” He bent down between her legs again and licked up one side of her labia and then down the other, with only a momentary stop at her clit on the way. “Yes Sir,” she said. There was no way she was taking any chances with his understanding. “When I ask,” he murmured, and repeated the slow path of his tongue, starting on the other side. It wasn‟t enough, but she wasn‟t in any position to make him do more. She felt the pressure build inside her again as his tongue flicked past her clit one more time. He teased her until she was sure she couldn‟t take it anymore, his hands stroking all around her sex but never touching, his tongue tasting her but never concentrating on where she needed it long enough. “Would you like to come, Kyra?” “Yes!” That wasn‟t enough, she knew. What did he say? I’ll say anything. “Yes, Master, please!” “Sir would have done, love, Master is for slaves.” But his tongue flicked across her clit and didn‟t leave, moving back and forth in tight little circles that made her pussy feel as if it were on fire. His fingers plunged into her—two, three? Then everything broke loose and her body shook, pulling at the ropes around her wrists and ankles without even intending to. Never before had she felt an orgasm all over instead of just
41
Recipe for Submission
down below, and it seemed as if it wouldn‟t stop. Her arms and legs quivered, her face grew hot, her breasts tingled and jiggled and her womb clenched. She screamed.
42
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Five Drew admired his handiwork. Her body shone with sweat. Her eyes were closed and her breathing heavy. Her breasts rose and fell, pretty pink nipples jutting out at him. She looked as if she were going to fall asleep, her body sated, and he was going to let her despite the raging hard-on he had. If he grabbed a condom from the drawer and fucked her hard he doubted she‟d object, and it would certainly satisfy his needs on one level, but he wanted her awake and with him. Her eyes fluttered open. Her voice was husky. “Now your needs, Sir.” For all he‟d thought she was dropping off, her gaze was remarkably steady. He smiled. So she was going to stay awake after all. She pulled at the ropes around her wrists as if she forgot they were there. Then she pulled again, after the ropes had reminded her. “I could please you more if you let me go. Sir.” “You please me most bound.” He slipped off the bed and stood, taking his shirt off. He didn‟t really want to bother; he would have been happy to free his cock and plunge it into her. He had to force himself to remember he was more than his cock, and he‟d enjoy himself best naked. He enjoyed the power imbalance accentuated by having her naked while he was fully clothed but it was an appetizer, not the main course. When he finally got his pants off, her eyes went wide. “You‟re big.” He chuckled. He knew nature had been kind to him. “Sir? I have a request.” He thought he knew what it was going to be. Fuck me. That suited him fine. She asked respectfully enough, so she‟d figured out how to play the game. For a tourist, she was doing very well. “Go ahead.” “Please use me in whatever way your imagination desires, Sir.” He‟d heard whatever you want from women. But the way she phrased it was something else entirely. She didn‟t know how wild his imagination could run. He opened the drawer, ripped open the foil packet and rolled the condom over his cock. He‟d reward her. If she thought she was done coming, she was in for a surprise. He mounted the bed and Kyra, positioning his cock at her entrance, rubbing it against her folds. She jerked her hips up in response, spurring him on. She wanted it, all right. At least she wasn‟t one of those idiots who protested that he was going to be too big for her.
43
Recipe for Submission
He entered her slowly, advancing inch by inch, although as slick as she was he could have plunged all the way in with one thrust. She tried to wiggle forward and hurry matters along, and the bed creaked as her ankles pulled on her bindings. “Yessssss.” He grinned. She was a vocal little thing, and he liked that. He liked everything he knew about her, now that his guard was down. He reached up and squeezed her breasts and she groaned. Whatever way your imagination desires, Sir. He moved his fingers closer together. Her nipples called to him and he wanted to see how sensitive they were, how much she could take with pleasure. He remembered how she liked it when the flogger wrapped around. He was guessing he wouldn‟t be disappointed. But he decided to wait a moment. He moved that last inch, until he was all the way in and her pussy squeezed him. That was no involuntary reaction, he knew. He smiled at her, waited for her to unclench, and then pulled almost all the way out. Her eyes pleaded with him. His fingers squeezed her nipples and tugged as he slammed back in. “Oh!” Her eyes widened and then he couldn‟t see them anymore as she arched her back and pushed her hips toward him, her head leaning backward. “Yes, yes, yes!” He watched her breasts jiggle as he held them by their tips. She pulled back against him, helpless to get away but increasing the tug on her tender peaks even more. He‟d intended to let her go, to hold them for a moment, but he wasn‟t going to let her take the upper hand by pulling away. He moved back and forth, fucking her, and her upper body held still while her hips jerked in rhythm with his. She wasn‟t trying to pull away after all, he realized, as she didn‟t try to relax the tension in her breasts. She was trying to intensify the sensation. He grinned. My kind of woman. He replaced one pair of fingers with his mouth and sucked greedily. His cock was aching for her and he was possessed of a primitive desire to claim her, to mark her as his and his alone. He rubbed her tender nipple against his teeth and all she did was moan louder. He had thought her done when her eyes had closed earlier, but she was close, very close, to another orgasm. Maybe as close as he was. He straightened, letting the suction go, and held her breasts in his palms. She liked the intensity. He‟d give it to her at the right moment. He gritted his teeth to avoid giving in to his own need to erupt inside her. She wouldn‟t want him to slow down, and damn if that wouldn‟t make it easier. He filled her, thrusting in deep, as far as he could, and he felt her pussy flutter around him. Almost there. Almost. He reached forward and flicked the peaks of her breasts with a snap of his fingers. If I’m right about her… He was. She yelled his name, not in anger but in ecstasy. He felt her pussy convulse around him. She flailed on the bed, pulling ropes taut, her hands gripping in little fists. Perfect. Such lovely breasts. Such lovely reactions. He could come now, safely, inside her. That was what he wanted, although…
44
Sindra van Yssel
Your imagination. That was what she said. He wanted to mark her and yet leave her undamaged. Her tits beckoned him. He slid out of her channel, ripped off the condom, and moved forward, pushing her breasts together in his rough hands and sliding his cock between them. She nodded at him, wide-eyed, and then stretched her tongue out to flick his tip. The wet touch was like a jolt of fire shooting down his cock. That hadn‟t been part of his plan. He knew he was clean but she didn‟t. Still, spilling on her skin was safe enough. In her mouth, well…he knew it was safe. He pulled back but he couldn‟t resist pushing forward again, and again her tongue teased him. He should make her stop. He couldn‟t stand to. And he didn‟t want to take his hands off her lovely breasts. One thrust more would do it, he knew, and he‟d be all over her. She‟d smell of him, taste of him, feel him spread out across her skin. He grabbed her hair, pulling her mouth away. It didn‟t matter anymore that he couldn‟t squeeze her against him, he was coming anyway, his seed shooting across her chest and her neck. “Ahhhhhhh.” “Yes, Sir, yes!” she screamed. She pulled against his grip to try to lick up the liquid on her chest. He held her firm. “Please let me taste you!” “You barely know me.” She turned aside as if he‟d slapped her. It was the truth, wasn‟t it? And yet he‟d wanted to claim her. That had been what coming on her body had been about, rather than giving in to the so-seductive squeezes of her pussy and spilling inside the condom. He hadn‟t been acting or thinking like a near stranger. Shit. “I‟ll get a towel and wash that up.” He got up and headed to the adjoining bathroom, not sure what he could do to salvage the situation. But he had to do something. “Good idea.” Her voice was steady. She didn‟t burst into tears or anything like that. She turned her head to watch him. He got back with a damp washcloth and a dry hand towel. He dabbed her clean then dried her off. “Maybe you should untie me too, please.” She hadn‟t said her safe word, but he nodded. He‟d been planning to anyway. Deftly he untied the knots that secured her wrists and ankles, leaving the ropes still attached to the bedposts. She sat up. “Thanks.” He turned to sit next to her on the side of the bed. “My pleasure, my total pleasure.” Her smile at that was thin, but at least it was still a smile. The way she leaned into him was nice. She was cuddly and warm, and his arm fit around her waist fine. “You said that „master‟ was for slaves. What‟s the difference between a slave and a submissive?” she asked. He recognized what she was doing, getting the conversation back on the familiar ground of research. Fair enough. “Ask a dozen people in the scene and you‟d probably get twelve different answers, including that there isn‟t any, that it‟s just words people use. But to my mind a submissive is someone who gives up power for a scene, for a few 45
Recipe for Submission
minutes or a few hours of play, and then goes back to their normal lives. A slave is someone who gives up power to one person or a few people permanently, or at least for a very long time.” “Have you ever had a slave?” He shook his head. “You said a few people? You mean there are some people who are slaves to a group?” “Well, two, usually. Sometimes the slave is the center of attention, like a woman submitting to two heterosexual masters. Some people don‟t like being the center of attention and submit to a married couple, or something like that. The reasons they might have are as varied as there are people, but it can be very comforting to belong as part of a group, obviously.” She frowned, snuggling closer, not really looking at him. “Sounds like a situation tailor-made for drama.” He nodded. Personally, he liked to have his attention on one person and have the same returned. “Sometimes. Some relationships go someplace, some end in a mess, just like in the vanilla world. But some people make it work. Either jealousy isn‟t very strong with them, or they‟ve worked it out well enough to enjoy the benefits despite the heartache.” He shrugged. “Oh. How about you, are you the jealous type?” She turned her face up to meet his gaze. “No commitment, no reason to get jealous. I‟m not really the relationship type at all.” “Yeah. Me neither.” She was too quick with the words. Drew didn‟t believe her for a moment. And he believed her even less as she giggled nervously and added, “Just footloose and fancy-free, that‟s me.” “As long as we both have a good time, that‟s the important thing.” He wasn‟t sure he sounded any more convinced than she did. It had always been enough before. He didn‟t intend ever to settle down. He didn‟t object to it on principle, but settling down wasn‟t for him. He wasn‟t worried about whether his genes survived—he had three brothers and two sisters who were out populating the universe. There wasn‟t any biological clock ticking away at him, as far as he was concerned. One thing about everyone being different, it also meant that no one was perfect. And no one person could satisfy all his desires. “I had a fun time. I guess I should be getting home, huh?” He knew if she walked out the door now he might not see her ever again. “You‟d have to get your clothes on first,” he said dubiously. “That‟s true.” She looked at him sideways. “I think I know how to do that, though.” Uh, yeah. It had been pretty lame. Having her right next to him, feeling her soft skin touching his arm, knowing how responsive her breasts were to sensations both gentle
46
Sindra van Yssel
and intense made his heart race. His cock hadn‟t softened the whole way yet, and in fact it was getting stiffer by the moment. “You‟re welcome to stay the night, if you like.” She met his gaze and for a moment he thought he had her, that she was going to say yes. If she didn‟t want to, he wasn‟t a good judge of women at all. But she slowly shook her head no. “We barely know one another, after all.” He supposed he deserved that, but he didn‟t have to like it. All because he‟d turned down her request to taste him, for no good reason. He could have let her. Nothing bad would have come of it. The habit of being careful, of wanting people in the community to know that he took safe sex seriously, had made him pull back from a situation that he knew held no danger. Kyra didn‟t care about the rules, anyway. “Very well. I‟ll give you a ride back to your car, of course.” He sighed inwardly. “Would you give me your phone number, please?” She smiled. “I‟d forgotten about that. I think I was imagining my car parked out front here. I don‟t think I‟d want to leave my car in that neighborhood overnight. Thank you, Sir.” The Sir reminded him of how much he‟d slipped out of role. He didn‟t usually let that happen. A sub wanted to know where she stood, after all. For whatever reason, he was off his game tonight. He got his own clothes as she stood and went downstairs to retrieve her bra and her blouse. He watched her back arch as she fastened the bra in back and as she buttoned her blouse to cover her skin. He pulled on his pants and his shirt. Her worries about her car stopped him from making another run at convincing her to stay. When she was done he stood and retrieved his cell phone. “Making a phone call?” she asked. She didn‟t say Sir, and he was tempted to correct her, but now wasn‟t the time. He‟d been too lax about it for her to think it was required. “Entering your number.” “Did I say I was going to give it to you, Sir?” The corners of her mouth twitched up quickly before she got her face under control again, and he knew he had her. “No, but you are.” She rattled it off quickly, but he still got it on the first run-through. He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, his lips hard against hers. Her mouth opened slightly and he took it as an invitation, slipping his tongue in along hers. It was welcomed by hers, and for a couple of seconds their tongues danced. “Thank you, Sir.” He grinned. “My pleasure, Kyra.” He offered his arm and she took it.
