The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive (28 page)

    “Quiet.”

    He said it with amused affection, not irritation or even real bossiness. It was like he knew I was okay, he was making sure of it, and he was simply trying to calm me down. The fear I felt was of the roller-coaster variety — more adrenaline rush than concern. Now even that was changing into something else.

    As he poured more of the ice water down my front, I again felt the reflex to cry out from the cold, and again my lungs wouldn’t allow it. I panted and moaned instead, and thought
thank God
when he set the bucket down and picked up something else.

    A loud crack echoed off the tiles of the shower as he landed the leather paddle on the left side of my ass. It would have hurt a lot anyway because of the force he put into it, but stung even more because of the wetness of my skin. I cried out in surprise, the sound muffled by the washcloth, and he struck me again on the opposite side. He dropped the paddle after just two strokes, and began to rub me where I’d been hit. I leaned into his hands gratefully and he rubbed me everywhere else as well.

    After a couple of minutes he left again, and I heard the soft sucking sound of shoes being pulled off, and then change jingling in a pocket as his pants fell to the floor. He was completely nude when he came back in, and I couldn’t help but stare. He held himself in his left hand and stroked rhythmically, and his perfectly proportioned cock fit the rest of his beautifully naked self so well that if my mouth hadn’t been holding the washcloth, it would have been hanging open. He came over to where I waited and hoisted himself up behind me.

    Straddling the tub, he put his arms around my middle and pulled me back into him. Dropping one hand, he used it to position his cock so that it lay in a straight line up my lower spine. He pulled me back against his body so that when he moved his hips, he could make friction between my back and his front. I pressed back into him as well, and moved with him as he held me tightly. His warm lips went to the back of my neck, and I moaned as he kissed me there, kissed behind my right ear, and rocked me slowly over the empty tub. I wanted him to come, but I hoped he wouldn’t any time soon. Some people end the session once they have an orgasm, and at the moment I had no desire to get dressed and drive back home.

    After pressing his lips into my shoulder and neck, and his cock into the small of my back for a few more minutes, he stepped down and picked up the ice bucket again. A lot of the water was gone, but some ice was still in there, and he leaned down to refill it from the faucet in the tub. When he was finished, he pulled the lever that switched the flow from tub to showerhead, and suddenly I was being doused in cold water again. I leaned my head back so the shower wouldn’t spray my face, and he put a tender hand on my shoulder to guide me back to the middle of the stream.

    I didn’t think it would do any good to make begging sounds into the gag, as it was obvious that he was going to do exactly what he felt like doing, for as long as he felt like doing it. His preference seemed to be for just enough of something to make me moan or yell, and then to switch gears. He turned the shower off, and I caught my breath in the absence of the cold water on my skin.

    He moved his soft hands up and down the length of my soaking body, and then turned to pick up the clothespins again. This time he placed them directly on the tips of each nipple. The burning was excruciating at first, but when he put a hand flat on my stomach and said
shh
in my ear, something in my nerve endings shifted and all I felt then was turned on.

    
“Mm,”
he murmured, apparently feeling my body relax under his palm.

    He pulled the clothespins off quickly, and grabbed the ice bucket before stepping into the tub once more behind me. I didn’t know how much more I could take of ice water pouring down my back and front, and I was relieved when he set the bucket down between his feet and picked up a couple of cubes to rub on my slightly sore nipples and still-red ass. The combination of melting cold and the mild heat of his hands was soothing. I was just thinking
how nice
when he reached for another washcloth and folded a handful of ice into it, like he was making something to keep the direct sting of ice away from my skin. Instead he put the icepack between my legs, and when I jumped, he opened it so that he could hold the washcloth from underneath, pressing the melting ice directly onto my swollen private parts. I involuntarily jerked my hips forward, and he swayed with me, keeping his hand in place, whispering in my ear, “Quiet,
quiet.”
The obvious pleasure in his voice, which seemed to take in both of us, made me still.

    I moaned as he held me that way for another minute, and he moaned softly too. When he finally took the ice away, I felt dazed and limp, and everything I felt from then on simply translated to
his touch,
whether he was using the riding crop hard and fast on the insides of my thighs, or putting the heavy clamps on my nipples while he counted out loud to forty-five and held me under the cold shower again. He always stroked me softly whenever he was done, and he stroked himself repeatedly, as well. No matter what he did, I never once wanted him to stop. It wasn’t even a question anymore of having a hard time saying the safe word. The idea of not being touched by him felt worse than any sensation his hands brought to my body, and it was somehow both a familiar and a completely new feeling.

    After a certain point he went into the other room, and I could hear his hand working away until he finished himself off. I wondered why he hadn’t done it in front of me, but found his strange modesty as compelling as the rest of him. Before untying me, Jake turned the shower on again and made it warm, rubbing me one last time, through the stream of steamy water. After turning it off, he put his arms all the way around me and helped me down to the floor. Grabbing a dry towel, he wrapped it around me and pulled it snug, like a parent wrapping his kid who’d just stepped out of the swimming pool on a chilly afternoon. Once he’d tucked the large towel around me, he held me by the upper arms and kissed the top of my head. I leaned my forehead into his bare chest, and he pulled me in and hugged me for a long time.

    “You can get dressed now if you want.”

    I was confused. It felt like I had just gotten there. “Has it really been an hour already?”

    “Yeah,” he laughed quietly, and, giving my arms one final squeeze, left me alone in the bathroom with my clothes.

