He rubbed her back, his voice raspy as he said, “I got so mad at the people who said I'm sorry after Bethany died. They didn't do anything, why were they apologizing? Eventually I realized it was a way to try to express they wished it hadn't happened. It's hard to know what to say after hearing such a sad story, when someone so important was taken away unexpectedly."
Dana nodded; she'd had the same thoughts, come to the same conclusions. “I'm guessing if the two of us end up together there won't be any vacations in our future."
His hand moved to her arm, still rubbing, and she wondered if he were comforting himself, or her. He adjusted them so he could look into her eyes. “That'd be sad, don't you think? To live our life in fear?"
"Maybe, but I couldn't relax and enjoy myself, so it'd be pointless take a trip that'd only stress me out."
"Have you gone on a vacation since he passed?"
She shook her head. “No. I live in one of the top twenty-five vacation destinations in the US. Why do I need to go anywhere?"
"What if we visited a large city with excellent medical facilities, where they drive on the right side of the road?"
She sighed, aggravated at his doggedness. “I spent a week in Los Angeles a few months ago for a design convention. It wasn't recreational, it was work, but still, I'm capable of travel. Last year I went to Chicago for a convention. I don't know what I'll be comfortable with in ten or fifteen years, but right now I get plenty of R&R at home and don't need to go gallivanting around the globe in search of it."
"Okay."
There were several moments of silence, as she waited for him to expound on his single word answer. When he didn't she said, “That's it? Just, okay?"
"Yep. We're both familiar with therapy. If I think we're allowing our pasts to dictate our future I'll ask that we talk about it with Kirsten. I understand where you are now and trust we'll find a way to move forward together."
The realization he assumed this would be a long-term thing between them both thrilled and terrified her. “Oh. Well. Alrighty then. Tell me what you expect from a submissive?"
He chuckled. “Talk about doing a one-eighty. I'm not sure I understand the question, but I guess I expect a submissive to submit, to show respect, to follow orders. Is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly. If you had me, hypothetically speaking, for twenty-four hours, what rules would you give me? What rights would you want to negotiate for the agreed upon duration?"
"I'd ask you to arrive at my house at ten o'clock tomorrow morning and expect to belong to me through six o'clock Sunday evening... no, until Sunday at noon for our first time, with a few hours after for us to talk. Maybe go out to dinner. Whether you stay the night with me Sunday night outside of a scene will be entirely up to you."
She did the math—twenty-six hours of submission, with probably six to eight hours of sleep thrown in. Her insides flittered as she said, “We need to discuss limits, especially before such a long scene, but...” She sat up, met his gaze. “If I were to consent—what rules would there be?"
"Do not eat breakfast. A garage door will be open when you arrive, and you'll pull in and the door will close. Step out of your car and undress, and lock your clothes, shoes, and purse into your trunk. Bring only your keys into the house, and place them on the hook by the door as you enter the kitchen. You'll see wrist cuffs, pick them up and bring them to me."
They talked for two hours before he kissed her goodnight and left. Dana had three orgasms before she went to sleep, and awoke feeling as if she'd had more in her dreams.
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Chapter Seven
* * * *
Dana stood naked in the garage, her bare feet on the cool brick steps, her fingers hovering over the brushed nickel doorknob.
She pulled her hand away from the door, telling herself it was ridiculous to be so nervous about taking this last step, but her knees were weak, and her stomach had swarms of butterflies battling hordes of yellow-jackets. On the plus side, her pussy was tingling and her clit remembered this was the place it'd finally been played with properly again. But she didn't feel submissive. She felt a little silly, actually.
Last night, she'd asked if he'd start off with something to help her get into the right headspace. She was afraid she'd only be able to feel submissive if he was giving her pain, and it was obvious he needed a woman who'd submit to him outside of a scene.
Reminding herself she'd have to trust him to help her get there, she took a deep breath, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open. The hook was where he'd said it would be, and she hung her keys and reached for the soft leather cuffs before walking across the kitchen to him—the hardwood floor warm under her feet. The symbolism of her bringing the cuffs to him wasn't lost on her—he wanted it to be clear she was offering herself to him.