Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Caleb
It’s pretty fucked up that I have her working for me. And not the best show of restraint. But then, I’m not great with that outside of a scene.
Story of my life.
There’s a reason I love nothing more than slipping into the role of Dominant. It allows me to take my shattered focus and hone in on two of my very favorite things. Ropes and a naked woman. What’s not to like? I can play with those two things for hours.
Everything else? Not so much.
Of course, my erratic brain is the key to my success. The ability to home in on certain things, tune out others— that’s a huge part of it.
But when I get obsessed with something, it’s deep. It’s real and impossible to shake.
That’s Avery Carmichael for me.
And I fucking know better than to put her in my path.
It started when she tried to light my barn on fire. I don’t usually get into brat shit, but her fury, her absolute biting fury at me, made me want to train that right out of her. Put her on her knees and hold her down while I fucked some respected into her.
That reaction to her was so visceral, the fantasy so specific and uncontained, that I made a vow then and there I’d never go there.
I’m careful with how I treat women.
What I like is so specific, so particular, that I have to keep it contained. And I do. There’s a reason that I use the Club app to find my subs.
I've experimented with brick and mortar clubs, during times I’ve been in cities for work, but I’ve found it isn’t really my thing. It’s too personal. And I don’t like it to be personal. I much prefer getting to make the arrangements in a sterile chat setting.
She gets to look at my list of qualifications and interests, and I get to look at hers. Without actually putting a face to the kink. I find that to be clarifying.
And it’s an equalizer. Which I also value. Because I like a hard-core game, and I like to push power dynamics to the limit. Which means I need a woman who can come to me on equal footing. Another reason that Avery is never going to be that woman.
She’s fifteen years younger than me and I own her family at this point. Even though I’ve never intended to keep it all for myself.
I’m keeping it safe for her. Because her dad is just going to keep frittering it all away, and she’s going to keep working herself to the bone, and for fucking what?
Once I realized how in deep her dad was, I started buying up acreage to hold it. She’s been pissed about it, but it suits me to let her be. Because again, it keeps her well away from me.
I’m too old for her, too kinky for her, and honest to God, too fucked up.
But I’m drawn to her. Hell, if I thought that I had a real heart I might even say that I’m in love with her.
I don’t know what love is, and I’m pretty sure my version of it is… Well, it’s this , which is fucked. Let’s be real.
I removed myself yesterday from the house because watching her serve me like that was going to push me to close to the edge.
What I need to do is get this little sub I have on the hook on The Club app to commit.
Normally I cast a wide net. I’ve flown women in from other cities to join me here in Oregon so that I can get what I need while I’m here on the ranch. But on a whim I decided to see who might be on the app here.
The pickings are slim.
A couple of Femme Dommes, one looking for men or women, one just looking for women, and another Dom. But no subs to be seen.
Until she popped up. I’d looked at her profile as soon as her name appeared.
Dove.
The name had brought something vulnerable and soft to mind.
Something that needed to be protected. Cared for.
That’s not really my thing. But there was something about the image that works for me.
I’d clicked her profile and seen that she was a brand-new sub who’d never done anything in the lifestyle before and needed training.
I won’t lie, I like that sometimes. What I’ve learned about the world is that people are always going to fucking disappoint you. Every connection is temporary. Nothing is permanent, nothing is real.
I’ve never even come close to having an actual relationship. I’ve never had a sub that was actually mine for more than a pre-agreed to, short length of time.
But what I like about training new ones is that I’ll always be their first. I’ll always be the one who put them in touch with the thing that really turns them on, and there’s something that appeases me.
Maybe because I spent my childhood getting bounced from foster home to foster home, knowing that my shitty behavior was the only thing that was ever going to make me memorable. And I did my best to be memorable.
But I can make myself memorable to a sub in a whole different way.
Yeah, I need that, because I’m playing a dangerous game with Avery. A game that I told myself I wasn’t going to play.
What I absolutely know is that when she shows up at the house I need to make myself scarce.
