discreet.” I take
her hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take care of
everything. You relax.”
Isabelle exhales, relaxing. “OK, I can
try.”
It’s cold out, but the streets are busy in
my fashionable neighborhood: full of couples out for dinner, and
people heading home after work.
None of them would ever guess the real
relationship between Isabelle and me. To them, dominance and
submission are the things of kinky sex clubs, whips and chains.
They could never guess that I can show as much power walking down
the street; that my dominance of Isabelle continues in every look,
every touch, every word.
“Here we are.” I nod to the bar at the end
of the block. It’s a little hole in the wall place, dim and grungy,
but I know they serve the best burgers in the city. Isabelle
wrinkles her nose, but she follows me down the steps and
inside.
She looks around. “Why is everyone looking
at us?” she whispers, drawing closer to me.
I smile. “They’re looking at you.” Even in
jeans, she’s still the most beautiful girl in any room.
Isabelle flushes, looking embarrassed, so I
lead her to a table in a dark corner. “Two pints please, Greg,” I
call over to the burly British bartender. “And a couple of burgers,
fries, the works.”
“Alright, boss.”
Isabelle looks interested. “This is your
usual hangout? You could scrape the grease off the ceiling with a
knife.”
I laugh. “Don’t let Greg hear you say that.
He takes pride in his grease.”
She smiles and takes off her coat. “It’s
strange to see you here,” she remarks. “I was beginning to think
you lived at the office, or home. Or the club.” She blushes.
“I guess I deserve that,” I nod. “There
hasn’t been much time in my life for anything but work.”
If you want to make it in the corporate
world without a fancy Harvard MBA or Daddy on the board, you have
to work harder than anyone. And me, a kid from the Scottish
Highlands, I was determined to work harder than everyone.
Greg brings over our beers and food.
Isabelle gapes at the spread: huge double decker slabs of ground
sirloin with bacon, onions and cheddar, and a basket of crispy,
thick fries.
“There’s enough here to feed an army! I can
get through maybe half of that.”
“I’ll allow it,” I say, with a smile to let
her know I’m joking. “But I bet you’ll finish the lot.”
We start eating, and soon she relaxes. “Oh
my God,” she murmurs, taking a bite. “This is worth the hours on
the treadmill I’m going to need tomorrow.”
My breath sticks. Fuck, she’s sexy, savoring
every bite. Away from her snooty socialite crowd, she’s relaxed and
carefree, gulping beer and wiping the foam from her lip with the
back of her sleeve.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Isabelle asks
hesitantly. “I hardly know much at all.”
I pause. “Like what?” I ask, dunking a fry
in ketchup. Although, to me, they’ll always be chips.
“Well, the whole club thing.” Isabelle
glances around, but we’re secluded in the corner here, with nobody
to hear. “Have you always been into it? What happened to make you,
you know…?”
“A Dom?” I finish. “Nothing happened. I’m
not one of those guys working through some troubled past,” I add.
“I just discovered that this was my particular preference, that’s
all.”
Isabelle looks disappointed with my answer,
so I expand. “Several years ago, I dated a woman who told me about
working as a Dominatrix. She told me how she felt when she had a
whip in her hand. Powerful. In charge. Something about it
fascinated me, so I researched it more. I discovered pretty quickly
that I had no interest in being dominated myself,” I add, “but it
was the other side that drew me in. The balance of power, the
psychological side of sex. It turned me on in a way I’d never felt
before.”
Isabelle watches me, and bites her lip. “Why
do you think you like so much? I mean, it’s pretty weird, isn’t
it?” She flushes,
her hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take care of
everything. You relax.”
Isabelle exhales, relaxing. “OK, I can
try.”
It’s cold out, but the streets are busy in
my fashionable neighborhood: full of couples out for dinner, and
people heading home after work.
None of them would ever guess the real
relationship between Isabelle and me. To them, dominance and
submission are the things of kinky sex clubs, whips and chains.
They could never guess that I can show as much power walking down
the street; that my dominance of Isabelle continues in every look,
every touch, every word.
“Here we are.” I nod to the bar at the end
of the block. It’s a little hole in the wall place, dim and grungy,
but I know they serve the best burgers in the city. Isabelle
wrinkles her nose, but she follows me down the steps and
inside.
She looks around. “Why is everyone looking
at us?” she whispers, drawing closer to me.
I smile. “They’re looking at you.” Even in
jeans, she’s still the most beautiful girl in any room.
Isabelle flushes, looking embarrassed, so I
lead her to a table in a dark corner. “Two pints please, Greg,” I
call over to the burly British bartender. “And a couple of burgers,
fries, the works.”
“Alright, boss.”
Isabelle looks interested. “This is your
usual hangout? You could scrape the grease off the ceiling with a
knife.”
I laugh. “Don’t let Greg hear you say that.
He takes pride in his grease.”
She smiles and takes off her coat. “It’s
strange to see you here,” she remarks. “I was beginning to think
you lived at the office, or home. Or the club.” She blushes.
“I guess I deserve that,” I nod. “There
hasn’t been much time in my life for anything but work.”
If you want to make it in the corporate
world without a fancy Harvard MBA or Daddy on the board, you have
to work harder than anyone. And me, a kid from the Scottish
Highlands, I was determined to work harder than everyone.
Greg brings over our beers and food.
Isabelle gapes at the spread: huge double decker slabs of ground
sirloin with bacon, onions and cheddar, and a basket of crispy,
thick fries.
“There’s enough here to feed an army! I can
get through maybe half of that.”
“I’ll allow it,” I say, with a smile to let
her know I’m joking. “But I bet you’ll finish the lot.”
We start eating, and soon she relaxes. “Oh
my God,” she murmurs, taking a bite. “This is worth the hours on
the treadmill I’m going to need tomorrow.”
My breath sticks. Fuck, she’s sexy, savoring
every bite. Away from her snooty socialite crowd, she’s relaxed and
carefree, gulping beer and wiping the foam from her lip with the
back of her sleeve.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Isabelle asks
hesitantly. “I hardly know much at all.”
I pause. “Like what?” I ask, dunking a fry
in ketchup. Although, to me, they’ll always be chips.
“Well, the whole club thing.” Isabelle
glances around, but we’re secluded in the corner here, with nobody
to hear. “Have you always been into it? What happened to make you,
you know…?”
“A Dom?” I finish. “Nothing happened. I’m
not one of those guys working through some troubled past,” I add.
“I just discovered that this was my particular preference, that’s
all.”
Isabelle looks disappointed with my answer,
so I expand. “Several years ago, I dated a woman who told me about
working as a Dominatrix. She told me how she felt when she had a
whip in her hand. Powerful. In charge. Something about it
fascinated me, so I researched it more. I discovered pretty quickly
that I had no interest in being dominated myself,” I add, “but it
was the other side that drew me in. The balance of power, the
psychological side of sex. It turned me on in a way I’d never felt
before.”
Isabelle watches me, and bites her lip. “Why
do you think you like so much? I mean, it’s pretty weird, isn’t
it?” She flushes,
Similar Books
