4.
This room smells ancient. No, that's not quite the right word. It's primeval. There's a certain grace to the dank odor, like curling up inside your favorite old book. The cover is tattered, the pages are worn, but there's something undeniably comforting about it. It is dark, with an exception of the scattered light emanating from the tall pillar candles arranged in the center of the room. I am cloaked in red, with my fingertips clasping ever tighter around the neck of a man who only a few short hours ago was a nothing more than a dear friend. He's coaxing me to continue, his powerful hands rhythmically squeezing my forearms. His eyelashes flutter and dance in the candlelight, those hazel eyes plead with me, and I become a Dominant...
The cafe where Mr. Fifteen had chosen to meet up was like so many others in Wicker Park; darkly painted walls, polished wood surfaces, filled with Columbia College kids working on their latest independent movie manuscript on MacBooks, and it turned into a bar at 5pm. In other words, while it was not the place I would have chosen, it was anonymous enough. I wore a scarf over my hair, and a dark pair of sunglasses, in case anyone I knew spotted me. I would never hear the end of it if Cain saw me in a tragically hip place like this. Sauntering up to the counter, I ordered three shots of espresso over ice, and headed to an unoccupied corner booth near the back. I rummaged in my purse, and added a quick tilt of scotch to my rapidly cooling coffee. Something told me that I would need both to relax and keep my wits about me.
I had been sitting reading a dog-eared copy of Sartre, my ritualistic read the other ten times I had been in this situation when I felt compelled to look up. There was Grey, this time in dark jeans, white sneakers, and a heather grey polo shirt with the top two buttons undone. He wore a black straw trilby with a white band, and titanium aviator sunglasses. A feeling very much like that which had overcome me at dinner began to wash over me again. This man certainly knows how to work from a position of power, I thought. Fortunately, he was in good company in that regard. Closing my book on the table, I stood to greet him.
"Glad to see I'm not the only one keeping a low profile, Ms. Sarci" he noted, indicating my scarf and the sunglasses on the table. He removed his specs, and hooked them into the open collar of his shirt. "You look lovely as always. Do you have a drink?" I motioned to the near empty glass by my book. "Good. I bought you a panini as well. Shall we begin?"
"Of course, sir. Please, sit with me."
I sat back down, and pulled the printout of the redacted contract out of the back of my book. I never did see the point of all the pageantry and paperwork. Given my chosen profession, you'd think I'd have the contrary opinion. Perhaps since my business life is buried in it, I prefer my extracurricular excursions to be free of such trappings. It's all part of the illusion, I told myself, retrieving my "sexy librarian" spectacles from my snap purse. I perched them on my nose, and began to review my numerous notes, flipping directly to the appendixes.
He looked across the table, impassive. I busied myself reading. A flag I had placed on a certain section caught my eye. Something I hadn't noted before. Some topics needed to be broached delicately, and face to face.
"Sir, I see here a limitation on breath control. From my understanding, you are an experienced practitioner, with a taste for certain proclivities. Since you were the one to seek out my, shall we say, services, I can comfortably conclude that you have more than a perfunctory understanding of my specialties?"
He nodded, raising an eyebrow in interest.
"Breath control, as you so euphemistically refer to it here, happens to be one of mine. To put it quite bluntly sir, I'm not colloquially known as 'Ms. Soffocarsi' for nothing. I chokemy clients Mr. Grey, pure and simple.
He bristled visibly at this, but I was not budging on this one. "Look, Mr. Grey, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. I derive a great amount of satisfaction from 'breath control', and in my skilled hands, so will you."
His shaky intake of breath was near imperceptible. I pounced on this moment of vulnerability. "It's acceptable to you, then" I grinned with relish. It's a tact that will serve me well in the courtroom soon, I thought to myself.
