Interview with a Master (13 page)

“What kind of things?”
Leticia was curious. “Surely if your contact was limited…?”

“It was, but there were still opportunities. “Sometimes I would call her into my office to collect layout pages for the next edition. She would stand at the side of my desk and I would explain how I wanted the pages set up. While she was leaning over my desk I would slide my hand up her skirt. She was always wet, and she would stand there and make banal little comments like ‘yes, I see…’ or ‘what about the photos for that story…’ while I was sliding two fingers inside her pussy and she was biting her lip and trying not to groan aloud.”

I could no longer remain seated. I stood up and began to pace the floor, looking down at the glass of wine in my hand.

“I ordered her to stop wearing panties to work, and each morning she would come into my office to hand me the overnight messages that had been left on the answering machine. It was inspection time and she would dutifully pull the hem of her skirt high so that I could see she was indeed following my orders. Sometimes, while she stood there
, I would tell her to finger herself – but it always had to be quick. Sherry was in a permanent state of arousal. She shaved her pussy completely smooth so I could see her delicate little fingers rub her clit until they became sticky with her juices, and I would tell her to rub the essence on her lips and wear it like lip gloss. She did everything I ordered her to.”

“And what about you?”
Leticia asked. “Was it arousing for you?”

“Sure,” I nodded. “It turned me on to see her following my instructions without question, and to watch her masturbate. Sometimes, if she arrived
at work before the other girls, I had time to slide my cock into her mouth, but usually the tasks were all about keeping Sherry aroused, and subtly creating a system of command and obey, where she learned to submit herself to a series of small challenges.

“As I explained, most of the tasks were actually forms of training: wearing no panties during the day, fingering herself while I watched, and even keeping her pussy shaved so that it was always soft and smooth for my pleasure were actually training techniques that I still use with
submissives to this day.”

Leticia
looked up at me with growing interest. She set her notebook down for a moment and her eyes became hooded.

“Do you like all your women shaved down there, Jonah?” she asked softly.

“I insist on it,” I said. “It pleases me.”

I retrieved the wine bottle and shared the last of its contents between our two glasses. I left
Leticia’s drink on the coffee table and went across to the window. Leticia was watching me, her expression unfathomable, and I wondered what dark mysterious thoughts were going on behind her eyes.

“The fact that Sherry needed to be in my office often was a bonus,” I went on. “But she couldn’t stay for more than a few minutes – that would raise suspicion.  But she was always seeking clarifications on
the layout of the paper, so our contact was regular, yet always fleeting. One morning I gave her a thick whiteboard marker pen. I used several of them for drawing up the next edition of the newspaper. I placed the pen in her hand and told her to take it to the washroom and use it to make herself come. Sherry looked down at the marker and merely nodded obediently. I went back to work, but it was hard to concentrate. I imagined her with her legs wide apart, her skirt up around her waist and the thick pen sliding slowly in and out of herself. In my imagination I saw the way her pussy lips would flare and wrap tight around the shaft, and how hard it would feel inside her. I thought about her rubbing her clit, and visualized the look on her face as she brought herself off. It was incredibly arousing.”

“She used it like a…
a sex toy?”

I nodded. “Sherry came back into my office about ten minutes later. She was all very calm, as if nothing had happened. She simply handed the marker pen back to me
casually and said, ‘oh, here is the pen back that I borrowed, Mr. Noble’. When I looked down, the marker was coated in a slick layer of her sex juices.”

Leticia
scribbled into her notebook, and then set her pen down. I was leaning against the windowsill with one hand in my pocket and my legs stretched out, ankles crossed. I finished the last of the wine.

“Why do you think the BDSM lifestyle has become so popular all of a sudden?”
Leticia asked. “Everywhere I go there seems to be information and articles and images that weren’t there before.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well unless you hadn’t heard, there was a particular novel that was very popular with ladies,” I smiled briefly, and then gave the question more serious thought. I pushed myself away from the window and stood in the middle of the floor. “That book certainly created tremendous awareness, but more than that, I think it sparked women’s imaginations and made them look more closely at their lives.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I think women want men to be more like men again,” I said. “The world went through a bizarre stage for a while where men changed. They started using ‘product’ in their hair and wearing make up for Christ’s sake! Men, wearing concealer and foundation and hair gel and eyeliner… doing everything they could to look like women. I think women got fed up with all that. I think women suddenly realized
that in order for them to be made to feel like a woman, they needed men to act like real men again.

“A real man stands in the bathroom doorway watching his woman putting on her makeup, and he’s overcome with desire. His eyes roam up and down the woman’s figure, and suddenly there is a spark of lust in his eyes. The woman sees it in the reflection. She knows that look, and she feels a tiny tremor of anticipation. The man steps up behind the woman and there is a growl in the back of his throat as he slides his hands up across her hips and around her waist. He pulls the woman back against him and she can feel the hardness of his erection. The man’s
hands are suddenly all over her – caressing her breasts and sliding down the flat of her abdomen towards her panties. He bites her neck and the woman’s breathing quickens. She has turned him on, and now the man wants her – and she needs to feel wanted. That’s the way it should be.”

I shook my head. I heard the echo of my own voice and realized I was speaking with
genuine passion. “The man doesn’t see his woman in the bathroom mirror putting on makeup and ask if he can borrow some eye shadow!”

