Let Us Eat Cake Page 5

  “I am.” Who wouldn’t be? You’d have to be a completely twenty-four-seven lifestyle submissive like I’ve read about in paperback novels to find this normal.

  “Do you want to go back out to the living room? Have a bit more of a regular date first?”

  What did he mean by first?

  I ignored his question and went straight for the goods. The swing. “How does this work?” I asked, feeling the soft worn leather seat straps. I didn’t even know where my legs would go or whether he’d want me facing up or down or what. It looked sexy on its own, but also like something out of the Marquis de Sade’s imagination.

  “There are many ways to use this.”

  I couldn’t believe how collected he was, as though he were showing me a blender with many different attachments. Maybe I was a tad conservative, but this really blew my mind.

  “So you want to flog me? Spank me? Is that it?”

  “Depends.”

  On what? I stood there, dumbstruck. Sure, I’d expected to sleep with him again and maybe I had even half expected some kind of prop like a blindfold or something like that, but a swing? This was unreal.

  Very calmly, almost as though he was shy about it, he said, “It depends on what you and I negotiate ahead of time. It’s all about what you want.”

  I scoffed. Hardly. The guy had somewhere in the ballpark of ten grand’s worth of stuff on the off chance that he’d run into me? As if.

  “How long have you been hardwired this way?” I asked. Maybe it was rude. Oh well.

  “Honestly, since I can remember.”

  I looked to him, then to the swing, then back at him.

  “So you like to exert dominance over women. What does that give you?” Because I was pretty sure that it was something creepy. It was just too much. As much as I wanted to trust him and explore a new side of myself, I wasn’t exactly ready for all of this.

  I walked past him and into the hallway. Suddenly, the candlelight gave me the willies. There was nowhere to sit and talk. We’d skipped foreplay and gone straight into the remotest depths of a dungeon I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to enter.

  He followed me out. “Rachel.”

  “I should go. This is too weird, even for me. And I’m usually into weird.”

  “I was so certain about you,” he said in a tone that told me he wanted me to stay. His eyes exuded disappointment. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “Yeah. Very.” From my purse, I procured the sweater I’d brought to wear overtop of the dress if I got cold and started to fumble with it to find the sleeves.

  “Don’t go.” He clutched it and held it firmly in his grasp.

  “Give it here,” I ordered.

  “I wouldn’t have shown you that room if I’d known it would make you want to leave.”

  “What the hell did you think? You honestly thought you read my mind to the point of thinking I wanted to be friggin’ tied up and gagged and…then what? Beaten? You don’t know me.” I was downright huffy.

  I yanked my sweater from his clutch and put it on.

  “I was never planning on beating you. I wouldn’t do that. You misunderstood my intentions completely. This really is all new to you, isn’t it?”

  It was as though he couldn’t believe I wasn’t some sort of lifestyle submissive. Did I really emanate that energy?

  “New and soon to be really old.” I almost had my parka on then I planned to slam his door with much fanfare.

  But then I saw the longing look in his eyes. There he was again, that quiet handsome guy from high school who had bedazzled me. Those emerald eyes of his gleamed in the dimly lit foyer of his apartment and with no words spoken at all, he had somehow convinced me to stay.

  Chapter Eight

  Standing an arm’s length from him with my parka only halfway on, I froze. If I left now, it was over between us and I had come here already convinced that there was something to Jeff that I had never experienced before and perhaps would never come across again. Something told me he did grasp an element of who I was and I didn’t want to walk out on that. I let my coat fall to the floor.

  “Rachel,” he said, and cupped my face between his palms. He kissed me. It was a long, slow kiss that reminded me of the other night. The chemistry between us was palpable.

  “Let’s start this evening over,” he said.

  “I’d like that,” I agreed. Then, laughing nervously and putting my hand out to him as a joke, I said, “I’m Rachel and I’m new to submission.”

  I thought he’d laugh, but he didn’t. He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for staying.”

  Picking my parka off the floor and hanging it up, he said, “Won’t you come in? Make yourself at home on the couch?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Then he sat down next to me on his gray couch and took my hand. “I’m sorry I pressured you.”

  Okay, confession time. I’d freaked out earlier, but my intuition told me that Jeff was a dependable guy, one who could be trusted. “You didn’t. I mean, I didn’t exactly object the other night when you said you saw the submissive streak in me. The truth is, I was taken aback that you said so because you’re the first to notice.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Uh, yes,” I said. Did he find that strange? Did he really see some kind of neon sign that no one else saw? “I didn’t know it was obvious.”

  “It probably isn’t. I’m just attuned,” he said. He lingered in the moment as though there was much more he wanted to say. His eyes fixed on the painting on the wall behind me. “It’s a big deal to discover this side of yourself.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “But it felt right when you said it. All week long I’ve been walking around wondering what happened last time I was over. The sparks were just flying.”

