NEW STORY!
I have just published the first chapter of It's Like Squeezing Water from a Stone, Christian's POV of this fanfic! I invite you to read it, follow it and favourite it. Here goes a sample:
What if Ana was an experienced and self-confident Submissive when Christian met her? And what if by the time he realized she wasn't a complacent kitten but a stubborn tiger, he couldn't get her out of his mind, his life, and even his bed? Let alone his heart… Christians's POV of It's Like Trying to Get Blood Out of a Stone.
Chapter 1: First meeting
AKA: Christian doesn't know what hits him
Do you suppose she's a wildflower?
I walked into the BDSM club at Portland, hoping to find a gorgeous woman whose body I could enjoy for the following three months. It had been eleven weeks ever since I'd ended my contract with Caroline. Two of those weekends I had spent in New York, one in London, and another two working intensely at Escala. The remaining six weekends I had enjoyed myself, travelling all the way to Portland to that particular BDSM club and spending a few hours with one Submissive or another, unable to find one I wanted to keep for long.
Probably the club's most appealing feature was its location relative to Seattle: it wasn't in my city, where photographers could easily spot me and ruin me, but it wasn't too far away either: just a short helicopter trip away. Of course, it had other attributes: it was nicely furnished, with a modern and unpretentious bar in black and burgundy—where they offered the tastiest virgin drinks I had ever had—and fully equipped playrooms; it had beautiful, varied women happy to submit; and it only allowed members of over twenty-one years old instead of eighteen, which meant fewer scared birds or skittish kittens were around.
I scanned the bar as I looked for a prospective Sub. Two women were blonde, so I discarded them instantly; they'd reminded me too much of Elena, the paedophile I had thrown behind bars years ago, but who had put twisted ideas in my head and pulled me away from my family first.
One was a redhead, who I had caned two weeks ago after a fight with Ros; I wasn't proud of my attitude nor particularly attracted to her, so I discarded her too.
Three had dark raven hair and seemed nice at first glance. One, I noticed, was wearing a yellow band around her left wrist, meaning she wasn't looking for a bedfellow that particular evening. Untouchable. Another I realized to be a Misstress, with a black band around her right wrist; she was flirting with the last black-haired woman, who was wearing a red band—indicating she was taken—and was probably her Sub.
Only one of the women was a brunette. My favourite. And she was wearing a pink band, looking for a Dominant!
I was partial to brunettes, just like my brother preferred blondes. It had taken Flynn years to convince me I wasn't a sadist that thrived on punishing women who had hair similar to my biological mother's. For years, the first few times I punished a new Submissive, I had pictured myself castigating my mother for not taking care of me. During my first year or so as a Dom, I had needed to take it out of my system—to beat the crap out of someone who was alive and at arm's reach—but with time it seemed to become a habit; maybe even a rite of passage for new Subs. I labelled myself a sadist and tried to live with it; I viewed the term as my ball and chain, a painful and heavy penance for my debauchery.
But Flynn insisted the term 'sadist' was outdated. As if that was relevant. He maintained it was a sexual choice, and not an illness; that what I did was fine so long as it was consensual. So he proposed a little experiment: have a non-brunette Sub for a month, don't punish her too roughly and force myself to stay in the here and now instead of travelling back to the unpleasant past. I was ready to prove him wrong; to do my best, like I always did, and show him I was more self-aware than he believed. And then, if he didn't change his song, I'd replace him.
The British bastard had been right.
After the little experiment, black and red-haired women were alright, but I still preferred brunettes. Redheads made me go back to harmful coping mechanisms whenever I was mad at Ros—I succumbed to punishing them in ways I couldn't my second in command—but I had cured myself of brunettes. I didn't have anything against raven-haired women per se, although sometimes they did remind me of my second Dom from back when I had started college in Boston; Louisa had commanded so much respect I sometimes found myself being too soft towards my black-haired Subs.
So the lone brunette it was.
She was drinking something transparent but bubbly, like sparkling water or a lemon-lime soft drink. Dark pink lips were sucking from a straw, the image suggesting yet innocent. I couldn't see her eyes, as they were focused on the bar counter. I was naturally curious about what her eyes could reveal, but not enough to allow her to see my face. I didn't want to risk my… anonymity when she had only signed the club's NDA but not mine in particular.
