20. Arabella
20
Arabella
I find myself equal parts excited and nervous that he actually agreed to teach me. Despite what I told him, I wasn’t actually prepared to find someone else. I would never force him–at least not intentionally. But I wanted–no, needed for it to be him. The look in his eyes, when I told him I’d find someone else, should have told me all I needed to know. I can almost imagine him with cartoon smoke escaping his ears at the mere suggestion of it.
I’m sure he’s not the only decent Dominant out there, but he’s got to be the hottest. Goddamn, he’s a perfect specimen. He’s talking to me and I know I should be paying attention, but all I see are those soft lips of his, begging to meet mine. And I bet his dick is huge–thick and veiny. I wonder what it would feel like buried deep inside of me. God, I’m turning into Wrinley. Except I shouldn’t be thinking about his lips or his dick because he’s drawn a line in the metaphorical sand and made it very clear I’ll never find out how they feel. I’d better get reacquainted with my vibrator, because his proximity alone seems to flip the switch in my lizard brain and make me want things I can’t have. Doing this is only going to make it worse. Shit, I forgot I don’t have a vibrator here.
“Arabella,” Ryker interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry,” I wince. “I was thinking about–stuff.”
“If you have better things to be doing.”
“No. No, I’m here and with you. I promise,” I assure him, although that extra wrinkle on his brow tells me he’s not convinced.
“If we’re going to do this, I expect your full attention when I’m speaking to you. I’ll give you the same courtesy.”
I give him a sharp nod. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” Thank goodness he didn’t press. I don’t need him knowing my brain was venturing quickly into the exact sexual territory he’s wanting to avoid.
“Tell me what you know so far of BDSM or Dominant/submissive relationships.” Straight to the point, I see.
“I know BDSM stands for Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism. And dominant/submissive relationships involve a dynamic where one partner takes on a leading, controlling role while the other submits to that person's direction and desires in a more passive, submissive role.”
“That–is very clinical,” he chuckles. “Do you actually know what any of it means?”
“You tell me what to do and I do it?” I’m not sure what he wants me to say here.
“In the most basic way, I suppose you’re right. Yes, that is what the letters, B-D-S-M stand for. But it’s all so much more than that. The submissive chooses to hand over control to the Dominant. Can be just in the bedroom, at certain times they choose or 24/7, where those involved are always in those roles. The Dominant is in control, but it’s actually the submissive that holds all the power, because she can also choose to take it all away or change things up.”
I nod, trying to process what he’s telling me. “You said we’ll be in our roles all the time. Is that what you prefer?”
“Yes,” he answers plainly and my heart rate spikes at the thought that he’s probably done this with other women. Why does that thought make me nauseous?
“How long has it been since you’ve done this 24/7?” I don’t want to pry. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help myself. I have to know.
We’re sitting in the same spots as earlier, when he agreed to teach me, and the way he’s leaning back in that chair, with one leg crossed over the other, has me wanting to crawl right into his lap. When he starts rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, like he’s contemplating his next words, my attention is drawn right back to those pillowy lips of his that I want to kiss. My thighs clench at the dirty thoughts trying to invade my brain. If I’m not careful, he will notice that I’m starting to lose focus again.
“I’ve never done this 24/7 with anyone.” What? “I’ve helped train submissives in the past, and I’ve had some regular scene partners, but I’ve never done anything like this–ever.”
“Why me?” I can feel my mouth go dry as I ask.
“Doing this takes a lot of trust, Arabella. Trust on both sides. The submissive needs to trust that the Dominant will always have their best interest in mind and that they won’t take advantage of the gift that is their submission. The Dominant also needs to trust that they won’t be taken advantage of. Depends on the type of relationship they have.”
“You–trust me?”
“I have a basic level of trust with you, yes. As I hope you do with me. Hopefully, we can build on that trust as we go.”
I give him another nod, in agreement. I wouldn’t have asked him to do this with me if I didn’t already trust him.
“Good. Now, I have something for you.”
