The Good Dom Page 4

  But seeing the woman so exposed and vulnerable in my night club, I experienced all sorts of complicated feelings. I realized I was… somehow damaged by what happened with Bette. I pretended it didn’t matter to me when my ex-wife betrayed me with another man and divorced me. I acted like it didn’t hurt and the passage of time had not made the pain go away. Even though I couldn’t outwardly see the injury, my heart was lacerated by what happened. Just like the scar on my face, the open wound inside had never closed or healed. As if looking into a mirror for the first time, I suddenly saw myself exactly as I was. I had shut myself away from all human contact with others in my pain. Though the club had become wildly successful and the money was rolling in, I felt as alone and depressed as ever. And despite how humiliating it was to admit, I still missed Bette. Even though she was so cruel to me at the end, I still was in love with her in a twisted way.

  But upon seeing this submissive, it was as if my dead heart had suddenly come to life and pounded forcefully in my chest, the closer I came to her. I opened and shut my fists, literally feeling the blood begin to pulse thickly through the veins of my arms. I was a monster, but I still longed to be close to a pretty woman. A monster has sexual desires too, just like any other man.

  When the rest of the crowd parted, Cassandra’s full body was revealed under my gaze. The sub was collared and her Dom held the leash in his hands. The slinky sheer fishnet dress barely covered her upper thighs. I told myself to look directly at the young sub’s pretty face, but however much I tried to remain professional my eyes drifted downward, following their own primal urges. Through the transparent material I was astonished to see that her open-crotched panties were made entirely of pearls. The jewels outlined her moist pink flesh, which glistening in the lights of the club. Under my gaze the smoothly shaved lips of her sex seemed to curl open provocatively; as if one of Georgia O’Keefe’s famous floral paintings had come to vivid life right before my eyes.

  No woman had ever entered my club wearing open-crotched panties that could be seen through her dress. My lips partly slightly and my mouth filled with water. I swallowed and realized I had stopped breathing for a moment. I inhaled. When I looked up, I was completely astonished. Even though the sub was surrounded by several attractive men, for some reason she looked directly at me only.

  Our eyes met briefly and then her gaze drifted over to my scar. Usually, people looked away in horror from my ghastly face, but this sub did not flinch. In fact, she tilted her head slightly and seemed to closely examine the reddish gash with curiosity. No one in my entire life had ever looked in such a prolonged and riveting manner at my deformed face. What was most astonishing was she didn’t appear to be disgusted at all by my ugly appearance. If not disgust, at the very least I expected to see a look of pity in her eyes as she beheld my scar. But her look was not one of horror, disgust or pity, but what seemed like… can I say it… longing. Suddenly I felt like the one who was standing naked and exposed in my own club. I looked away from her, cloaking my embarrassment with a stern look.

  Standing next to the pretty woman, I saw a man of rather average height and short blond hair, the color of a surfer. He was in relatively good shape, though slender of frame. I’d never have noticed him, if not for the fact he had accompanied this attractive woman into Obsessions. It was hard for me to believe that this nondescript man with an innocent moony face was the Dom who had called earlier in the day to schedule a tour of the club. He held some wrinkled papers in his hand which I assumed was the signed contract between them, which my assistant had asked them to bring. He looked nothing like the other Doms I see in my club on a nightly basis. The typical Doms, with their self-important demeanor, eccentric demands, receding hairlines and soft underbellies had become quite tedious to me, a real nuisance. But they were the wealthy patrons of my club and, not unlike any other businesses, a proprietor must put up with the delusions of grandeur of their best customers no matter how annoying they may be.

  The new Dom had sad haunted expression. He literally looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept well in days, with dark circles under his eyes. He glanced at me, noting the gash on the side of my face, and then looked across the club with a far off gaze, as if lost in a fog of his own thoughts.