47
Recipe for Submission
Chapter Six Kyra drove back to her suburban Maryland apartment feeling confused. Drew had waited watchfully until she had gotten in the car, gotten her engine started and was on her way home before turning away. In fact, he‟d been every inch the gentleman from the moment he‟d broken off that kiss, the sort of man her mother always wanted for her. The sort of man she‟d thought she‟d always wanted for herself. He was well-off too, owning a restaurant and a house in a nice neighborhood in the city. He wasn‟t that far off from the detective in her books, the charming and single Garrett Chandler. But what made her heart beat faster wasn‟t any of that. It was the wild expression on his face when he came all over her, which she was sure any good girl would have filed under the category of totally gross, and she‟d always been a good girl. But in the afterglow of her own orgasm, tied up and helpless, that look, the one that said he‟d take his pleasure however he liked, was heaven. He‟d already shown, twice—three times if she counted the dinner—that he‟d do what it took to see to her satisfaction. With most men she‟d dated that was high on her worry list. Drew was the first man she‟d ever been uncertain would accept pleasure from her. “Okay,” she said aloud, trying to break the lonely silence inside the car. “So the sex is good and he can cook. He also isn‟t interested in a relationship, and the moment it goes beyond a few good times, he‟s outta there, and then some other man is going to have to measure up or I‟ll die as a batty old maid.” Damn him. It started to rain. There was no way she was going to find a space close to her apartment, not at this time of night, and she hadn‟t brought her umbrella. “The perfect end to a perfect evening.” She said it sarcastically but upon reflection she decided that it hadn‟t actually been too far from the perfect evening. The dinner was perfect. The sex was perfect. The way he told her that she was going to give him her phone number was totally arrogant, of course, but also damn close to perfect. There were only a few off notes. “You barely know me.” And I said much the same to him. I should have stayed the night, rather than taking my moment of spite. Even if something happened to the car, it would have been worth an insurance hassle. She turned into the parking lot and found she was spot-on about the parking spaces. An old newspaper lay in the backseat so she grabbed that and held it over her head while she raced across the asphalt as fast as she could go on her heels. The paper started dripping through halfway to the door. She punched in the security code and ran inside, eager to get her wet clothes off.
48
Sindra van Yssel
The next morning was just as frustrating. She woke up wondering what Drew would have made for breakfast. It didn‟t inspire her to do any cooking, however, and she settled for pouring milk on muesli and drinking a glass of orange juice. Would Drew have wanted to have sex with her before breakfast? After? During? There was no way of knowing. He was unpredictable. Well, he had her number. She had writing to do. Three days passed and he didn‟t call. She‟d decided her BDSM villain wouldn‟t do for the murderer after all. She had better things to do with him. He made a hell of a good red herring, the way she had things set up, but really, the husband of the first victim made a better murderer. Killing off his wife for submitting to a dark and powerful Master, then killing off other women to frame his wife‟s lover for the crime— it was perfect. The Master, naturally, was modeled after Drew, although he didn‟t seem the type to make love to another man‟s wife. Then again, “You barely know me”, he‟d said. Was she projecting her preferences onto him? She shook it aside, focusing on her character and the novel rather than on the dubious nature of her reality. One way or the other, she was getting a certain amount of pleasure out of killing off all the Master‟s other women, one by one. Footloose and fancy-free—not the jealous type, not me. And pigs can fly. The phone rang and she grabbed for it. But there was no one there. Dammit, he insisted on getting my phone number, why hasn’t he called? Then again, she reminded herself, some people have lives that aren’t quite as flexible. Maybe the restaurant business is making demands. Or maybe he’s tying some other woman to a bed and making her scream in ecstasy. Grrrrr. She decided she was in the right mood to write a particularly gruesome murder scene, so she skipped ahead and went to it. Then Garrett, after taking a look at the body—he had an iron stomach, Garrett did—ended up getting into a long dialogue with his Police Inspector friend, and by the time she looked up it was nearly five in the afternoon and she hadn‟t eaten lunch yet. Her tummy was rumbling. She looked at the crystal bowl, a present from her sister that sat next to her computer, but it was empty of chocolates and she knew the bag she refilled it from was empty too. She‟d been munching rather a lot the last few days. It was time for a real meal, something healthy, something scrumptious. She deserved a reward for all the work she‟d done. But rather than a restaurant popping into mind, she found herself thinking of Drew‟s seared tuna steaks. She frowned and then she smiled. I may not know his phone number, and there’s no way I’m going to show up at his house. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know where to eat dinner. She Googled Ryan‟s restaurant, got an address on Wisconsin Avenue in Northwest DC and called to make a reservation. “Just one, madam? We can seat you at six, but I‟m afraid our later times are spoken for until nine-thirty.”
49
Recipe for Submission
She could make six. No wonder Drew was busy, if finding a table for one on a Wednesday night was that much of a challenge. “I‟ll take it.” “Your name, madam?” She smiled. Drew would recognize her name if he saw the list. But what were the chances? She was probably safe and she didn‟t know which way to play it, anyway. Let him know she was on her way, or just pop up? “Mallory. Just Miss Mallory, if you would.” “Very well, Miss Mallory, you have a table reserved for six. We look forward to seeing you.” She looked in vain for the tuna dish on the menu and then ordered the Salmon Florentine. Salmon in a sauce made from artichokes sounded as if it would be good. “And how would you like that cooked, ma‟am?” The waitress was a decade younger than her and wore a skirt short enough that it probably got her extra tips from the male patrons. She wasn‟t the only pretty waitress on staff, she‟d noticed, nor the only one provocatively dressed. Kyra tried to avoid glaring at them as they walked by. “Um, medium I guess.” “Very good. I‟ll put your order in promptly.” The waitress scooped up the menu from the table and turned to go. Kyra remembered the tuna. “Actually, I changed my mind.” The waitress turned back, a carefully bland expression on her face. “You don‟t have any tuna on the menu, do you?” She knew better, because she‟d searched through it three times. “No ma‟am.” Her face didn‟t betray annoyance but it wasn‟t as full of warmth as it had been, either. “Ah, well, I‟ll have the salmon seared, then.” “That‟s very rare, Miss Mallory. Rarer than the rare would be. If you like it medium, then seared will not be to your liking.” “Seared.” Kyra‟s voice was firm. “As you wish, Miss Mallory. Will that be all?” “Tell Mr.— No, that‟s all.” She wanted to attract Drew‟s attention without making him feel fenced in. Someone who detested relationships wouldn‟t want to feel cornered. And maybe the rules of the game said that he was supposed to make the next move anyway. Maybe submissives were supposed to wait. Screw that. Kyra opened her mouth, but the waitress was already ten feet away and receding. She glowered at her diet cola and sipped. Nothing left to do but wait for the food. At least one advantage of ordering it super rare was that it wouldn‟t take long to make.
50
Sindra van Yssel
Coming to Ryan‟s had seemed a good idea but now she felt trapped. Nothing was going to happen. If she could believe that with her whole heart, she could settle back and enjoy her food when it came. But the thought that something might, that Drew might be there, was enough to make her edgy. Time ticked away. She saw other people who had ordered after her get their food, but hers still hadn‟t arrived. The waitress went past her, ignoring her raised hand. Kyra was sure the girl saw it, but she steadfastly refused to make eye contact. She sighed. She‟d been on such a roll. If she‟d grabbed some fast food she‟d be typing madly away instead of getting all frustrated. The waitress came back, holding a tray. Finally. Then she saw a handsome darkhaired waiter in a bow tie following, holding a bucket of ice with a bottle of white wine in it, and a glass. She hadn‟t ordered any wine. Obviously it wasn‟t her food. Dammit. The waitress placed the tray in front of her. “Salmon Florentine.” The salmon was so covered in creamy light green sauce that it was hard to see, but it was there. The broccoli on the side looked so fresh she thought she might try it and she hated broccoli. “Thank you.” Kyra‟s frustration was gone in an instant. The food smelled so good, her mouth watered. The waitress didn‟t say a thing but picked up her cola and took it away. It was half full still, and she hadn‟t asked for a refill. The waiter stepped forward, set the glass on her table, and started to uncork the wine. “I didn‟t order any wine.” He smiled at her as if she‟d been speaking some obscure foreign language and poured. Weren‟t they supposed to let her sniff the cork? Maybe he spoke Spanish. She didn‟t. “Mi no—” She stopped, and tried again. “No vino.” Was that Spanish or Latin? He smiled at her again, bowed deeply. “Bon appétit, mademoiselle.” Her French wasn‟t any better, but at least she knew the word for wine. “Ne vin pas. No vin.” She felt the heat come to her face at how badly she was mangling the language, but it was better than not communicating at all. He bowed again and walked away. She set her elbows on the shiny table and held her face in her hands for a long moment. If she ever saw Drew again, she had a few words to tell him about his restaurant. She certainly wasn‟t going to pay for wine she hadn‟t ordered. Resigned, she picked up a fork. She had to admit it all smelled absolutely lovely. She picked up a steak knife and started to saw at the salmon, but it flaked off at a touch. Its light pink interior showed that it had been cooked through. They hadn‟t even followed her request on that. She looked around, saw the waitress halfway across the room helping another customer with seemingly no intention of bringing her a diet cola, and gave up. She lifted a forkful to her mouth.
51
Recipe for Submission
The tartness of the artichoke and the salmon mixed perfectly. She closed her eyes while she felt the salmon flake in her mouth. She hardly even had to chew. So this was why the tables were filled. They probably didn‟t mess up every order. She sipped the wine; it was sweet, but not too sweet, the perfect complement to the salmon. She went back and forth between wine and salmon a few times, nibbling and sipping. She lifted a broccoli floret to her mouth and she‟d be damned if even that didn‟t taste good. For the next several minutes she was lost in the food, savoring each forkful. She almost didn‟t notice someone sliding into the seat across from her. She looked up and saw Drew Ryan. “You.” “Were you expecting someone else? When you went ahead and ate, I assumed you were alone.” His eyes were sparkling as if he held all the cards. He‟d had that same look on his face when he‟d tied her to his bed. “Why didn‟t you call?” “Pierre, my chef, has been sick this week. This is his first day back and I‟ve been filling in, which has meant I‟ve been here from ten in the morning to after midnight every day.” Her face softened. “It‟s nice to see you. And the food is delicious.” “Thank you. I was watching you eat. It‟s good to see someone take such pleasure.” She blushed and raised her hand in a futile attempt to hide it. “I ordered it seared, but the cook screwed it up. And I didn‟t order the wine.” “No, you didn‟t. And yes, I found Pierre cursing about the damn patron who wouldn‟t trust the chef‟s judgment, and the twice-damned waitress who‟d asked her how she wanted it. Cecilia‟s new. She won‟t ask again.” “It wasn‟t her asking I minded—” “But it was her asking that I minded. Anyway, I took what Pierre made to your specifications and tossed it in the trash, much to his delight. And then made the dish myself. The sauce isn‟t built to handle the flavor of raw fish, they would fight. And to drink a diet soda with it is a crime against nature.” Kyra blinked. Was he angry because she‟d ordered the wrong food or drank the wrong drink? But he didn‟t sound angry, even if his words were over the top. Passionate, but not angry. “I don‟t know what to say.” “You could try „Yes Sir‟.” Oh my. “Yes Sir.” “Do you mind if I join you? I ate but it would be a pleasure to watch you. And I might share in the wine. Compliments of the house. As is the meal.” “I can pay for it. I will—” “After your order was botched so badly? I couldn‟t hear of it. The meal was late, you didn‟t get what you ordered—no, no, I insist.”
