Ever since I met Kirsten I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I’ve been planning out various scenes but have dismissed most of them for being too intense. I haven’t had to worry about this before because using the clubs meant it was one woman, one time. But if I want a long term sub, this needs more thought.
After talking to Christine I’ve come to realize that Elena’s style of domination was intense: yeah, that’s the word. Christine basically warned me off being a Dom in Elena’s style. So I’m more wary than usual – after all, I don’t know any other way. I’ll just have to take it slow with Kirsten and make sure I do enough to make her want to come back. Hell, I want her so badly I could fuck her into next week but I’ve learned to control my more extreme urges. I can never get rid of them: I know that. In fact, I don’t want to. Elena has shown me that they’re part of who I am. Yeah, I’m fucked up, but it’s finding a way to deal with it. Elena’s way. And now it’s going to my way. Soon it will be Kirsten’s way.
But there’s something I have to do first – something that isn’t a talent I readily possess. I have to find a way to apologize to my brother. Last time I saw Elliot, I came close to hitting him. I don’t mean horsing around, I mean beating the shit out of him and wiping the blood off of my hands. The loss of control scared the shit out of me. It took me back to being 15 years old and totally mind-fucked.
I think about phoning him up to go for a drink but somehow that seems cowardly. I’ll have to go and see him face-to-face, so that I know we’re ok. My brother has always been on my side and always forgiven me. There’s been a lot to fucking forgive. And now, more than ever.
I work late. We’re in talks with Baxter’s but the MD is being difficult. He’s run the company into the fucking ground but he still doesn’t want to sell it – warbling on about family heritage. It took me all of two minutes to point out that in another six months he’ll have jack-shit to pass on to his offspring. Ros was impressed: two minutes before telling it like it is has doubled the record for my personal best. My people skills are definitely improving.
I wonder if Elliot has already eaten. If not, maybe we can have dinner. I know what I’ll be eating: humble fucking pie.
I decide against phoning him first. I need to see him.
When I pull up outside I can see lights on his apartment. I’m relieved because I want to get this done now.
I press the buzzer for the intercom and I’m let in immediately: Elliot didn’t even check to see who it is. Fuck, he must be expecting a date. I consider coming back another time but, well, I’m here now. May as well get it over with.
The door to his apartment is wide open. Elliot has no fucking sense of security. I step in, hearing music flooding out.
“Didja forget your keys again, babe? Oh! Who are you?”
The redhead standing in front of me looks nervously at me then blushes.
It never fucking changes. Stop fucking staring at me!
“I’m Elliot’s brother. I take it he’s not here?”
“Er, no. But he’ll back any minute. He went to get pizza. Are you Christian? He’s talked about you. I’m Jessica.”
He hasn’t mentioned you at all. Not that I’ve given him the chance.
“Would you like a glass of wine, Christian?” she says, picking up an uncorked bottle.
“No, thank you. I’ll come back another time. I apologize for interrupting your evening.”
I turn to go but almost bump into Elliot who is bounding up the stairs.
“Hey, little bro,” he says warily. “What are you doing here?”
I take a deep breath, fully aware that Jessica will hear every word.
“I just wanted to… I’m sorry about what happened last time I saw you. Things have been… difficult lately. I know that’s not an excuse…”
My words trail off pathetically but my brother isn’t someone who holds a grudge. He grins at me and slaps me on the shoulder.
“No worries. Come on in and have some pizza with us. You’ve met Jessica? Jess, come say ‘hi’ to my little brother.”
“We’re already met,” says Jessica smiling at me. “I tried to persuade him to have a glass of wine.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your evening,” I say, turning to go.
“Have you eaten yet, because I’ve got enough pizza for three? Don’t go, Christian. Stay and chill out. Jess is a musician, too.”
Jessica looks at me doubtfully, her eyes raking up and down my bespoke suit. “You’re a musician?”
Elliot laughs and closes the door to the apartment, effectively sealing me in.
“What do you play?”
“Christian plays the piano and our little sister plays the cello. Jessica is a second violin in the Seattle Symphony Orchestra,” Elliot says proudly.
He tosses me one of the pizza boxes and goes through to the kitchen with the others. I’m left standing in the middle of the living room feeling like an ass.
“Come and sit down,” says Jessica kindly, pointing towards the dining room table.
It’s set for two, with candles. I decide to leave: I’ve spent enough of my life feeling like a third fucking wheel.
“Don’t even think about leaving,” Elliot yells from the kitchen.
I have to admit: my brother knows me well. Jessica smiles at me and quickly puts out another placemat and serviette.
I give up, tossing the pizza box on the table, shrugging out of my jacket and loosening my tie.
“What sort of music do you like, Christian?”
“All sorts: I have eclectic tastes.”