By the time evening rolls around, Ryker is at the club and has instructed me to stay here to work on a limit list and choose a safeword. He gave me an extensive list of kinks and types of play to help guide me, but said I could add to it if I want. I tried telling him I’ll do whatever he tells me to, but he was not having that. I was promptly schooled on the importance of knowing one’s limits.
When my phone rings, breaking the silence, I jump. Fuck ! It’s Mom.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I sigh. “Hey, Mom! How are you?”
“Arabella? Where have you been?” Shit, something is off. I can hear it in her voice.
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve just been busy. Are you feeling okay?”
I can hear her breathing heavily over the phone for what feels like forever, when she finally speaks, “Y-you never come s-see me anymore. Do you not love me?” Ok, she’s crying.
“You know I love you, Mom,” I let out a long, slow breath.
“If you say so. It’s fine,” she sighs loudly. “I know you have your own life. You don’t need your old, boring Mom weighing you down.”
“What can I do for you, Mom?”
“Well,” she huffs. “You’re so clinical and harsh with me, dear. I just miss you and want to see you.”
My mind wanders for a moment, recalling the recent conversations I had with both Axel and Wrinley. She’s an adult. She can take care of herself.
“I’m kind of busy right now, but we can set something up for next week, if that would work.” Not catering to her every whim is a daunting task. She’s so quick to jump to the negative side of things. It’s hard to know how she’ll react, but I’m instantly filled with pride that I didn’t just offer to run to her right away.
“Fine,” she bites back. “I was going to ask you to help me with a couple things in the house, but I guess you’re too busy for me. It’s fine. Live your life. Don’t worry about me.”
She’s just trying to guilt you. Don’t fall for it.
“Okay, Mom. I’m happy to help you next time I come over,” I promise. “If it’s something you can’t do by yourself, just make a list and I’ll gladly help you with it, the next time I’m there.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, leaving me to bathe in the uncomfortable silence like she’s trying to see if I’ll cave. I won’t. Not this time. Be strong, Arabella .
“Why can’t you just come now , Arabella?” She asks, her tone now firm and commanding as if it’s not an actual question, but an order. A judgy order.
I can’t and won’t tell her where I’m at, but I shouldn’t have to. I’m also afraid she’s just going to keep pushing.
“I just can’t, Mom. I have to go. We’ll talk soon. Love you.”
“Yeah, right,” I hear her mutter as I’m in the process of hanging up, and those two words manage to tear right through my heart, as if she’d used the dullest of knives in order to inflict the most damage.
Inhaling a deep breath, I puff out my cheeks and let the air out slowly before crawling onto the bed to refocus on my task. The list Ryker left me is–long. Some things I’ve heard of but there’s way more that I haven’t. He wants me to mark everything as either a yes, meaning I want to try it, a soft limit for things that I’m not sure about but would consider trying or a hard limit if I come across something that I want taken off the table. I thought I was curious before.
Discipline – my cheeks blush at the thought of what this might entail, but I think I’d want this. Yes.
Restraints – please tie me up. Yes .
Housework/chores – who wants to do chores? Fuck, who am I kidding? I’d lick his kitchen floor clean if he asked me to. Yes .
Cupping – had to look this one up, but it seems harmless. Yes.
Praise – I mean, who doesn’t love to be called a ‘good girl’? Yes .
Exhibitionism – do I want to be watched? This makes me nervous, but maybe. Soft limit .
Degradation – I’m intrigued, but unsure. Soft limit .
Impact Play – easy. I definitely want to try this. Yes.
Anal – I dated a guy a number of years ago that tried to shove his dick in my ass and it always hurt, so I literally have zero interest in anyone messing with my asshole. I’m not 1000% against it, but this will mark the only time where I’m actually grateful for the no sex rule, which means I don’t actually have to worry about this one. Soft limit .
I continue checking yes to things I've fantasized about, from hair pulling to spanking to toys, but there are a lot of things on this list that I’ve never heard of, but I’m curious about all of it, so I put them as soft limits. There are also a lot of things that seem sexual in nature. I’m not sure how relevant those are, but I finish the list anyway. Turns out I have surprisingly few hard limits though. I knew I liked rough sex and being bossed around in the bedroom, but I had no idea there were so many things a person could do and be into.
