Slave Gamble (2 page)

“Ok, ok,” I said,
wondering now if he was still waiting out front. “So he’s not like some ax
murderer, and I can go to his house and be safe-”

Again she cut me
off. “His house! You’re going to his house! Oh my god! Promise me to tell me every
little detail. The furniture, the artwork. Does he have a pool? How many
bedrooms; bathrooms-”

“Shut
up
,
Amelia! The guy isn’t going to wait all night for me. You know where I am, so
if I don’t reappear by tomorrow, call the police! I guess I’ll go check out Mr.
Eligible Bachelor, and I’ll give you a full report tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I followed his
bright red Porsche with my practical Toyota Corolla, feeling dowdy, and as a
result, slightly defensive. A few miles from Amelia’s we came to a large iron
fence. After a second, the huge gate began to swing open, allowing us to enter
a long winding drive to his house. When we pulled up into the circular drive in
front of the house, he was at once at the door of my car, opening it like a
gentleman, holding out his hand to assist me.

I didn’t take it
of course; I’ve been able to get out of a car by myself for some years now. His
drive was cobblestone, and in my fancy party high heels, I had to step
carefully. He led me up to the large imposing oak door, and using an electronic
key of some sort, he pushed a few buttons and we were in.

The front hall was
almost as big as my apartment, but it was warmly decorated with large fine
reproductions by Klimt and Franz Marc. At least, I assume they were reproductions!
The floor was marble, but with an unusual inlay of a large butterfly in yellows
and golds in the center of the floor, which picked up the golds in the dresses
of the willowy Klimt women.

“Welcome to my
humble abode,” David said, grinning. “It’s too big; it’s ridiculous, but my
accountant convinced me that for tax purposes it makes sense. Come on back to
the kitchen. I’ll get you something to drink. You look thirsty.”

That’s funny. I
wasn’t thirsty until he said it. Now I realized I was parched. I followed,
through large rooms, all decorated in a similar fin de siècle French style.
Huge windows in each wall promised streams of sunlight during the day. I wanted
to stop and admire the rooms, but David was walking quickly through, and I
didn’t want to get lost.

Once in the
kitchen, David opened the huge stainless steel refrigerator and took out two
bottles of sparkling water. He poured me a crystal goblet of water and said,
“To us,” lightly raising his glass in my direction.

He set his goblet
down and moved in front of me, so that my back was pressing against the edge of
the dark blue granite countertop. I felt my heart racing in my chest. I felt
like I was in high school and the cutest boy on the football team was my prom
date. I was so nervous my hand actually shook slightly, and I spilled some of
the sparkling water. “Oh!” I said, dismayed, trying to set the glass down with
this tall man leaning so close in to me that I could see the slight stubble of
his five o’clock shadow.

Without looking,
he took the glass from my hand and set it down on the counter. Leaning in, he
brought his lips close to mine and kissed me. It started out sweet and chaste.
Just lips touching lips. Soft lovely lips. And I admit it; it was me that
actually was the first to part lips, to touch his with my tongue, to invite a
lover’s kiss.

He leaned further
against me, taking my hands in his and lifting my arms until they rested
against the counter, effectively pinning me there, and holding me in that
embrace, as he continued to kiss my mouth. I was captive beneath him, and
somehow that added to the thrill of that kiss. He could crush me beneath him if
he chose; he could take me then and there and I wouldn’t have been able to
resist. I wouldn’t have wanted to.

It was a lovely
kiss; the kind that makes you melt, that makes you want to sink down wherever
you are. I might have, too, but he was holding me up.

At last he let me
go, and I kind of sighed. Then I blushed, embarrassed to have been so obvious
with him. Finally, lamely, I said, “Wow. Where’d you learn to kiss like that?”

He smiled at me,
and I blushed even more. Talk about a stupid remark! What was I, in high
school?

“Zoë,” he said, “I
sense something about you.”

