I ran my hand over my face. I needed to forget. Dammit all. I needed to stop thinking.
A bright light caught my eye and I frowned. I'd never been much of a drinker. A bit to take an edge off. I'd never wanted to risk being like him. But now, for the first time in my life, I wanted total oblivion. It was taking all my willpower not to jog across the street and buy something strong enough to make this all go away.
Instead, I reminded myself of where I'd come from, of what I'd been through. I reminded myself that I had a duty to this country. A life to live, and I didn't want to do that from the bottom of a bottle.
I wouldn't be my father.
I wouldn't be the man I'd started to be.
I would continue to be better.
I started to jog, then to run. Hard. Exhaustion was my best option, and I intended to pursue it.
Chapter Seven
Nori
When most people heard the term BDSM or any phrases including Dominates and Submissives, images of leather and whips were generally what came to mind. Blindfolds and ball-gags and handcuffs. Most people only thought about the kinky stuff that went with this sort of lifestyle. Spanking and all that.
I knew. Before I met Tanner, that's what I'd thought. Alpha males and the dewy-eyed innocent girls they corrupted into becoming their playthings with silk scarves and floggers.
And then I'd learned just how wrong that was.
Yes, there were those who liked their leather. There were uses for handcuffs and blindfolds and all of the kinky stuff. Yes, there were the more extreme aspects of the lifestyle. And, yes, there were the people who either didn't understand or didn't care about the true nature of what all of it meant.
But that was the same of any lifestyle or belief system. There were the extremists who didn't go too far, but their desires were beyond what others could understand, and then there were the ones who gave everyone else a bad name.
Tanner had taught me – shown me – that with a good person, BDSM could be as healthy a lifestyle as anything else. He and I were a good match. We both wanted monogamy and a real relationship, not just sex. He never took on a dominating personality when we were outside the appropriate situation, never tried to control who I was friends with or how many hours I worked. Neither of us were jealous people, and most importantly, we trusted each other implicitly.
Trust, he'd taught me, was the key to a good Dom / Sub relationship. I had to trust him to take care of me, and he had to trust me to know my own limits. We'd worked on those limits and establishing that trust the first couple years we were together. Now, it was as natural as breathing.
I sometimes thought it was strange how Tanner had seemed to know this secret part of me. No one else ever had. I'd dated on and off in high school, never anything really serious, and no one had ever as much as hinted that they'd seen something like this in me.
It shouldn't have been surprising. After all, I'd never seen it in myself. Never imagined the sort of relief that could come with giving over control. One would think that sort of thing would be nerve-wracking, and it was at first. Then, as Tanner and I built that trust between us, it had gotten easier because I'd known he'd take care of me.
A part of me had felt guilty at first for feeling like I needed someone to take care of me. In a time of feminism and woman power, admitting to needing anyone, especially a man, was often met with derision and scorn. But as I grew more comfortable in Tanner’s world, I saw that it wasn't a male-dominated world or a female-dominated one. The difference of power was only in how it manifested. I wasn't denying who I was, or relying on a man to make my life worth something. I was just acknowledging that there was a part of my personality that needed sexual submission.
“Your mind is far away this afternoon.”
I blinked, Tanner’s voice bringing my attention front and center. His arm tightened around me and I tried to burrow myself even closer to him.
“Sorry,” I said quietly.
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said amicably. “I know how much it bothers you to see your dad like that, to see how much it hurts your mom.”
I nodded. Last night, when we'd gotten back to his place, I'd told him all about the call from my mom, going to my dad's, and how tired all of it made me. Instead of pushing sex, he'd run a bath for me. He'd pampered me, washing every inch of me and then fingering me to an orgasm that had helped me relax enough to be able to sleep.
It hadn't, however, been able to clear my mind completely, because when I'd woken up this morning, all of it had still been there.
Tanner stood suddenly, his arm steadying me so I didn't fall. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get you out of your head.”
Less than ten minutes later, we were in his playroom. He was shirtless and barefoot, but I was completely naked, my clothes in their customary pile on top of the dresser closest to the door. I stood at the foot of the bed, legs spread too far apart to be comfortable, but not so far that it was painful. Each ankle was secured to the bed legs with leather restraints. The insides were soft enough that they didn't chafe, but I was still unable to move. I was bent over, my arms spread out, wrists restrained with leather similar to what was around my ankles. My breasts brushed against the silk sheets, but I wasn't close enough for anything more than a hint of friction.