Chapter 4 #2
Well, that’s complicated too. I want to please him.
I want him to use me. I want to be used.
I want him to control everything. To make me feel things.
I want to not have to work. I’m suddenly so desperately exhausted by all of it that this seems like a good thing. It seems like something reasonable.
It’s different, somehow. He doesn’t have an expectation of me. When I imagine telling one of my friends about this, all I can see his judgment. And I know full well that John couldn’t have handled it. Wouldn’t have been able to do it.
But he can.
I already know. We’ve already had the conversation. The exchange.
Yeah. Make it about that, and not the fact that he’s the one you want.
I can’t deny that. My body’s response to him, especially now the shock is wearing off, is so intense it frightens me. But fear is what I’m looking for.
The sense of danger and recklessness. This intense and brilliant thing.
At least, I think it is. I think.
“Maybe we found a new way that I can pay my debt,” I say.
The idea of that shocks me, even as it arouses me.
God. Thinking about him forcing me to be with him to pay the money back…
Why does that excite me like this? This isn’t a game.
It’s not a chat, it’s not a fantasy, I am literally offering to trade him my body and I’m getting turned on by it.
This is fucked up in an unreasonable way, but I already said it.
The words came out of my mouth. There’s nothing that I can do about it now.
I don’t want to.
I’m throbbing between my legs and my nipples are so tight and sensitive every shift of fabric over them, even through my bra, sends an electric charge through my body.
I watch as his pupils expand, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Yes. A transaction. An exchange.”
“I don’t have to pay for sex.”
He looks offended, insulted, and I realize that I might’ve said the wrong thing. Even as the fantasy of it all is tearing me up inside, turning me on.
“I just meant that…”
“Are you trying to make a scene? Because you don’t just get to set the tone. And you definitely don’t get to try and manipulate all this so that you get to be in charge.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” I say. “I just…” Without thinking, I take my shirt off, let him see the shape of my nipples through my nearly see-through lace bralette.
And then I unsnap my jeans and push them down my hips.
I don’t usually wear sexy underwear, but because of the conversation I was having with – with him – in the app, I had done it.
Because I wanted to feel aroused through the whole day.
Because I wanted to keep playing the game.
What I want to do is push him past this point.
Push both of us pass it. I’m tired of lingering in this uncertainty.
I know that a whole bunch of it was mine.
But if I had moved quicker, if I hadn’t been engaged in this agreement with him, the end result would’ve been the same.
If I would’ve reached out to him on the app and then agreed to meet him, we would still be standing here.
I’ve reached a point of no return, and I know that I can’t go back. I know that I need for this to happen.
I can’t move on with my life if I don’t do this.
If I’ve at least done it once, then I can find it again. I’ll figure myself out. Or maybe I’ll get it out of my system. Maybe I’m not a submissive. Maybe I just have a sexual fantasy and that fantasy needs to be satisfied. But I won’t know if I don’t do it. And this is the best way.
To really, really satisfy it.
“You are pushing,” he says. “And that’s what tells me that you’re not actually ready for this.”
“No,” I say, desperate. “I am. I am ready for it. You said that you liked to train submissives. Train me. Teach me.”
I’m begging him.
My legs are shaking. I’m exposed already, not just because I took my clothes off. Because he knows what I want. He might know what I want better than I do, and it’s galling to know that.
That this man who I’ve hated for so many years has access to something deep inside of me that I don’t fully understand.
He does.
That’s the point of finding a good Dom. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from all of my research. It’s why I landed on The Club as my way of doing this. I need him to know better than me.
I drop down slowly to my knees and I look up at him, my heart pounding so hard I think I might die.
My pride is in the basement. It’s shattered.
But then it was shattered the moment I realized he was the one I was messaging. The moment he realized who I was. Because I’ve already uncovered all my darkest fantasies for him.
I’ve already said it. Why hold anything back now?
What am I even trying to preserve? He could reject me – and he could do it with more precision than any other man could.
The floor is hard and cold, and I’m hot all over. Trembling. Waiting.
I want to say something else. To appeal to him. To look at him. Instead I stare at the floor and I sit in my own discomfort.
I’m in control, always. Life is uncomfortable and unpredictable and the way I cope with that is to keep moving, to keep taking charge. Barreling through every moment of uncertainty and discomfort in my body and around me.