The idea of watching her drop to her knees and clean the floor for me is too hot.
It’s playing too close to the edge of what I actually want.
And as much as part of me likes the idea of getting a small hit of what it would be like to have her submission, the rest of me knows better than to play those games.
I’m not an inexperienced asshole. I know the rules. I’m an expert at my craft.
And I don’t put women into BDSM scenarios without their explicit consent.
All the better to be able to go as hard as I want once we have the rules established.
But I do have to give her instructions first.
That thought is like a knife blade sliding under my skin, far too close to the bone.
I put it to the side as soon as I hear her truck pull into the driveway and I go to the front door, making sure that I’m standing out on the porch by the time she gets out of her vehicle.
“Good morning,” she says. She doesn’t meet my gaze.
I don’t need her to. I have all of her neat features memorized. Her eyes a whiskey color, her hair dark brown, straight and shiny. Today she has it in two braids that make my hands itch.
I could grab hold of both and pull hard, forcing her head back as I…
No. I need to get my head on straight. I don’t like feeling like I’m out of control.
Obviously. Everything in my life is about control.
She’s the one thing that takes me back to a time when I didn’t feel like I had that.
The one thing that makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice and I might get pushed off or, hell, I might jump.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“The floors need to be done today,” I say. “And windows.”
She blinks. “Windows?”
“Inside. Not outside. And not the ones in the living room. You’re not getting on a ladder or anything. The bedroom windows, though. All the supplies should be in there. I figure you know how to do chores.”
“That’s something I definitely know how to do.”
The truth is, I have a cleaning service come once a month and do a deep clean.
And I also generally have a housekeeper.
I know what I’m good at. And I know what I’m not good at.
I’m not good at keeping up on the day-to-day.
I have enough money to cover up my weaknesses, and so I do that. What I’m doing with her… It’s a game.
But it’s the only way that I can play it, and I’m well aware of that.
This is the only way she’s going to let me forgive her dad’s debt, the only way that she’s going to feel secure in it.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there’s also something…
Something like adrenaline that I’m getting out of this. Like I’m testing myself.
Testing if maybe I’m actually a decent person, or not.
The jury is out.
She goes inside and I head out. I get my truck and drive over to the barn.
And I know that she doesn’t think that I have a real, working ranch, but I do.
The horse breeding program is small, but it’s functioning.
I don’t do any of this for money. I’ve established a billion-dollar conglomerate that I’m on the verge of buying myself out of.
Liquidating as much of my assets as possible, and setting myself up to live here.
I don’t need to grind all the time. I’ve been doing it my whole life.
It’ll be interesting to experience life without that.
Of course, I’ll be by myself. That’s what happens when you don’t have family and every friendship you’ve ever made is transactional, or based around a shared kink.
But I’ll have the money to travel wherever I want to go. To do whatever makes sense to me. To not work so damned hard, like I’m still running from the gutter.
That’s some kind of freedom. And I know that I should just be grateful for it. I spent enough of my life scrapping for survival.
I’ll be the kind of rich prick I always dreamed of being. And eventually, I’ll be an older version of myself, still trawling clubs for kink with no attachments, and it’ll all start seem a little creepy.
The future is bright.
I can also double down and keep working on this ranch. Maybe I’ll build it up into something bigger. Right now, it’s manageable mainly with just me. That’s what I want.
I have a monster of a company already. I don’t need it to get all that much more intense. One day at a time. That’s one thing I’ve been good at for a long time. Survival.
I head down to the far north pasture and drive along the fence line, making sure there are no weak points. Then I head to the stables, and rotate through the horses, make sure each of them gets a good workout.
After about two hours, I hear the distinct chime of the Club app from my phone.
The adrenaline kick that spikes in my blood surprises me.
I don’t usually get this edgy about it. But it’s been too long since I’ve done a scene.
I don’t know if I’m testing myself or what by not just flying somebody out here. I don’t know why I’m playing games with this sub who clearly is scared to pull the trigger.
But here I am. Games for days.