That wasn’t going to happen.
CHAPTER THREE
While I drove to O’Riley’s, I thought about Allie.
A law student Lara found for me when my previous submissive and I parted ways, Allie had initially ticked off all the boxes in my to-have list for submissives. Her body was fit from taking martial arts, she was attractive, and she was intelligent.
I wanted a strong woman, mentally and emotionally, who happened to get turned on by power exchange in the bedroom. Women who were professional, who were intelligent, and who had their own mind but chose to turn it off during sex so they could go places they couldn’t on their own. Women with a kink for being tied up, helpless, and at my complete mercy for the hour or two we were together for mind-blowing sex.
It meant things were a bit more complicated for I had to manage their will, which occasionally broke through, asserting itself.
Like Allie’s was.
When I first met her at the café where Lara and I went for coffee, Allie regarded me with a determination I found amusing. I knew she was the kind of submissive who had her own mind and will and strength, but wanted to give that up to me. Her bold gaze made me want to see her on her knees.
Sure enough, when we were alone that first time, she became completely submissive, as if her perfectly put together persona was a façade and she couldn’t wait to turn over her power to me. I enjoyed our scenes for she loved being blindfolded, gagged and restrained while I made her come again and again.
In the last couple of months, things had changed. Subtly at first. More episodes of deliberate disobedience when I would have to administer a spanking. Then, she confessed about her secret desire for mock rape.
When I told Lara of the developments, Lara warned me that Allie might be hiding more secrets and that I should be prepared. I hoped we had been open and honest with each other about our needs and desires. Up until the mock rape request, things between us had been comfortable, predictable, and satisfying.
So, despite how well we had done for the past eight months, her recent desire for mock rape and more punishment made me suspect that she was dissatisfied and that insurrection was brewing under the surface of her almost-perfect submissive posture. If so, we’d have to end the relationship. Although I’d grown fond of Allie, I didn’t love her and couldn’t commit to anything that involved pain or humiliation nor could we become emotionally involved. All I wanted was B&D sex three times a week – Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.
I had a regular practice session with my band on Wednesdays and usually a gig on Friday nights at one of several venues that featured 60s music. Saturday afternoons I spent going over business at the Foundation my father started in order to donate equipment to hospitals in the developing world. I took Sunday off most weeks to decompress, and either went to my club to play racquetball with one of the other regulars or stayed at home drinking coffee and reading the Saturday Times. I had no pets, and every plant my housekeeper had brought over to brighten up the apartment died due to lack of attention and water.
Occasionally, I attended an event for Doctors Without Borders, and now and then, I met with my fellow surgeons at NYP for drinks and a meal, but otherwise my days and nights were taken up with surgery, music and sex.
I had little room in my life for anything or anyone else.
My fellow surgeons joked about me being a bachelor and tried to hook me up with their single friends, nurses at NYP, and female physicians, but I was not in the market for a partner. There were times I felt a sense that time was passing far too quickly. Despite the fact that I was at the top of my game as a new neurosurgeon, that my body was fit and my reflexes and coordination sharp, my life was missing something. I was running too fast from one part of my life to the next. Other than the occasional bout of excess when I drank a bit too much vodka, I didn’t confront whatever it was that dogged my otherwise perfect life.
Now, things seemed like they were winding down between Allie and me and I felt a darkness in the back of my mind like a storm cloud on the distant horizon.
I arrived at the pub with a few moments to spare. Once parked at the rear of the building, I removed my guitars from the back of the car, and entered through the alley, past the kitchen where cooks were busy cleaning up after dinner service. I took a dim corridor to the office where Margaret O'Riley, the O'Riley family matriarch, sat going over the evening's dinner receipts. A beautiful woman in her sixties with a greying bun and piercing blue eyes, she smiled when she saw me. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
"There you are," she said, examining me over her reading glasses. "Ken's already on stage setting up. Did you come right over from surgery? Have you eaten? Ask the cooks for something if you want.”