I don’t do that now. I stare at the ground and feel everything.
The weight of his gaze on me, the way my heart throbs. How slick I am between my legs in spite of the burning humiliation of the moment. The desperate uncertainty.
I can’t make him want me.
I can’t do anything but wait.
Then, he touches me. His hand on my head, and I shiver, the tremor going through my entire body as his hand slides down my face, as he moves his thumb and forefinger to cup my chin. Then he tilts my face up.
I keep my eyes downcast, panic soaring through my breast, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
“Look at me.”
His tone is commanding, rough, and I can’t deny him.
My eyes lock with his and my heart almost bursts, my breath going short and sharp, my body throbbing with anticipation. Need.
Sex has never been this good. The closest I’ve come – ever – to being this turned on is when I’m alone, building fantasies in my own mind, but then I have total control. I’m creating the map toward my own pleasure.
Not here. Not now.
I try to get control of my breathing as I look at him, trembling beneath his gaze. He might tell me to leave. I might die if he does.
If he doesn’t?
I have no idea.
“You need a safe word, Dove,” he says, reverting to my app name.
I’m shaking uncontrollably and trying to hide it. If I speak, my voice will give me away but I know I have to.
A safe word. I asked him about that in the app, before I knew it was Caleb. It shouldn’t feel harder now that I know it is. But it does. It being Caleb has changed everything. Made it sharper. More dangerous.
Hotter.
“H-halt.” It’s the only thing I can think of. It’s how I tell my horse to stop when I need him to. It’s ingrained in me as a way to stop whatever is happening, and I know I’ll need something that doesn’t require a lot of thought.
“If you need the word, use it. Don’t put me in a position where I’m doing something you aren’t comfortable with. This is about trust. If you don’t trust me, you shouldn’t do this. If I can’t trust you, I can’t give you what you want.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Oh,” he says, his lips curving into a smile.
“You know? You know because you watched some porn and did some reading? You know.” He releases his hold on my chin, and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to keep looking at him or not, but I do, my heart still thundering erratically.
“Dove, I’m going to tell you something right now. You don’t know anything.”
My throat goes dry. I want to argue with him, because it’s what I’d normally do. Just a couple of days ago I was mouthing off to him in my driveway and now I’m half naked on my knees in front of him, knowing I have to surrender.
I don’t have to. I can leave. Any time.
But I’ll never know .
He’s right.
Research is just information. I don’t know what it feels like to give my body to someone like this. I don’t know what surrender feels like.
I’ve never done it a day in my life. I came out of the womb crying – the most cantankerous unpleasant baby on record, according to my mom. And I’ve been fighting every day since.
“I understand,” I say. “Sir.”
I know to call him that from my research, so he can’t say I know nothing.
There’s something that flairs in his eyes— desire, I think. I hope. I don’t actually know if he wants me or if he’s just agreeing to my training because it’s what he does.
Then his hand moves to my hair, and he grips it. Tight.
“I didn’t tell you to call me that,” he says, his words hard.
“What you’ll learn is to do what you’re told.
Now, get up and go into the bedroom and wait for me.
If you get impatient and look around the room, I’ll know.
If you take your clothes off before I get to you, I will punish you.
If you touch yourself, you’ll wish you hadn’t. ”
I can stop it now. I can stop it at any time, I know I can. I have the word and everything.
But what I know about myself is that if I obey him now, I’ll be in too deep to ever admit defeat. I either run now, or I’m all in.
I stand slowly and I turn away from him, beginning to walk toward the bedroom. I don’t have to ask him which one. I know now.
It’s the soft one with all the windows. It doesn’t look like a dungeon, but I suddenly think that’s the point.
Then suddenly I’m immobilized, his large hand reaching out and grabbing me by the back of the neck, pulling me back toward him as he turns me so I’m facing him, those blue eyes boring straight through me.
I wonder for a moment if he’ll kiss me.
He doesn’t.
“Dove,” he says. “You’ll call me Wolf. Because I’m your alpha now.”
Wolf .
All the better to eat me. And he’s going to devour me, I just know it.
I’m in over my head. This is so fucked up. It’s just so fucked up.
But I am too.
I do my best to nod with his hand holding me fast. And when I answer him my voice doesn’t shake. “Yes, Wolf.”