Brandishing a red felt tip marker, I lined out the exclusion. Scanning further down the list, I got to fitness and intake requirements. "I trust this is customary contract language." I'm not sure of your previous entanglements, sir, although I did conduct a thorough check of your references, but rest assured I pride myself on my appearance and well-being. I will cede control in certain, even most areas to you, but these shall be my responsibility alone. Besides, I already work with a fitness instructor five times a week. "You don't get the reputation I have without hard work, Grey."
"An excellent point, Ms. Sarci. And no less than what I would expect from a keen legal mind such as yours. But I must insist that you finish your sandwich before we continue your negotiation." A feeder, I made a mental note.
"I know the significance of that requirement, I've done my homework." my voice softened slightly. "I've worked with Speiseleitung dominants before. I can abide by that provision, and I know you'll find a have a healthy appetite for whatever you can dish up." I popped the rest of Panini in my mouth, and smiled widely once I had swallowed.
There seemed to be a distinct temperature change in this room with this statement, and I worked my advantage. "As far as every available weekend, that's off the table. My home is Chicago, and flying eight times a month is 'hard limit'. In exchange, I can give you a week a month. We both have demanding schedules, so I think we can accommodate that way. Any further time can be negotiated ad hoc, and will have to take place in Chicago, at my discretion."
His face fell a bit at this, so I offered a concession "I have interviews for firms on the Pacific coast on my calendar, if we need be, we can compromise on a neutral meeting place on those designated days"
At this, he brightened slightly, reaching for his smartphone. I whip out my Android, and we synchronized our schedules.
"Blackberry? Really? What are you, fifty?" He grimaced and mumbled something about company security.
"I have a weekend in San Francisco in late July, outside of our pre-established limits, as well weekday interview San Diego in August. That should be enough to be going on with, I said, wirelessly sending him the dates.
"Back to the business at hand, I see plenty of mention of typical methods of punishment, but none of the more deviant and specialty means. Am I to understand you're not interested in extreme/elemental stimulation?" My voice was quite calm, but probing.
Grey cocked his head to one side, looking very much like a terrier that's just been shown an elaborate card trick.
"Hmmm, I see." I failed to hide my frustration at his fledgling experience. What did you do with the fourteen before me? No wonder he needs 3 words to describe a beating. I continue, "What I'm referring to is fire or branding punishment, electrical stimulation, simulated drowning, suspension, physical crushing and the like. Are you familiar with any of these?"
With each word, his eyes grow wider, until they seem to engulf his entire face. He didn't look cocky at all anymore. The plain truth was, he looked startled, but with a hovering of morbid interest. Recovering slightly, he said "Do go on, Ms. Sarci."
I continued, "Well, I'm going to take for granted that you know what each of those I mentioned entails. I suppose I'll begin by asking you what other submissives preferred or requested. Everyone has their tastes, and I'm interested to know what types of punishment you have administered or have been subjected to in the past."
He took a moment and looked upward, replaying instances in his mind, I'm sure. "My previous submissives tended to be, how shall I put this delicately, less experienced. I primarily prefer to train my companions to suit my exacting expectations. What I have described in the contract is the outline of those expectations." His voice put a slight edge on the last word.
This was not the answer I was hoping for, so I changed tactics. "I am student of history, Mr. Grey. I favor the use of psychological strategy to enhance my experience, as well as those of my clients. Your previous experience notwithstanding, I assure you that what I am, and what I have to offer is wholly separate. If you are open other such methods, I would be happy to initiate you."
Taking a small sip from what was now mostly scotch-flavored water and weak coffee, I went on. "You're acquainted with the Milgram experiment? It tends to be a favorite of Dominants. Essentially, it's a test to see how far someone will go in order to obey an authority figure."
"Of this I'm quite aware, Ms. Sarci. And I might ask you: how far are you willing to go to obey me?"
I locked eyes with him, and leaned in, a fraction of an inch from his mouth. Speaking just loud enough for him to hear, I hissed, "further than you have ever gone, or would ever want to go, I am certain." My lips just brushed his as I spoke, and I withdrew to my side of table before he had time to react.
