CHAPTER THREE
Several months later, in an apartment close to downtown, a woman with
gloriously curly, long brown hair hunched over a glowing laptop
computer. It was, appropriately, resting on her lap as she reclined
against a pile of pillows on her queen sized bed. Her name was Monica
Peterson and she was trading email with a man whose personal ad she
discovered on the internet the previous month. So far, she knew him
only as Howard.
She brushed her hair back from her pretty face and frowned in
concentration. As she thought about the best way to convey a very
private thought to her new correspondent, she recalled some of their
previous conversations.
He described himself as a professional dominant for women, a pro-dom.
When they first made contact, he asked her to explain in great detail
what she was looking for and why she wanted it. It was not easy for
her to discuss such private thoughts, but it was a very enlightening
exchange.
They traded email almost daily for six weeks and talked on the
telephone several times. His deep, sexy voice on the phone made her
tingle inside. At first, Monica was reluctant to believe that he was
genuine, but gradually she became convinced and started making plans
to meet and perhaps sample his services.
Early in their correspondence she revealed considerable information
about herself to avoid any misunderstandings about what she was
looking for. He patiently answered her numerous questions about
dominance and submission, then asked more questions about her past.
In one of their first phone conversations, she asked how he would make
her submit. He patiently explained, "I have no interest in making
anyone submit. Not by seduction, threats or trickery."
"If someone wants to be my submissive," he told her, "they must submit
willingly, even eagerly." He had vowed never to waste his time on
someone who was not sure what they wanted. She learned that one of
his greatest fears was to have a partner appear to submit, then change
her mind and accuse him of forcing her.
Monica worked as an account executive in a well known Seattle-based
marketing firm. She believed that the pressures of her job were
partly responsible for her intense desire to submit sexually, but the
roots of her sexuality extended back beyond her dimmest memories.
Perhaps it was even determined by her genes.
As she and Cole were getting to know each other, she conscientiously
answered his questions regarding her childhood and her first memories
of wanting to submit. "When I was seven," she told him, "I remember
hoping that my cousin would tie me up. He was about ten years old and
had no interest in me at the time. I was very disappointed."
At age nine in Boise, Idaho, she would wrap herself in long coils of
rope and pretend that she was a woman being held prisoner by various
villains. She wasn't exactly sure what the villains would get out of
it. Apparently, tying up women was part of their job, or at least it
seemed that way on television.
Then there were the Nancy Drew books. She discovered them when she
was eleven. The scenes where Nancy was captured and tied up held her
attention like nothing else she had read before. In one book, Nancy
was spanked with a hairbrush by a nefarious thief. In the privacy of
her gingham and lace bedecked bedroom, Monica found out what turned
her on.
The next step in her sexual development occurred when she found her
father's pornography hidden in a dresser drawer among the socks.
There were several bondage magazines and some SM oriented paperbacks.
Her favorite was the Story of O. It provided her with endless hours
of erotic fantasy. Even more important, it proved that there must be
others like her. She knew that someone had to be buying these books
or the publishers wouldn't print them. The dog eared copy that she had
stolen from her father was still kept reverently with her important
papers in a safe deposit box.
When she went to college in Chicago to obtain her business degree, the
college men that she had expected to be so sophisticated were
completely clueless. Sex was a big disappointment. Lots of groping
and awkwardness. It was so hard to tell a man what she wanted,
especially when so many of them expected her to take charge. Couldn't
they see that she wanted them to be in control?
She thought she was close to meeting her secret need when she dated an
attractive older student named Robert Hamilton. He was drop dead
handsome and came from a wealthy family. Several of her classmates
had dated him and many others were interested. She was surprised when
he expressed an interest in her, since he was only seen with the best
looking women and she did not consider herself to be very attractive.
He certainly acted more dominant than her previous dates, telling her
what to wear and when to show up at his place. "Be at my place at
eight o'clock, wearing a short skirt and the white sweater that I
like," he instructed her. At first, he seemed to understand when she
hinted that she wanted him to tie her hands or give her a real
spanking. Unfortunately, he insisted that they stick to his script,
which invariably required her to satisfy him orally. "Yeah baby, suck
it hard, that's right!" His good looks and wealth had conditioned him
to expect easy service from women, always on his terms.