52
Sindra van Yssel
You didn’t let me get what I ordered. Damn you. At least now she knew why he had that grin on his face. He did hold all the cards. He waved at the waitress and she came quickly, bearing a glass and setting it before him. It looked as if she‟d missed her chance to tell him he couldn‟t sit down too. Not that she‟d been planning on doing it, but she was tempted to take the wind out of his sails. And yet his confidence was also attractive. She wouldn‟t have to mother him, that was certain. But she ought to say something. “You have a lot of very sexy waitresses.” She meant to say it neutrally but she hadn‟t managed to keep the accusation out of her voice. “Not, um, that I‟m attracted. Is it part of the hiring process?” He chuckled and poured a glass for himself. “You‟re thinking they‟re my own private harem? I‟d never touch an employee in that way, and a few have asked to be touched. And almost all women are sexy, anyway.” So he drew at least some lines. “You dodged my question. Sir.” “It was impertinent. But since you pressed nicely, yes, the waitresses and the waiters are part of the ambience, but they come in all shapes and sizes. The key isn‟t that they have beautiful bodies—it‟s that they all think well of themselves. Sometimes too well.” He chuckled and then grew serious. “They eat good food, and it‟s a very physically demanding job. Most of them have been here for quite a while. You happened to draw an exception.” It had been too long between forkfuls. She‟d set the knife aside, as the salmon flaked so easily that it wasn‟t necessary or useful. Raising her fork to her mouth, she savored the contrast between the tartness of a sliver of artichoke and the more subtle taste of the fish. “So my turn for a question. What brings you here?” Drew asked. She shifted her weight. “Would you believe that I was hoping for some of that tuna?” “Yes, I would. Is it true?” She hadn‟t thought of the fact that complimenting his cooking might feed the man‟s ego as much as telling him she hoped to run into him. She looked up from her food and met his gaze. “Partly.” He smiled. “And the other part?” “I‟d rather not say.” He grinned. “I have three pleasures in life—good food, great sex and watching a woman admit something she‟s too embarrassed to say.” She wrinkled her nose at him. He would say something like that. “You like humiliating people.” “Humiliate? Never. Embarrass? Certainly. Nothing I love better than a good blush, and yours is coming along nicely. Not quite as red as you were the other day, in the
53
Recipe for Submission
club, almost naked, tied up and on display. Or when you were in my room, spread out, your charms—” Kyra laughed. “Okay, okay, you‟ve made your point! I came here hoping I would see you. And also because I was hungry. I‟d lost myself in my work.” He grinned. “I‟m fortunate that my work doesn‟t interfere with my meals. I‟ll make you an offer, then.” “One I can‟t refuse?” “One you can refuse, but won‟t.” She wondered if he knew how attractive that confident smirk was to her. Probably. He played her so easily. It occurred to her there was some question she wanted to ask him, but she couldn‟t remember what it was. “So what‟s your offer?” “My offer is this, that after you finish eating, you walk out of here with me and follow my directions exactly for the rest of the evening.” “Doesn‟t sound like a very even deal.” “Have we had any even deals yet?” She was about to say in the club, but she realized she‟d be lying. Yes, they‟d taken turns. But what he‟d given her was a lot more than she‟d given him. She‟d been like a gnat trying to sting an elephant, swinging that flogger at him, and he‟d left her skin feeling electric and her pussy paradoxically feeling both sated and frustrated. She‟d gotten more pleasure than he had, and it wasn‟t from her being selfish. “No. You‟ve always had your way.” She expected him to tell her and you enjoyed it, but he didn‟t. He smiled and said, “Exactly.” Her heart beat harder. Shit. I should go back and work some more. But I’ll be thinking of him the whole time. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. “Fine.” He smiled. “The restroom is behind you, past two tables and then to your right. Take off your panties and then come back. In fact, you are never to wear panties again on any date with me.” “Why not? And you said after I finish my meal.” He chuckled. “You‟re very sharp and I like that in a woman. I did indeed. Hold me to it, if you like. I‟m afraid my desire got in the way of my restraint.” He leaned on the word restraint, and Kyra wondered if it was intentional, and did he mean to remind her of how he‟d tied her up? Maybe, maybe not. She didn‟t know with him. She suspected she never would know, and he seemed to read her like a book. One thing she was sure of, and that‟s that it would give him pleasure for her to follow his orders. She got up, grabbed her purse, and took two steps toward the restroom. Then she remembered what she had wanted to ask him. She whirled. “Would you play with a married woman?”
54
Sindra van Yssel
His face fell. “You‟re not married, are you?” She hadn‟t thought that anything she could say would take that perpetual arrogant smile off his face. Knowing it was a bad idea, she couldn‟t resist teasing. “We‟re just in it for a bit of fun, right? Nothing serious. You don‟t do relationships, anyway.” “No, and I don‟t do other people‟s relationships either,” he said fiercely. A couple of heads at the nearby table turned, and Kyra remembered she was in a public place. Worse, he was at his livelihood and she didn‟t want to queer that for him in any way. If she kept going to the restroom, she didn‟t know if he‟d be there when she got back. So she sat down, lifted her left hand, pointed to her naked ring finger and murmured, quietly so as not to make a scene, “Not married, and I‟m glad.” He stared at her. No, he stared through her, and she felt that if she had been lying he would have known. She was very glad she wasn‟t. At last his face softened into a smile. “I don‟t mind if you wait until after you finish your food. That food is worth focusing on, after all.” She smiled at him impishly, feeling mischievous suddenly. She glanced around, moving to the far side of the seat from the aisle. The people around had lost interest, or at least were too polite to keep staring. So she slid up her skirt quickly, enough that she could hook her panties, and pulled them down and over her knees, dragging the skirt back into some semblance of decency at the same time. She had to wiggle to get them off the rest of the way with any discretion, and when she kicked them off her feet she nudged them to the corner. She suppressed a giggle. Some cleaning crew would find them and wonder, at some point. She‟d been looking at the table during the whole operation, without really realizing it, and she was startled when she looked back up to see his eyebrows raised and a curious expression on his face. “Or maybe,” he said, “I should require you to wear them every time, so I can watch you take them off.” She blushed. “I don‟t think I‟ll risk that.” “I don‟t think you want it to be your choice.” My choice? Of course I want it to be my choice whether I wear underwear or not. Her heart sped up and she looked at him. He was relaxed and intense all at the same time. At ease with himself, sharply focused on her. Maybe. She felt her nipples tighten into hard little points and knew they‟d be completely obvious if she hadn‟t been wearing a bra. Would he want that to be his choice too? She squirmed, feeling dampness between her thighs. Fuck. This is turning me on. “Part your knees, Kyra.” That didn‟t help. “How do you know they‟re not parted already?” “Because you‟re still squirming. Open them. No one can see. Even I can‟t see. But I‟ll see it in your eyes.”
55
Recipe for Submission
Slowly, inch by inch, she moved her knees apart, feeling the air on her bare sex. She knew he was right, that no one could see her, for if she raised her knees a few inches they‟d hit the bottom of the table. “Now enjoy your food,” he directed. She nodded and set to work with her fork again. What had tasted delicious now was mouthwateringly obscene. She drank a little extra wine for courage. I’ll probably regret this later, but not nearly as much as I’ll regret not seeing and feeling all he has in mind. She felt a deep warmth in her core, every primitive instinct telling her that this was exactly where she wanted to be. Then she felt his shoe against her pussy, with the tip positioned right at her clit. He smiled at her as if nothing was going on and casually sipped his wine. She thought of moving away, but didn‟t. She wanted to move against him, but she wasn‟t that brave either. Nor did she trust herself to keep her expression calm while having an orgasm right in the middle of a restaurant. He wouldn‟t take it that far, would he? She didn‟t know. His foot was moving, sending shocks all up her body. She could barely concentrate on her food, as delicious as it was. She gulped down some more wine, feeling hot despite the chilled liquid. “I disinfected my shoe with alcohol before I came over here, by the way.” She blinked. She hadn‟t even been thinking of that on a conscious level, but she supposed she should have been. “Um, thank you.” He grinned. Which means he planned that from the moment he saw me here. The panties, the wine, the food, everything was all part of his plan. And he made sure everything was safe, even when I didn’t look out for myself. Yes, it was definitely feeling warm in the restaurant. She felt the worries slide away from her. She set her fork down, picked up some salmon with her fingers and stretched out her tongue to lick the pink morsel from her fingers into her mouth, meeting his eyes as she mmmm‟d softly. She was going to come if he kept it up, she knew that. But she was determined to move. She‟d have to try to remain quiet when the time came. She could always bite her lip. Her hips twitched toward him, eager for more friction on her clit than she was getting, despite her intentions of staying still. She took in a sharp breath. So close now. A little more. He grinned. “But I mustn‟t distract you from your food. It‟ll wreck your appetite.” She felt his foot move away, then heard a clunk as his heel hit the floor. She stared at him, gritting her teeth to stop from moaning. He knows exactly how close I am. “And I wouldn‟t want to leave you hungry.” “Bastard,” she muttered. “I‟ll assume you said „Master‟, because I‟d hate to have to punish you for what I thought you said. You know that I‟ll see to all of your needs before the night is through. Trust me, it will be a memorable one.”
56
Sindra van Yssel
Trust me. To Kyra‟s surprise, she did. There was only one thing she trusted herself to say, however. “Yes, Master.” Drew leaned back, looking as satisfied as she‟d seen any man ever be. He stayed like that for a long several seconds. She watched him as she finished the last few bites of her meal, unused to seeing any man look that happy with her. Then he blinked and the look was gone, replaced by an unreadable poker face. Maybe you don’t want me to know you’re pleased. But I know. And I will see that look again.
57
Recipe for Submission
Chapter Seven Drew knew he‟d made a mistake. He‟d had things so planned out. He‟d even, on the off chance, called Ken up and booked a session at the club. On the regular party nights, the place was jammed and it wasn‟t always easy to get the right piece of equipment. But Ken let people rent the place when there wasn‟t a party going on— better to make a little money than let it sit idle. It normally would be expensive to have the whole place to himself and Kyra, but Ken owed him a few favors. Drew had helped put together some of the pieces of bondage furniture in the club, and because of that, he already had a key. But he‟d let her call him Master. He‟d encouraged it, even, after she‟d called him a bastard. He never let a sub call him that, lest she get ideas that he had something more permanent in mind. And he‟d explained to Kyra the difference between a slave and a sub a few days ago. He wondered if she remembered. She was sharp, and he was willing to bet she did. He ought to clarify himself right then and there, but it would destroy the mood. That hadn‟t stopped him before when a sub started demanding from him more than he was willing to give. But everything had gone so well since he‟d spotted Kyra in Ryan‟s and had formulated his plan. He wasn‟t willing to mess it up now, even if it meant trouble later. Maybe, said a voice inside him, that’s because you’re going to let this one have a piece of your heart. Not bloody likely. He stood, holding out a hand to her. “Come.” He kept his voice level, not daring to let any emotion in it lest he come across too hard or too soft. She stood, placing her hand in his and smiling. For someone he‟d teased to the very brink of orgasm she seemed remarkably content. “Yes, Master.” Her hand felt soft and small and surprisingly relaxed as he closed his own meaty fist around it. He led her out of Ryan‟s and toward his pickup. This time she didn‟t make a comment when he lifted her into the cab, but he thought he saw another smile as his hand briefly held her backside. Nice soft ass. He loved a girl with curves. Not until they were five blocks away did she ask where they were going. She‟d probably expected him to head toward his Kalorama home, not south toward Carpe Noctem. “Someplace fun,” he told her. He expected her to argue. She didn‟t. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. He focused on his driving. Looking over at her was too tempting. She‟d opened her eyes again by the time Drew pulled up to the club. He pulled right into Ken‟s space since Ken wasn‟t going to be there. “I thought the place only ran on Friday nights.” 58
Sindra van Yssel
“There‟s parties on Saturday nights too, but they‟re run by a local group and you have to be a member to go to their parties. Mondays and Thursdays a group of pro Dommes rent it. Tonight, however, we have it all to ourselves.” He grabbed his bag of toys from the back of the cab and got out of the truck. “What‟s a pro Domme?” asked Kyra. She‟d hopped out before he could come around to help her. “Professional Dominatrix,” Drew explained as he took her hand. They walked toward the club together. Holding hands reminded him of being a teenager, before he‟d discovered the world of kink. He shut that out and tried to refocus on the question. “There‟s a huge number of male submissives, but you won‟t see very many at parties because their odds of getting what they are looking for are pretty low if they come unattached. There aren‟t enough women who prefer the dominant role. As a result, some men pay for the privilege of being spanked or abused or whatever. The law of supply and demand.” Kyra chuckled but her eyes looked serious. Maybe even annoyed. Drew wondered what nerve he‟d hit, but he didn‟t have to wonder long. “Why is it abuse when a woman‟s on top, but a bit of fun when it‟s you?” Ah, so that was it. “It isn‟t. It‟s abuse when it‟s abuse, no matter who does it. And frankly, male submissives are more likely to use that word to describe what they want, and maybe that means their use of the word is wrong. For everyone, there is a line not to be crossed, and maybe that‟s when it becomes abuse, but I do know that a lot of what other people do crosses my lines for myself. There are things I won‟t do. And as much as I‟d like not to judge other people‟s kink, there are some things I won‟t condone.” He opened the door for her but she hesitated. It was pitch-black inside, so that was understandable. He went in ahead of her, found the light switch to the right of the door and flicked the lights on. There was a hum as power surged through the overhead fluorescents. He‟d always tuned out the sound in a crowd of people but it seemed loud now. He made a mental note to tell Ken to have the ballasts checked sometime. It didn‟t seem to bother Kyra, who stepped in as soon as the room was illuminated. Drew shut the door behind her, and locked it. “What sort of things wouldn‟t you do?” she asked. He chuckled. “Lots of things. Jump from an airplane without a parachute. But that‟s not what you meant.” He considered it, aware she was watching him. Was she interested for her book, or simply because she wanted to be reassured about the answer? “Some stuff is plain gross. And I won‟t do verbal abuse. There‟s that word again. If someone submits to me, I treasure that, and I‟m not going to tell them that they‟re sinful or somehow any less because of their desires. And I won‟t do anything that I wouldn‟t be willing to have done to me.” “Well, some things are physically impossible to do to you, and I‟ve already experienced you doing some of them to me.” Kyra grinned at him.