It’s darker outside now. I’ve finished the list, showered and eaten dinner like he told me to. Now what? My nerves are wearing thin as I sit and anticipate his return.
When my phone rings suddenly, I’m pulled from my thoughts and butterflies swirl low in my belly, hoping the universe has heard my prayer and Ryker is calling to check on me. Those butterflies die a painful death when I see my mother’s face glowing brightly on my screen. Fuck my life.
This time, when I answer, she’s frantic and already spewing words before I can speak.
Her breaths are quick and labored as she pauses slightly between each word. “Arabella, are you there?”
“I’m here, Mom. What’s wrong?”
“Well, I was so upset after we talked, I ended up with a headache. You know how easily I can be triggered, dear.”
Classic Mom move, incoming. She’s fishing for an apology. But I’m not in the mood. Wrinley would encourage me to stand my ground and that’s exactly what I’m going to attempt to do.
“I’m sorry you have a bad headache. I don’t see how that’s my fault, though.”
“I bet you’d feel differently if you knew I’d fallen,” she chides. “I was going to ask you to help me with something when you came over, but since you clearly don’t love your own mother enough to come when she needs you, I did it myself. And now, I’m stuck in the middle of the floor.”
Of course this would happen, the second I grow some balls and try to set even a baby boundary. I should have known better than to think it wouldn’t backfire.
“Mom, stop. You know I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t come by earlier. Let’s try to figure this out. Can you crawl to the chair and hoist yourself up with your arms?”
Her voice starts to shake. “You know I’m not strong enough for that.”
I wish she’d at least try, but I know she won’t. Not without a fight. I do feel bad that she fell trying to do something she’d normally ask of me, but it’s getting harder and harder to not resent her because of it. All she had to do was wait for me. What the fuck was so urgent? Now I have a headache. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I blow out a breath, in a futile attempt to center myself. I have to go check on her. I should at least make sure she didn’t hit her head or otherwise injure herself. At this rate, there’s no telling what else could go wrong if I don’t.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Will you be ok until I get there?”
My chest tightens when I remember I don’t have my car. I also don’t have money to get a rideshare, since I lost my fucking job.
“Nahhhhhhhhh,” she draws out. “Don’t come on my account. I’m not your responsibility.”
I pace the floor for the next half hour, listening to her whine and complain about how no one loves her. Okay, I’m not actually listening. Instead, I replay multiple past conversations in my head, trying to find one moment where I said the wrong thing and gave her the impression that I don’t love her. If I could go back and say things differently to make her see, I would.
She eventually says goodbye and I continue to pace, rubbing the back of my neck and biting my lip. I wish Ryker was here.
Ryker
My cell buzzes on the counter, and I pick it up to see it’s Arabella.
Bella: Heyyyyyy–sooooo, I need to run to Mom’s. Something’s happened. My car is still at my apartment and I have no money in my checking account to get a rideshare. Could I possibly borrow enough to get a ride there and back? I promise I’ll pay you back.
My brow furrows at her message and I have questions. I nod to Jake and step away so I can get to the bottom of this without all the noise. It’s been steady so far, but nothing he and Roxie can’t handle.
I step into my office to call her and she takes entirely too long to answer.
“Heyyyyy,” she says, stretching out the word, punctuating it with a light chuckle that tells me she’s nervous about something.
“Tell me what’s going on, Arabella,” I demand.
“Mom called. She had an accident. She called earlier and wanted me to come over. I said it wasn’t a good time for me and then I just got off the phone with her again. She fell, Ryker. She fell because I wasn’t there to help her with something, so she did it herself and now she’s on her floor and I don’t know if she’s really hurt or not. I feel bad that I haven’t seen her in a few days and I’m worried. I’d like to check on her.”
Fucking Christine. Is she still up to her same old tricks? It’s been six years, and while I suppose it’s possible she’s changed, it sounds like that’s not the case. The gaslighting and manipulation of her kids, especially her daughter, were tough to watch when we were together. I hated it then, but the thought of her still doing it now makes my jaw clench so tightly, I could break a tooth.