    

    

    
It’s what you thought T would give you in the beginning, that’s what’s familiar.
It popped into my head on the drive home that night. Was it true? No, I decided. I had never thought T was someone who would hold me tight, or quietly steer me into some strange place where I was warm inside even with ice on my skin. It was the total lack of resistance to what was happening that was familiar, and the longing I felt for more — that was all. Both those things had happened when I first got involved with T. But after a short while, surrendering to T’s control felt more like getting into a car accident than riding a roller coaster. Yes, it had also involved a sharp spike in adrenaline, but the shock had stayed with me for days and I could never tell right away how badly I was hurt inside.

    I wanted to do another session with Jake, and the lack of control I had around making that happen was nowhere near as fun as the lack of control had been in his hotel room. I knew it was the part of this job that would make me quit some day in the not too distant future. Now that I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed by sexually submissive feelings again without having to submit to things that troubled me, I wanted to find someone in real life to do it with all the time. The only thing Jake had in common with T was that neither of them was around. Even before the in-person meetings with T became unbearable, the fact that I would get so stirred up and then have no way to talk to him or see him in between was agonizing. It wasn’t quite that bad with clients — I’d been working on my detachment skills since Phil, after all — but it wasn’t how I wanted to spend the rest of my sexually viable years, either.

    I wanted to see Jake again, but I wanted to see me out there looking for something real even more.

    

    

    I ended up getting Jake before the other. He e-mailed me a few days after our first meeting:
The session was great and I’m going to be at the same place this coming weekend. I really liked how your ass looked, and I have decided to take you there.

    I read it a few times, making sure it actually said what I thought it said. He had included his cell phone number, and I called him a few minutes later.

    “Saturday would work best for me. I should get done with the tournament by around ten o’clock that night, if you want to come over after that,” he offered.

    “Can I ask you about something you wrote?”

    I figured I might as well just come out with it, since there hadn’t seemed an easy way to transition into the subject.

    “Sure.”

    “Did you, um… Were you talking about having anal sex with me?” I tried to keep both the anxiety and the pure glee out of my voice.

    “Uh-huh.” Jake’s tone was neutral.

    I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say to him about it. In theory, the idea thrilled me. I had known from the moment he stepped naked into that bathroom that I wanted to have sex with him, and when he had been behind me in that tub, I had wondered more than once what he would feel like in my ass.

    

    In practice, however, anal-sex-gone-awry was all too easy a scenario to stumble into. It wasn’t like regular fucking, for me. The slightest pain during entry made my muscles reflexively tense up, even if I was trying to relax. That always led to a torturous spasm that wouldn’t go away even after the person pulled out; it had to run its course, which was usually about sixty seconds long. With Jake being as insistent on control as he was, I was afraid he would expect me just to take it, the same way I had taken everything so happily last time. What if he wouldn’t see me unless I agreed to that?

    As soon as the thought formed in my head, I knew why this thing with Jake had reminded me so much of T initially. T was the first person who had ever made me feel this good, and I had been afraid that it would stop if I objected too much to too many of the things he wanted to do to me. Despite my best efforts to stifle myself, it had ended anyway. After waking up one day and realizing that not only had everything been hurting worse and worse when we were together but also that I hadn’t even had an orgasm with him in months, I finally had told T I couldn’t see him anymore. He stated flatly that we never had to do anything I didn’t want to do again. But it was too late for me. I hadn’t known what drove me to walk away back then, when he was finally offering me what I had wanted from him all along. But now I understood it. I had been too disgusted with both of us — with myself for having acquiesced in the first place, and with him for having been a part of it. I didn’t want to make the same mistake with Jake. Not because of how I wanted to keep feeling about him, but because of how I wanted to keep feeling about me. I knew what I wanted to say to him, then.

    “Could we start slow, and could you go slow even after I’m, you know, sort of prepared? I haven’t done it in a while, and I’m afraid it might hurt if you entered me really fast.”

    “No, I’m not interested in hurting you that way. We’ll use lube, I’ll go easy, it’ll be fine, I’ll take care of it.”

    He sounded exactly like he had when he’d first asked me if it was okay to tie me up in the shower, like everything I felt mattered to him, and like he would, indeed, be taking care of it.

    “Why don’t you call me when you’re done with your poker game?” I suggested.

    

    

    Jake’s room was brighter this time and a little bigger. The heavy floor-length curtains were wide open, but the glare from the lamps inside made it hard to see anything outside the large windows except for a few fuzzy points of light in the distance. He had pulled the ugly brown and orange bedspread down to the foot of the queen-size that took up about a third of the room. The clean white sheets were slightly rumpled, and I wondered if they were as comfortable as they looked.

    I walked over to a small couch by the windows and set my bag down. When I turned around, Jake was looking at me intently and moving closer to where I stood. He surprised me by using his slender, teenage-boy hands to unzip my jacket when he reached me. As he pulled the sleeves down my arms and tossed my jacket onto the couch behind me my body began to tingle all over. He continued to undress me, watching my face, pulling my long-sleeved tee over my head, unbuttoning my jeans, and pulling off my shoes and socks as I held onto his shoulder for balance.

    “Good, no underwear, just like I said,” he smiled at me.

    He had told me not to have on a bra or panties under my clothes this time. He put his hands on the sides of my face and pulled me up to kiss him. Pressing his lips on first my mouth, then my chin, then each side of my mouth, then square in the middle again, he continued to hold my face, and then began to bump his hips against mine. When he stepped back to take his shirt off, I spoke up.

    “Could I use the restroom?”

    I usually took a few minutes before getting right into things, and his stripping off my clothes had happened so fast I hadn’t had time to say anything. I didn’t really want to stop, but I didn’t want to have to stop in the middle of anything else either, and I knew I had to pee.

    “Not right now.” He finished undressing and started kissing me again.

    As in our previous session, his polite sternness made my stomach flutter, especially in combination with his warm lips on my face. I could feel myself getting carried away, and pulled back for a moment.