59
Recipe for Submission
“Point.” He led her into the main room of the club. Without a party going on, the whole place looked even bigger than it normally did. “You are only a man, after all,” Kyra said. She withdrew her hand from his, giggled, and took off at a run. Not toward the exit, but across the big, empty floor in the middle. He shook his head, grinned, heaved his bag and sent it skidding across the floor toward where he intended to play with her, and then gave chase. She ran around a spanking bench, then hid behind an X-frame, and no doubt would dart whichever way he didn‟t go around. He knew he‟d get her in the long run. If he didn‟t miss his guess, she was catching her breath even now, and he ran 10Ks four times a year. He thought about faking one way and catching her when she ran the other, but she seemed to be having fun. So he lumbered to the left. As expected she ran the other way. Most of the tables and chairs had been put away to the sides, so she couldn‟t use those. She dodged around the sofa near the middle of the room, grabbed a hitching post as she went past to help her make a tight turn along the far wall, and ran until she got behind a waxing table. Not willing to appear to be fooled by the same trick twice, he went straight through the middle this time, jumping up on the spanking bench and grabbing for her. She ducked and ran along to her right along the wall, toward the swing. Right near his toy bag. Perfect. He put on a burst of speed and caught her around the waist. “I‟ve got you now.” She struggled for a fraction of a second before relaxing back in his arms. “So you do. What are you going to do with me?” “First, I‟m going to rip your clothes off.” She leaned back and smiled at him, breathing hard. “Would you like me to scream?” “Only if you want to.” He took hold of one side of the collar of her blouse and yanked down and away. The buttons popped in rapid succession, and only one of them came off entirely. Drew made note of where it rolled. He‟d sew it on later, if she wanted him to. “Eek,” she murmured softly. He undid her bra and cupped her breasts. Running around had cooled his ardor, but now his cock was swelling again. Her breasts were soft and heavy in his hands. He felt her nipples harden against his palm. He didn‟t think his hands were cold. “Mmmmm, Master,” she purred, leaning back into him. “Am I a bad girl for running like that?” “No. It was fun. It is fun.” “I was kind of wondering if maybe I needed to be punished.” She looked up at him. “And what did you decide?” “That it isn‟t my decision.”
60
Sindra van Yssel
“Maybe you need to be rewarded for being fun and letting me catch you.” Let, my foot. He was sure she was running full tilt from the way she had been catching her breath. But she seemed to have recovered now. “Hmmm. What would I get if I was being punished?” “A spanking.” “And for a reward?” He grinned. “A spanking.” She twisted in his grasp and he decided to let her, although his arms still encircled her. The friction of her body against his was delicious. “So what‟s the difference?” she asked. He laughed. “You‟re learning.” He picked her up and over his shoulder. Her long hair brushed against his back and her feet kicked in front of him. “I wouldn‟t struggle if I were you, you‟re not getting free, and if I dropped you it would probably hurt.” He set her against the swing. It wasn‟t designed primarily for someone to be ass-skyward in it, but he knew it would work well enough. He placed her so her stomach was against the “seat”, which was about three times as wide as a child‟s swing. Her breasts dangled over one edge, nicely available to him. He attached her wrists to the cuffs above and her ankles to the cuffs below. Her legs were spread that way and her pussy was visible over the edge of the seat. Lovely. She had to arch her back to get comfortable with the way the cuffs were placed, but he didn‟t expect her to have any trouble for the short time he was going to keep her in that position. Still, he asked. Better safe than sorry. “You okay?” “Yes.” As an afterthought, “Sir.” Now why did I want her to say Master, instead? Habit carried him forward, so he didn‟t linger on it. He couldn‟t afford to get lost in his own headspace when he had a lovely lady like Kyra at his mercy and needing his attention. “If at any time any part of you feels numb or tingly, you let me know, okay? Especially your extremities, your hands and your feet.” “Yes Sir.” Did the words represent pulling back for her? Or did she remember what he wanted to be called and was trying to please him? He didn‟t know. She‟d say her safe word if she really wanted to pull back, he supposed. “You remember your safe word?” Kyra nodded and shivered. “Yes Sir.” “Cold?” He massaged her ass, warming it up. “Anxious. It actually feels, um, rather warm in here.” “Thank goodness it‟s summer. On the other hand, in the winter I wouldn‟t take you here alone. The place needs a crowd to keep it warm.” He leaned forward, nestling the bulge in his jeans in the crack of her ass and spreading his body over her back. The swing naturally moved her forward. He reached around, cupped her nice, full breasts,
61
Recipe for Submission
and pulled her back. She‟d get her spanking. It would have to wait for a few minutes, because he had a devilish urge he wanted to make sure she was ready for. He stroked the peaks of her breasts, teasing them to hardness. Her areolas bunched up and felt deliciously bumpy to his fingertips, a sharp contrast with the smoothness of the skin around them. She purred. All the while he flexed and straightened his knees, swinging her back and forth softly. When his fingers closed in around her nipples and squeezed, she jumped, the chains that held the swing clanking at the sudden movement. The weight of his torso held her in place. “Good or bad, Kyra?” “Bad! Well, good. I—” He gave her a moment to finish, and let her go only when it was clear she wasn‟t going to. The little moan of disappointment told him what he wanted to know. He gave Kyra a small push to send her rocking and then took a couple of steps, grabbing the strap of his bag and pulling it closer. It might look like an innocent Redskins sports bag, but inside was a collection of sensation toys ranging from the gentle to the intense. Some were homemade, some were bought from craftspeople in the scene, and some were perfectly normal objects that most people never had a sexual thought about, like a horse‟s grooming brush or a bunch of tiny clothespins on a string. But the bag was well organized, like his kitchen. He knew the importance of being able to lay his hands on exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. “Don‟t worry, you‟ll get your spanking.” He pushed her with his hip, knowing how important some kind of touch was, and he wanted to stall for a few seconds. His hands were busy rubbing a length of chain with two little tweezer clamps on each end. Even on a hot day, metal could feel quite cold, and that wasn‟t the sensation he was after. “I wasn‟t worried!” she insisted. Her voice held a humor to it he appreciated. He‟d never been fond of subs that spent all their time cowering and mewling. But Kyra had as much spirit as anyone he‟d met. More. And given how recently she‟d thought that people like him were simply evil, she showed extraordinary courage in tackling the feelings she now felt. He leaned over her again from behind, his body covering hers, and reached around with his hands. Caressing her left breast with his fingers, he was delighted to find its peak still hard and ready to be clamped. “Sir, I‟m feeling a tingling,” Kyra said, her voice calm, trusting and undistressed. Shit. He noted the fact that she trusted him to take care of it in the back of his mind, but he got off her and moved quickly to the cuffs her wrists were tied to as the most likely suspect even as he asked her, “Where?” “My nipples.” She giggled. She knows full well what she’s done, and I really should punish her for it. Safety is serious business. He‟d been really worried about her, and she‟d made a joke of it. On one level, he could accept that it was funny. But his desire to make sure Kyra was safe was too intense for him to laugh. The little wench was grinning from ear to ear too. 62
Sindra van Yssel
“Very funny, Kyra,” he said when he thought he could keep his voice even. “And don‟t think I don‟t see the humor. But I‟m very serious about your safety, and I expect you to be serious about it too. A tingling in your hands or feet could mean that your blood supply wasn‟t flowing to those parts properly, and that could be very dangerous if not seen to.” The nipple clamps were in his fist still and she hadn‟t seen them since the bag was behind her when he got them. He could use them as punishment this time, but then she‟d have a hard time accepting them as pleasurable if they ever wanted to use them again. And he did want to play with her again. Which meant that he couldn‟t let things be. He couldn‟t keep her safe all by himself; he needed her cooperation. He knelt down in front of her and showed her the chain and the clamps. “These are for your tingling nipples. Trust me, they‟ll stay tingling for a bit. You‟ll need the distraction.” She blinked. “I‟m sorry. I-I couldn‟t resist.” She grimaced as he attached the clamps, adjusting the rubber-tipped tweezer ends around each tender bud. He tightened them enough to be sure they‟d stay on, but not any tighter. “Take a breath, love.” She breathed in deeply. “Do they feel okay?” He brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face. “Yes, Master. Thank you.” He opened his mouth to correct her, but didn‟t. “I want you to remember to never give a false alarm again. If any top you ever have takes you less than seriously when you tell him there‟s a problem because you‟ve joked about it—well, you know about the story of the boy who called wolf, I‟m sure.” The thought of any other top playing with her made him tighten inside. Since when did I become jealous? Still, if the emotion made him look more fierce, that was all to the best. She nodded, her eyes shining with uncried tears. She squeezed them shut, then opened them again. “I‟m sorry, Master. I don‟t know—I hope I‟ll remember.” “You will. I won‟t spank you for a punishment. We‟ve already established that‟s a reward.” He knew where Ken kept some canes in a bucket in the corner, and he knew Ken kept them clean. Ken wouldn‟t mind if he borrowed one, but he‟d pay Ken for it instead. He‟d only used one once, a long time ago, when he was trying out different things. He never thought he‟d try one again. “Six of the best,” as the British said, was more intense than he wanted to dish out to anyone. “Do you accept that I have a right and responsibility to punish you? If you don‟t, all you have to do is say your safe word and I‟ll drive you back home.” She stared at him, hesitating. “Yes, Master,” she said at last, the tears flowing now. He wanted nothing more than to give her a hug. “How will I be punished?” “Three strokes with a cane,” he said grimly.
63
Recipe for Submission
She winced as if she‟d been struck by the first blow already and hung her head. He waited. Had he pushed it too far? Was he going to lose her? But he couldn‟t let it go, either. He could only imagine what she was thinking, wondering if he was like the stereotype she‟d imagined Doms to be when he‟d first met her. Wondering if she trusted him. Wondering if she ought to save herself the pain. The worst thing was not knowing what was going on in her head. He couldn‟t even see her face for a clue. “Yes, Master,” she said at last. “Good girl,” he said, ruffling her hair, feeling the gesture hopelessly inadequate for the trust she‟d showed in him. He got up and took a step toward the corner. “Master?” He stopped and turned to look at her. “Yes?” She raised her head and looked at him. “I won‟t ever have another top. So don‟t do this to teach me a lesson for anyone else. But if you do it to teach me a lesson for how to be with you, I accept it completely.” It wasn‟t quite “will you keep me?” but it was damn close. He ought to go back and give her a spanking, or perhaps let her go. He wasn‟t going to enjoy using the cane on her. She wasn‟t going to enjoy it either. He was acting as if she were his slave. Someone permanent. He barely trusted himself to speak. “Understood.” He walked across the floor to get a cane.