  I usually had a fairly good instinct about people, thanks to my training as a cop. I could tell right away this Dom and his sub had a particularly complicated relationship. There wasn’t just a simple sexual game of control playing out between them. She was collared for sure, but the reluctant Dom held the leash with a very light hand. I could sense that their role-playing masked a deeper connection between them and there were definitely deep-seated emotions involved between them. The young Dom seemed more like an awkward teenager head over heels in love with the prettiest girl in school and completely at a loss with what he was supposed to do with her. I wondered who was actually controlling whom in their relationship.

  I looked back over to the sub. She seemed like a free-spirited angelic nymph he had somehow captured from some celestial plain and pulled down to earth with an invisible silken rope. Hovering like a magical sprite in front of us she almost didn’t seem real, if not for the curves of her voluptuous body. She appeared light and airy, like a hummingbird that might flit away at any moment if he let go just slightly of his grip on the lease.

  The club was absolutely silent as the patrons stared at these two new visitors. After they whispered something into each other’s ears, the man looked at me with a shocked expression that instantly turned cold. The submissive whispered something else and her Dom nodded. He unlocked the submissive’s handcuffs, freeing her arms from around her back. As she rubbed the spot on her wrists where the metal had chafed the skin, she looked back at me in a friendly, warm manner. The Dom whispered something into her ear again. Then she flashed a lovely and charming smile back to her Dom, shook her head no in response to whatever he said, and then looked up at me once more. Why did she keep looking up at me?

  Suddenly the sub stepped closer and did something which grasped me at the very core of my being. She reached her small white trembling fingers out and covered the disgusting red wound on my cheek with her warm palm, resting it there. I stood absolutely still, in a state of utter shock. Didn’t it make her feel sick to her stomach to touch my puckered flesh? Since the ER doctor attempted to close the gaping wound with several thick stitches, no one had ever touched me on my scar, no one. Her gentle contact with my skin reminded me of when I woke up from the surgery and felt my Mother’s hand resting upon my arm. It was as if the sub had slipped her fingertips under my raw skin, below the depths of where the blade had sliced me and touched my innermost flesh. My eyelids felt heavy and I fought off the urge to close my eyes to more fully experience the pleasant sensation of her delicate fragrant soft palm touching my face. She stopped trembling. Perhaps my skin helped to warm her cold hand.

  Realizing the crowd was watching the curious encounter, I suddenly stepped away from the sub, embarrassed. I felt like I was some kind of circus freak on display and I dispersed the crowd by giving angry looks at the people standing around too close and gawking. I became angry at the sub as well. I breathed in through gritted teeth at the young women and stared sharp daggers into her innocent watery blue eyes. Despite the visceral heat of my look, she smiled calmly back at me, reached her hand out further to my cheek and rested it there again, as if protecting the scar with the tender cushion of her inner palm. I looked over at her love-struck Dom, who had an intense look of jealousy in his eyes. It was time for the little perverted game they were playing with me to stop.

  “Mr. Anderson, if that is indeed your name, instruct your sub to remove her hand from my cheek…”

  The Dom cleared his throat.

  “Remove your hand from the gentleman’s cheek, Cassandra…”

  The sub breathed in, dropped her hand to her side and stepped back to her Dom’s side. I saw the young woman whisper something else into the ear of her Dom and he nodded his head sadly in
response. The Dom placed her arms behind her back once more and handcuffed her wrists again. The sub slowly looked back into my eyes and smiled. She arched her back, raising her breasts prominently, seeming to offer her lovely mounds of flesh for my view. I felt myself becoming aroused by the young woman and she glanced down my body to notice the growing bulge in my trousers as well. Somewhat embarrassed, I became stiffly formal with the couple.

  “Follow me please,” I said.

  “We actually have an appointment to meet the owner of the club, Jim Jefferson,” Anderson said.

  “I am Jim Jefferson. Follow me to my office please,” I said.

