“I’ll do anything.”
“If I had a nickel…”
“I’m serious. I want to do this.”
“People want many things. Or think they do. And then they get them–”
“I’m not like everyone else. I — I don’t know where else to go…who else to meet…”
“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. Same story all the time little girl. People like you read 50 Gray shades of submission and think that’s all there is to it. Lip biting and orgasms. The real stuff? Ain’t like that at all.”
“I know that–”
“You don’t know shit. There are not high-rise apartments in my world. There are no white rooms with views of the city, or a room upholstered in leather and wood. It’s raw. It’s fucking real. You play at this shit, it will eat you alive.”
“I’m not a player.”
“Fuck you are. Tell me what you’ve done.”
“I–I’ve been spanked. And I LIKED it.”
“I’m so impressed. Not. What else.”
“You’re a real bastard, you know. I’ve given blowjobs.”
“This is me being nice little girl. If you think I’m being a bastard now? You should just hang up, and go back to your little spanko friends. And big fucking deal you give blowjobs. In my world? They’re not given, girl, they’re taken.”
“I told you I wanted this. Want to feel what it’s like, hardcore.”
“You don’t have the balls for it.”
“I’ve never had balls. And YOU sound like the scared one here.”
“I’m not going to take someone into the program who chicken shits out on hour one. It’s a full weekend, Friday noon through Sunday midnight. I take you on, we work out the things that are totally hard limits–and I won’t allow many–and I fit you into my program. That’s the limit of your consent.”
“I can do this.”
“If you sign the agreement? You WILL do this. There is no try, only DO. You don’t show, I come and GET you and it won’t go well for you. You’ll start your stay with punishment, and that’s never a good way to begin.”
“I’ll read your freaking documents. I’ll talk to you about limits. Just please let me do this.”
“Meet me at the coffee shop on 5th and Main at noon tomorrow. Sit in the seat in front of the window in the corner under the clock.”
“Sir. Might as well practice now, cunt.”
“*sigh* PUT it toGETHER, cunt. Yes and Sir go together. Try again or I’ll punish you in the coffee shop. They know me there, and are cool with the ‘style.
“Yes Sir, I’ll be there tomorrow at noon.”
“You don’t show? You’re automatically out, and you’ll never get ahold of me again. Capiche?”
“Yes…..Sir, I understand.”
“Nice save, slut.”
She clutched her purse, fingers so tense that her knuckles were white. She would have ordered coffee but he hadn’t said to, so she sat at the table where He’d directed her. It was now 12:10, and she’d begun sweating bullets. What if he didn’t show? What if he’d been in some sort of terrible accident?
At 12:3o she considered leaving. She didn’t need to be fucked over like this! Her time was valuable. She had places to go, things to do. She was a successful businesswoman, and people didn’t do this to her. Keep her waiting for a half-hour? This was ridiculous bullshit.
Yet she sat.
People came and went. Obviously the place was popular with the noon lunch crowd. Coffee spat and spewed behind the work counter, the two guys working the machines efficiently, yet bantering with customers. They never looked at her, at least she didn’t think they did, and she wondered some about that. She stopped watching the door every second.
At 1245 the crowd of office workers who were sharing several thick slices of chocolate cake departed en masse, leaving the shop much quieter. She watched them walking down the street, a mini-pod of legs and arms and hair blowing in the wind. She felt more isolated than ever.
The sound of the chair at the table next to her jolted her out of her reverie.
He hooked the chair around, sitting on it backwards, his large hands circling around the curved back. His eyes were intense, and she found herself almost breathless under his scrutiny.
“Wondered if you’d bail. But you stuck. That’s good. Many fail this first test. Do you understand what the lesson is here?”
She swallowed, her pulse throbbing visibly in her throat.
“T-that I ….am here at your whim…and that I work on your time frame.”
“Very good. And exactly right. You work at my pace. I show when I choose to. If I take you, you do as I want. It’s all about me. You get what I decide to give you, whether it’s an ass full of cum, or the taste of my balls in your mouth.”
Her voice fell to a near whisper. His words scared the shit out of her, but thrilled her to her marrow. She would, possibly, maybe, be this man’s fucktoy at some point in time. If she passed this critical interview.
He tossed a paper onto the table. It had one sentence on it.
“You do every fucking thing I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, how I tell you to do it, without hesitation.”
She read it, nodded.
“I don’t want you to cut my hair, or any body parts off. I don’t want to be maimed. I expect to come out of this intact and alive.”
“Carving girls up into chunks isn’t my deal. But I understand you need that spelled out. Go on.”
“Nothing else? Breath play? Suspension? Knives? Needles?”
She pointed at the document.
“Whatever you want me to do. From Friday noon until Sunday midnight. This is my fantasy. To be a thing. A fuck toy. To be used as you see fit.”
“I could throw you in a cage and leave you there all weekend, to sit in your own piss and shit.”
“You could….though I don’t see how that would be any fun at all for you.”
“Good, you have some spunk to you. I don’t like fucking dead meat. You lay there and submit like a stuffed doll, I’m gonna be pissed. I expect some fight. I like rape scenes. Catching you and doing you rough. Ripping off your clothing, and ramming into your cunt or asshole or mouth.”
“I want you to rape me.”
He nodded. He’d known, of course, it was in her initial profile.
“I want you to use me,” she continued, her eyes blazing blue fire. “I want you to fuck with my body, fuck with my head. I want you to beat me, hurt me, use me.”
“I expect you to fight. I expect you to sass. I expect good manners when we’re not in a scene. I won’t be alone.”
She hadn’t expected that. He watched her pupils narrow, then dilate. He’d surprised her.
And she surprised him right back.
He tugged a pen out of his shirt pocket.
She carefully wrote her name on the bottom of his paper, he added his with a messy flourish. Folding it, he rose from the chair in one fluid motion.
“The guys behind the counter get blow jobs before you go. Be a good girl and make me proud. I’ll be in contact.”
Her mouth opened in an O of surprise as he left the shop without looking back. The first barista came to the table.
“This way, miss,” he said, taking her arm.