64
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Eight Kyra stared after Drew‟s broad back. To say that the clamps would keep her nipples tingling was an understatement. If she didn‟t manage to stay absolutely still, the swing started swaying, and that set the chain swinging as well, which pulled on her nipples and turned the tingling into sparks of fire. She didn‟t know whether she loved it or hated it, but she was sure it was one of the two. When she was in high school, a kid she knew had pulled the fire alarm to get out of a test. It was great fun, standing outdoors on a fine spring day, watching the fire trucks arrive and the firemen run in with their axes and gear trying to find out what was wrong. They probably knew that the odds were better than fifty-fifty that it was a prank, but of course no one took any chances with a thousand school children. Later that night, on the news, there was a story about a house that caught fire about five miles away, and a man who‟d died inside before the firemen could save him. She didn‟t know whether the fire trucks that were at her school would have been there, instead, or if they had been whether they could have helped. But it ran through her mind every time there was a fire drill after that. I, of all people, should have known better than to poke fun at his precautions, or to find pleasure in knowing I could make him jump. She didn‟t feel much better about using the incident to let her put him on the spot. But she‟d meant what she said. She couldn‟t pretend it was research for the book, and she wasn‟t going to hunt for someone else when he was done with her. And he‟d made perfectly clear he would be done with her. I want at least one more chance. Please. Let me show you I can make you happy. He came back holding a slender stick of wood not quite two feet long. It didn‟t look like much. If it had a feather on it, it would have looked like a wand for some kid at Hogwarts. He came to a stop a few inches in front of her. “What are you thinking?” She was tempted to lie and make up something about how scary the cane looked, but she told him the truth. She couldn‟t help what thoughts came to her. “Your mind works in interesting ways, Kyra.” He moved around her and she couldn‟t see him anymore. She wondered if he smiled the moment he was out of sight. Somehow she doubted it. She felt what had to be the cane resting across her ass. “Do you wish to use your safe word?” “No.” “Very well.” His voice was cold, and she couldn‟t tell if he was angry or simply pushing his emotions down. When he lifted the cane, she felt suddenly alone. Time slowed down while she anticipated how it might feel. “I‟m sorry,” she whispered.
65
Recipe for Submission
She felt his hand on her back and it was as if the tension in her flowed away through his hand. There was a moment‟s peace, and then the cane hit. Pain blossomed on her rear in a thin fiery line, pain that bled around the edges and shut out all other senses. A second later, she didn‟t know if she‟d screamed or taken it in silence, she only wished the pain would go away. It ebbed, but changed from fire to intense ache. The rattling of the chains that held the swing opened her to the fact that the rest of the world hadn‟t disappeared. Her breasts still ached from the clamps. That was something to focus on. The little chain between the clips swung back and forth in response to the motion of the swing, tugging on her rhythmically. She tried to push her chest forward, whether to intensify the sensation or to alleviate it she wasn‟t sure. A dull warmth stole down from her chest and settled in her core. My god. I’m wet. “Do you wish to use your safe word?” “No!” She was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. She didn‟t want the pain. The clamps might be turning her on, but the cane sure wasn‟t. But she wasn‟t going to give in. She didn‟t ever want to fail him, not ever again. This time the stinging line was higher up, but still on soft and giving flesh. She shrieked, clutching the chains next to her hands for dear life. Fuck, that hurts! She tried to focus on her breasts, but it helped only a little. She didn‟t know if she could take another. Please don’t ask me about my safe word. He didn‟t. The third strike didn‟t feel nearly as bad. Maybe it simply blended into all the other sensations, but it felt as if he‟d pulled back. She heard the cane clatter to the floor. The next thing she felt was his arms around her, awkwardly because of the chains of the swing. “Don‟t ever do that again.” His words were scolding but his voice was heavy with emotion. “No, Master. Thank you.” Tears were streaming down her face and her ass hurt like hell. She wasn‟t sure exactly what she was thanking him for, but somehow it seemed the right thing to say. He‟d taken no pleasure in beating her, sadistic or otherwise. He‟d been concerned about her safety, and willing to have her hate him in order to teach her to take it seriously. She wished she could hold him back. “I‟ll get you down,” he said, letting go of her and reaching for a cuff. “Please don‟t.” She wondered if she was out of line. He was supposed to be in charge, after all. He stopped. “Why?” “I‟m—” She broke off, trying to understand it herself. I’m horny. It seemed so very wrong, to want to be fucked at a time like that. And from the huskiness in his voice, she suspected it hadn‟t been an easy thing for him to cane her. She glanced at his crotch and saw no trace of the bulge that had been there before. He definitely hadn‟t gotten off on it. She didn‟t think she had, either. But her pussy was soaking wet and wanted contact. Wanted fucking. “I want to please you.” 66
Sindra van Yssel
“You please me fine.” He moved in front of her, crouching, one hand stroking her cheek, the other playing with her hair. A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Use me, Master.” Her pussy ached more as she said the words. She wanted him inside her, driving deep toward her womb. She‟d thought to say fuck me, but somehow leaving it up to him made her even hotter. “However you like.” He kissed her hard, tilting her head back, forcing her to arch her back. The chain pulled on her breasts as his tongue invaded her mouth. His lips were rough on hers. She responded eagerly, tongue wrestling with him, feeling her face get hot. She held back a whimper when at last he drew away. But she couldn‟t hold back her smile when he stood and she saw the hard ridge of his cock shaping the front of his pants again. He moved around her, out of her view once more. She let her head hang down; she could see his legs move, upside down, from there. She felt his fingers on her pussy, sliding between her nether lips. “You‟re wet,” he said, sliding two fingers inside her. “Yes.” There was no point in not admitting it. It was embarrassing, but even that was hot. He‟d feel her wherever he wanted to. “The caning turned you on?” His fingers stopped moving and a mixture of disbelief and maybe even disappointment filled his voice. “No.” As much as she wanted him to approve, she knew it wasn‟t true either. “The cane was just pain.” “The clamps, then.” His fingers slid again, in deep and then almost out again. He reached his other hand around to cup a breast, his top finger below the aching peak. “No. Maybe a little. Just—to surrender to you. To let you decide whether to punish me, and how to punish me. To let you decide how to use me. To let you do as you wish. I‟m all yours. Master.” “Oh.” She hadn‟t thought she‟d ever surprise him into speechlessness, but he was silent for a long time. His hands caressed and teased her, and she closed her eyes to soak it all in. He broke the silence. “I want to make love to you. I want to feel your pussy tighten around me when you come.” His hands ceased their fondling and left her body. She felt the cuff around one ankle loosen and her leg fell as he released her. She didn‟t know why he was setting her free to do that, but if he wanted to, that was his call. She hoped she‟d feel his touch soon, but she hadn‟t been lying. To give control over to him felt wonderful. It turned her on. And she knew, deep down, that as long as he had control, nothing bad would happen to her. He released her other ankle and then her wrists and lifted her. “This may hurt your bottom a little.” “What will?”
67
Recipe for Submission
He rolled her over as if she was weightless to him and set her back down in the swing. He was right. The feel of the leather seat stung, reminding her where each stripe had been laid, even the third one. Deftly he cuffed her wrists and ankles above her head again. The way the swing was constructed it would have been impossible to close her legs even if she wanted to. He took the time to take off his clothes, standing naked and beautiful in front of her. Even standing against the backdrop of the huge room, he looked big. If she had to stand naked in such a large place, she knew her confidence would be shot, but he didn‟t look the slightest bit concerned. Certainly his cock didn‟t, jutting out, long and thick. Her mouth watered. “Please.” He grinned, and for a moment she thought he was going to make her beg for it. She knew she would too. But he unrolled a condom over his cock from the foil wrapper he had palmed in his hand. She‟d never thought rubbers were sexy before watching his meaty fist pull one over his big cock. She pulled at the cuffs, wanting the hand to be her hand, and yet somehow there was something very intimate about watching him do it too. He stepped forward between her legs and his cock nudged the entrance of her pussy for a moment. The delicately balanced swing carried her an inch away, and then back, until she could feel him again. It was sweet torture. His hand settled around her hips after a few times and pulled her toward him. His cock slid inside, stretching her. She bit her lip to stop a moan, and it came out as a whimper. He let her go and pushed forward with his hips. She felt her butt pushed against the leather. The chain from the clamps jostled against her belly. Then she moved, and felt him sliding out of her. What was so special about sex in a swing, anyway? It kept propelling her away from him. And then she swung back, her pussy filling with his cock again. This time she moaned aloud. He grinned, thrusting inside her, moving in a rhythm felt and mimicked by the chains above her. She could barely move her own hips in response, and when she did it only made the pain of the stripes worse, but the swing did her work for her. He was in control. She couldn‟t close her legs, couldn‟t stop from moving back against his thrusts. She never thought that being out of control could feel so good. She felt a wave rise deep inside her core and build inexorably. The stinging in her ass each time he pushed into her, the ache in her breasts, the stretching of her pussy, the way his pubic bone bumped against her clit with each swing—or was it her bumping him—was suddenly too much. She screamed in pleasure as her pussy squeezed tightly around his cock. Her jerking body rattled the chains. For a moment she felt as if she was floating in some way beyond the swing‟s imitation of weightlessness. She waited to come crashing back, for the little post-orgasmic letdown, and it didn‟t come. He was still inside her, still thrusting, stretching, and she was still climbing higher, as if another release was in store. “This will smart,” he said softly. His voice was tender, but it wasn‟t an apology, just a statement. It barely registered. He unclipped the clamps and blood flowed back into 68
Sindra van Yssel
her aching peaks, and smart didn‟t cover half of it. It was as if the numb nerves had suddenly awakened, and fire spread from the two peaks. He bent over her, kissing one wetly and then the other, and the pain didn‟t so much subside as it was transformed into something more sensuous and deeply sexual. One more thrust sent her over the edge again. Her moan turned into a laugh, and as she threw her head back she felt a tear run back across her temple. He jerked and her body moved with it. A low grunt followed by a moan escaped his lips. She felt him twitch and pulse inside her, and with her eyes closed she could see his cum spurting out of him. Her muscles tightened and she squeezed him instinctively, milking his cock with her pussy. It’s only natural that I should want as much of this man’s seed in me as I can get. Dimly she remembered the condom, and the remembrance of him putting it on made her shudder again in an echo of her orgasms. It was ever so sensible. Sense be damned. She could want whatever she wanted, there, helpless, cuffed, in his control. He would take care of the sensible part. She could let her instincts run wild. And her instincts loved the fact that he had come inside her. “You‟re incredible.” She heard him but it was as if he was talking from a distance. Such a sweet thing to say. I am, aren’t I? She‟d never felt incredible before. She felt him pull out, was dimly aware of him discreetly disposing of the condom. His warm body pressed against hers as he undid the cuffs binding her to the swing, and when she was free she fell into his strong arms. Maybe I ought to respond. Later. He sat down with her, cradling her in his arms. She felt warm and safe, even naked in a huge room. She shifted her weight so that her ass was in the air. It stung, pressed against his thigh, and while she didn‟t mind the reminder, she didn‟t want it to continue. He had cared enough about her safety to want to make sure she never forgot, and she didn‟t think she ever would. Of all the reasons to hurt, she couldn‟t think of a better one. “I love you too, Master.” He blinked. “I didn‟t say anything.” She smiled. “You didn‟t have to.” She could hear footsteps. Someone was in the room with them. Had they seen everything? She shocked herself by deciding it didn‟t matter. Her back was to them. But whoever it was, their timing sucked. They could see where the cane hit still, she was sure. “Not now, Ken,” Drew said, not looking up. “You lousy mother fucker.” The voice was strange and angry. She didn‟t think it was Ken, although she thought she might have heard it somewhere before. “And you whore. Bad enough when you beat up on pussies who want it, but you let him do that to you? I‟m going to kick his ass.” She twisted around to look. It definitely wasn‟t Ken. It was the man who‟d been waiting outside the door when she‟d first left, who‟d asked her about his wife. The
69
Recipe for Submission