  “I’m glad you felt that way too. We owe it to each other and to ourselves to figure out what it is.”

  “I thought about you a lot this week.”

  He smiled. It was clear that he was flattered. Then he got a mischievous look. “Were you turned on?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me more,” he commanded.

  I looked down. How could I? I could barely think some of those thoughts, let alone talk about them. “I’m shy.”

  “You have to trust me. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

  “But…”

  “Rachel,” he said in a demanding tone. “Everything we do together is based on trust. That’s what this type of dynamic is about. When you’re inexperienced, it’s easy to think that it’s about this or that thing—a whip or a paddle—but it’s not about the accessories. It’s all about the connection.”

  I thought about that. “I did find the swing kind of distracting.”

  “Let’s not start there,” he said. “In fact, forget about that room. Let’s start up here.” He pointed to his temple then to mine. It was a gesture to suggest that our minds were connected by an invisible thread. Maybe they were, because he did have the power to put me at ease.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think so. But I’m not sure why.”

  I had been reluctant to trust anyone, especially a guy I was attracted to. It had resulted in too much misery and I had promised myself to be smarter. But in that moment, I realized that somehow Jeff had presented himself as someone solid and sound.

  “Have I given you any reason not to?”

  “No.” In fact, he was everything I had stopped believing in.

  “Well, then…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He was like a lawyer making the final statement of a highly persuasive and self-evident case.

  “Tell me what you saw the last time. What made you think that I was submissive?” Then, almost self-consciously, I blurted, “Because I’ve spent most of my life trying to pretend I’m not.”

  “I could tell from the way you carried yourself. You’re used to being in control
.”

  There it was. The nugget of truth I could not deny. As the oldest child in a pretty messed up family, I learned to parent my younger siblings from an age that most people call childhood. I was always the responsible one, cleaning up the crap my parents dished out by being drunk or passed out or unemployed or whatever.

  “I have had a lot of responsibility. It’s true,” I said.

  “Sometimes it’s nice to not be in charge.”

  He stretched his arm out far enough to semi-cradle me. Then, with gentle strokes, he massaged the side of my shoulder with his strong fingers.

  “That feels good.”

  “I want you to give in to your yearning for pleasure.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly, as I turned to give him more access to the back of my neck and the tops of my shoulders. “Oh…”

  I moaned as he kneaded me even more.

  “That’s it,” he said gently. “Don’t resist me.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  Before long, I had presented my back to him completely. I wanted nothing more than to feel his strength infuse me. Was this what it was like to be submissive? Why had I pictured something much kinkier?

  “Isn’t that better?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I relaxed. The tension subsided. I even felt a little silly for having been so pent-up with frustration that I had almost left. Now, with his hands all over my upper back, rubbing the muscles that never got any attention, I gave in to that desire he spoke of. Pleasure. It was true that I denied myself.

  Jeff got up, went to the kitchen then came back with two refilled mugs of tea, this time on a small tray. He set it down in front of us and retook his spot. Warm aromas of clove and cinnamon filled the air, giving me a further sense of security.

  “Now,” Jeff said, putting his hands back on my shoulders. “Let’s get to know each other better.”

  I purred at his touch. He could talk at length about accounting if he wanted, I would still be in heaven with his strong hands kneading my shoulders.

  “I’d like that.”

  He leaned forward and very quietly, he said, “Why don’t you start by telling me about one of those images you find hard to talk about.”

  “Are you a mind reader or something?”

  Again, I was deflecting. Making light. It was easier to banter than to admit the innermost workings of my sexuality. I was so nervous.

  “I’m just someone who shares your fetish. Think of us as complementary. Two sides of the same coin. There is nothing you can possibly say that will be too dirty or outlandish or off-putting to me.”

  I took a deep breath. Between the pressure he exerted on my tense muscles and the soothing scent of spices in front of me, I was lulled into a psychic space of being able to open up about something I’d buried so deep inside me that I thought I’d never let it out. “I…uh… Well, you know those old Betty Boop cartoons? The black and white ones from like the twenties or thirties?”

  “Of course.”

  Phew. Well that was something.

  “Do you remember the one where the bad wolf captures her and ties her to the train tracks?” I asked, my voice shaky.

  “Oh yes,” he said in a way that suggested he really did have a similar side to his psyche.

  “I have often played that image in my mind when I wanted to turn myself on.”

  “With a lover?” he asked.

  If only. If I had I may not have been so frightened of bringing it up.

  “No. Alone.” It wasn’t easy to admit.

  “While touching yourself?”

  He sure knew how to put me on the spot and delve further into something that was uncomfortable.

  “Yes.”

  There it was. The truth. I was relieved as soon as I’d admitted it. Had I really been so ashamed to let on that I masturbated and had fantasies? It seemed silly as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

  “What did you think about?”

  There he went again, probing into the depths of what I had been hiding.

