MONDAY CAME AND WENT, BUT Brian didn’t call. Samantha had plenty of distraction to keep her from overthinking it. Work was busy, and her sister was still mad at her.
In fact, Kimberly had left the shop soon after arriving, without explanation, and had never come back. Samantha was left to help customers on her own. She could handle it, though; she’d handled it on her own in Phoenix. But she couldn’t give much praise to her sister’s work ethic.
Kimberly had been asking Samantha for months to let her have a bigger piece of the action in Samantha’s small boutique shop. Kim didn’t want to just help out and work the register, she wanted to cover the books, help pick the orders, deal with the warehouse–she wanted to act as a partner. In fact, she had offered to invest in Samantha’s store if it meant she could be an active co-owner, and not just a silent investor.
Samantha had politely but firmly declined. It was hard enough working, and living, with her sister. She didn’t want Kimberly to have a legal entanglement with her, too. Especially on days like this one, when Kimberly used her fit of pique as an excuse to skip work, Samantha could only feel relieved her sister wasn’t embroiled completely in her life.
Tuesday came and went. Wednesday morning rolled around, and Brian still hadn’t called.
By Wednesday afternoon, Samantha began to worry. She and Kimberly were back on good terms. Kim had gone out the night before with Scott, and had apparently worked things out with him; she was over her pique now and was laying on the charm, trying to make up for her previous childish behavior by dealing with every customer that walked into the shop. She even unpacked the new shipment all by herself, without being asked.
Without anything to do, Samantha had too much time to think. The hour was getting late. She began to fear Brian wouldn’t call after all.
She had treated him horribly, kicking him out of her house the way she had. For god’s sake, the man had still been inside her, and she had thrown him out the door. It was true that since her departure from Phoenix, she had set new rules for herself; she needed to protect herself from making the same stupid mistakes she had made before.
But that didn’t have to include being such a bitch to Brian. She had behaved abominably. When he called, she would apologize.
But what if he didn’t call?
She was about to take matters into her own hands and call him, rules be damned, when her phone rang. A quick look at caller ID made her sigh in relief.
“Brian,” she said in a breathy, slow voice. “Hi.”
“We’re still on for tonight, right?”
“Yes,” Samantha answered, momentarily taken aback by his sharp tone. “At least as far as I’m concerned.”
“Good,” he answered. “I want you to come to my place this time. I’m going to give you my address. Do you have something to write it down?”
“Hold on.” Samantha got a pen and paper ready. “Go.”
Brian gave her his address, and had her read it back to him to make sure she got it right. “Come at eight o’clock,” he said. “And Samantha?”
“Yes?”
“Plan on spending the night. Bring a bag.”
Samantha peered through her office door to look at Kimberly, standing next to a display case, helping a customer. “Yes, Brian.”
“Good.” He paused, and Samantha knew he was grinning into the phone. “I’ll have everything ready. See you soon.”
~ * * * ~
Samantha rushed out of the house like she was stepping over live wires, unlocking the door to her car with a push of her keychain button and whooshing inside as soon as she had the door open. She peeled out of the driveway with a screech of rubber, and only calmed down once she was on the highway and knew she had made a clean getaway.
She had tricked Kimberly into closing up the shop by leaving her with a picky customer. Samantha had snuck out the back way. She didn’t feel too guilty about it; Kimberly knew how to lock up, she had done it before, and after Kimberly’s horrible behavior of the past couple days, Samantha felt like her sister owed her one.
Samantha had run home, showered, changed, packed a bag, and scribbled a short note of explanation to Kimberly which she left by her cell phone charger. Kimberly was sure to find the note…eventually. What she would think about it, Samantha couldn’t be sure. Respect Sam’s obvious need for a little privacy? Probably not, but Samantha could hope.
The drive to Brian’s house felt very long, even though it only took twenty minutes. She thanked God she had a GPS in her car, or she probably would have gotten lost trying to find it.
Brian lived in a very affluent, quiet neighborhood, with dimly-lit street lamps barely lighting the sidewalks and mature poplar trees hiding many of the street signs. When the artificial female voice of her GPS announced she had arrived to her destination, Samantha rolled the car next to the sidewalk, turned off the engine, and stared out the window at Brian’s house.