“I meant to play. Do you have a favorite piece?”
“Anything that sounds like a dirge,” Elliot yells from the kitchen.
Jessica rolls her eyes and grins at me. I can’t help smiling back but I wish I hadn’t because she gasps, looks confused and drops her eyes to the table.
“He’s always playing Chopin,” shouts Elliot, oblivious to the by-play in his dining room. “And… what’s that Russian one you were working on… the one with all the notes?”
I shake my head. Elliot’s taste runs more to world music.
“You know… Ravel – the Scarbo,” he yells.
Jessica raises her eyebrows. “You can play Ravel’s ‘Scarbo’? Even professional pianists look pale when that one is mentioned.”
“Yeah, well, my little brother is pretty damn good, though I say it myself,” says Elliot affably, strolling into the dining room with a bowl of salad balanced on top of the other pizza boxes. “You might hear him play at mom and dad’s on Sunday.”
I frown at him. “What’s going on at mom and dad’s?”
Elliot shakes his head. “Do you ever pick up your messages? Mia says she’s called your apartment at least six times.”
Fuck! I haven’t even looked at the home answer machine.
“You are coming, aren’t you, Christian? Mia’s counting on you being there.”
Enough with the emotional fucking blackmail!
I shrug. “What time?”
Elliot grins at me. “One for 1.30pm – the usual. And we’re taking the boat out afterwards so bring your deck shoes.”
“I’ll come for lunch, Elliot, but I haven’t got time to go sailing. I have to work.”
He scowls at me. “Take the fucking day off and go spend some time with Mia.”
The atmosphere in the room is suddenly arctic as we glare at each other.
Jessica shifts in her chair.
“I’d really like to hear you play the piano, Christian,” she says softly, trying to lighten the mood.
I seriously fucking doubt you’ll ever hear me play! I don’t perform for strangers. But I appreciate her efforts all the same. I remind myself that I’m here to eat humble pie. I had no idea Elliot would be serving up a fucking supersize portion.
Elliot never stays mad for long and soon we’re managing to hold something like a normal conversation. Jessica is funny and witty and she makes me smile with a long story about a visiting conductor whose ego is in disproportionate size to his talent. The wine is making her indiscreet but I can see why Elliot likes her.
At 11pm I decide to head back and put in a couple of hours’ work before I try and sleep.
Elliot punches me on the arm as I put on my jacket ready to leave. It’s his way of telling me that we’re ok. I’m relieved. Suddenly Jessica swoops in to hug me. It’s a playful, kittenish hug, but her hands reach towards my chest and I stumble backwards, my heart sprinting with sudden, irrational fear.
Her smile falters and she looks at Elliot to see what she did wrong.
“He doesn’t like to be touched,” says Elliot softly.
An expression of horror and pity is evident on Jessica’s face. I mumble my goodbyes and get the fuck out, leaving Elliot to decide how much – or little – to explain to her.
I stride back towards my car, filled with boiling rage. Fuck! I can’t even manage one ordinary, fucking evening without finding a way to spoil it, to fuck it up for everyone else. This is why my family is better off without me. Why don’t they understand? Why won’t they leave me alone?
By the time I get home, I’m incapable of working: my head is so fucked. Instead I pull on my sweats and running shoes and head out into the dark. It’s raining: I enjoy the cool water on my face, soaking into my hair and clothes. Maybe it will cool the furious heat inside me.
It’s nearly 1am by the time I return home. I’m surprised to see a new text message on my phone. I’m even more surprised to see it’s from Kirsten. I wasn’t expecting to hear from her until I moved into my new apartment next month.
* Sir, I am free tonight if you want to play. Next month is a long way away. *
Yes. This is what I need.
I shower quickly and pull on some old jeans and a T-shirt. There’s no CEO now – he’s left the building; probably the fucking planet.
I stow a pair of handcuffs in my back pocket along with a new packet of condoms, and head out.
Kirsten’s apartment is in Fremont, a hip part of town. The bars are still packed and I’m not the only person I see when I park up in her street.
She’s waiting for me at the door to her apartment. I’m pleased to see she’s not wearing any make-up and her long, curling hair is hanging loose around her shoulders.
“Good evening, sir. It’s good to see you.”
“Good evening, Kirsten.”
“May I offer you a glass of wine, sir? Red or white?”
“Thank you. I’ll have white, please.”
Her apartment is full of colorful wall hangings and folk art. She’s obviously going for a bohemian look: not my taste at all. I find it rather distracting.
She hands me a glass of wine and immediately drops her eyes to the floor.
“You may have a glass, too, Kirsten,” I say kindly.
“Thank you, sir,” she says simply. “Would sir like to see the bedroom?”
“Yes, Kirsten, I would.”
