Subordination: Chronicles of a Domme Read online

  When class had ended, a tall, lanky girl came up to me as I was packing away my laptop. “I really liked what you had to say.”

  “Calling that dickhead a douchebag or about Sade?”

  She laughed. “I guess both.”

  “Well, you’re welcome.”

  After glancing around, she asked, “Are you in the scene?”

  “BDSM?” When she nodded, I replied, “Oh no. I’m not.”

  “Hmm, I could have sworn you were.”

  “Because I knew about safe, sane, and consensual? That was referenced in the literary criticism essay after the excerpt.”

  Her blonde brows rose in surprise. “You actually read that when it wasn’t assigned?”

  I laughed. “Yep. As a future English teacher, I kind of get off on that nerdy criticism stuff.”

  She grinned. “I see. Some get off on words, others BDSM.”

  “Totally.”

  “If you don’t have a class right now, you wanna get some coffee?”

  Since I hadn’t made a lot of friends at school, I decided to take her up on the offer. “Sure.”

  “I’m Lindsay, by the way”

  “Sophie.”

  Two cups of shitty student center coffee later and Lindsay revealed she was both a professional and lifestyle Domme. While I found the conversation enlightening considering you didn’t find too many sexually-liberated people around our backwoods community college, I had no idea where it was about to lead.

  “Have you ever thought about getting into the scene as a Domme?”

  Waving my hands in front of me, I replied, “Oh no, it’s not for me. Don’t get me wrong. I like to give a good spanking and pull some hair, but I could never be into that full time.”

  “What about for a job?”

  “Seriously?”

  “The club where I work is always looking for professional Dommes—ones who aren’t likely to let their emotions get in the way by being romantically involved with a sub. I think you’d be perfect.”

  My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And just how would you know that from an hour-long conversation?”

  “Because you didn’t blink an eye when it came to putting a man twice your size in his place.”

  “Yeah, well, I hardly see how a verbal comeback qualifies me to beat the hell out of someone.”

  “As a Domme, you learn quickly how to read people. I can read you.”

  “And just what do you see besides an opinionated smart-ass?”

  “You have way much more depth.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “Do tell.”

  “I know you’re a strong, independent woman who thrives on control in all facets of her life. You’re most likely not in a relationship right now because men are always intimidated by your strength.”

  I stared at her in surprise. How the hell was it possible for her to know that? “You’re starting to freak me out a little.”

  Lindsay laughed. “I told you I could read people.” Her expression grew serious. “I also know you could really use the money.”

  “Have you been stalking me or something?”

  “Besides the fact that you own a terribly outdated laptop, one of the folders you put in your bag was from Financial Aide.” At what must’ve been my creeped out expression, she held up her hand. “I know because I have the same folder. I’m here on the same grants that you are. Pretty soon they’re going to run out. When they do, the money I make from being a Domme will enable me to finish school without having to take out a bunch of loans.”

  I eased back in my seat, weighted down by the intensity of the conversation. I was facing the same dilemma as Lindsay, except mine was direr. My father’s MS had begun to worsen. While he’d been able to get around the farm on a cane, he’d declined so rapidly in the past few weeks that now he needed a walker. It wouldn’t be long before he needed a wheelchair. The farm had long since been paid for, but taxes on fifty acres was enormous. The overseer we’d hired to help run the farm was also a drain. Even after all the cattle and some of the horses were sold, we would still come up short. I was a modern day Scarlett O’Hara facing the loss of my father’s beloved Tara.

  “It’s true. I need the money, but I can’t prostitute myself.”

  Lindsay surprised me by laughing. “Dommes don’t have sex with their clients.”

  “They don’t?”

  “No. Most scenes don’t even call for you to touch a sub intimately to get them off. They’ll do that all on their own…when you let them.”

  “How much could I make a session?”

  “Depends on what you’re willing to do. Edge play Dommes always make more.”

  “Like the medical shit?”

  “Yes. Also fire, blood, and breath play.”

  I shook my head furiously from side to side. “Hell no. I can’t do any of that.”

  “Even if you stick with the basic stuff, you can make two to three hundred a session.”

  The last sip of coffee I’d taken spewed out onto the table. “For one session?”

  Lindsay nodded. “With your looks and personality, it could easily become five hundred to a thousand.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought when I first started.”

  “But I’m clueless when it comes to all this shit. The only thing I really know how to do with rope is hogtie a steer or corral a horse.”

  Lindsay’s blue eyes widened. “You know about tying rope?”

  “Yeah, I grew up on a cattle farm. I can tie just about every knot imaginable.”

  I had no idea admitting that fact would be such a plus, but Lindsay was practically bouncing in her seat. “If you know about rope, then you already have a leg up. Some men would cream their pants just at the thought of you hog-tying them.”

  Once again, all I could say was, “Damn.”

  Reaching in her purse, Lindsay pulled out a card. “Listen, I have another class coming up. Think about it, and if you decide it’s something you want to do, give me a call. If not, I won’t mention it again.”

  I took the card. “Mistress Layla?”