stalker. He was wearing a dark blue business suit with a bright red tie, but he still looked nasty. How did he get in? “Who the hell are you?” asked Drew. She thought he was going to drop her and put his guard up to defend himself against the obviously angry man, but he turned instead and set her down so that she wasn‟t between the two men. It was chivalrous, protective, and stupid. After Drew set her down a kick to the head sent him sprawling. She looked up to give the stalker a piece of her mind, but he wasn‟t looking at her, he was looking at Drew, and that made her stop for a moment. She got to her feet. She didn‟t know what she could do to slow him down, but she‟d grab him and hang on for dear life if it gave Drew a chance to get himself together. Drew wasn‟t moving. Shit. The stalker took a step toward Drew and a realization struck Kyra. He‟d only seen her from the back. What had he said when she first saw him? That his wife looked like her. That had to be it. “I‟m not your wife, you idiot!” She grabbed his shoulder, but it didn‟t even slow him down. Suddenly Drew moved, pushing up with his hands and one leg, sweeping his assailant‟s feet out from under him with the other. Kyra let go as the man went sprawling. Drew got to his feet and like that, the tables were turned. The stalker was on the ground, looking up. Drew‟s big hands were clenched in two dangerous-looking fists. The man on the ground took a look at them and for the first time focused on Kyra. “You‟re not my wife,” he said. “No shit, Sherlock.” She wished she had her clothes on, but she wasn‟t about to turn her back on the two men to go get them. Drew might need her. The man grinned sheepishly. “Hey, no harm, no foul. Sorry, man. Thought she was someone else. You‟ve got a nice piece of ass there, do whatever you like to her, none of my business.” He started to scramble to his feet and Drew put his hand on the man‟s shoulder and pushed him back down. “Hey, I said I was sorry.” “You‟re the guy who is stalking Mary Beth,” Drew said. It was a statement, not a question. “My wife, yeah. A man has a right to care when his wife is fucking other men, you know?” “Ex-wife.” “Still married in the eyes of God.” “That interested in seeing God? I can get you there quickly.” Uh-oh. This isn’t going well. It’s not self-defense anymore, not with the man on the floor. “Hey. I‟m sorry man, please.” There was terror in the man‟s eyes, and Kyra almost felt sorry for him. Almost. The important thing was to cool Drew down before he got a murder rap. She put her hand on his shoulder, hoping the touch would help. 70
Sindra van Yssel
Drew didn‟t seem to notice. “Let me tell you this, very clearly. If you touch Mary Beth, or anyone connected with this club, ever—if I even see you around this place, ever again—I‟m going to give you a beating you‟ll never forget. Is that what you want? Do you get off on that, huh, boy?” “Uh. No.” “No what?” The man looked blank for a moment. “No, um, Master?” Drew looked nauseated. “Get the hell out of here. Now. Before I change my mind. And never, ever come back.” Mary Beth‟s ex got to his feet and ran. Drew stood there staring after him until he heard the door shut. Then he turned and gathered Kyra up in his arms. “Sorry about that, love.” “You‟re sorry? I‟m sorry.” “I guess you look a bit like Mary Beth, maybe,” said Drew doubtfully. “But what the hell. He must have had the place staked out. But dressed like that? I guess he had someone else staking it out for him. Maybe someone with just a photo to go on, a private detective or something who gave him a call when he saw us go in. Dunno how he got in but that lock Ken has is a piece of crap.” “Are you okay?” That kick to the head had looked nasty. Obviously, Drew had been playing possum, waiting for the man to turn his back or make the wrong move, but he‟d been kicked hard enough to make both her and the stalker fall for it. He winced. “It hurts a bit,” he admitted. “Doesn‟t seem fair I didn‟t give him as good as I got. But I don‟t think he‟ll be back here anymore. Not bothering you or Mary Beth.” “I thought you were going to kill him for a moment there.” Drew chuckled. “Just make him think I might. Sometimes being thought a reprobate is an advantage. People don‟t know what you‟re capable of, and they think the worst.” Kyra relaxed in his arms. It hadn‟t fit, actually. Although getting kicked in the head could bring out the temper in anyone. “I don‟t think he would have bothered me anymore anyway.” “Didn‟t cost me anything extra to keep him out of Mary Beth‟s hair at the same time.” “Is she a good friend?” He shook his head. “No. But—well, in a way, everyone who comes here regularly is kind of family, y‟know? Nobody else is going to look after us, if we don‟t look after each other.” “And who looks after you?” He didn‟t seem to have anything to say to that.
71
Recipe for Submission
She wiggled out of his grasp and he let her. She moved to his side and then kissed the back of his head, where he‟d been hit. It was right at the base of his skull and it was swelling. He winced at the touch of her lips. “That light a touch shouldn‟t—” she started to say. “It‟s nothing.” “Nothing, my foot. Sit down.” “I‟m perfectly capable of—” “Sit down.” He sat down, groaned, and looked up at her. “Now who‟s acting like a Domme?” he asked. “We‟re not playing that game anymore. You can be my Master any other time you like, but—right now, we‟re playing doctor.” He smiled wryly. “Hello, nurse!” he said, waggling his eyebrows. And wincing again. That didn‟t look good at all. She knelt in front of him and held his eyelids open. His pupils looked big to her. Bigger than they should be, she was sure. “Stay there,” she told him. She walked over to where she‟d left her clothes and pulled her cell phone from her purse. “What are you doing?” “Getting an ambulance,” said Kyra. She dialed 9-1-1. “I don‟t need an ambulance.” Kyra nodded. “I really hope you‟re right. Now shush.” She explained the situation and the address to the woman on the phone. “We‟re naked,” Drew pointed out. Kyra shook her head. “See, you‟re not even thinking straight. This is DC. We could get dressed ten times before they get an ambulance here.” Drew groaned. “Get me my clothes.” She smiled. “I can do better than that.” She picked up his clothes, walked over, and held his shirt open for him behind his back. She lifted his right arm and put it in the sleeve. “I can dress myself,” said Drew, but he didn‟t move to stop her. “Of course you can. But what‟s the point in having a slave if she doesn‟t take care of you?” The fact that he didn‟t correct her made her even more worried.
72
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Nine Drew‟s head ached and he felt vaguely like throwing up. But it seemed worth peeking at the world so he blinked. The first thing he saw was Kyra‟s concerned face. What was she doing here? Not that he knew where here was. He stared. “Kyra.” She smiled. “You‟re awake. That‟s a good sign.” “Head must have been hurt worse than I thought.” He looked around. Three pukegreen walls with an ugly floral print curtain for a fourth plus medical equipment told him all he needed to know. He was in a hospital. He vaguely remembered an ambulance ride, but he couldn‟t remember actually getting to the place. It was sweet of Kyra to come with him. She was standing next to the bed. The upper half of the bed was tilted up partway. “You don‟t need to stay. Really.” “I know that, silly. I want to.” A doctor came in, wearing green scrubs the same color as the walls. “Good, you‟re awake. Stay down.” That was it for his bedside manner, apparently. He checked Drew‟s pulse by hand and nodded with some satisfaction. “We‟ll keep you another hour or two, if you can stay awake. More if you don‟t. How‟re you feeling?” “Sore.” “Nerves are working. You‟ve got a concussion. What we call „moderate‟, which is still nothing to sneeze at. Or to sneeze with—it‟ll hurt. What do you do for a living?” “He owns a restaurant.” Kyra said with pride in her voice before he even opened his mouth. He wasn‟t used to hearing quite that tone from a woman, and he had to admit it sounded good. “Well, don‟t do your own bouncing for a couple weeks. Play any sports?” At least Kyra let him answer that one. “Ultimate. Once a week.” “What the hell is ultimate?” asked the doctor. “Um, Frisbee football. It‟s more low contact than it sounds. No tackling or blocking or anything like that.” “Don‟t do that for a couple weeks either. I‟ll be back in an hour or so. You.” The doc looked at Kyra. “If he falls asleep, come get a nurse. We‟ll keep him under observation overnight, at least, if that happens.” Great. He could tell the doctor right now that he was going to stay awake. If there was one thing worse than being kicked in the head, it was staying in a hospital. The smell of antiseptic, the faint undercurrent of whatever the antiseptic smell was covering up, the food. My god, if I have to say overnight they’ll probably make me eat the food.
73
Recipe for Submission
“I can‟t stay here,” he said. It was wasted on the doctor, who had pulled aside the curtain and was on his way. He tried to sit up. Kyra laughed and pushed on his chest until he was back lying on the bed. “Have another date, big boy?” The smile faded right after she said it, as if it had started a joke but hadn‟t ended up that way. It wasn‟t a look he wanted to see on her face. “Yeah, I‟m making you breakfast.” That put the smile back where it belonged. His mission accomplished, he thought maybe he‟d close his eyes for a few moments, lie back and relax. “Oh no, you don‟t.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Oh yeah.” He smiled wanly. “Gotta stay awake.” “Obviously, you need something to make it worth keeping your eyes open.” Kyra met his gaze as she undid two buttons on her blouse. That left her neckline low enough he could see the lace on her bra, and when she leaned over all the blood rushed to his cock. “Is there anything else my lord requires?” “You have me elevated to the nobility do you?” He kept looking at her beautiful round breasts, so generously displayed. Yeah, he wasn‟t going to have any trouble keeping his eyes open. “Well, some people call it cleavage, but giving what you‟re doing, I think peerage is another good name for it.” It took him a moment, and then he reached behind himself and threw the pillow at her. She batted it aside, laughing. “Hey! You‟re supposed to be resting! Cut that out.” She picked up the pillow, leaning forward delightfully in the process, and then almost smothered him with her breasts as she pulled his head up and tucked the pillow in behind him. But what a way to go. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Hard. Horny.” He decided to leave out woozy. She smirked. “If you want me to do anything about it all you have to do is say the word.” “We don‟t exactly have privacy here,” Drew pointed out. The doctor hadn‟t knocked when he came in, and he doubted anyone else would, either. “That could be awkward,” she conceded. “But still, orders are orders, and my lot is to obey them.” She said the last with a twinkle in her eye. She was daring him. It was tempting. He could practically feel her wet lips sliding over his shaft just thinking about it. But he‟d take better care of her than that. Someone walking in would be virtually assured, and he didn‟t want to see her humiliated. A little exhibitionist embarrassment in a club around like-minded people, maybe. Not in front of random strangers. But her willingness was sexy as hell. He wasn‟t any stranger to willing, but with Kyra it was somehow different. Maybe it was because he‟d seen the way she 74
Sindra van Yssel
tackled a much bigger man to try to keep him away from Drew when he looked defenseless. Maybe it was because she stuck by him in a hospital. Or maybe it’s because I’ve suffered a blow to the head. But that wasn‟t it. He could find women who would do almost anything at a party, but he didn‟t want to be with just any woman. He wanted to show Kyra what sort of things could be done in the world of Dominance and submission. He wanted to hear her scream her pleasure. He wanted to show her she could ignore everyone around and focus on him in the middle of a party and yet still watch the flush of pink in her cheeks when she realized people were watching. He wanted to show her all sorts of erotic toys, to find out whether she liked the feel of ropes or the clank of chains better. And he didn‟t want another man putting his hands on her. Not ever. Feeling possessive was new emotional territory for him, and he wasn‟t sure what to do with it. “I‟ll take a rain check,” he said. “Darn.” If he‟d looked at her eyes, he might have thought she was truly chagrined. But he noticed the way her shoulders relaxed against the pink vinyl padding of the back of the little steel chair she was sitting in and he heard the way she let out the breath she‟d been holding. He smiled. He‟d always cared about making his partners happy, that was nothing new. But he hadn‟t turned many offers like hers down. He wasn‟t sure why he was so pleased with himself now. Because I love her. He wrinkled his nose up. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen to him. He was being a good protective Dom, that was all it was. Besides, she was a pushy sub—calling him Master when he‟d told her not to, daring him to order her to do something her body said she didn‟t even want to do. She didn‟t even know what she wanted, how was he supposed to know? She sat watching him and smiling. When he met her gaze, she asked him, “What are you thinking?” He paused, trying to decide whether to tell her or not. Deep down, he was sure he wasn‟t the best man for her. Or for anyone. He was a pervert, after all. Just exactly what she thought when she‟d first walked in the door of Carpe Noctem. He‟d assured a whole sequence of women that their desires were okay, that submission was just another way some people loved, and yet his need to be the Dominant—that was something entirely different. Wasn‟t it? “You don‟t even know what you want, how am I supposed to know?” There. He‟d said it. To his surprise, she didn‟t budge from the chair. He expected her to run at the harshness of his tone, at the accusation in his words. “I don‟t know. But so far, you‟ve always guessed right.” “Guessed.” He lay back against the bed again. He closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, not wanting her to think he was falling asleep.