  I walked through the bar in long strides, squeezing between the bodies rather roughly toward the corridor which led back into my inner sanctum. I didn’t care whether the new couple followed me or not. I was disturbed by how the sub had looked at me and the strange unwelcome flood of emotions I felt when she had the audacity to touch my scar. It had put me in a foul mood. I wasn’t concerned whether the Dom and sub stayed for the tour. Part of me wanted to keep pacing down the hallway, escape out of the back exit, hop on my new Harley, fire it up and speed down the highway, cutting between cars without my freaking helmet, leaning the powerful motorcycle toward the cement as I weaved in and out through traffic. But Mr. Anderson had set up at 7PM appointment and it would be irresponsible of me to leave at this point. Not to mention it would be dangerous for the new sub to be wandering around my club in the way she was dressed. I entered my office and sat down. From behind my desk, I adjusted my erection back into the middle of my pants seam so it would no longer poke out so prominently from my trousers, and waited. They paused at the entrance of my office door and knocked.

  “Enter,” I said coldly.

  They walked in and sat down in the two plush chairs in front of my desk. It felt hot in my office. I loosened my tie slightly and unbuttoned my suit jacket. I didn’t make eye contact with them, but I could feel the seductive eyes of the sub upon me, warming me further. With a mind of its own, my erection would not calm down and slipped back up my thigh, straining to escape from its confinement. I tried to compose myself and present a businesslike demeanor. I looked into the eyes of the Dom alone.

  “Are you Mr. Anderson? I asked.

  “Yes Sir,” he said.

  “Are you the one who called for the appointment?”

  “Yes, that was me.”

  “Is this your submissive?”

  “It is.”

  “What’s her name again?

  “Cassandra.”

  “Can you speak for yourself, Cassandra?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Hearing her soft lilting voice made my heart pound even harder in my chest. I wanted to hear what her voice sounded like again.

  “Are you here of your own free will?” I asked.

  “I am,” Cassandra said, smiling pleasantly to me.

  “Is that the contract?” I asked the Dom.

  Mr. Anderson nodded.

  “May I see it, please?”

  It looked like a standard Master/slave contract, but there was something peculiar going on between these two. First of all, they had only just signed the contract to enter into their Master/slave relationship two days ago. They were obviously new to the BDSM scene. Secondly, most contracts between a Dom and sub were initially set up on a short term basis, usually with an escape clause written into it after 3 months so the Dom and sub could determine their compatibility. Then the contract could be terminated or rewritten if necessary if a longer term commitment was desired. But this contact was set up to end in less than two days’ time. Perhaps they were two social misfits who lived in their basements and their parents were gone until Wednesday. I had never seen anything like it. Lastly, the contract was extremely restrictive for the submissive and had in it various clauses subjecting her to total female bondage and slavery, including the right of her body at the discretion of her Dom to be sexually used and/or disciplined by other men or women of his choosing. These were the types of contracts I was most wary of for they inevitably led to fighting amongst the most aggressive Doms.

  When I stopped reading and looked up, both Dom and sub were holding hands with their eyes cast shamefully downward. Were they ashamed I now knew of their naughty little secrets? I felt like the Principle of the school who caught two kids smoking in the hallway. I had never seen a Dom holding his sub’s hand before or two people in the BDSM community who seemed so awkward about revealing the nature of their relationship. Now I was convinced it was their first time entering the forbidden world Obsessions catered to. Then, to my surprise, without her Dom seeing, the submissive looked up and gave me a subtle and playful wink. No other sub had ever flirted with me in or out of my office before, in front of her Dom no less. I didn’t know what to make of it. First, the hand on my cheek. Now this suggestive little wink? What was she playing at? I looked back down at their contract.

  I wondered why this Dom and sub mattered so much to me. Usually the interview process was nothing more than a chance for me to make sure the relationship between the new guests to the club was of a consensual nature, to get a few consent forms signed my lawyer created for my legal protection and to go over the basic rules of the club. Though these two seemed to have a deeper emotional connection than most, I didn’t see anything particularly out of the ordinary, except for their inexperience and the provocative manner in which the submissive was dressed. Why then didn’t I just rubber stamp their initial visit at the club, get the consent forms signed and proceed with the tour?

