Chapter 19 #2
My first time was based on curiosity and research more than anything. And the following parties? Education turned to realization which turned to pleasure. But as I stand in my bathroom, fixing my hair into a slick-back bun, there isn’t excitement drumming through my veins like there used to be.
I’m determined to push through it, however, because there’s no way in hell that man next door is having this effect on me.
I’m going to get to the party, find a pre-approved submissive, and have them eating out of my palm in no time. Judging by the texts I’ve received from a few of my favorites, I’ll have the pick of the litter tonight. Maybe more than one.
Then... then this weird feeling will disappear.
The wrap dress I throw on gives no indication I’m wearing a leather and lace bodysuit. The dress is elegant and professional, but I’d never wear it to class. I don’t need my students focusing on my cleavage instead of their lesson. Though covering up never really deterred Jonah, did it?
Argh, stop thinking about him!
The bodysuit pushes my tits higher than they have any right to be, and my waist is snatched in thanks to a corset back. Well, as snatched as a petite, chubby woman like myself can be. This is my armor... yet I’m questioning if it’s strong enough to withstand my turmoil.
When Tracy arrives to babysit, I check my reflection one last time before I greet her at the door with a hug.
“Thanks for coming,” I say before releasing her.
“You know it’s no trouble.” She smiles, and the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes deepen.
Tracy is a white woman in her late sixties with wavy brown-gray hair that she stopped dying when she retired a couple years ago.
A professor of chemistry, she was my colleague at Keystone State.
Our offices were right next to each other in the science building, and even though I saw her often, I never really knew her until right before she retired.
Whatever made her strike up a conversation with me that fateful day, I don’t know. But I’m grateful for the way she changed my life.
As always, Lo and Delta geek out over Tracy like she’s Santa. Probably because she always brings gummy worms and peel-off face masks.
Amber gives Tracy a warm welcome. “Thanks for letting me take my sister out of the house.” She winks.
“Lord knows she needs it,” Tracy replies, mirth pulling at the corner of her mouth.
My sister raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes, communicating something only the three of us know. We give the girls a goodbye hug, and promise we’ll be back when they wake up. Amber leads us out, swinging the front door open and leaving it for me to follow.
I’m about to move out when Tracy stops me on the porch, her voice just above a whisper. “How are you?” she asks, her tone serious and knowing.
“You know.” I shrug with casual indifference that I know she knows is a lie.
“Are you sleeping?”
“It’s getting better. I still wake up in a panic sometimes, but it’s not as often.” A long pause stretches between us as she studies me and holds my hands in hers. I don’t squirm. I don’t look away.
“You made the right choice.”
Thirty minutes later when Amber and I arrive at the party, my nerves are no more at ease.
The party is being hosted by a former mayor and her partner in their ostentatious estate situated on four acres of manicured lawns.
As gaudy as their decor may be, I do like them.
Our kinks don’t align, so I’ve never played with them, but they are stunning together.
A soft, male voice from behind takes my focus away from people watching. “Hello Mistress.” It’s Victor, a man of fifty with olive skin, perfectly coiffed hair, and the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I’m not supposed to know that, but he’s a member at the country club Amber works at, and she told me.
He hands me the single glass of champagne he’s holding, full and untouched, like he was waiting for me. Victor has been one of my favorite submissives and he’s been a frequent partner of mine since I started coming to these things.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says a little breathlessly. I can tell he’s already uncomfortable standing here, towering over me. I can see it in the way his eyes can’t settle and the way his throat works.
“Thank you,” is all I say in reply.
“Can I get you anything, Mistress? Anything to make you more comfortable?”
My gaze floats down to the bubbles in my flute. Why aren’t my thoughts in the right place? “I don’t know if I’ll be good company tonight, pup. I think I’d rather watch than play.” I don’t ask if that’s okay with him. I don’t have to.
“Oh.” The look on his face could kill me if I was in love with him, but that’s not how we operate. Nonetheless, guilt finds me.
