The Dom Project (13 page)

This is where the orgasms didn’t come. J and I tried some intermediate-level experimentation with humiliation and denial by having me beg for sexual release. I kind of knew already that humiliation really wasn’t my main kink, but I was willing to try. Luckily, he is a very good friend, and has seen me in more embarrassing situations, but suffice it to say I won’t be getting any deeper into this particular form of play. I can see how other submissives enjoy giving up so much of themselves, no matter how raw and emotional and even painful. Me, I safeworded out quite early into the scene.

This somewhat disastrous session did teach me that J is excellent with aftercare. We had a very nice relaxing evening watching my favorite comfort movies and eating ice cream. It almost could have been a date except for the part where at the end of the night I went into the bathroom and I still had mascara all over my face from crying. But I don’t feel ashamed.

Session
Three
aka
The
Sexiest
Three
L’s

After the trials of this week’s second session, J selected an exercise for our third session that he had to have known I was going to love. Fetish-wear! We did a sexy photo shoot in all manner of leather, latex and lace, all borrowed from J’s various lifestyle connections. He even mentioned the possibility of me modeling for one of his designer friends, who is apparently a fan of my blog—hi, Clarissa, that under-bust corset fit like a dream! Overall it was a night of absolute pampering that made me feel so sexy and gorgeous, which isn’t always easy for a woman with all the curves of a two-by-four. Five stars!

One unforeseen issue that has come up this week is on the financial end. Neither of us is a millionaire with the real estate space for dungeons, and deciding who pays for what has been interesting, to say the least. Me: one pair of seamed stockings, vintage style, ripped to shreds one hour out of the box. Leather polish. Certain drugstore hygiene items. Him: one stainless steel jeweled butt plug. One remote controlled vibrator. Latex gloves. I’m not counting the stuff he already has from his other relationships and sexual partners, or what he got on loan for the fashion show.

Like everything else, though, we’re working through it together. I really do feel like this is a team effort. Every session that goes by, it becomes more clear how important our relationship and cooperation and communication is to the success of the experiment.

Good thing J and I started this whole thing as best friends!

Love,

The Picky Submissive

A week later, Robin found herself in John’s shower, as she often did after their sessions. His shower curtain had a pattern of blue diamonds, and she stared at them through the steam until the diamonds began to break apart and recombine to form spiky wheels.

Diamonds
.

She’d pretended to be a
jewel thief
. Oh God. She opened her mouth in sudden disbelief—then, of course, had to sputter out a mouthful of hot water—shook her head and laughed. Absurd. It was absolutely absurd. But then, so many things were. After all, how much more absurd was their jewel thief act than the fact that she, a grown, professional woman, would willingly put herself over a man’s knee to be spanked?

Not John’s knee, of course; all impact play was to be carried out with implements, in order to maintain the boundaries they’d set out. Speaking of artificial constructions...

But then she thought to herself
jewel thief
and remembered the twitch at the corner of John’s lip as he said to her, “
I
know you have the diamond on your person
somewhere,
Miss Garnet
,” and she started laughing all over again.

It struck her how absolutely incandescently
happy
she was, just then, standing there in John’s shower and thinking of the whole ridiculous sexy dirty play. The unbearably tight catsuit that had creaked around her thighs. The fake French accent she’d tried out on a whim, drawing a beaming grin from John until he must have remembered he was supposed to be a
suspicious
security guard. The name, Miss Garnet, that sounded like a character out of Clue. It made her happy. The game, yes, but John too, her willing partner, there to bring the silly story to life, there to support her and uphold her and make it all real.

She turned off the tap and wrung out her hair. The smell of soap and steam dissipated, and in wafted the unmistakable scent of microwave popcorn. Her stomach growled. Ah, John. He may not be psychic like some doms-who-would-remain-unnamed, but he certainly had an uncanny ability to predict her need for a snack.

The yoga pants and tank top she pulled on now felt comfortable as woven clouds, compared to that damn catsuit. She wiped the mirror clean of steam with a swipe of her palm, watched her reflection mouth the word
meow
and laughed again.

No makeup, no heels and it didn’t matter. She walked out of the bathroom, padded straight to the couch and curled up in the opposite corner from John, who immediately tossed a piece of popcorn at her.

She picked it out of the air and crunched it, savoring the chemical-butter-flavor explosion.

“They’re playing
Casablanca
,” he said.

She blinked, and maybe it was only the change from wet air to dry, but John seemed to shift around the edges, and she couldn’t quite place him. His lines were drawn too sharply, the denseness of his body was too looming. Focusing on the bright colors of his tattoo helped her remember—this was the same John. Her friend. Right. Her friend who’d just thrown popcorn at her head like they were flirtatious teenagers. She took a shaky breath.

“I love that movie,” she said. “But it feels kind of weird, watching it after we, you, know...”

On the screen, Major Strasser, his accent dripping courteous evil, pressed Humphrey Bogart to discover his true convictions.

“Is it the interrogation scene?” When she shook her head, his brief look of kind concern quickly melted into something mischievous and perfectly John-like. “I can turn it off if you want. I think I saw
No Pain No Gain
on somewhere.”

Robin wrinkled her nose at him. She didn’t relish the thought of watching people being humiliated and abused into dropping obscene quantities of weight. “No thank you. It’s not the interrogation scene though. I’m fine. Happy. It could have gotten heavy there but it never did. You kept it fun. Thank you.” She bit her lip as a sudden flush hit her cheeks. At least the lights were low in John’s living room. She really was thankful though. Consent play, along with humiliation, was a game she understood the appeal of intellectually but didn’t want to explore too deeply. The scenario could have veered dark and uncomfortable, into places of faux-coercion and acted out resentment, but just like her alias and her accent and the creaky catsuit, it had stayed as playful and coy as an old noir movie where the heroine protested
no
,
no
,
no!
but still traded witty barbed repartee with the hero and smirked in triumph when he gave in and grabbed her and kissed her hard.