It was a large two-story house, brown with black shutters. A square-paned french window protruded from the front, framed on the inside by silk and lace curtains. A narrow cobblestone path winded through the manicured grass of the front lawn, from the steps of the charming front porch, all the way to the sidewalk. The stones of the path matched the ones in the driveway. Samantha knew, just by looking at that driveway, that a lot of money had gone into the making of this house.
Gathering her courage, she grabbed her bag and followed the path to the front door. She rang the bell.
The door swung open, and Brian was there, looking as perfect and sexy as he always did.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Thank you.” Samantha took a few steps inside. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to go. The place looked huge.
“Let me show you around.” Brian took her bag and led her through the foyer into the living room. It was furnished with designer couches and rugs, and a big golden statue sat in the corner.
“What’s the statue for?” Samantha asked.
“It’s not for anything, really. I hired an interior decorator to do some of these rooms for me so they would look nice for company. I don’t really use them. Here’s another room I don’t use,” he said, pointing to the dining room, which was taken up by a long, elegant cherry wood table surrounded by eight matching chairs, and a china cabinet lining the far wall.
Brian led her into the kitchen and adjoining family room. “This is where I really live,” he said. As Samantha looked around, she noticed these rooms looked much more bachelor-friendly. A large flat-screen TV took up one entire wall, and in front of it sat a large, beige-colored sofa, looking comfortable and well-used. There was a small kitchen table, but it had only two chairs, and at the moment, the table itself was piled high with papers. It was obvious Brian was using it more as a desk than as a table. The kitchen was basically clean, but barren of anything that would make it personal.
“It’s nice,” Samantha said, trying to sound polite. The truth was, the house was gorgeous, and if she ever got lucky enough to own a home like it, she would decorate the whole place to her heart’s delight. But this was Brian’s home, and it ranged from staged open house to bachelor pad.
“My bedroom is right here,” he said, walking her down a short hallway. This room looked slightly more welcoming. Samantha thought it looked like the interior decorator had picked the bedroom set, but Brian had made some changes to it to reflect his personal taste. The furniture was heavy maple, dark and rich, but the pillows and blankets were enveloped in sheets of deep blue. Samantha ran her hand over the top of the bed. The blanket duvet felt very soft.
“I get good quality sheets,” Brian said. “I think sheets are one of those things you shouldn’t scrimp on.”
“I agree,” Samantha said, continuing to look around. The closet door was on the other side of the room, and though it was closed, Samantha could tell it would be a walk-in closet. Next to it was the door to the bathroom, slightly ajar, but Samantha made no move to walk towards it. One did not just walk into someone else’s personal bathroom. “Why is your bedroom down here?” She asked. “Why isn’t it upstairs?”
“Oh, it’s supposed to be upstairs,” Brian said. “That’s where the real master bedroom is, along with three other bedrooms. This is supposed to be the guest quarters. But I didn’t want my bedroom to be upstairs. There was no real point with a bedroom right here, and I didn’t feel like walking up and down all the time. This way, I never have to go upstairs at all.”
“So what is upstairs?”
“Nothing, like I said.”
“You mean, you don’t have any furniture up there at all? It’s completely empty?”
“Yeah. Why would I put anything up there? I don’t use it.”
Samantha turned away so he wouldn’t see her look of surprise. If this were her house, she would decorate every room. She would probably give each one its own color scheme, too.
“I don’t go upstairs, but I do go down,” Brian grinned. “Come, I’ll show you the basement.”
“You have a basement?” It was rare in the valley for houses to have basements.
“It was the main reason I bought this house. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her back to the family room and around a short wall of bookshelves. Samantha had thought the family room was just angled strangely, but now she realized there was a staircase concealed behind the short wall. It was almost impossible to see the staircase unless you were standing directly in front of it.
Brian pulled her down the staircase, around a corner, into a room…and turned on the lightswitch.
Samantha gasped. She was facing an elegant, impressive, and formidable dungeon.