They dated three times before she was ready to admit to herself that
he had no interest in spanking or bondage. "He's just a stuck up
jerk," she finally told her girlfriends. Giving blow jobs could be
fun for her, but only in the context of submission. He was also
uninterested in helping her climax, so the sheer sexual frustration
was becoming a problem.
During her college years, masturbation remained her favorite sexual
activity. She built up a nice collection of erotica that she kept in
a locked footlocker in her tiny student apartment. It consisted
mostly of soft core SM novels that she found at the mall bookstores.
The first few times she purchased one of the dirty books, she was sure
that everyone was watching and wondering what kind of pervert she was.
The English discipline stories were particularly hot. Reading about a
young woman being tied over a bench of some sort and caned beyond the
limits of endurance always made her sopping wet. It could be quite
embarrassing if she was reading in the bookstore, standing in the
aisle where the clerk couldn't see her and wondering if the wetness
was showing on her jeans. She soon learned to buy the books quickly
and take them home for a thorough road test.
The pirate stories were another reliable trigger. Using her favorite
books and a small vibrator, she could vividly imagine herself being
the helpless slave of a strong, handsome pirate. Of course she was
not a very good slave, so she was ruthlessly punished quite often.
Her most frequent fantasy involved being tied to the mast and flogged
on her back and ass. Then the sexy bearded pirate would take her to
his cabin, tie her spread-eagled to the bed and rape her with lots of
pinching and slapping of her sensitive parts. Of course her own hands
would stand in for Captain Blood, the Scourge of the Caribbean.
She had hoped that the move to Seattle would give her a better chance
of finding a compatible partner with whom to share her secret.
Unfortunately for Monica, none of the men she liked had been willing
to provide the kind of domination that she craved so deeply. What she
really wanted was a chance to give herself completely to a dominant
man, a master. She wanted a man who would ask her to take pain for
him, then use her for his own pleasure.
In her email messages, she briefly outlined for Cole two previous
relationships that ended when her partners decided they couldn't live
with her kinky tendencies. Modern American men had been conditioned
to think in ways that precluded good male dominant sexual play. The
constant repetition of media messages against domestic violence made
any thinking man recoil at the thought of hitting a woman. She did
notice however that there were more and more roles created for
sexually dominant women. The image of the leather clad Dominatrix was
getting to be a clich‚ in films and television sitcoms. It made her
feel even more alone.
Her dating experience in Seattle did prove that she was attracted to
older men. Men seemed to become much more sophisticated about sex
after a decade or two of practice. She also wondered if perhaps the
older men weren't quite as well indoctrinated with political
correctness as the younger ones.
Monica discovered the kinky side of the internet about two years ago
and decided to experiment with personal ads a bit later. She had some
brief flings when she chose partners simply for the fact that they
could play the dominant role, at least long enough to sleep with her a
few times. When she realized that what they wanted was vanilla sex,
or to have her dominate them, the spell was broken. Each time she
came out of the semi-hypnotic state that she called her submissive
headspace, she felt disgusted that she had allowed such gross men to
touch her.
She suddenly realized that she had been staring at her computer for
several minutes, while she analyzed the events that brought her to the
present situation. It was time for action, she thought as she added
the final sentences to her email message.
"You know I love to be spanked and dominated. It's so frustrating to
have a guy give me a few pats on the butt and then ask politely for
sex! If I have to pay a pro-dom to get what I want, then so be it.
Let's meet somewhere and talk about this face to face. What do you
say? Sincerely, Monica."
Working industriously at his home computer, Cole was interrupted by a
pleasant chime that announced the arrival of an email message. When
he reached the end of a paragraph in his report, he switched to the
email program. The message was sent by:
subgirl@seattlenet.com.
As he prepared to open the message, he remembered her description from
her second email. She was five feet eight inches tall and one hundred
forty pounds with long brown hair that was naturally curly. Her
friends described her face as having a touch of Julia Roberts, perhaps
because of her dark brown eyes and sexy mouth. She seemed to be
rather sensitive about her weight and had described herself as being
slightly pudgy. One of her messages led him to believe that there had
been some emotional damage done by her mother who was a diet fanatic.