I offer alternative Dommes for him. “Princess Porsche and Mistress Noir are both here.”
Victor finds each of them and lets out a slow breath before smiling. “I know.”
“Tell you what, pup. I’m going to have a seat and watch my fill tonight. If you’d like to join me, the floor at my feet will be open for you.”
Besotted with the invitation, he gleefully kneels once I sit. My legs are crossed, one foot bobbing in the air slightly, and I know the shiny black leather taunts him. He lays his head in my lap, and I know he’s dreaming of the way my heel would feel against his chest.
Despite all of my distractions—my pup’s soft hair that I’ve been running my fingers through for hours, and his quiet, appreciative sighs.
.. the women I watch in front of me, one writhing in pleasure so deep she’s sobbing through her twentieth consecutive orgasm, the other looking like she’s not even half way done with her little pet—despite it all, I can’t stop thinking1 about Jonah Johanssen.
We pull out of the driveway of the mansion, and Amber knows. She doesn’t even look at me first—just eases the car onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against it. “Huh.”
I brace myself. “What?”
“You left a sex party, and somehow”—she gestures vaguely in my direction—“you look exactly the same as when we arrived.”
“I… did other things.”
My sister hums. “Your hair is untouched. Your lipstick is intact. And I don’t see a single drop of sweat.” She gasps, because she lives for dramatics. “Oh my God, you didn’t even try.”
“I resent that,” I mutter, staring out the window. “I tried very hard to mind my own business.”
She laughs—a chaotic, delighted sound that usually means I’m about to regret my life choices. “Something is wrong.”
The car fills with silence.
“Spill.”
I sigh and sink lower in my seat. “I don’t wanna.”
“Real mature. It wasn’t a request.”
Streetlights flash past and I give in, because resisting Amber is a losing battle. I close my eyes and admit the most inconvenient truth. “I have… ughhh… feelings… for Jonah.”
Amber full-body cackles. “You like Jonah!”
“I do not like him,” I snap. “I am experiencing an unfortunate emotional response.”
“That’s liking. That’s capital L liking.”
“Please keep your eyes on the road. I don’t want my tombstone to read, ‘Died because her sister discovered a crush.’”
She wipes at her eyes, still grinning. “This is amazing. You left without hooking up. You probably didn’t even flirt.”
“I panicked.”
“It means you liiiiike him. You really liiiiike him,” she taunts.
“Shut up.”
“Do you want me to invite him over?”
“No.”
“Drive by his house real slow?”
“I will jump out of this moving vehicle.”
Amber laughs, warm and loud, filling the car. She continues teasing me the whole drive home—asking if our couple name would be Renah or Jonée, if I’ve imagined where we will honeymoon.
I threaten her.
She dares me to text him.
I almost do.
Somewhere between the third red light and our street, the knot in my chest loosens. I feel lighter, like we’re teenagers whispering secrets in the dark, daring each other to make the first move, and pretending this stuff isn’t terrifying.
When we get home, we relieve Tracy of her babysitting duties and she rejects my money as always.
A hot shower isn’t necessary because I didn’t work up any kind of sweat. I didn’t even take off my dress. Said dress is hung back in my closet and I peel out of my armor that did jackshit protecting me tonight. I pop on an old nightgown and slip into bed.
In the privacy of my room and steel vault of my mind, I think of my former student. Cocksure and irritating.
I think of the stripper. Magnificent and talented.
I think of my neighbor. Generous and kind.
Wetness forms at the crux of my thighs for the first time tonight, and when my fingers slide through, I dream of his tongue. Of his broad, muscular shoulders under my legs—steady and grounding.
The house is silent, but I can’t hear anything over the blood rushing through my ears when I come fast and hard to the image of me riding him, teasing him, forcing his arms down and taking what’s mine—mine—mine.
And when I come again, all I picture is that smile.
1. Bad Things by Cailin Russo