The walls were painted a soft brown, which surprised her. Samantha thought all dungeon walls were naturally painted black; at least, walls that weren’t made out of brick. Recessed lighting kept the room well lit, but in soft, not glaring, light. The floor was a grid of large black tiles that shined like polished marble. Samantha was impressed.
A St. Andrew’s Cross sat by the far wall, facing her. Closer toward the middle of the room, a bar hung down from the ceiling by a set of chains, and attached to the bar were two O-rings, obviously for attaching cuffed wrists, ankles, or rope.
A spanking bench was off to the left side, and on the right was another restraint system setup, one where the restrained person would be left standing up, kneeling slightly over a padded podium, but handcuffed to it so she could not pull away.
Samantha looked around, her eyes getting wider with each piece of furniture she saw. “Oh my god, Brian.”
“There’s more. C’mon.”
He took her through the arched doorway to the next room, which had the same type of walls and flooring. But this room had a large square bed in the middle of it, encased on all sides with thick wood posts that already had eyebolts, O-rings, and D-rings screwed into every corner and choice spot, like at the head of the bed. It was a fully functional dungeon bed.
Next to the bed was a small bedside table, and across from it, a matching wardrobe. Samantha smiled.
“A wardrobe?” She asked.
“One of the many good ideas I took away from my time at the Hotel Bentmoore,” Brian replied. “A good wardrobe really is one of the best ways to store BDSM equipment. Do you want me to open it and show you?”
“No, that’s okay.”
Brian raised his eyebrows and curved his lips into a mischievous grin. “Later, then,” he said. “Let me show you the bathroom.”
The bathroom was larger than the one she had glanced at upstairs. It had a huge sink, big enough to hold a bucket. There was a fair amount of counter space surrounding it. The toilet was well hidden by the frosted walls of the shower, which looked big enough to fit three.
“I wanted a tub put in,” Brian explained, “but for some reason, the contractor couldn’t do it. So I got this extra-big shower instead.” He opened the door to the shower, and Samantha was not surprised to see more eyebolts and O-rings well placed into the wall tiles surrounding it. Even here, a person could be restrained.
The walls of the bathroom were a deep blue, and with the dim yellow lighting, Samantha felt like she was inside an underwater cave.
Coming out of the bathroom, looking around the dungeon bedroom once more, Samantha felt blown away. She’d been in a few personal dungeons, but nothing like this.
“Tell me, did your interior decorator do the dungeon, too?” She asked in teasing tone.
“No,” Brian said in the same vein. “I worked with a different contractor to do the basement.”
“And he didn’t ask any questions about the open space, the dark look?” She said, eyeing the dungeon bed.
“He was someone who could be trusted, and understood my needs.”
“Ahh. You hired a fellow kinkster.”
“Yes.”
A moment of silence passed between them, putting Samantha on edge. She couldn’t help but wonder how many other women Brian had brought down here, shown around, and played with. The equipment, while in excellent condition, was obviously not new.
How many women had found themselves chained up to his ceiling, spread and vulnerable for his enjoyment? How many women had shared his bed?
All the dungeon equipment was making her nervous. At the same time, it was turning her on.
Brian gave her a probing look. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he said. “We have some things to talk about.”
Samantha didn’t say thank you, but she did give him a grateful look. Brian led the way back up the stairs and sat down on the family room sofa, motioning her to join him.
“Some things happened the other day I got to thinking about.”
“Look, Brian, I’m sorry I had to push you out out of my house like that,” Samantha cut in. “I just really didn’t want my sister walking in and seeing us–”
“Don’t worry about that. I understand.”
“You do?”
“I worked at the Hotel Bentmoore. I understand the need for discretion.”
Samantha frowned. Somehow, his answer didn’t make her feel better. In fact, it made her feel worse, like she had taken advantage of his understanding.
“Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk to you about right now,” Brian continued. “In the heat of the moment, I took some things for granted, things I shouldn’t have. The most important thing I overlooked is, I need your consent.”