Although some dominants required their on-line submissives to provide
their exact sizes and measurements, Cole hadn't asked for a more
detailed physical description. For one thing, she was not yet his
submissive and he felt it would not be polite. He also felt that most
women tended to greatly over or underestimate their attractiveness.
Since Monica lived in his own city, it should be easy for them to meet
and he preferred to see for himself.
He already knew a lot about Monica and it sounded like they would be
an amazingly good match. There was just a chance, he thought, that
she might become his long term partner. He pushed the feeling aside
to avoid becoming too eager.
Reading tonight's email he found that she was finally ready to meet
and possibly negotiate for his professional services. About time, he
thought, I've never put this much time and energy into a potential
customer before. There is something special about this one.
He wanted to find out if Monica was serious, so he quickly typed his
response. He described what he required of the women who wished to
submit to him. The list of rules was easy to remember, as it was
short and he had typed it many times before.
The first rule was that Monica must continue with her daily life,
including work, family and friends. If her dominant/submissive
relationship with Cole began to interfere with her other
responsibilities, it would have to end.
The second rule was that he was not available for a complete
relationship. Only her desire to submit could be fulfilled through
this liaison.
The third rule was that when they were together, her submission must
be complete and without question. He assured her that their
activities would include plenty of spanking, bondage and other forms
of SM play which she would be expected to endure.
The fourth rule was that some amount of money, to be negotiated, would
change hands to establish that he was a professional.
These rules had worked with many women who Cole had previously
dominated in the context of a professional agreement. He was
confident that this was the best arrangement for both parties.
Cole closed the message with a request that they meet for the first
time next Saturday at one of his favorite upscale restaurants in
Seattle. He knew that this would be the test. He guessed that about
half his prospects would back out at this point or simply fail to show
up at the appointed time. His alternate plan was to have an excellent
dinner alone and see a play at a nearby theater. In his dealings with
submissive women, he had learned the hard way to have a back-up plan.
When Monica received the message, there was no thought of rejecting
the offer. She was exceedingly curious about Cole and badly wanted a
chance to meet him in person. She didn't know much more about him
than his physical description and how he felt about dominant and
submissive sexuality. The pro-dom role that he had chosen for himself
did not lend itself to a complete two way exchange of information. If
he proved to be reasonably attractive and seemed to be honest about
his abilities, she was fully prepared to enter into a professional
arrangement.
The next evening, Cole found another email reply from Monica. She
agreed to meet him Saturday evening at Cutter's restaurant on the
waterfront. He typed out a few details that she would need. The
reservations were at 6PM under her name, Anderson. She didn't know
his last name yet and he wanted to keep it that way for now. She knew
that he was a legal professional and that he lived East of Seattle in
a nice neighborhood. He described himself as being about six feet
tall, short dark hair, average build, with a well trimmed beard and
mustache. He would be wearing roundish metal framed glasses and a
black sport coat. She also knew his correct age of forty one years.
He reminded her that he had not yet agreed to accept her as his
submissive and vice versa, so there would be no play at the table.
Cole laughed when he reread that, since he could imagine punishing her
later for being a naughty girl and playing at the dinner table.
After a hectic Saturday afternoon dealing with a distraught client
whose patent had just proven to be invalid, Cole went home to clean up
and dress for dinner. As promised, he wore a black sport coat that
would be appropriate for the restaurant. His car was still in the
repair shop, so he had to drive the minivan that he normally used to
carry clients and their staff to important meetings. He proceeded
downtown, traveling against the evening traffic in the sleek black
Voyager. Not exactly your typical bachelor's vehicle, but the nearly
opaque windows and large carpeted floor space had come in handy on
certain memorable occasions. He parked in a lot beneath the restaurant
just off Pike street and walked around to the front door at five
minutes before six.
