He was wickedly handsome. If the room was less well-lit, I’d be tonguing his earlobe right now.
“All right,” he said, glancing at the dossier. “Hit me.” He laughed at his choice of words for the situation. I did, too.
I shifted into uber-Domme mode and breathed in deep, ready for my long-winded explanation.
Last chance, Cerise.
“The requests I make of my subs are simple. Show up at my house Monday through Thursday at two PM sharp. On Monday through Wednesday, I will give you role-play prompts. You must come up with the details, props, and costumes. You will e-mail me details about the scenarios while I’m on my lunch break so I can arrive home in character. When I get home at three, you will be in costume and in character. Whatever outfit you may have for me will be hanging in my bathroom. We will perform the scene from three o’clock until whenever I feel it’s over. You will then eat dinner with me and return home. On Thursdays, you will create an original scenario. You have free rein on those days, but please be creative. I may not be a dominatrix in the traditional whips-and-chains sense, but I want your full subservience when you are with me. You will have three-day weekends to yourself.” My voice was strict like a smack on the wrist with a wooden ruler. I hoped he understood that just because he was creating one scene per week, he was not in charge of where it went. I knew my methods were unconventional, but hey, whatever gets you off, right?
He listened intently, head cocked to the side, eyes still not leaving the table.
“Is that all?” he asked.
I gasped to myself. A taker? Usually guys weren’t down with the hours and the financial demands of coming up with new costumes and props four days a week. Then again, judging by this guy’s clothes, he could afford it. Don’t think I didn’t notice the curvy Rs on his Rock & Republic jeans. That cut retailed for $259 at Nordstrom.
And yes, in addition to being a Domme, I was a serious denim whore.
“No, that’s not all,” I said, worried that this would be the deal breaker. “You must come up with our first scenario right now. Don’t let me down.” I expected him to either tell me to fuck off, or to walk away in a daze after spending several minutes blathering his way through a half-assed attempt to come up with something that might excite me.
Of course, when hearing I was a teacher, nearly every potential sub told me the scenario where he was failing my class and wanted extra credit.
And would do “aaaanything” for it.
So, the men who usually made it to this round never made it out. Unoriginal pricks.
“I think I have one you’ll like, if I may,” he said politely.
I must be dreaming. “Proceed,” I said, both anticipating and dreading what was going to come from his lips next. Please don’t be a student scene . . .
“I’m a vampire who has endured decades of loneliness. All I want is a woman who I can worship—who will look past all my flaws. I need a fearless Domme who will punish me for all my past misdeeds.”
This guy was either insane, or a fucking genius.
And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t care.
“Sold,” I said. “I like that kind of originality, and seriously, you’re going to need it with me.” I handed him my card and explained that I’d be checking YES for him on the official tally. The organizers of the mixer would tell me at the end of the session if he picked me as well, in addition to other matches. Which there would be none.
He rose with me, took my card, and looked me in the eyes.
And somehow just got more beautiful.