Grey's silver eyes had widened, and the irises changed to nearly duplicate his now-ghostly pallor. I traced my index finger on the rim of the glass of coffee, waiting for him to recuperate.
"I'll trust your judgement, Ms. Sarci, as you will trust in mine." He voice quavered in the slightest.
"For myself, I have a Stockholm Syndrome inclination. I suppose in certain company, you would call it a fetish. You're acquainted with a kidnapping s/D scenario, Mr. Grey?" Again he appeared perplexed. "Research," I directed firmly but not unkindly. "And please do not tell me what you find. Show me, when you feel the situation is optimal."
He nodded, his expression reflecting poorly-concealed enthusiasm. "You've given me quite the homework assignment. I'm unaccustomed to being the less informed party in any transaction, but I wouldn't say it's an unpleasant position. I shall conduct a thorough investigation, the results of which will be revealed to you as circumstances warrant."
This garnered him a wily smile from me. I was altogether gratified with how things were playing out. I'd never worked with a Dominant that had his background: plenty of previous submissives, yet a severely limited scope on how he had dealt with them. It was akin to playing Monopoly with someone who up until this time had circled the board endlessly, but had never thought to buy any property. And now this hapless soul had just landed on my prime piece of real estate: hotel-covered Boardwalk.
I decided it was best to lighten the mood. "Now that the limits and expectations are established, it's time to determine what our code shall be." I couldn't hide my grin at this point. I was my favorite part of the proceedings.
Grey looked quizzical. "Code? You continue to surprise me, Ms. Sarci."
"That's the first thing to go," I said slyly. "From here forward, we will no longer address each other by our names. Also, given our arrangement, I think that referring to one another as "dominant" and "submissive" would be more than a little gauche. I mean, we both know what we're getting into here, and that entire "master" and "sub" dichotomy has never done it for me. In the past, I have preferred a numerical system. Given that there have been fourteen before me, and ten before you, I contend that from here forth, you are Mr. Eleven and I am Ms. Fifteen."
"Intriguing as ever, - I mean, Ms. Fifteen. I must admit I'm fond of these numeral affectations."
I impatiently dismissed his approval, moving on to my next recommendation. "I require an environment, Mr. Eleven. An illusion, because ultimately we're just playing cops and robbers for adults without pants on. Given my penchant for mixing business with pleasure, and the nature of our hybrid arrangement, I think it's only appropriate we employ the jargon of the legal realm."
He favored me with a wry smile. "So which one of us is the plantiff?" he mused.
I leaned in closer. "Depends on the day, I suppose. As far as the judge is concerned, there's only one person at this table with near a juris doctorate" I teased.
He matched my gaze, "Oh, I think you'll find that I'm much more comfortable as the prosecutor, Ms. Fifteen. Cross-examining the witness is something I take immense gratification in."
"My prowess as a litigant is more than capable. I look forward to your petition."
With that, I slipped my glasses back into my purse, and gazed into his pewter eyes. My chin was propped up neatly on my interlaced fingers as I appraised him. With very little warning, his hand darted forward, and seized my lower jaw. He pulled me across the table bringing my mouth within millimeters of his. I parted my lips and breathed forth a whiff of coffee and scotch. He drew in his breath sharply and branded my mouth with a kiss. It was deep, burning, and did it's damnedest to cut me to my core.
It did not succeed.
I returned the embrace, with interest. With little maneuvering, I drew his bottom lip into my warm mouth, favoring it with fluttering of playful biting. He groaned softly, and I attempted to draw away. He held my chin fast and squeezed. I opened my eyes and stared at his out-of-perspective face. For the slightest of moments, our eyes met, and he disengaged, never breaking eye contact.
"I hope you enjoyed that, Ms. Fifteen. The terms have begun. That's the last time I'll allow it, without serious consequences."
"After your research session, we'll just have to see just how serious your consequences are."