  She grinned. “That’s me.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “No matter what, thanks for the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome.” She slid her messenger bag, which was surely designer, onto her shoulder before leaving me at the table with my jangled thoughts.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, turning her card over and over between my fingers. After glancing at my phone, I realized two hours had passed by. I was going to have to haul ass to make it to my waitressing job.

  As I hurried to the parking garage, my mind continued to whirl with thoughts. When I got to my car, I groaned and threw my hands up. My front right tire was completely flat. I’d already moved the back tires to the front because I couldn’t afford new ones. I was so fucked.

  The first call I made wasn’t to the local service station. It was to Lindsay.

  A thumping bass filled my ears as she said, “This is Mistress Layla.”

  “Hey, it’s Sophie.” I hesitated a moment before saying, “When can I start?”

  Owen reappeared in his suit and tie, looking handsome and distinguished and every bit the hardened lawyer. In his hands, he held a wrapped jewelry box. “I have something for you.”

  Tilting my head, I wagged a finger at him. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  He winked at me. “Of course I did. Besides, I don’t remember any club bylaws that state a sub can’t give his Domme a gift.”

  I didn’t bother arguing anymore. With the same excitement as a kid on Christmas morning, I tore into the package. When I cracked open the box, I sucked in a breath. “Owen, this is breathtaking.”

  It was a gold bracelet heavy-laden with charms. The charms themselves were a mixture of the pictures of my favorite authors like Shakespeare, Poe, and Harper Lee. Then there were book-themed char
ms like quills, a raven, and a mockingbird, each decorated with Swarovski crystals.

  “Wherever did you find it?”

  “I had a jeweler friend of mine make it.”

  It took me a few moments to find my voice. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “The expression on your face is thanks enough.”

  I smiled. “This is one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  With my free hand, I placed it on his cheek before leaning in to bestow a kiss on his lips. There was no spark or electricity at the touch—it was out of love but certainly not the romantic kind. People outside of the BDSM community never realized the true depth of emotions that went into a scene or the deep affection that a Domme felt for her sub and vice versa.

  When I pulled away, Owen sighed with frustration. “No tongue?”

  I laughed while silently thanking him for lightening the moment. “Behave yourself.”

  “Ah, but I do so like the threat of punishment,” he countered with a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “I’ll be sure to let Mistress Venus and Rain know to deprive you of harsh beatings.”

  He frowned. “Now that’s just cruel.”

  “Then be a good boy.”

  “I will. For you.” He smiled as he motioned to the bracelet. “When you wear that, try to think of me from time to time.”

  “Of course I will. How could I not think of the person who gave me such a beautiful, thoughtful gift?”

  Owen gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the dungeon door. I tried ignoring the tightening in my chest at his retreating form. I’d never meant to get attached to my clients. But it was almost impossible when you spent so much intimate time with them.

  I probably should have gone home to finish packing. I would be leaving the bright city lights and moving back to my farm on Monday. I’d taken a teaching job at the same high school where I’d graduated, and we started preplanning on Tuesday. It was overwhelming to think that in just ten short days I would be standing in front of my first group of students.

  But as I gazed around the dungeon, I realized I wasn’t quite ready to leave 1740. Being an overly sentimental person, I felt the need to savor my last night a little longer. I wanted to head upstairs to the main floor and hang out with some of the staff. Considering how rigid my client schedule was during the week, I rarely had time to just sit and talk.

  I grabbed my purse and hurried out the door. I started down the long, mazelike hallway to the elevators. While 1740 was only two floors, the dungeon held ten private rooms that were outfitted for different types of play. A whiff of rubbing alcohol hit my nose as I passed the room dedicated to needle and blood play while the sound of a whirring machine could be heard from the medical room. Whatever kink you were interested in, you could most likely find it at 1740.

  After a quick ride, the elevator doors opened to the main floor. Since I had come up the staff elevator, I bypassed the reception area where membership cards were scanned. Because of the exclusive clientele, 1740 went to the extremes of security to protect its clients’ identities.

  I waved to one of the bouncers as I walked into what I liked to call “the club.” With a bar and massive dance floor, it resembled the inside of a regular club. There were also tables and couches where people could sit and talk, presumably about what they wanted to do downstairs in one of the private rooms. Beyond “the club” was where public scenes were enacted. Anyone could hang out and watch a flogging or rope suspension.

  I started making my way through the packed Friday night crowd. People were in all types of attire from fetish wear to jeans. Some gyrated on the dance floor while others stood around talking.

  My steps faltered as I did a double take at the sight of what appeared to be a shirtless and shoeless Henry Cavill standing before me. The idea wasn’t entirely far-fetched since we’d had a few celebrities in the club. But as one of the strobe lights flickered to illuminate more of his face, I realized he was just a look-alike. His hair was lighter while his eyes were dark brown, rather than blue.

  He was impossibly tall, and I couldn’t help staring at his muscular chest with its dusting of dark hair that led to an oh-so-happy trail that ended at the low hanging waistband of his jeans. He had an aura of importance about him, and I couldn’t help wondering who he was in real life.