I looked at him,
not certain what he meant, but feeling somehow that this was one of those
pivotal moments where my life was about to take a new direction. I didn’t
respond.

“You need
something I doubt you’ve ever gotten. It’s something I think I can give you.”

Riddles. And yet
there was that secret language again, something whispering and swirling just
below my conscious. I somehow knew what he was saying, even though I didn’t yet
have the language for it. Still, nerves or bravado made me pipe up, “Oh, yeah
right. Now you’re going to tell me about your huge dick and how you can give me
what I need, yeah baby.” I tried to laugh, tried to sound worldly and cynical,
but he didn’t laugh with me.

Instead he said,
“Stop that, Zoë. That false, smart-ass behavior doesn’t become you. It isn’t
you. It’s something you wear like a mask, to keep people at bay. You don’t need
it with me. I already know you.”

I swallowed. Who
was
this guy. “Let me be more direct,” he went on. As he spoke, he ran a finger
lightly over my cheek. His eyes were locked on mine and I felt like I was being
hypnotized. “I am what you would call a Dominant, or Dom for short. That is, I
am into control. The complement to a Dom is a submissive, one who submits to
the wishes and demands of her Dom. It isn’t about abuse, or force. It’s a
lovely and consensual exchange of power, which ends up creating something
greater and more spiritually compelling than any mere sexual connection ever
could.”

“What I sense in
you, Zoë, is your submissive nature. Something in your bearing, in your
demeanor, tipped me off at first. I don’t know how to describe it; it’s a sixth
sense of mine. I can connect on some visceral level with submissive women, and
I’ve rarely been wrong. That kiss just now; it confirmed it. You are longing to
submit. To submit sexually and spiritually to someone who will understand and
cherish the gift of your submission.”

“I want that
someone to be me. As much as you long for that; I long for what you offer, in
return. I want it, freely given. I want to claim you for my own.”

I stared at him.
How could he be saying this? Did I have a placard advertising my sexual
orientation? I had never shared anything like this with anyone. And yet, there
he was, spilling long buried fantasies and secret dreams as if I’d placed a
personal ad spelling it out.

How many men had I
tried to ‘trick’ into wrestling with me, only so I could manipulate them into
pinning me down? How many badly written romance novels had I bought and tried
to wade through, if there was a strong man ripping the bodice of the poor
bosomy woman on the cover? No one had ever tapped into this part of me before.
I had kept it hidden, believing on some level that I was ‘sick’ and ‘weak’ for
even entertaining the fantasy of losing control to a strong man.

David smiled at me
now and said, “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“I- that is, uh, I
don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you mean.” I looked away. I found
suddenly that I couldn’t look him in the face.

“Liar.”

I blushed. He was
right. I was a liar. His words had inflamed me. I felt almost dizzy with still
unexplored feelings. Secret forgotten dreams came rushing to me. Not images per
se, but a sense of desire, of need. The need to be taken, to be controlled.
Dreams I had put away, I thought forever, because they didn’t fit with my image
of what it was to be an independent woman.

“I see you are
fighting your demons, my angel. I will help you. You don’t have to decide a
thing. Just stay with me. Just for tonight. Let’s explore it together. Let me
take you where I sense you want to go; are longing to go.”

“I want you. I
want to use you and I want to test you. I want to see if you have the mettle;
if you have the courage to submit. Right now, you only have one decision to
make. Decide if you will stay for one night. If you don’t like what happens,
you are free to go. In fact, you are free to go at any time. Just say ‘red
light’ and no matter what is happening, I will stop. And you will leave this
house and go back to your safe bland little world, with your safe boring little
lovers.”