I realize immediately that she’s taken me to her guest room. There’s not much in it other than a large bed, with black sheets and pillow cases and a charcoal grey duvet. Much better.
I take a few sips of wine as I look around me. The wine isn’t bad: a bit sweet for my taste. I prefer a dry white wine like a Sauvignon Blanc. She’ll know my tastes soon enough.
I turn and stare at her. Her gaze is fixed to the floor.
“Take off your robe and give it to me.”
She complies immediately and I drink her in. I can see faint tan marks on her pale gold skin. Her breasts are small but beautifully formed.
“Do you have a hair tie?”
“Yes, sir. There’s one in the pocket of my robe.”
She looks confused as I pull out an elasticized tie then hang her robe on the hook by the door.
Quickly I braid her hair. I don’t want it to get in the way. It’s a lovely texture: soft and silky, waving to the middle of her back.
I tug the braid and she takes a step backwards. I can feel her warm skin through my T-shirt. It really fucking turns me on. I slide my hands slowly around her waist and the down towards her hips, letting my fingers skim the edge of her panties. I push my fingers down further: just smooth, soft skin and I’m pleased that she’s following the rules already, even though we haven’t officially started our contract.
I reach down further and circle her clitoris slowly. She moans softly.
A small whimper escapes her but she’s quiet.
I slide the cuffs out of my back pocket and run them down her back so she can feel the cold metal on her skin. She shivers. Still keeping her back to my chest, I run the cuffs over her torso, feeling her nipples tighten and harden as the cold iron touches them.
“Put your hands behind you,” I whisper into her ear.
Immediately she puts her wrists together and I cuff them, enjoying the distinctive click as they close.
I support her by holding one arm as she kneels down awkwardly. I feel more relaxed now, knowing she can’t touch me inadvertently. My earlier run in with Jessica has freaked me out more than I care to admit.
I kick off my shoes and sit on the bed to peel off my socks. The mattress is hard, which is perfect for what I have in mind. I’m rather enjoying improvising rather than playing out a particular scene.
I pull off my T-shirt and fold it, leaving it on a chair in the corner, the only other piece of furniture in the room.
“You may stand,” I say, helping her to her feet.
I pull down her panties and kneel in front of her. I let my fingers drift up her legs to the apex of her thighs. I slide one finger inside her, and am pleased to find she’s already wet. I move her back to the bed.
“Sit down. Open your legs. Wider.”
I kneel in front of her again and push my hands against her knees, forcing them open even further. Her warm flesh smells musky as I run my nose over her mount. I feel her quiver beneath me. I slide my tongue inside her and she groans. Soon I’m working her up into a frenzy. She tries not to make a sound but she can’t help herself.
I don’t know her that well yet but I can tell she won’t be able to hold off her orgasm much longer.
“You may come,” I whisper, flicking my tongue to finish her off.
While her orgasm trembles through her I quickly uncuff one wrist and flip her onto her front, recuffing her hands over her head and through the iron fretwork of her headboard.
I slide the belt out of the loops on my jeans. It’s not hard to improvise.
“Are you ready, Kirsten?”
“Yes, sir,” she moans.
“Count for me: ten times.”
The belt barely touches her but her shoulders quiver.
I increase the force.
Now I’m getting into my stride.
A little harder.
Yes! This is what I need!
This is what I was born for.
“Ten!” she shrieks.
I pull off my jeans, no briefs, and my dick is hard and aching. I tear the condom wrapper with my teeth and slide it on.
I pull her hips up and take from behind. Hard. Fast. My preferred method. She pushes her beautiful, pink ass into me as I thrust harder.
I can feel her quivering again and I pound on. She screams and a few seconds later I come hard.
My breathing is harsh but she’s gasping for breath.
I reach up and uncuff her, then pull out sharply.
A long sigh escapes her. I lean by her side and rub her wrists gently.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispers.
I pull off the condom and knot it securely. I’m pleased with how my first encounter with Kirsten has gone. I’ll need to reward her. I don’t know much about what she likes, but all women like chocolate, right? I intend to buy her something expensive: Swiss or Belgium. And some decent fucking wine.
She rolls over and watches as I pull on my jeans and T-shirt feeling calmer than I’ve felt in weeks.
She blinks up at me, as I lean over and pull off the hair-tie, combing my fingers through her hair.
“Are you leaving, sir? You’re welcome to stay the night.”
“Thank you, Kirsten, but I need to get back and work.”
“Work? But it’s 4am, sir! I’ll worry if you don’t get some sleep, sir.”
I like the fact that she says she’ll worry about me. I don’t believe her, but it was …acceptable that she said it.
“I’ll be in touch, Kirsten.”
“I hope it’ll be soon, sir,” she says.
I let myself out of her apartment and close the door quietly.