  He held my gaze for a moment before averting his eyes to the ground. “Good evening, Mistress.”

  A submissive? I would have never imagined it in a million years. Even though I knew from my own clients that submissive men weren’t simpering pussies, there was something about this man that screamed dominant. Of course, the fact he was shoeless should have given his sub status away, but he wasn’t wearing a collar. A prime piece of submissive man like this usually belonged to someone. And if he didn’t, he would normally be snatched up by a Domme practically before he got through the door, least of all across the dance floor. I couldn’t help wondering what his story was. More than anything, I wondered what it might be like to have a session with him. I so rarely took anyone on outside my usual clients. But it might be something fun for my last night in the club.

  To test his true submissiveness, I commanded, “Look at me.”

  He jerked his gaze from my boots to meet mine. “Are you looking to play tonight?”

  “Yes, I am. And if it pleases you, Mistress, I would be honored if you chose me.”

  His voice. Sweet Jesus, it was panty-melting. It totally went with his body—strong, firm, and deep. Although he had answered my question well, I still had my doubts. With all the strength I had, I reached out to firmly slap his cheek. The resounding smack echoed around us. A man playing at being a sub would have a distinct reaction. His eyes would darken with the rage seething within him at being treated so disrespectfully.

  Oh, but not him. His face remained impassive. Yet at the same time, he shuddered, and his dark eyes flashed with a combustive mix of lust and desire. His reaction caused moisture to pool between my thighs. He reminded me of our horses back on the farm. He was a spirited stallion who needed a firm hand to break him, and damn me to hell if I didn’t want to be the one to do it.

  Wanting to build the anticipation, I patted his cheek where I had previously slapped him. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” He bowed his head before backing up.

  Damn, someone had truly trained him well. I stepped past him to head to the bar. My mouth had run dry, and I desperately needed a drink.

  “Hey there, sugar tits,” Lyle, the bartender, said with a grin.

  “If you were my sub, I’d spank your ass for speaking to me like that,” I mused as I slid onto one of the stools.

  He winked. “The night shift bartender is about to come in. You can take me downstairs and show me what you’re all about. You know, like a parting gift for you.”

  I laughed. “You sub for the other team.”

  Lyle shrugged. “It might be interesting to see the difference between a Domme and a dom.”

  “Considering I don’t have a dick, I think you’d be pretty disappointed.” When he opened his mouth to argue, I shook my head. “And don’t suggest a strap-on because I don’t do that. I draw the line at butt plugs.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Mistress Venus said as she joined us. She closed her blue eyes in exaggerated bliss. “I love making a sub my bitch, and nothing does that quite like fucking with a strap-on.” She opened her eyes and huffed out a frustrated breath. “But why do I bother explaining it to you since you’re only a professional Domme? You leave all the excitement here and go home to your vanilla world.” She grinned. “Hell, you probably do it missionary style through a sheet.”

  “Very funny. I’ll have you know I’ve never been and never will be a totally vanilla girl. I like some good kink.”

  Venus rolled her eyes. “The mainstream kink—some handcuffs, whipped cream, maybe some spanking. L
et me tell you what. Until you’ve drilled a two hundred and fifty pound professional football player with a nine-inch strap-on, you’re vanilla.”

  Lyle snickered at what must’ve been the appalled look on my face. “I’m pretty sure sugar tits doesn’t even take it up the ass herself.”

  “Once again, a butt plug is as far as I’m giving or taking.” I waved a finger at them. “And that doesn’t make me a prude.”

  “Speaking of spanking ass, that’s a fine piece you had your eye on earlier,” Lyle said.

  I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that the sub’s eyes were on me. The heat of his stare singed the exposed skin on my back. “I thought about doing a scene with him—kind of a ‘one for the road’ kinda thing. But I’m not so sure. Regardless of the pretty package, there must be something wrong with him, or he would have already been snatched up.”

  “You don’t know who that is?” Venus inquired.

  I shook my head as I took another sip of cranberry juice. “He must be a weekend-only guy.”

  “Oh, girl, that’s William. He’s been a member for about a year. At first, he played with a few different Mistresses, but then he and Calla got together.”

  I wrinkled my nose with disgust. “Such good looks but obviously no taste in Mistresses.”

  Lyle laughed. “After all these years is she still giving you attitude?”

  “I’d call it more catitude since she’s a catty bitch.”

  While I hadn’t gone into the club looking to make friends, I’d found most of the Dommes to be welcoming and friendly. All but Calla. She was still relatively new when I’d started, and after I began to be sought after by weekly clients, she began to go out of her way to give me shit. Normally, I would have told her off, but she was a friend of the owner, so I had to bite my tongue. Thankfully, she worked the weekends and a few odd nights during the week, so I didn’t have to see her.

  Venus tapped her metallic black nails on the counter. “I feel sorry for William. Calla’s put the word out to leave him off-limits.”

  “Why would she do that?” I questioned.

  “Apparently she wanted a D/s relationship with him outside the club, and he wasn’t interested. So she’s trying to drive him away by not having anyone for him to play with.”