Monica was already there, watching the entryway from her seat in the
bar, so that she could sneak out quietly if the man who asked for the
Anderson reservation turned out to be something other than what she
expected. She felt a familiar tingle inside her nether parts when she
heard a handsome man, looking thirty fivish, ask for "Anderson, party
of two?" He was pretty much as he had described himself, except he
had neglected to mention that his frequent workouts made him trimmer
and more muscular than the average forty one year old. He seemed to
walk and move with unusual ease, as if possessing great internal
energy. The beard and mustache were trimmed in a way that made him
appear intelligent, but slightly dangerous.
After Cole was seated at a table near the window, Monica approached
the desk and asked to be seated at the Anderson table. Cole saw
someone walking behind the hostess, but did not immediately think that
this was the woman he was waiting for. He was expecting someone a
little on the heavy side, but that did not describe the woman
approaching him in a slinky black cocktail dress with a high neck and
long sleeves.
This woman was built like the playboy playmates that he fantasized
about as a boy. The thin black dress was made of a knit material that
clung to her body as if it had been painted on. The dress revealed
the precise shape of her breasts, which was perfect and yet not quite
perfect, so it was hard to tell if she was wearing a bra. Surely she
must be a plaything of one of those rich executives that he knew so
well. Her lush figure caused Cole to start drifting into an analysis
of how society had come to demand that women must look emaciated in
order to be attractive. It took him a moment to realize that the
woman had stopped at his table. Then she smiled and spoke directly to
him.
"Hi, I'm Monica. May I sit down?"
A mild feeling of embarrassment washed over him and Cole felt like he
was thinking in slow motion as he looked up from her nicely rounded
hips, past her narrow waist and perfect breasts. Then he noticed the
brown eyes and slightly wide mouth. He was momentarily stunned.
Slowly, a smile of understanding crept across his face.
"Of course, I'm Howard. Thanks for being so prompt. I like that."
He collected his wits as Monica sat across from him at the small table
that was set for two. He had to remind himself not to stare at her
body in the black dress. He made up his mind to look either at her
face or out through the long bank of windows where the lights of early
evening were sparkling on Puget Sound.
They made small talk with the pleasant waiter, who took their orders
and entered them into a small hand held computer that used a wireless
connection to the kitchen. When they were alone with glasses of an
excellent Chardonnay, they began to talk.
"So... what's it like being a professional dominant?" she asked, a bit
breathlessly.
"It's hard to describe. It can be very intense, totally absorbing and
sometimes very rewarding. I think it's probably the most exciting
thing I've ever done," he replied calmly while looking into the dark
pools of her eyes. "Although I think semi-professional would be more
accurate. I wouldn't want to try making a living at it."
"That's too bad," Monica said "it's such a hot fantasy." She
wondered if her body language was projecting the flirtatiousness that
her friends often pointed out, even when she was not trying to flirt.
At least this time it was intentional, she thought.
They could both feel the chemistry already. It was a bit like air and
gasoline being mixed, waiting for a spark to set off the mixture.
The service was excellent, as usual. As they ate their dinner of
perfectly grilled salmon and pasta with a mild cream sauce, Cole
explained in rather serious tones what he expected from a submissive
and what he had learned from his past partners. His comments
alternated with Monica's candid description of her previous
experiences and what she was looking for. Their conversation seemed
to flow naturally, as if they had known each other forever.
"I have to admit I'm a bit surprised at how attractive you are," he
told her. "From the comments in your email I didn't expect such
beauty."
"Really? You think I'm attractive?"
"Extremely. Why, don't you think so?"
"It's a long story Howard. One of those emotional baggage from
childhood things."
"Hmmm, someone told you that you were ugly, I'd guess. Was it your
mother or your father?"
"My mother. Let's talk about something else. Why do you think I'm
attractive? Is it because I'm subby?"
Cole gradually became more certain of his opinion that this was one of
the most naturally submissive women that he had ever met. She was
highly intelligent too. He didn't think he had ever known anyone else
who had completed Calculus 4 in college. He sensed that this was a
woman he could fall in love with. That was not quite what he had
planned, but he was compelled to continue. Their conversation went on
until they suddenly realized that they had been talking for well over
two hours and agreed to adjourn to the bar and free the table for
other diners.
Monica's mind was racing. She thought that she might have finally
found what she was looking for, but damn it, the man was a
professional and not available. It was almost more than she could
handle. She was glad for the brief break in the conversation.