The challenge was
apparent in his remarks, but I forgot to come up with a sassy response. I felt
like someone had taken a light and shined it inside my soul. I had already made
the decision. I would stay. I would see what he offered. “Yes,” I managed to
whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Leaning down, he
kissed me again, this time pinning my arms behind me. I found I could barely
catch my breath. At last he let me go, and I had to grip the counter behind me
to keep from falling. He said softly, “There are rules, my love, to your
staying. You must be willing to obey these rules, and to understand them from
the outset. If you stay tonight, you obey me completely. You don’t talk back.
You don’t question my demands. You do as you’re told or suffer the
consequences. Do you understand, beautiful girl?”

I felt beautiful,
too. He made me feel lovely and special, and also something else. Something
wanton and needy, something deeply sexual and sensual. I wanted what he
offered. Slowly I nodded.

“If you plan to
stay, kneel before me now.” His voice was low and musical. I felt as if I were
caught in his spell. He was an enchanter and I was the innocent princess.
Almost in a dream, I dropped to my knees before him.

“I will stay,” I
whispered again.

“Good girl,” he
murmured, as he ran his fingers through my hair. Then, without warning, he
pulled my hair and used it to lift my face so I was looking up at him. “Zoë,
you aren’t mine yet. But if you please me, you will belong to me. Now get up
and follow me. I’m taking you to the playroom.”

I followed, in a
daze. I was astounded at how he had somehow taken me over so easily. How had he
known my secret needs? We walked up the stairs and down a hall. He opened a
door that led to another set of stairs. We climbed these as well and came to a
very nicely furnished room, with a large bed, a couch, and a long low table. I
guess I was expecting some sort of dungeon; I was actually kind of
disappointed. Reading my mind he said, “No whips and chains. You aren’t ready
for that — yet.”

Yet. I considered
for a moment turning around right then and running. Would he let me go? Or was
he really a crazy serial killer, and I was the latest on his murder list? As I
was thinking this, he leaned down, gently stroking my cheek. His look was
tender. “Don’t be afraid, Zoë. I won’t give you more than you can handle. And
remember your safe word. ‘Red light’ and I stop. Everything stops, and we part
as friends.”

“But I hope you
stay. I sense something unexplored in you. Something that, if you keep shut up
inside of you, will prevent you from becoming whole. As I said, I have a sense
about these things, and I’ve rarely been wrong. Trust me. Take a chance. If
nothing else, satisfy your curiosity about Dominance and submission.”

Well, I was
curious. No, I was beyond curious; I was captivated. Every time he said that,
about something inside of me that needed exploring, I felt that weird knot in
my stomach. A rush of adrenaline and a tiny voice somewhere inside of me
crying, “Yes!” I had to find out what he was talking about. I wanted to see if
my body, which was already very interested, knew more than my over-analytical
brain.

Slowly I nodded,
finally letting the net of this strange dream fully descend. He smiled, and
kissed my lips, gently this time, just for a moment. Standing back, he said,
“Take off your dress and your shoes.”

This was said so
matter-of-factly that I didn’t even consider disobeying. I stepped out of my
Kate Spade leather pumps and stood in my bare feet, feeling short. Because it
was the middle of a hot summer, I wore no stockings. Reaching behind my back, I
unzipped the little silk designer number that hid my imperfections so well. I
stood there in my bra and panties, thanking my stars that I had put on the
beautiful new matching lacy silk underwear I had just bought, instead of my
usual utilitarian white cotton. I sucked in my belly and thrust out my breasts,
hoping I was alluring, while at the same time feeling very vulnerable.

David was sitting
on a low leather couch, appraising me. His eyes were like dark burning coals. I
felt naked. Impulsively I wrapped my arms around my torso, feeling exposed.

“Drop your arms.
Let me look at you.”

I started to
protest, but remembered his earlier admonition.
If you stay tonight, you
must obey me completely.
Slowly I dropped my arms, taking a deep breath. I
knew men liked my body; I didn’t need to be shy around this man. He was just a
man; like any other.

“Get on your knees
and crawl to me.”

“What?” I needed a
cigarette.

“You heard me.
Drop.”

I stood there.
This was nuts. I was not going to crawl to this man. Again he spoke.