Subordination:Chronicles of a Domme(3)

I eased back in my seat, weighted down by the intensity of the conversation. I was facing the same dilemma as Lindsay, except mine was direr. My father’s MS had begun to worsen. While he’d been able to get around the farm on a cane, he’d declined so rapidly in the past few weeks that now he needed a walker. It wouldn’t be long before he needed a wheelchair. The farm had long since been paid for, but taxes on fifty acres was enormous. The overseer we’d hired to help run the farm was also a drain. Even after all the cattle and some of the horses were sold, we would still come up short. I was a modern day Scarlett O’Hara facing the loss of my father’s beloved Tara.

“It’s true. I need the money, but I can’t prostitute myself.”

Lindsay surprised me by laughing. “Dommes don’t have sex with their clients.”

“They don’t?”

“No. Most scenes don’t even call for you to touch a sub intimately to get them off. They’ll do that all on their own…when you let them.”

“How much could I make a session?”

“Depends on what you’re willing to do. Edge play Dommes always make more.”

“Like the medical shit?”

“Yes. Also fire, blood, and breath play.”

I shook my head furiously from side to side. “Hell no. I can’t do any of that.”

“Even if you stick with the basic stuff, you can make two to three hundred a session.”

The last sip of coffee I’d taken spewed out onto the table. “For one session?”

Lindsay nodded. “With your looks and personality, it could easily become five hundred to a thousand.”

“Damn.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought when I first started.”

“But I’m clueless when it comes to all this shit. The only thing I really know how to do with rope is hogtie a steer or corral a horse.”

Lindsay’s blue eyes widened. “You know about tying rope?”

“Yeah, I grew up on a cattle farm. I can tie just about every knot imaginable.”

I had no idea admitting that fact would be such a plus, but Lindsay was practically bouncing in her seat. “If you know about rope, then you already have a leg up. Some men would cream their pants just at the thought of you hog-tying them.”

Once again, all I could say was, “Damn.”

Reaching in her purse, Lindsay pulled out a card. “Listen, I have another class coming up. Think about it, and if you decide it’s something you want to do, give me a call. If not, I won’t mention it again.”

I took the card. “Mistress Layla?”

She grinned. “That’s me.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“No matter what, thanks for the opportunity.”

“You’re welcome.” She slid her messenger bag, which was surely designer, onto her shoulder before leaving me at the table with my jangled thoughts.

I don’t know how long I sat there, turning her card over and over between my fingers. After glancing at my phone, I realized two hours had passed by. I was going to have to haul ass to make it to my waitressing job.

As I hurried to the parking garage, my mind continued to whirl with thoughts. When I got to my car, I groaned and threw my hands up. My front right tire was completely flat. I’d already moved the back tires to the front because I couldn’t afford new ones. I was so fucked.

The first call I made wasn’t to the local service station. It was to Lindsay.

A thumping bass filled my ears as she said, “This is Mistress Layla.”

“Hey, it’s Sophie.” I hesitated a moment before saying, “When can I start?”





Owen reappeared in his suit and tie, looking handsome and distinguished and every bit the hardened lawyer. In his hands, he held a wrapped jewelry box. “I have something for you.”

Tilting my head, I wagged a finger at him. “You didn’t need to do that.”

He winked at me. “Of course I did. Besides, I don’t remember any club bylaws that state a sub can’t give his Domme a gift.”

I didn’t bother arguing anymore. With the same excitement as a kid on Christmas morning, I tore into the package. When I cracked open the box, I sucked in a breath. “Owen, this is breathtaking.”

It was a gold bracelet heavy-laden with charms. The charms themselves were a mixture of the pictures of my favorite authors like Shakespeare, Poe, and Harper Lee. Then there were book-themed charms like quills, a raven, and a mockingbird, each decorated with Swarovski crystals.

“Wherever did you find it?”

“I had a jeweler friend of mine make it.”

It took me a few moments to find my voice. “I don’t know what to say.”

“The expression on your face is thanks enough.”