I took a deep breath. Maybe my rant had taken me off topic. I sighed. “
Leticia, BDSM has always been part of our society. Maybe it has never grabbed the headlines before, but it has always been there, and it always will. The fact that more women are aware of the lifestyle choice now is a good thing. Choice means options, and there are a lot of ladies in stifled marriages that know there must be more to living than the boring routine they have suffered through for years. They look to their husband as the first choice to satisfy that new awareness – that new yearning for more. And that means husbands across the country have to up their game. They have to re-discover their manly instinct and drag their butts out of the rut their marriage has become. It’s awkward, and it’s uncomfortable, and it can be intimidating for a guy, but if they don’t make the effort, their wives may start looking elsewhere to make them feel complete. It’s up to men now.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the room was the scratch of
Leticia’s pen as it raced across the page of the notebook. She was frowning with concentration, trying to get down what I had said onto paper. I waited patiently until she looked back up at me. She flexed the fingers of her hand and smiled. “I’m guessing that happens to be a sore point with you?”

I nodded. “Sorry,” I said. “I tend to go on.”

“Have you had married women come to you, Jonah?” Leticia asked. “Do married women come to you and ask you to train them as submissives because their husbands won’t – or can’t – make the effort to give them this BDSM experience?”

“It’s happened,” I said vaguely.

“More than once?”

“Several times.”

“What do you do? Do you take those women on as new submissives?”

“No.
Not if I know they’re married.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re married women,” I explained. “I encourage them to go back to their man and try again. And if they have already tried again, I would encourage them to try harder. It’s easier to save their marriage through concerted, patient effort than it is to start all over again.”

Leticia
shook her head. “Surely if a woman has gone to her husband and shared her fantasies about BDSM with him, and he refuses to try to please her, then there’s nothing more that can be done.”

“Not true,” I said. “The man simply needs to understand that he has to change
his approach.”

Leticia
challenged me with raised eyebrows. “You’re looking at the problem from the wrong side,” I said. “The average man is intimidated by the whole BDSM fantasy. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because they don’t feel comfortable if it’s something they’re not familiar with when it comes to sex. So when the wife comes to the husband all breathless and excited because she has read a collection of erotic BDSM stories, he refuses. In her mind, the woman has the fantasy all played out. She’s visualized the setting. She’s visualized how the man of her dreams looks. She’s imagined how the room will look – the sights, smells, and sounds. She can see herself tied to the bed with soft romantic lighting and rose petals scattered all around her. Her fantasy man blindfolds her, covers her with kisses, ties her hands together and ravages her. It’s perfect – and no average husband can compete with that.”

“My point exactly!”
Leticia said.

“So the husband needs to
do everything the woman fantasized about, but do it in a different location, and at a different time.”

Silence.
Leticia just sat staring at me in confusion.

I went on. “The fantasy the woman has in her head is impossible for her husband to re-create. It will always be a disappointment, because the fantasy is so perfect. So if she imagines these events happening of
a nighttime in a bedroom, the husband needs to repeat them of a daytime in the kitchen. That way it becomes
their
shared fantasy, and he has no expectations to live up to. He can’t fail – he can only produce a different, similar experience – but it will be one the woman will appreciate because he made the effort, and he made that moment theirs.”

Leticia
thought about that. She sat in the silence frowning and pursing her lips getting her head around the idea. She nodded grudgingly, as though just maybe the idea had merits after all, and then went back to her earlier question.

“So married women are off limits?”

“To me, yes. Maybe not to others, but they are to me. It’s in the Jonah Noble big book of rules.”

“What about boyfriends?”

“It’s the same,” I nodded. “Every woman in a committed relationship is off limits.”

Leticia
tilted her head to the side and studied me. “That’s a strangely old-fashioned attitude…”

I shrugged. “It’s my rule,” I said. “It works for me. If I know a woman is in a committed relationship, they’re off limits.” And then I added, “
Leticia, there are plenty of single, separated and divorced women in the world looking to explore their submissive fantasies with a Master. I don’t need to get in the middle of a marriage.”

“You mean women like Sherry?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Sherry was naturally submissive. Remember, this was years before that book came out. It wasn’t something that Sherry read about and decided she wanted to discover more. The need to submit sexually was something instinctive within her. When she came back to the office every Friday night after work, she was in a trembling state of arousal and anticipation.”

Leticia
looked thoughtful and then frowned. “How do you test the limits of someone who is a natural submissive?” she asked. “I mean, I understand if you have a new submissive who wants to explore BDSM submission to discover more about herself. But what if she already knows? What do you do when someone like Sherry comes to you, and she is already a willing submissive? How do you take that to the next level?”

“Good question,” I smiled.

I started pacing again. “For the first few Friday nights, Sherry and I were simply in lust. I took her in every office in the building: bent over desks, or with her back pressed up against a wall and her dress down around her ankles. I laid her out on the front reception counter and slid down between her spread thighs, and I teased her mercilessly with my tongue and fingers. I made her beg for every orgasm she received, and I made her beg to suck my cock. I covered her with my body and felt her tiny heels digging into the back of my legs as she wrapped herself around me and writhed in orgasm. And I made her kneel before me and finger-fuck herself while she used her mouth to suck me to orgasm. She was insatiable.

“Then, one night, she asked me to hurt her.”

Leticia balked. “Hurt her?”

I nodded, and then explained quickly. “Not pain for the sake of pain,” I said. “Not cruelty. Sherry wanted to experience
exquisite
pain – the kind of sweet pain that is almost – but not quite – pleasure.”