Samantha sat back into the sofa cushions and pressed her legs together. After her recent tour of the dungeon, being this close to Brian was making it difficult for her to concentrate on what he was saying. All she could focus on was the way his hair, wispy and light, fell into his forehead, the way his blue eyes seemed to spark with embers, and the way his lips curved when he pressed them together as he gave her a penetrating stare.
Being this close to Brian was setting Samantha’s nerves on edge. She kept looking from his eyes to his hands, remembering the last time she had seen him, how he’d looked when he had used those hands to cover her breasts with clothespins, how his hands had felt running up and down her body as she’d rocked with him on her rocking chair, straddling his lap…
And now he wanted to talk about her consent? He could have her consent for whatever he wanted to do to her, as long as it meant taking her back downstairs.
She had to get a hold of herself. She was not some naive innocent girl, not anymore. She could control her urges and impulses. She could be rational, despite her deep state of arousal.
“My consent? What for?”
“To be your Dom. I made a pretty bold claim yesterday, saying I think you want me to be your Dom. You didn’t refute it, but you didn’t exactly agree, either.” He leaned in closer. “My instincts are telling me you want me to be your Dom. But I could be wrong, and I need you to tell me.”
Samantha’s breathing quickened along with her heartbeat. “Do you want to be my Dom?”
“Oh, yes. Very badly. But like I said yesterday, I will demand certain rights.”
She swallowed. “Could you elaborate on that, please?”
“I will discipline you when necessary. Punish you when you don’t obey. And….” he ran his hand through his hair. “I will want to play with you, a lot. I think you already know I like to play hard. But I think you like to play hard, too. I think you’ll love taking what I dish out just as much as I’ll love marking your beautiful skin.”
Samantha ran her tongue across her lip. Her mouth had gone dry. “And what rights will I have, being your sub?”
Brian took her hand and held it. “I will cherish you, treat you with the reverence and care you deserve. You will be mine, my guarded treasure. I will take care of you.”
Samantha took her hand away. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Brian.”
Brian furrowed his brows, looking at her shrewdly. “I know. But don’t you want to be, at least a little, Samantha? Doesn’t everybody? I would like to think that as my sub, should the need arise, you wouldn’t mind taking care of me.”
Samantha smiled and looked down as her cheeks bloomed with color. “What you’re talking about doesn’t sound like just a D/s relationship. It sounds like you’re asking to be my boyfriend.”
“I guess I am, in a way. But we’re talking about a 24/7 power exchange relationship. Not a complete power exchange–I’m not going to start demanding control over your personal daily life or anything like that–but I will expect you to obey my requests, or have a damn good reason for arguing with me.”
Samantha was quiet for a minute. “What kind of requests would you make of me?”
“You would start coming over here more often. I will expect you to bring a set of your own personal things to leave here, so you don’t always have to pack a bag. You could just come whenever I call you, and you could spend the night. I will also want to introduce you to other people I know, to show you off.”
“What kind of people?”
“Some people I work with, and some people I know from the local scene.”
“You mean the kink scene.”
“Yes. There are a few clubs and dungeons I go to. I’ll want to bring you with me.”
“As your sub.”
“Yes.”
“And what about the people you work with? How will you introduce me to them?”
“As my significant other. My girlfriend, if you wish. That’s up to you.”
Samantha looked away, but she was unable to stop the huge smile spreading across her mouth. What he was offering her didn’t just sound lovely; it sounded perfect. To be Brian Sinclaire’s girlfriend, to be the woman and sub by his side, how many times had she fantasized about it?
“I will be your sub, Brian,” she said, blinking away the sudden moisture that threatened to divulge the emotions flooding her heart. “You have my consent.”
“Good. That’s good.” He moved then to be closer to her side, until his thigh was touching hers, and ran a hand up and down her leg. “Now let’s talk about boundaries and limits, something I should have talked with you about yesterday, before I laid a hand on you. I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
Samantha shook her head in reply. She couldn’t speak; Brian’s hand moving across her leg was unsettling her too much. She pressed her legs more firmly together to keep herself from scissoring them nervously, or worse, opening them wide for his bold fingers to slip between them.
Brian’s voice went down an octave. “The last time we played, you had a couple hard limits with your face and your feet. But aside from that, you had nothing else. Have things changed? Do you have any new limits I should know about?”