  “She touched you there...” I heard a voice within say. “No one has ever touched you there.”

  As I quickly finished reading the contract, I noticed something strange on the final page. The submissive called Cassandra signed her name as Eloise Madsen.

  “Mr. Anderson, would you mind telling me what’s going on between you and Eloise Madsen?”

  “What do you mean, what’s going on?” Mr. Anderson said.

  The Dom kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. When the submissive heard her actual name she looked up at me in a startled manner. Tears came to her eyes as if I had just slapped her in the face. I wondered what it was about her name that made her so uncomfortable.

  “Ms. Madsen is your actual name, is it not?” I asked.

  “She prefers to be called Cassandra,” Mr. Anderson said, answering for his submissive.

  “And why is that?” I said, leaning in and staring at her.

  Ms. Madsen looked away from my eyes.

  “How rude of you! What business is it of yours what she likes to be called? Who do you think you are?” Mr. Anderson said, raising his voice. “Look, enough of this shit! Are you going to let us in your club or not?”

  I handed the contract back to Mr. Anderson.

  “I’m sorry, but for the safety and integrity of this young woman, I can’t allow you to tour or patronize my club this evening unless I get some basic questions answered. It appears by the signing dates, the two of you have only just initiated your relationship a few days ago. It is also a highly unusual contract, one of the most restrictive ones I’ve ever seen. Why, may I ask, is the contract over on Wednesday, Mr. Anderson?”

  “If you must know, Cassandra is engaged to be married,” Charles Anderson stated tersely.

  “What? Married?” I asked, my heart rate inexplicably speeding up at the news.

  “Her boyfriend is returning from Fort Bragg on Wednesday. He served in Afghanistan and… Cassandra’s getting… married to him… in a few weeks. That’s why we can’t stay together after Wednesday, if you must know…” Anderson said.

  I took a breath and looked at the submissive. She slowly raised her sad eyes to meet mine. After hearing the sub was about to be married to a military officer, I felt relieved that I now had a legitimate reason to deny Ms. Madsen and her Dom access to Obsessions. It was time to put aside this foolishness and go back to running my club. I ended the interview and busied myself wi
th paperwork.

  “Mr. Anderson, Ms. Madsen, I will be unable to give you a tour of Obsessions this evening. Thank you for stopping by.”

  The Dom stood up like a petulant child and complained, just as I expected. I made the point that because of the short duration of their contract and his sub’s impending marriage, I didn’t think they were seriously committed to the lifestyle. He continued to bitch and moan. I was only half-listening until he told a story, in order to prove his credentials as a legitimate Dominant, of how the Chicago Police Department showed up at their door after a neighbor heard him disciplining his sub over the weekend. Out of curiosity I asked him to describe the officers who responded to the call. I couldn’t believe it. One of them actually sounded like my old partner, Officer Wagner.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Anderson responded. “As I said she was African-American. Late 30’s, stoutly built. Short black hair. Stern face.”

  I smiled.

  “It can’t be her. It can’t be,” I whispered.

  “Do you know this woman?” the submissive asked.

  When I asked if the submissive remembered the name of the female officer, Ms. Madsen responded.

  “It was… Officer Williams or Wagner, I think. Something like that…”

  It was her. It must have been. I breathed out and shook my head.

  “Officer Wagner’s out on the street again, serving the public. Well, what do you know…” I said to no one but myself.

  “Do you know this Officer, Mr. Jefferson? Perhaps you could call her to check the veracity of my story,” the Dom suggested.

  I chose not to answer and went back to work.

  “So Jefferson, what do you say? How about a tour?” Anderson asked. “I was wondering what was going on in those rooms we passed on the left.”

  “Sorry. Despite the police intervention on your domestic dispute, my decision stands…” I answered.