After receiving their drinks in the bar and engaging in safe small
talk for a while, they agreed to trade looks at each other's driver's
licenses. He instructed her to write down his full name and address,
which should be given to a friend to hold in case she failed to return
at an agreed time. Since he had not offered to tell her very much
about his life, it gave her some assurance that he was being honest
and was not hiding anything sinister. Then, Cole turned the topic to
their future relationship.
"Monica, we've done a lot of communicating the last few weeks and I
have to admit that I'm very attracted to you. We seem to be
developing a relationship that is quite different from what I
originally expected. Before we proceed any further I'd like to ask if
we can eliminate two of my rules. They don't seem appropriate
anymore."
"OK, I'm listening."
"First the one about me not being available for a complete
relationship. Would you still be interested if there was no limit?"
he said with a smile and then held his breath.
"Howard, you must be reading my mind. I'm very interested," she said
quietly as she dug her fingernails into her palms beneath the table to
help steady her voice.
"There's one other thing."
"What is it Howard?"
"Well, I explained that I usually charge my submissives a fee to help
maintain the relationship within the proper boundaries."
"That's no problem, I can pay!" she exclaimed quietly to avoid the
eavesdroppers in the bar.
"What I'm trying to say is that I don't want our relationship to be
like that. There won't be any fee. This is just for us. To explore
each other and see what happens."
Monica dropped her eyes for just a moment and said, "I'd like that
very much."
"Then ask me to accept you as my submissive." he said in a suddenly
very deep voice.
Her breath caught in her chest and she had to wait a few long seconds
before she could speak. "Sir, will you accept me as your submissive?"
"Yes, Monica. Thank you for giving me such a precious gift. From this
moment forward, as long as we both agree, I am your Dominant and you
are my submissive. You may call me Master if you wish, but do not
consider yourself a slave. You are a free woman who is choosing to
submit to a man who you believe is worthy of that gift."
"Tonight you'll go home and think about this. I want you to have a
chance to back out. If you still wish to be mine, come to my house
next weekend. Make sure you don't have any other plans. Send me an
email on Monday if you're still committed and I'll give you your
instructions. We'll start slowly. I think you're something special
and I don't want either of us to mess this up."
They discussed a few more details including an agreement that they
would both have tests for AIDs and all other STDs on Monday. As far
as they knew, they were both free of any disagreeable maladies. Cole
had a vasectomy many years ago, which they appreciated now since
Monica was not on the pill and they both disliked condoms.
After taking the elevator down to where they both had parked, they
forced themselves to part with a polite hug and kiss. Then Cole
watched silently as Monica drove off into the night at the wheel of a
pretty blue Mazda Miata. He took several deep breaths to calm himself
before climbing into his own vehicle.
Arriving at her fashionable apartment twenty minutes later, Monica ran
for the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. She threw herself
onto the bed and began masturbating furiously. "I've never been so
horny in my life!" she shouted into a pillow. There is something
about Howard that really pushes my submissive buttons, she thought.
Maybe it was that sexy beard or the hint of gray in his hair. Perhaps
his large hands, which seemed so powerful.
He wasn't at all like the men she met from the internet or those
posturing assholes who answered her personal ad in the kinky section
of the alternative newspaper last year. She received over a hundred
responses from a single ad. She must have dated a dozen guys before
she got totally disgusted and gave up. Howard was different. He said
he was some kind of legal professional, although he wouldn't be more
specific.
It had been roughly eight months since she last had sex with someone
other than herself. Prior to meeting Howard, the only good thing
about her social life was that she had plenty of time to haunt the
internet and hang out with her girlfriend Jennifer who had similar
interests. There were countless mailing lists, chat rooms and web
sites that discussed Dominance and Submission. She had learned enough
about D/S to know that it was what she wanted and that she hadn't yet
experienced it. SM was interesting and she did love a good spanking,
but it did not satisfy her urge to serve and submit.
She felt envious of the women on the internet who wrote stories and
poetry about their submission. Was it finally her turn, she wondered?
After several intense orgasms fueled by fantasies of her new master,
Monica fell into a deep sleep, drooling slightly from the corner of
her Julia Roberts mouth.