Not that John had kissed—or was ever going to kiss—Robin.

She narrowed her eyes in exaggerated suspicion. “Wait, did you just suggest that crappy reality TV show so I’d pick
Casablanca
as the lesser of two evils?”

“Lesser of two evils? Harsh. So what did you mean when you said it would, well, feel weird?” John’s eyebrows, always expressive, tilted into mild confusion.

Oh, she hadn’t expected him to actually want to talk about this. But then, it was the responsible thing to do, as her dom and as her friend, not to mention crucial to their experiment.

“It’s too
romantic
,” she said, and watched his eyebrows settle into a straight line, his face go completely closed and unreadable.

That only lasted a second or two, though, because he suddenly grinned, baring teeth. “So I guess my plan to fill my apartment with candles for your next visit is right out?”

Thank you
, she thought, relief gusting through her, steadying her heart. She’d felt too open, too exposed, but he’d brought it round to a safe place again. He always did. “That depends. Are you going to be dripping candle wax in interesting places?”

John’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, now
there’s
an idea...”

Chapter Eight

Once they were seated, a waiter swooped in with a big bronze bucket of burning coals, dumped it into the table’s grill space and swiftly disappeared into the lunchtime crowd. John loved these grill-your-own Korean places; he’d introduced Robin to one shortly after meeting her. Her eyes had widened to saucers the first time she saw a whole octopus shrivel and writhe and smoke a foot away from her face, but since then, she’d grown to love them too.

They stuck with savory pork and beef slices for today.

Robin nibbled on a bean-sprout pickle, still smiling and buoyant from their meeting with Al earlier that morning. “Oh my God, I was terrified about the preservation state. When I saw the negative sleeves, I started breathing again.”

“So in your professional opinion they were pristine?
Virginal?
”

“You know I can’t kick your shins without burning my foot.”

John wagged the cooking prongs at her. “Oh, I know.” He snapped them in the air and grinned. “Seriously, I’m pretty excited. From what I saw, this is groundbreaking stuff. And the letters... I guess we’ll finally know about her relationship with the photographer. I heard he went crazy after they broke it off. No wonder she wanted the pictures destroyed. Back then it could have gotten real ugly if he’d gone public with them.”

“Well, I’m glad it was so long ago we don’t have to worry about the ethics. Except when it comes to Al. He seemed to be looking better. Do you know the man he was with?”

“No. Pretty sure that’s his personal care assistant, but hey, could have been his leather slave.” John shrugged. “Or both. Multitalented. Multipurpose?”

“What, like me?” she asked with a wry little smile.

“I do like my alphabetized bookshelf. I was thinking you could do my record collection next.”

She blushed. The faint pink spots high on her cheeks were absolutely adorable. Making her blush didn’t make him feel powerful in the slightest; it made him feel like he was back in elementary school, back when he showed girls he liked them by throwing dinner rolls at them.

“So are you going to tell me how it all started?” she asked. Damn. She’d seen him drift off into memory for a second, and pounced. But then, maybe it was time to let that boundary down, considering everything they’d done. Considering what he was going to let her see tonight.

“It was the first year of college. I’d had my final growth spurt and started working out a lot, and I kind of had an inferiority complex about getting laid. It’s a typical Asian-American guy thing, from being raised on a steady diet of Hollywood bullshit. Anyway, I was overcompensating a bit back then... I was cocky as hell. I mean, more than I am now, so don’t give me that look. So I was at a wild party one night where I saw two girls kissing—women, really, they were older than me—and I propositioned them for a threesome.”

“Oh God.”

“And, amazingly, they took me up on it. Except they said they were into BDSM, and I had to be submissive—which I’m
not
, obviously, but it did open my eyes to the whole dynamic. I thought I was going to have the typical straight porn fantasy threesome, and instead I ended up tied to the bed, blindfolded and ass-fucked with a strap-on.” She blushed again, and this time he wholeheartedly enjoyed it. “I figured out I liked the other end of the whip more, but I’m glad for the experience.”

“Was that when you started, umm, seeing guys too?”

“Well, having sex with a woman with a strap-on doesn’t make you gay or even bisexual—”

“—I know that,” she said, indignantly.

She doesn’t need the Sex 101
, he reminded himself.
Don’t patronize
. “—but it
was
the first time I had anal on the receiving end. I’d always been attracted to guys, but I never acted on it other than you know, back-to-back masturbating with a friend when I was—actually, let’s not get into that. That’s stuff for my shrink. I will say, after that, I was open to the idea that it didn’t undermine my sexuality or my masculinity to do stuff a little outside the norm. So I guess it opened a couple doors. And speaking of that, how do you feel about women?”

She was ready for that question; she barely blinked. “It’s complicated. Maybe we can talk about it later. Are you going to be with a woman tonight?”

“No. He’s someone I’ve seen regularly for a few years. And he’s gay. He likes the idea of being seen, so we’re going to have a strictly voyeur dynamic. Oh and, uh, he’s a sub. I know that’s not what you’re looking for, but I figured for this first time we’d try a scene that won’t be too demanding on you. The two of you can share the workload, so to speak. And if after this trial run, you’re ready for something more...interactive, or with another dom, I could work that out. But I thought this would be good to start with.”

“It’s perfect.”

He was relieved she saw it that way. Playing with a gay man, and another sub at that, would have to be strictly hands-off. No pressure. No expectations. Just observation, whether it wound up cool or clinical like a science experiment, or hot and heavy like a pornographic video. And speaking of hot—”Oh
fuck
!”