I approached her, feeling like a lion hunting a doe, and sat down at her right. She kept her eyes focused on her drink but tensed up slightly. She didn't acknowledge me nor start a conversation, as the dynamics in the club dictated this was the Dom's privilege.
Thus, I limited myself to observing her as I ordered some coffee and then sipped it. She was wearing a short burgundy dress that showed off the pale skin of her breasts. I gathered she had C cups; a nice handful. Her naked shoulders would tense and relax at a random pattern, and her cheeks were flushed. She was aware of my attention and intimidated by it, but likely not uncomfortable, as she was free to stand up and leave at any time with no repercussions. Her pink cheeks and twin braids made her look barely twenty-one, but that was the minimum age according to the club's rule so I wasn't worried. I could tell she was rather recent to the lifestyle, but not brand new. She was still adapting.
I excelled at reading people, but there wasn't much more I could tell from just watching her in this environment that wasn't yet her own. Talking was the next step, especially if I didn't want her to flee.
"Good evening," I spoke clearly with a sensual undertone. Her breathing hitched. Good.
"Good evening, Sir," she answered after a few seconds.
"I don't recall having seen you here before."
"I first started coming to the club in September, Sir."
Hmm. I read between the lines, listening for what she hadn't told me. She said she'd first started coming to the club in September, but didn't clarify it was to this club. This, coupled with her youth and lack of comfort and familiarity, told me she had first joined into the lifestyle the last September, only seven months earlier. I preferred my girls more seasoned, but beggars can't be choosers and it urged me to dominate a brunette.
Also, she had first started coming to the club back in September, which didn't necessarily mean she had been a Sub for that long. Most likely, she had worn a yellow band for several weeks and had observed scenes from the outside of rooms with one-way-mirrors—some people enjoyed being watched as they fucked, but it wasn't my thing—before daring to submit herself.
But if she had been around for seven months, why hadn't I seen her before? Most particularly during the last three months, when I had been looking for a Sub. Maybe she had had a contractual Dom up until recently?
"I usually prefer Thursdays and Fridays," she added, still answering my comment about never having seen her before.
And that night was a Saturday, the day I favoured. That was probably it, then. We had never crossed paths before.
"May I ask for how long you've been a Dominant, Sir?" she ventured.
She may ask, but I may choose not to answer, and then she may choose to walk away. And that wasn't agreeable with my night's plans.
"For nine years."
I had first started to train as a Dominant halfway through my first year of college. This was just after my father and grandfather had offered me the money to start my own company so long as I graduated first, moment in which I had also decided to finish school as early as possible. By then I had learnt by example from Louisa, Tanya and Amanda how a good Dom should behave—as opposed to Elena's treatment—, prompting me to decide I was ready to be a Dominant myself. I was done with following other's orders. It was time for me to let go of my problems and take control of my life not by submitting to others, but by focusing on dominating my Sub and nothing else for a few hours.
She nodded once as if she liked what she had heard. Did she feel more comfortable with a more experienced Dom? Probably.
"What about you? For how long have you been submitting?" She tensed at the last word. Submitting. Did she not like the term, or was she still unused to it?
"Six months as of today." What better way to celebrate the anniversary than by embracing her inner freak?
"Six months. And have you learnt much since then?"
She smiled slightly. It looked more like a smirk, really. "Quite a bit, yes. I'm a fast learner." And she had a quick mind. Time to see if she was willing to put her body where her mouth was.
"Are you interested in learning something new tonight?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm a curious person."
I asked for her list of limits and she took a folded white paper from her bag, the latter which had been on the floor between a very nice pair of pale legs.
Her warm fingers brushed mine as she handed me the paper. I unfolded it to reveal quite a long list of limits. Apart from the typical ones enforced by the club (no acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof, needles, knives, piercing, or blood, gynaecological medical instruments, children or animals, breath control, or acts that would leave any permanent marks on the skin), there were fisting, paddling, caning, belt spanking, biting, hot wax, gagging and suspension. At least the last two were the only forms of bondage she found unacceptable, although bondage with handcuffs/metal restraints was written down above genital clamps in her shorter list of soft limits. Spanking, nipple clamps and ice were the only punishments she found acceptable. A pity.
Oh, well. It wasn't as if I usually took out the belt or cane during the first scene, so it wouldn't be a great loss. Maybe that little brunette wouldn't be good for me as a long-term Sub, but she'd make-do for the night.
Make-do didn't even begin to cover it.