  I summoned my courage. There was no reason to hold back. I knew so rationally, but to own my fantasies was tough. I grabbed his hand from my shoulder and held it. Then I took another deep breath. “I thought about what it would be like to be her. To be tied. To be powerless to move.”

  Jeff stroked my hand, then my face. His caress made me calm down and understand that it was safe for me to tell him anything I wanted. His touch told me he did not judge.

  “And what did thinking about that do? Did it make your pussy wet?”

  “Oh yes,” I admitted. It was almost distracting to recall my private world and the times I gave myself an orgasm at the thought of being bound.

  “Tell me more,” Jeff insisted.

  “Sometimes I’ve masturbated by putting a vibrating egg between my legs and lying perfectly still. In my mind’s eye, I see myself tied to the tracks, unable to get free—not allowed to move.”

  He moaned into my ear. We were both so quiet throughout this conversation that the hum startled me a little. In his low voice, he asked, “Does that image make you come?”

  “Oh yes,” I whispered. My pussy ached. I wanted to come right then and there, even just talking about it. “There have been other times when I’ve forced myself to stay perfectly still like that, even after I come. It’s like I have to just take it.”

  “I love what I’m hearing,” he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Does it make you come again when you stay like that?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t believe what I was admitting. It scared me to think of him forcing me to come, whether once or twice.

  “Tell me about your breasts,” he said in a low voice. Commanding. “Do you like it when your lover plays with them?”

  “I do.” It was shocking to me that he’d asked, but I liked telling him. It was so much more intriguing. It was like he wanted to get everything right. While he was definitely domineering, there was a side to this questioning that revealed a serious commitment to pleasing me.

  “Has anyone done it to your satisfaction?”

  “No.”

  “Because you wanted it longer?”

  He was obviously able to communicate telepathically.

  “Yes.”

  Leaning forward, he kissed my cheek. It felt like the perfect reward for all of my divulging.

  “Have you ever pictured yourself tied up with just your breasts exposed?”

  Whoa. How did he know? I nodded.

  “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be able to see and feel your lover touch and caress and grope your breasts and not be able to do anything about it?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I barely managed to make a sound.

  “What’s that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you.”

  There was that tone again. He took it up a notch, which was probably his way of trying to get me to be louder, too.

  “Yes, I have imagined that.” I managed a bold voice. I had already told him so much, what was the point of holding back? I was starting to feel proud of myself.

  “Does it make you wet to think about it?”

  The flirtation in his eyes was apparent with the masterful way he raised one eyebrow ever so slightly.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you wet right now?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Very.”

  “Good.”

  He reached past me and took his mug of tea from the table. Because he held it, he stopped touching me and I felt cut off, like he was my drug and I needed him. I squirmed and he clearly noticed.

  “You miss my fingers?” He was obviously teasing, but it was torturous.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “I know.”

  “Are you going to massage me again?” I asked. Why was he withholding? And why was I so desperate to be touched again? I’d have done anything.

  “Maybe. I like to watch you suffer. I might enjoy that a little longer.” His tone was serious, even
though it felt like we were playing a game.

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed. Two could partake in this role-playing. I pouted.

  “You could drink your tea in the meantime. I did make it for you, after all.”

  “Okay,” I said and took the mug between my cupped hands. I sipped the tea and concentrated on the complex flavors that hit my palate. I sat back the way we were before, facing him on the couch.

  He looked at my chest. My dress seemed to please him.

  “Your nipples are hard,” he observed.

  I blushed.

  “You like opening up to me, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Even though you’re shy.”

  Another nod.

  “You have nothing to fear in being honest with me. The worst thing that will happen is that I’ll find some way for you to live out your fantasy.”

  Gulp.

  “For instance, if you were serious about wanting to experiment with breast play, I could offer to tie your hands ever so loosely, and give you a treatment you’d never forget.”

  Hard swallow. I was quite sure I was staring at him with eyes as big as Betty Boop’s.

  “I’d fondle and squeeze and pinch and rub. Maybe I’d bring out my clamps. You’d like those. Or I’d give your nipples a zesty little swat with my riding crop. You’d enjoy that sting, I’m sure. Don’t you think?”

  I bit my lower lip, almost unable to answer. I nodded. “I think I would.”

  “If you gave me permission to play with those sexy tits of yours, I’d probably need to spend at least an hour to feel satisfied.”

  I let out a muffled moan at the thought. “It’d be torturous.”

  “Because your pussy would be jealous of all that attention?” His psychic observations were driving me over the edge. How did he consistently know just what to say to reel me in?

  I nodded.

  “You’d want to come really badly, wouldn’t you?”

  Of course! I want to come in this very moment.

  “Yes.”

  “You’d need to.”

  Indeed.

  “Yes.”

  “I might let you, if you were good.”

  I was so wet just listening to him. I was more eager to come for him than I had been for anyone. Whatever good meant to him, I would be it.