I smiled. “This is one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.”

“You’re welcome.”

With my free hand, I placed it on his cheek before leaning in to bestow a kiss on his lips. There was no spark or electricity at the touch—it was out of love but certainly not the romantic kind. People outside of the BDSM community never realized the true depth of emotions that went into a scene or the deep affection that a Domme felt for her sub and vice versa.

When I pulled away, Owen sighed with frustration. “No tongue?”

I laughed while silently thanking him for lightening the moment. “Behave yourself.”

“Ah, but I do so like the threat of punishment,” he countered with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I’ll be sure to let Mistress Venus and Rain know to deprive you of harsh beatings.”

He frowned. “Now that’s just cruel.”

“Then be a good boy.”

“I will. For you.” He smiled as he motioned to the bracelet. “When you wear that, try to think of me from time to time.”

“Of course I will. How could I not think of the person who gave me such a beautiful, thoughtful gift?”

Owen gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the dungeon door. I tried ignoring the tightening in my chest at his retreating form. I’d never meant to get attached to my clients. But it was almost impossible when you spent so much intimate time with them.

I probably should have gone home to finish packing. I would be leaving the bright city lights and moving back to my farm on Monday. I’d taken a teaching job at the same high school where I’d graduated, and we started preplanning on Tuesday. It was overwhelming to think that in just ten short days I would be standing in front of my first group of students.

But as I gazed around the dungeon, I realized I wasn’t quite ready to leave 1740. Being an overly sentimental person, I felt the need to savor my last night a little longer. I wanted to head upstairs to the main floor and hang out with some of the staff. Considering how rigid my client schedule was during the week, I rarely had time to just sit and talk.

I grabbed my purse and hurried out the door. I started down the long, mazelike hallway to the elevators. While 1740 was only two floors, the dungeon held ten private rooms that were outfitted for different types of play. A whiff of rubbing alcohol hit my nose as I passed the room dedicated to needle and blood play while the sound of a whirring machine could be heard from the medical room. Whatever kink you were interested in, you could most likely find it at 1740.

After a quick ride, the elevator doors opened to the main floor. Since I had come up the staff elevator, I bypassed the reception area where membership cards were scanned. Because of the exclusive clientele, 1740 went to the extremes of security to protect its clients’ identities.

I waved to one of the bouncers as I walked into what I liked to call “the club.” With a bar and massive dance floor, it resembled the inside of a regular club. There were also tables and couches where people could sit and talk, presumably about what they wanted to do downstairs in one of the private rooms. Beyond “the club” was where public scenes were enacted. Anyone could hang out and watch a flogging or rope suspension.

I started making my way through the packed Friday night crowd. People were in all types of attire from fetish wear to jeans. Some gyrated on the dance floor while others stood around talking.

My steps faltered as I did a double take at the sight of what appeared to be a shirtless and shoeless Henry Cavill standing before me. The idea wasn’t entirely far-fetched since we’d had a few celebrities in the club. But as one of the strobe lights flickered to illuminate more of his face, I realized he was just a look-alike. His hair was lighter while his eyes were dark brown, rather than blue.

He was impossibly tall, and I couldn’t help staring at his muscular chest with its dusting of dark hair that led to an oh-so-happy trail that ended at the low hanging waistband of his jeans. He had an aura of importance about him, and I couldn’t help wondering who he was in real life.

He held my gaze for a moment before averting his eyes to the ground. “Good evening, Mistress.”

A submissive? I would have never imagined it in a million years. Even though I knew from my own clients that submissive men weren’t simpering pussies, there was something about this man that screamed dominant. Of course, the fact he was shoeless should have given his sub status away, but he wasn’t wearing a collar. A prime piece of submissive man like this usually belonged to someone. And if he didn’t, he would normally be snatched up by a Domme practically before he got through the door, least of all across the dance floor. I couldn’t help wondering what his story was. More than anything, I wondered what it might be like to have a session with him. I so rarely took anyone on outside my usual clients. But it might be something fun for my last night in the club.