Chapter 13 Raegan
Raegan
About Another Four Months Later…
Life certainly has a way of making you question your morals.
If you’d told younger Raegan, that in the future, she’s going to be a married woman who hasn’t seen her husband in twenty years while also being a Domme and girlfriend to a woman twelve years her junior, who also used to be her patient, she’d probably think you were bananas.
Yet, here I am.
I don’t have the bandwidth to think about the man whom I share a last name with right now, especially when I have my darling girl all trussed up and waiting for me in the other room. I can hear her breathy whimpers from here. God, that sound goes straight to my already throbbing clit.
If I’m being truthful with myself, I’d been attracted to her since the moment she walked in my door seeking solace and help navigating the trauma her parents inflicted upon her when they cut ties.
All because she told them she’s gay. Can you fucking imagine?
I can, actually. This world is full of cruel creatures that only think of themselves.
I should know. I’ve seen more cruelty–in one form or another–in my life than anyone should.
I had no choice but to keep my desire to myself. I took an oath to do no harm, after all. Getting involved with a patient is seen as one of the most harmful things a doctor–or therapist, in my case–can do.
I meant what I said in our last official appointment together.
She’d made so much progress, but every time her real emotions started to bubble to the surface, she’d shut them down and shove them back to wherever they came from.
Nothing I was doing was helping her to get over that one last hurdle, so she could finally be free. My suggestions were honest and sincere.
Although, I may have been a little more sincere with one of the options and unfortunately, she caught it.
She caught it and capitalized on it.
Then she waltzed into my favorite bar, where I was talking to my sister about her jackass of a husband, and offered herself to me on a silver platter.
She has balls, I’ll give her that.
The word no… it was on the tip of my tongue for most of her little speech. It’s plagued me ever since.
There were–are–a multitude of reasons why I should have said it… Why I should stop.
Like the fact that technically, I’m married. Technicality that it is, my brain still thinks it counts.
Or that Demetria was my patient. Ethically, I should have gone no-contact with her for two years prior to engaging intimately with her.
I’d be lying if I said that little nugget didn’t live rent free in the back of my mind.
Did it stop me? No. But it should have. She had no real idea what she was asking for.
I’m not an easy woman… not in my professional life or my personal life.
But those big brown eyes of hers. They pulled at a string in my heart that hadn’t been touched in twenty long years. I put that string in a box, never to be found again. But she found it anyway.
For all the reasons I should have said no, I couldn’t ignore the bright, blinking neon sign in my mind pushing me to say yes. Then the brat had to go and suggest finding someone else and it took all my restraint not to put her on her knees, right there in the bar, and punish her for the audacity.
I’m no stranger to BDSM. I experimented with submission, years ago, with one man.
My husband. The thought of him causes me to instinctively rub my left wrist. A constant reminder of what was.
Once I got past the initial trauma of his disappearance, I became a member at the local kink club in Kansas City and mentored under another female Domme for a few years, before I took a submissive of my own.
I’ve had both male and female subs, and discussed the concept of dominance and submission with a number of my clients.
Not once have I ever considered crossing the line with one.
Until I did.
At the end of the day, I think I convinced myself I needed it as much as she did.
She needed a Dominant who could help her find the release that would help her stop living in the past and start to finally move forward with her life.
I needed a submissive to help me do the same.
In the end, I got more than I bargained for.
Strolling slowly down the hallway, my heels clacking against the floor is all I hear, aside from her continued whimpers. We started in the club, a feeble attempt at maintaining some level of professional distance between us. Keeping things formal.
Within a few weeks, I made a choice to move things into my home–a choice I probably shouldn’t have made. Sometimes, I keep her in my bedroom, but tonight, my darling girl is restrained and gagged on a spanking bench in the middle of my living room.
Why did I move her? At the time, I couldn’t have answered that seemingly simple question. Now… I think it’s because I’ve fucked up and fallen for the girl. I know she thinks she’s fallen for me, too. But, she doesn’t know the whole story… the whole me.