“Limits? I don’t think so,” Samantha said, trying to think through the arousal clouding her brain. “Fire, maybe.”
“Fire?”
“Someone once tried to pour hot wax on me. He wanted to take a blowtorch to the wax,” she said, looking down. Remembering that scene was putting a damper on her mood, but at least she was able to think clearer. “The wax felt nice going on, but the blowtorch freaked me out. I had to safeword.”
“Okay, no blowtorches,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”
Samantha shook her head. “None that I can think of right now.” She wondered if he had expected her to say ginger up the ass, and then wondered if he would do that to her again, now that she had not specifically added it to the list. The thought made her go cold, then hot. She shivered.
“Let’s talk about risks,” Brian said. “You’ve obviously had some other partners since you left the Hotel Bentmoore. So have I. Did you always use protection?”
“Yes.” Thank God. “And I had a complete STD panel done six months ago, and then again three months ago, just to make sure I was safe.” She had almost cried in relief when that one had come out okay.
Brian watched the shifts of emotion on her face as she remembered things that were obviously disturbing, but decided not to ask for details. It was clear she didn’t want to give him any, and anyway, now was not the time. “When was the last time you had sex?”
“Before I left Phoenix.”
It was Brian’s turn to look surprised. “That was over six months ago.”
“Yes.” Samantha dared him with her eyes to comment on her long period of abstinence, or ask her any more questions. Brian chose wisely to keep his mouth shut. “What about you?” Samantha asked. “When was the last time you had sex?”
“A few weeks ago. I used protection, of course. Since I left the Hotel Bentmoore, I’ve become quite adept at putting on condoms.” He smiled wryly, and Samantha had to laugh.
The Hotel Bentmoore didn’t require condoms, for the simple reason the hotel didn’t trust them. After an STD scare from one of their staff members years before, the hotel had adopted a strict policy of trusting only clean blood work and trusted physicians’ reports. Guests of the Hotel Bentmoore were required to be medically checked and have lab work done before their scheduled arrival to the hotel. Women were also required to prove, again, through blood work, that they were on birth control.
Once a guest became a “regular,” they could choose to sign a contract with the hotel that let them forgo the doctor exam and blood work before each visit, provided they agreed to regular STD panels every few months, as well as committing to using condoms with all their sexual partners outside the hotel.
There was a lot of trust involved in these arrangements. Hosts (and mistresses) had to get to know their guests, and feel secure they were putting their faith in the right people, before they agreed to “play” with anybody. But the system worked. The hotel had not had an STD scare since that single mishap years ago.
Brian had spent many years having sex with many women without the need for condoms. It must have been strange for him to suddenly have need of them again, Samantha thought.
Brian looked her squarely in the eyes. “Are you on the pill?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then we should definitely keep using condoms, at least until you can get a prescription. And one last thing: your safeword.”
As if he couldn’t stop himself anymore, Brian pulled Samantha up and onto his lap, much the same way he had done it in the rocking chair.
Samantha was wearing pants this time, but the move felt just as seductive. She could feel her panties sticking to her wet skin, and hoped a stain wouldn’t appear on the crotch of her pants.
Brian ran the pad of his thumb across Samantha’s lower lip. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his hold.
“Is your safeword still jasmine?” He asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. The part of her brain still working was touched he remembered.
“Good,” he said. “Then let’s see if we’ll need it.” He rose with her in his arms, then slowly lowered her feet to the floor. “I’m going to have fun seeing how close I can come to cracking you open without breaking you.” He began to drag her toward the stairs.
“What, right now?” Samantha tried to pull her hand away. Fear rose above the arousal that had been gripping her.
Brian turned. “Yes, right now. Unless you want to argue with me?” He gave her a look of overwhelming dominance, absolute authority, a purely Dom look, and Samantha submitted.
“No, Brian.”
“Good. And one more thing: now that I’m your Dom, it’s okay to call me Sir again. In fact, when we play downstairs, I expect you to call me Sir. Is that understood?”
Samantha swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”
“Very good, Samantha. Now let’s go.”
