A
DOMME CALLED PET
Dommissimma, 7
Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2016
Chapter
One
“He’s
talking crap. Utter bloody shite.” Petula Talbot fought to keep her voice down,
as the guy on the lecture hall stage pontificated on. “The Dom is always right
and the sub knows it,” she parroted in a low disgusted voice. “A woman can’t be
in charge? What about all the female Dommes then? This is rubbish. Oh god, now
he says that if you don’t do as he says you’re not into BDSM? What planet is he
from? Why the hell did you book him? Do you know how much damage an arsehole
like this can cause?”
Edan
Murdoch, her colleague and good friend, shrugged. “I didn’t book him, I’m not
that daft. I know his reputation—his real one, not the one he tries hard to
project. He’s not liked, no one knows where he comes from, and most of those in
the lifestyle give him a wide berth. Prof. Peterson heard of him, got the
bullshit and booked him while you were off.” He didn’t mention why she’d been
absent, for which Tula was grateful. She wanted to draw a veil over those
weeks. Weeks when she wondered if she was about to be a widow, and even now
wondered how long she’d be a wife.
“Was
that why you insisted I come and listen?” she asked. “So I’d get mad and throw
a hissy fit? Tell him he’s an imposter?”
“What
do you think?” Edan grinned. “Go on, I dare you. Mind you, if you think it’s
crap, I’ve an even better solution. You take next week’s lecture and put your
side of the story to the students. Let them decide for themselves if a Domme is
fabrication or not.” He nodded at the five dozen or so undergrads that filled
the lecture hall. “They’re a good group. Open-minded and want to know the truth.
But be prepared for them to ask why you call yourself Tula.”
“Hmm?
That’s the easy bit. Whoever heard of a Domme called Pet?”
Edan laughed. “Okay then, that’s one question
answered. What about Master Asshole and his ‘this is the way it should be’ malarkey?”
“It’s
wrong. What they’re hearing now is wrong.” Tula stood up without even thinking
and cleared her throat in her best, ‘I am a Domme heed me now’ manner.
The
guy on the stage looked up at her. “Are you interrupting me?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, Master, please,” he said in an oily
voice. “Master Rollo. You’d do well to remember that.”
Tula
saw red. Who the fuck did he think he was? Even if he was a Dom, and somehow
she highly doubted that, his attitude stank. “Master of what? Caramel chocolates?”
Someone sniggered and several people turned in
their seats to see who spoke.
“Master
in BDSM?” She shook her head, as the guy on stage took several steps forward.
Next to her Edan tensed and his hand moved to the walkie-talkie he held. Tula
shook her head at him. “No, not yet.” There was no need for security to interfere.
She guessed the bloke was all bluster. Her long curls spun out like a dervish
on speed, and she pushed them behind her ears impatiently.
“BDSM?
Not that, not in a million years. Master of Bullshit more likely. You’re a
charlatan.”
Most of the audience gasped and then you could
have heard a pin drop as the guy went red and clenched his fists.
“If you were my sub, girl, you’d not be able
to sit down for a week,” he said harshly. He might think it sounded masterful—it
didn’t. Just someone trying to be what they weren’t.
Tula laughed. “And if you were my sub, boy, you’d not sit comfortably for
a fortnight. I don’t deal well with imposters.” She turned on her heel and
walked up the steps toward the door.
Somewhere behind her, someone started to clap.
It was taken up and by the time she’d exited the hall, closely followed by Edan,
the noise had reached a crescendo.
“So
will you do it?” he asked as they walked away toward her office. “Next week.”
“I can’t,” Tula said
DOMME CALLED PET
Dommissimma, 7
Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2016
Chapter
One
“He’s
talking crap. Utter bloody shite.” Petula Talbot fought to keep her voice down,
as the guy on the lecture hall stage pontificated on. “The Dom is always right
and the sub knows it,” she parroted in a low disgusted voice. “A woman can’t be
in charge? What about all the female Dommes then? This is rubbish. Oh god, now
he says that if you don’t do as he says you’re not into BDSM? What planet is he
from? Why the hell did you book him? Do you know how much damage an arsehole
like this can cause?”
Edan
Murdoch, her colleague and good friend, shrugged. “I didn’t book him, I’m not
that daft. I know his reputation—his real one, not the one he tries hard to
project. He’s not liked, no one knows where he comes from, and most of those in
the lifestyle give him a wide berth. Prof. Peterson heard of him, got the
bullshit and booked him while you were off.” He didn’t mention why she’d been
absent, for which Tula was grateful. She wanted to draw a veil over those
weeks. Weeks when she wondered if she was about to be a widow, and even now
wondered how long she’d be a wife.
“Was
that why you insisted I come and listen?” she asked. “So I’d get mad and throw
a hissy fit? Tell him he’s an imposter?”
“What
do you think?” Edan grinned. “Go on, I dare you. Mind you, if you think it’s
crap, I’ve an even better solution. You take next week’s lecture and put your
side of the story to the students. Let them decide for themselves if a Domme is
fabrication or not.” He nodded at the five dozen or so undergrads that filled
the lecture hall. “They’re a good group. Open-minded and want to know the truth.
But be prepared for them to ask why you call yourself Tula.”
“Hmm?
That’s the easy bit. Whoever heard of a Domme called Pet?”
Edan laughed. “Okay then, that’s one question
answered. What about Master Asshole and his ‘this is the way it should be’ malarkey?”
“It’s
wrong. What they’re hearing now is wrong.” Tula stood up without even thinking
and cleared her throat in her best, ‘I am a Domme heed me now’ manner.
The
guy on the stage looked up at her. “Are you interrupting me?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, Master, please,” he said in an oily
voice. “Master Rollo. You’d do well to remember that.”
Tula
saw red. Who the fuck did he think he was? Even if he was a Dom, and somehow
she highly doubted that, his attitude stank. “Master of what? Caramel chocolates?”
Someone sniggered and several people turned in
their seats to see who spoke.
“Master
in BDSM?” She shook her head, as the guy on stage took several steps forward.
Next to her Edan tensed and his hand moved to the walkie-talkie he held. Tula
shook her head at him. “No, not yet.” There was no need for security to interfere.
She guessed the bloke was all bluster. Her long curls spun out like a dervish
on speed, and she pushed them behind her ears impatiently.
“BDSM?
Not that, not in a million years. Master of Bullshit more likely. You’re a
charlatan.”
Most of the audience gasped and then you could
have heard a pin drop as the guy went red and clenched his fists.
“If you were my sub, girl, you’d not be able
to sit down for a week,” he said harshly. He might think it sounded masterful—it
didn’t. Just someone trying to be what they weren’t.
Tula laughed. “And if you were my sub, boy, you’d not sit comfortably for
a fortnight. I don’t deal well with imposters.” She turned on her heel and
walked up the steps toward the door.
Somewhere behind her, someone started to clap.
It was taken up and by the time she’d exited the hall, closely followed by Edan,
the noise had reached a crescendo.
“So
will you do it?” he asked as they walked away toward her office. “Next week.”
“I can’t,” Tula said
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