She’s naked against the leather of the bench, her legs spread wide enough for me to see her glistening pussy. She’s always so ready for me.
I trail my fingers up the back of one of her thighs, lightly, and it elicits a whine in response. The corners of my lips pull into a grin. “So responsive to my touch, aren’t you, Darling Girl?”
She answers the best she can, by moaning something that resembles an affirmative response. I’ll have to allow it, seeing as her mouth is currently full.
Picking up my favorite oak paddle from the table, I trail the edge along the same path my fingers just took, not missing the goosebumps it leaves in its wake. I rest it against the small of her back as I undo the gag filling her mouth. As much as I enjoy her gagged, I need to hear her.
As soon as she’s free, she moves her jaw side to side a few times to loosen it up.
“What do you say?” I ask sternly.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Good girl. Now… What do you need from me tonight?” We’ve done this enough times. I don’t really need to ask. I know exactly what she needs. I’m just not entirely sure she does, yet. “Don’t forget your manners.”
“I… um… I need you to… um… shit…” Her head drops at the last word. Yeah… she knows what she did.
I pick up the paddle and land it swiftly against her luscious ass. Once… Twice…
“Where did my well-spoken girl go? Huh? You know the rules. No stammering, no hesitation. When you’re with me, you speak clearly and succinctly. Now… try again. No cursing this time. Pretty girls don’t swear when they’re with me, do they?”
I smack her ass a couple more times with the paddle. She moans with each harsh contact of the implement against her reddened flesh, before crying out, “No, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Placing my hand on her head, I stroke her hair and pull it from her face to tuck it behind her ear. “Apology accepted, Darling Girl. Now, let’s try the rest again, yes?”
“I need you to make me cry, Ma’am. Please.”
It took us a while to get to this place.
For a solid month, she’d stutter and stammer any response she gave me, refusing to ever tell me exactly what she needed or wanted.
It wasn’t until, mid-scene, I expressed my displeasure in her inability to speak clearly that she was able to find her words.
My girl is a people pleaser to her core.
A blessing and a curse, I’d say. Nevertheless, we got there.
Now she gets there quicker, although I usually make it difficult for her at first by distracting her brain from falling into old habits.
Then one day, she added to it, without any input or prompting from me.
“Anything else you need, Darling Girl?” I ask curiously.
“Please fuck me, Ma’am.”
There it is. It surprised me the first time she asked since this started with a singular purpose.
It’s not that way anymore. I could lie to myself and say her begging me to fuck her is the moment things changed between us, but it would be a lie.
There was no going back for us the moment she asked me to be her Domme.
Then I gave in to my basic needs and fucked her.
Then there were the late night strolls… the dates…
dinners… cuddles. Fuck. If only she knew how wrapped around her finger I really am.
I stroll around and squat in front of her.
I don’t miss how her eyes catch that my skirt is now gathered high against my thighs, my bare cunt on display for her to salivate over.
I wait until her gaze wanders slowly upward over the leather corset struggling to keep my tits in place, then landing on my eyes.
I reach up and yank on the ring attached to her thick play collar and she gasps, then licks her fucking lips.
“Granted. Since you asked so politely.” For good measure, I lean forward and lick her lips before locking mine on hers and taking her mouth like I own it… because I do.
After I’ve fully devoured her mouth, I resume my position at her backside and proceed to swing the paddle against her pert, pink ass until it’s red and I hear the telltale whimper that signals the tears she requested are close.
Soothing her tender flesh with my hand, I gently assure her, “It’s okay, Darling Girl. You can let go now.”
The skin of her ass is warm, almost too warm, but I doubt she needs much more to push her over the edge.
If she doesn’t let go soon, though, I’ll have to call it for tonight.
A few more swats against her ass and my suspicions are confirmed when her chest is heaving against the bench and I know she’s releasing more of the sadness that’s been stuck within her for too long.
“That’s my good girl,” I praise. “Do you need me to stop now?” I already know the answer, but I always check anyway.