75
Recipe for Submission
“More than guessed, I think. But if topping me is too hard…” She let the words linger, as if waiting for him to deny it. Topping you isn’t hard. It’s too easy. Too exactly what I want to do. He didn‟t say a thing. Let her believe it and maybe she‟d run away. Because for the first time he‟d met someone he couldn‟t order to go. “Then I suppose I could try topping you.” He stared at her. No fucking way. Is that what she really wants? Her chin jutted out in challenge, the same way it had when she was trying to tempt him into ordering her to go down on him. No, he decided. It‟s not what she really wants. But she‟s willing to go to that length. Could he say the same? Would he go as far? I can’t. The silence grew longer. Uncomfortably long. Maybe she did want that. But if I could do that, I’d be worthy of her. His heart hammered in his chest. He opened his mouth. The little innocent submissive had overturned everything he knew about D/s. He opened his mouth to speak. To say yes. He knew he couldn‟t do it for long, but maybe if he could do it for a while… “But I think we both know we prefer it the other way around,” she said. “It‟s what we were made for, you and I, and you‟ve been able to show me that. I never thought a man like you could truly love, and yet you do. You care for me when I‟m willing to do crazy things. Even with a concussion you faced down a crazy man who thought I was his wife. And you make me tingle in all the right places. So here I sit, waiting, ready to do whatever you command. And to give you as many rain checks as your poor head requires.” He blinked at her. He‟d sort of absorbed all of what she said, but somehow the word “wife” was reverberating in his brain the most. “I am so fucked,” he said at last. She laughed. “Well, you could be. But maybe you‟d be better off resting for a bit.” “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I would, at that.” He reached out his hand for her and she held his until he spoke again. “Go find a doctor and get me out of this place, will ya?” She met his gaze. It was a moment before he realized she wasn‟t staring him down, she was checking out his eyes. But she smiled, satisfied, and stood. “Your wish is my command.” She let go of his hand, performed the sincerest and most awkward-looking curtsey he‟d ever witnessed, and turned to go. He watched her ass until the curtain got in the way. Well, I may be hooked, but at least I’ve got that to look forward to.
76
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter Ten Kyra knocked lightly and no one answered. In his e-mail he‟d told her to come in without waiting for the door to be opened, but that felt really odd. But he‟d been quite precise in his instructions. She was to arrive promptly at eight o‟clock, let herself in, and look around. What could he have that she needed to look at? She‟d been in his apartment a few times since the concussion for some hot play sessions and physically satisfying sex. She‟d had to beg off the last time he‟d invited her because of a deadline, but she didn‟t have it looming over her anymore. Drew had been very understanding. Now she only had to wonder what her editor had to say about Garrett Chandler‟s new taste for kinky. She opened the door, cautiously. She could hear something sizzling in the kitchen. Well, that answered her question, which was where was he that he wasn‟t answering the door. Was he alone? He‟d said something about a party coming up the last time they‟d talked, and she couldn‟t make out any voices. She almost headed off in that direction when she saw a white piece of paper with writing on it stuck with tape to the coat rack. Look around, he‟d said. She read the note. “Take all of your clothes off, and leave them at the door, then go sit naked at your place at the dining room table.” Well, that settles it. He’s alone. She smiled and had lifted her blue jersey dress halfway over her head when she heard a voice, again from the direction of the kitchen. She froze. Or maybe it doesn’t. The party. For several seconds she stood there with her dress awkwardly half off, and then she gritted her teeth. I can do this. And sometimes the things he wants me to do that I think are going to be horrible are a lot of fun. She rather doubted she would enjoy the party anyway, but she decided he‟d earned the benefit of the doubt. She took her dress off. Staying in her underwear was tempting, but sadly the last part of the instructions had been clear. Naked. She kicked off her shoes, took off her bra, and slipped out of her panties. He never seemed to mind stockings, so she left those on and walked forward. She almost immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was a familiar one, but not someone she‟d met; it was the anchorman for an evening news show on the radio. She didn‟t know he liked to listen to it. Something else we have in common. She padded quietly across the floor. The dining room area was dim, lit only by the flickering flame from two tall red candles. There were two places set. One was at the end, the other next to it, on the side. The leather cushion on the side seat had a lovely little seat cover on it, in soft blue cotton, reinforcing her sense that it was her place. She never would have thought a Dom
77
Recipe for Submission
would be concerned about sparing his sub the momentary stickiness of leather on a bare bum, but it was a quintessentially Drew-like gesture that brought a smile to her face. There were two goblets at each place, one empty, one full of water. A bottle of wine sat chilling in a bucket full of ice. Silverware, napkins, all were arranged with precision, but no plates. She sipped her water and waited. Her heart was pounding. He obviously had quite an agenda, but what did it all mean? Drew came to join her a few moments later, bearing two plates. He set one in front of her. Three bamboo skewers, each with different kinds of meat and vegetables dripping with juice, sat on top of a pilaf of basmati rice and orzo. It wasn‟t the only thing that looked good enough to eat. He was wearing tight jeans that accentuated the muscles of his thighs, and a white open-necked shirt that tied up in the front rather than buttoned, with billowy sleeves. It may have been a few centuries out of fashion, but it looked damn good on him. “You look lovely,” he told her. She blushed. She occasionally, not often, got compliments when she picked the right kind of clothes, but undressed he could only be talking about her. “I just look naked, Sir,” she retorted, trying not to blush. She was probably failing, but fortunately there wasn‟t a mirror in sight and the reflection off the wine bucket wasn‟t at all clear. She hadn‟t called him Master since the night in the hospital. He hadn‟t invited it, and she didn‟t want to push him somewhere he didn‟t want to be. “Same difference.” He grinned at her. She stuck out her tongue. He kept grinning. “We‟ll put that to use later.” He sat down and filled their goblets with white wine. “What do you call this, Sir?” She was eager to get the attention off her and the food was convenient. Besides, it looked delicious. He laughed. “I don‟t have a name for it yet, and that‟s what keeps it off the menu at the restaurant. The kabobs are a fairly traditional Afghani seekh kabob, although the marinade includes some Western ingredients. The orzo definitely isn‟t traditional.” “You never do anything quite by the recipe, do you, Sir?” She smiled. They hadn‟t had missionary position sex once yet. Cooking wasn‟t the only thing he didn‟t do the traditional way. “Not unless it‟s my recipe. Objections?” “Never. I‟m a good girl, I am.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. He laughed. “I didn‟t think so. Try it! Tell me what you think.” She did. It was scrumptious, and she told him so, even though she was sure he already knew it and it would feed his already healthy ego. He watched her eat as if it was the most fascinating thing he‟d ever seen, barely touching his own food. That wasn‟t like him. He usually wanted to savor every bite, but this time he seemed distracted. She wasn‟t exactly focused herself, even though the succulent meats—lamb,
78
Sindra van Yssel
beef, chicken and something else she could only guess at—were perfect. She was all too aware of how naked she was, and she wasn‟t used to him being nervous. He was always so in control, except for that one little glimpse of vulnerability he‟d given her at the hospital. The plate, she noticed as she uncovered more of it, didn‟t have a scratch on it. Either it was invulnerable or he had never used the china before. “Save room for dessert.” His voice was the one of command, the one she loved to obey. “Dessert? Oh, I shouldn‟t, Sir.” She wasn‟t sure why she could let him tell her to strip and be bound, but dessert she objected to. She‟d been turning down the sweets for a long time. “You should.” You will, she read in his eyes, but he didn‟t say it. She wasn‟t sure what held him back. “Special occasion.” “I‟ll get fat.” “Your weight is perfectly healthy. And you‟re attractive to me the way you are. Probably to most of the rest of the straight male and lesbian population, but they can go fuck themselves, for all I care, because you‟re mine. One dessert won‟t change you that much. Even if it is to die for.” She was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. His. “The kabobs are to die for,” she told him. “The dessert is even better.” He grinned. “And mind your manners.” “Dessert could get to be a bad habit, Sir.” “Then you‟ll have to trust me not to let you develop it, won‟t you? It‟s part of my job to catch you if you fall, but part of the point of that is to let you fly.” She looked down at her plate, avoiding his gaze, and smiled. “Yes Sir.” She picked up a bamboo skewer and got a mischievous idea. She looked back up at him and put it into her mouth until her teeth could barely get a chunk of juicy lamb. The point of the kabob was almost ticking the back of her throat, but the effect on Drew was worth it. His eyes bulged as she slowly withdrew the skewer. Lamb juice ran down her chin. She lifted a leg and felt his groin with her toes, fully satisfied at the hard ridge she found there. “Wench.” “As you wish, Milord.” She realized she was wet herself. With her leg lifted, she could feel a cool breath of air from the air-conditioning on her pussy. “Time for dessert,” he said abruptly, picking up her plate and whisking it off to the kitchen. She watched him, her gaze first on the package in front, then on the nicely sculpted ass he presented when he passed her. He brought out one plate. There was a little round pie on it, the size of a single slice of a normal-sized pie, with bits of curled dark chocolate on top of what looked like
79
Recipe for Submission
whipped cream. Definitely fattening. She wasn‟t sure her willpower could have held out even if she hadn‟t been ordered to eat it. But around the pie was a black leather collar, an inch wide with a trail of small clear stones all around it, except for the buckle in the back and an o-ring in the front. The leather was a shade darker than the chocolate. He set the plate in front of her and sat down in his seat. She picked up her dessert fork. “Aren‟t you going to have some?” “No. Collared French silk pie is only for you, my love, and no one else will ever have any.” She blinked and her heart started pounding again. “You want me to put the collar on, Sir?” His gaze was intense. “Only if you want to be mine forever.” Yours. Forever. Doesn’t one normally do that sort of thing with a ring, on bended knee? Then again, he never has followed the recipe. She set down the fork and lifted the collar, careful to move it straight up so that it didn‟t get any chocolate or cream on it. She knew she was stalling. “It‟s beautiful,” she said. His. Forever. His slave. “Would I call you Master, then?” “You‟d be permitted,” he said, still watching her. She wondered if his heart was thumping as hard as hers was. “But we can do our own thing. Always. I‟ve never aspired to be called Milord before I heard it from your lips.” The leather was stiff in her hands. Like the plates, it hadn‟t seen any use before tonight. Wanting to avoid his gaze, she was transfixed by the glittery stones. She couldn‟t see the collar through the glass. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled. For a moment, the metal on the steel ring clouded over, but not the glass stones. She‟d had Garrett Chandler chase down a jewel thief once, and remembered the research she‟d done for that book. Diamonds didn‟t get misty when breathed on, or the mist dissipated so fast there was hardly had a chance to notice it. They dissipated heat too fast. Almost everything else that looked like a diamond would stay misty for at least a couple of seconds. There had to be thirty or more diamonds on the collar. Oh my god. She hesitated. She didn‟t want the diamonds to sway her decision. But the fact that he‟d had something like that specially made for her—it had to be a custom order, didn‟t it?—made her eyes water. She stared at it, not trusting herself to look at him, but it didn‟t help. Tears started streaming down her face. “What‟s wrong?” She heard his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back, felt his strong hand on her shoulder. “Nothing, Milord,” she managed to get out. She unbuckled the collar. It didn‟t matter if they were diamonds or not, her answer was still the same. “I don‟t mean to pressure you. I thought—well, you‟re perfect for me, and I want to make this evening perfect for you. And I want you in my life, Kyra, not just for a few
80
Sindra van Yssel