Teenagers are more impressionable than they like to believe. Often, Christine would make comments about her weight, how she dressed and what she ate. It’s no wonder she’s grown up with body image issues. Every outfit was criticized for being too tight on her body. I definitely look at her differently now than I did back then, but I never understood where her mother was coming from or why she was so damn critical. She wasn’t, and still isn’t, what would be considered thin, by the unrealistic weight standards that exist only to set people up to fail. All I see now is her beauty–from her long, blonde, wavy hair to her round, spankable ass and thick, juicy thighs.
The way her mother treated her was, at least, half the reason we broke up. I just couldn’t be around it anymore. I was hopeful it would have ended after graduation, but apparently not. It’s a shame and I’ll be damned if I allow it to continue.
“Why don’t you have any money?” I don’t care about the money. I make more than enough from Gravity. I’ll give her whatever she wants and needs. But I’m curious what has her in this position. The girl I knew was a hard worker and definitely not the reckless type.
She groans but doesn’t answer.
“Why don’t you have any money?” I repeat, slower this time. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I lost my job when I called my boss and told him I needed some time after the whole Brad situation. Turns out I was a good employee and my boss liked me, but not enough to keep me. Apparently this call off was the last straw, even though I had valid reasons for every single time I called in. Mom isn’t supposed to drive. Who else is supposed to take her to appointments, run her errands and be the person she calls for every little thing, emergency or not?” Christ. I rub a palm over my face in frustration. She really does need help. A near sexual assault and a job loss within a day of each other. What else is there? This woman carries so much on her shoulders for others, she isn’t able to hold her own shit together. She’s the epitome of chaos.
“Did you tell your boss that you were almost sexually assaulted?” As a boss myself, that would pretty much guarantee a free pass.
“Seriously?” she shrieks. “No. I did not tell him that. I won’t be telling anyone that nugget of information.”
“Arabella,” I respond in a low, controlled tone, slowing her name so she knows I’m serious.
She lets out a short squeak, like she doesn’t want to tell me. “I’m–embarrassed, okay? Why would I tell people about it when I can just move on and pretend what happened didn’t actually happen?”
I’m not sure if she’s done talking, so I remain silent, allowing her the space she clearly needs to let it out.
“Besides, nothing actually happened.” Nothing ?
“I wouldn’t call being drugged, nothing. It’s very much something .”
“Maybe, but It’s probably my own fault,” she retorts, so under her breath, I’m not entirely sure I heard her right. What the actual fuck? I’m going to need to get to the bottom of that . No one should survive being drugged and come out of it thinking it’s on them and not the shithead who did it, but now is not the time for that conversation, so I let it go–for the time being. She asked for my help, so that’s exactly what she’s going to get.
“We’ll be circling back to this, I can assure you. Did you do what I asked yet?” After our chat earlier, I left her with a long list of kinks and fetishes to organize into interests, soft and hard limits. Mostly, I wanted her to think about things she may or may not want to try. In retrospect, I probably should have removed the more sexual things on the list, but at very least I figure we can have conversations about them at some point. At least when she finds a Dom one day she wants to be sexual with, she’ll know how to go about it safely. The thought alone makes me irrationally angry, but as much as my dick wants to claim her, I’m the one in charge and it can’t happen. I promised us both that this would remain a non-sexual relationship and I intend to keep that promise.
“I did. I finished it right before Mom called all panicked.”
“Good girl. Here’s what you’re going to do.” I’m about to take control of the situation and I’m curious if she’ll push back. “Grab your list, get dressed, put your shoes on and wait for me. I’m coming to get you and I’ll take you to her.”
I’ll be damned if I allow her to ride with a goddamn stranger to see her Mom.
I wait a few moments for her response when a single word comes through.
“Okay.”
That won’t do.
“Excuse me?” If she were in front of me, she’d see my brow lift as I wait for the correct response.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Better. I’ll be there in twenty. Be ready.”