romps in the bedroom. But the pie can just be pie, love, if you would prefer.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks with a soft touch of his fingers. “Shush, Milord.” She opened the collar up and held it against her neck. The leather was cool enough to make her shiver, probably from proximity to the chilled pie, but it would warm up quickly enough. She breathed in the smell of new leather. “Would you be so kind as to buckle it on your most obedient wench?” “God, yes.” His fingers were only about it for a moment, and then it was on. It felt strange to have something snug around her neck. Strange but good. “I‟ll never take it off, Milord.” She turned her head up to smile at him. He moved back to his chair before he replied. “Most slaves have something a little more discreet to wear at work and in other public places, love. We can find a chain or something that will still symbolize our relationship.” “That‟s a lovely, very considerate thought, Milord. But I don‟t work with other people, and we don‟t have to follow the recipe, do we?” He grinned. “No, we don‟t. It still might be practical to take it off in the bathtub, love.” She laughed. “Yeah, leather doesn‟t like being soaked, does it?” “Nope.” She looked again at the pie, and at him. “You‟re going to watch me eat this, and not have any yourself?” “Oh, I have the ingredients. I‟ll have mine later, my way.” The smug look on his face was good to see. He was himself again, fully in charge. Whatever that meant, she had the feeling she wasn‟t going to like it. No, that was wrong, she always liked what he planned, she just found some of it challenging. But he always made sure the payoff was more than worth it. “Yes, Milord.” She dipped her fork in for a dainty bit and raised it to her mouth. He was right. It was to die for. The collar made her even more aware of her nakedness. The cool chocolate and cream of the pie melted on her tongue. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations. She was vaguely aware of his chair moving again, but that didn‟t seem very important to her next to the taste of chocolate, the smell of the leather, and the embrace of the collar. Her whole body felt good, especially her tongue and deep in her core. She spread her legs wider, enjoying the freedom she had to be a sexual woman—a wench— no prim and proper lady. Something wet and soft stroked against her pussy. She opened her eyes and Drew wasn‟t sitting in his chair. Strong hands held her thighs open when she reflexively tried to close them. She slipped her hand beneath the table and buried it in Drew‟s soft hair. It was all she could do not to press down on it, to mash his face against her pussy and rub her clit against his nose. “Keep eating, my wench.” His voice was muffled but not so much that she could pretend not to hear. She picked up the fork she hadn‟t remembered putting down and
81
Recipe for Submission
stabbed at the pie. She closed her eyes again and licked the creamy chocolate slowly, languorously, the same way he was licking her pussy. Her core muscles contracted, rolling her hips forward to improve his access to her most intimate parts. She put a leg on the chair he had been sitting on and sprawled the other on the floor. His tongue pushed at her as if he were trying to stick it all the way inside, then flicked her clit with wet delicacy. She moaned around a dollop of whipped cream. Her hips ached with the desire to undulate, to match thrusts that he wasn‟t making. It didn‟t matter. His tongue felt so good. He‟d fuck her when he wanted to, and right now he wanted to do this. All she had to do was enjoy. She crunched down a thick curl of chocolate, then let it melt in her mouth. His tongue licked around her clit and made her burn with desire. Suddenly the fork seemed out of place, and it fell out of her limp fingers to the floor. I’ll pick that up later. She dipped her finger into the pie and then licked it off. The sweetness flooded her mouth as his tongue stroked upward to send her nerves into a frenzy. She moaned as her release rippled through her body, and then opened her mouth wider as if to scream, but only a series of short breaths came out, almost like laughter. She loved it. She wanted more. She dipped two fingers into the pie, making a mess of chocolate and creamy white topping. A moment later, as if he knew what she was doing, she felt his fingers enter her pussy. At least two, she thought. Maybe three. They slid right in so smoothly she felt as if she must have melted down there the way the chocolate melted in her mouth. She pushed her fingers into her mouth, thrusting in time with his fingers, licking all the soft sweetness off them. He pushed faster, harder, almost filling her with his fingers. Every nerve between her thighs felt overloaded. This time she did scream, grabbing the edge of the table for balance. Waves of pleasure crashed over her. She wasn‟t sure when he pushed her chair back, exactly, but she felt him pick her up in his big strong arms. She looked at him. Mine. She supposed it wasn‟t the most submissive thought ever, but that was fine. We write our own recipe. He carried her into the kitchen and laid her down on a long counter there, with a bath towel rolled out on it to stop the cold counter from touching her back. She noticed a bowl full of chocolate mousse and another full of whipped cream on the part of the counter the towel didn‟t cover. His dessert, she imagined. He‟d planned everything. She grinned. He was so organized. He was so wonderfully, masterfully in control. Her nipples, already tingling from sex, tightened further as he spread chocolate with his finger around each one. A line of whipped cream went down from the center of her chest to her navel. It was cold, but she didn‟t care. Each bit of sweetness promised that a warm tongue would follow. A few goose bumps were worth that. She wasn‟t disappointed. His tongue licked chocolate from her breasts, tracing circles around the hardened peaks. He licked whipped cream from her navel, swirling his tongue inside, then licked up the line he had drawn. “Maybe you‟d like to lick some from my pussy?” she offered and bit her lip. After two orgasms she felt she ought to have been sated, but he had her warming again. 82
Sindra van Yssel
“I‟d love to.” He smiled. “But sugar and pussies don‟t mix well.” Oh. Right. “I have another idea that I think you‟ll like. Sit up.” She did as directed, which put her in the perfect position to watch him as he unlaced the shirt enough to pull it over his head. Well-defined pecs and six-pack abs greeted her. “Oooh la la,” she said. He grinned, pulled off his shoes and socks, and then his tight jeans. His cock sprang free, its full, thick length jutting out in her direction. Yeah, that could be at least as good as having whipped cream and chocolate licked out from her pussy. She dipped her fingers in the chocolate and smeared it across her breasts and stomach. She didn‟t figure she‟d have time to do art, and besides, she didn‟t want to take her eyes off his body. A chocolate mess would create the same effect, anyway. He walked toward her, nudging her knees farther apart. He was at the perfect height. His cock nudged against her pussy, seeking entrance. She picked up the bowl containing the whipped cream, held it up against her chest, pressing her breast into it, and then did the same on the other side. He watched, seeming mesmerized. When she put the bowl down, he pushed forward, filling her in one easy thrust. “Yesss,” she hissed. “Oh yeah.” He pumped a couple of times inside her, pulling her toward him. Dessert made a sticky mess between them, but it didn‟t matter. He licked her shoulder where a little had escaped. “Use me, Milord,” she whispered. He didn‟t need any more encouragement. Breathing hard, he increased the pace, his cock pistoning in and out of her. She wasn‟t really interested in subtlety right then anyway. She grabbed his taut ass and moved her hips in rhythm, driving him deeper inside her. Her pussy stretched to accommodate him. She licked his neck, tasting the trace of salt in his sweat. She reached down between them, cupping his balls, and squeezed. She wanted to feel him coming inside her. She didn‟t have to wait long. His hot seed jetted hard deep into her pussy. A couple of jerks later and she joined him, her pussy squeezing and milking the last drops out of him. His lips met hers. She opened her mouth and their tongues fumbled with each other. She kissed him hungrily, despite being out of breath. Her breasts slipped and caught against his chest, lubricated and sticky from chocolate and cream. His lips parted from hers. “I love you.” She smiled. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn‟t felt like she dared say them until he said it first. “I love you too, Milord.” “Will you move in with me?”
83
Recipe for Submission
She hadn‟t been ready for that. She wanted to say yes but she hesitated. “I‟d love to, but…” “But what?” “This thing we have—it‟s kind of like a fantasy, you know? You being in control, me being under your command. Am I going to be able to get my work done that way? What happens when we fight over how the toothpaste gets squeezed, or towels, or whose turn it is to do the dishes, or cook?” She paused, breathless. “Well, I guess you‟ll cook.” He grinned. “I‟d guess so. The answer is that we‟ll resolve it. As equals, if we have to. That‟s part of what a safe word is for, to let us step out of our fantasy when we need to. But I‟ll listen to you, Kyra, and try to answer your needs. I‟ve cleared out a room upstairs. It‟s entirely empty and yours to decorate, furnish, whatever you need to do. If you go in that room to work, I‟ll leave you be until you‟re ready to come out again.” “You‟ve got this all planned.” She smiled, torn between being flattered and being miffed that he‟d gone so far without consulting her. “Yes.” He had that smug look on his face. So lovable. So tempting to wipe off his face, but it would take a hurtful word to do it. She looked away. She didn‟t want to be influenced by his face. Could it work? He said the room was empty. He hadn‟t made any assumptions about what she wanted or needed. He‟d left as much up to her as he could, she supposed, while still making the whole thing a surprise. She had the feeling her life would be full of surprises if she moved in with him. He said she could use her safe word to make sure that they could talk as man and woman rather than Master and slave. Or Milord and wench. “I‟d feel like I let you down if I used my safe word.” “Why?” She shook her head. “I don‟t know why.” “Maybe you need some practice.” “And how am I going to get that? Anyway, I think we both need a shower. Or a lot of licking. Or both.” He kissed her below the throat and licked up some brown and white goodness in the process. “I agree. Let‟s just shower.” She blinked, disappointed. His tongue felt good and she was looking forward to licking his chest clean, or as clean as she could. It wasn‟t just the sweet taste she was looking forward to. Besides, she hadn‟t had a chance to get any on his cock yet. Still, he’s in charge. “Um, okay.” “A cold shower, no hot water at all. Let‟s go.” He hooked his finger into the ring on her collar and tugged. She got off the counter in a hurry, but then stopped. He could probably drag her that way if he wanted to, but he seemed to want to give her a chance to get her feet planted. “What the hell?” she asked.
84
Sindra van Yssel
“That‟s what the hell, Milord.” He pulled and started walking toward the stairs. “No way am I getting in a cold shower when we could be—” “You have a better idea?” If he was going to be such a jerk about it she wasn‟t sure she cared to be licking him clean. And the collar wasn‟t seeming like such a great idea, either. “A hot shower,” she said. He chuckled. “Nope.” She was thinking furiously. She didn‟t want to say no and bolt. Anyway, he‟d grab her and toss her in the tub, probably. And while that had a certain appeal, it lost all its charm with cold water at the end of it. “Please not cold water.” “It‟s good for you.” “Let me rephrase that. No. Not only no, but hell no. Milord.” “Yes.” She shivered. No way was she jumping in some cold water right now. She hated to say it, but she was going to have to. “Banana.” To her surprise he let her go and smiled. “Good girl,” he said. “Well done. You‟re no mouse, to submit to just anyone, or to anything I say when I‟m heading in what is obviously the wrong direction. We can, and we will, work things out when they need to be worked out.” “Oh.” Once again, he was several steps ahead of her, it seemed. From the look on his face, he‟d planned on her saying her safe word the whole time. She stood up on her toes so she could get some semblance of standing eye to eye with him and said, “Banana, banana, banana.” By the last time she said it she felt so ridiculous that she was about to laugh. He nodded approvingly. “You rock. When you‟re ready to let me have control again, I have a plastic sheet on the bed and I was thinking we‟d finish off dessert there, and then, perhaps, take a warm bath together in my nice oversized tub.” “Just like that, huh?” “Just like that.” “You had to rub it in that you had it all planned, didn‟t you?” “I wouldn‟t want my wench to think her Lord was unprepared.” His eyes glittered. “Well. Fine.” She took a breath. “This wench will be happy to surrender, Milord. Will you help me move? That truck of yours would be mighty handy.” He grinned. “I will most definitely help you move.” And as if to show her how helpful he could be, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
85
About the Author Sindra van Yssel is a multi-published author of BDSM romance fiction, who likes to explore trust and commitment and pack her stories with plenty of kinky sex. She draws on her own experience within the BDSM community to keep the scenes both hot and realistic, and has a soft spot for happy endings and characters who learn more about themselves. Her love of books has led her to both her professions: librarian and writer.
Sindra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at
[email protected].
Discover for yourself why readers can‟t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora‟s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
