Page 53 of The Dommes

Tonight, she’ll submit to me. We’ll see.

I should be excited. I am. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Women can’t buy experiences like this – not often. Dominating a Domme. People salivate over it. I get aroused at the thought. There are many aspects of BDSM, and one of them is helping a sub give up utter, complete control. When that sub is usually dominant? It will either be the best sex of their life…

Or the worst.

Many don’t indulge more than once. Maybe they enjoyed it, but it’s not something they want again. I’ve heard about it over drinks, in secret, from others. You’re hard-pressed to find a Domme who has never subbed at least once. We’re quiet about it.

I’ve never subbed. Never interested me. Then again, it’s never interested Kathleen Allen.

Until now.

Until she picked me.

We have an early dinner where I’m offered more drinks, but I decline. I need to keep a level head for tonight. I’m entering my headspace. My headspace. The Domme’s world, where I mentally prepare to initiate a beautiful young woman into my sort of play.

It won’t be the first time. But it’s Katie.

On the cab ride home, I think of her wearing the outfit I assigned her. Breasts pushed up. Legs spread. Her lips all over my groin as I pull her hair and call her whatever name she wants me to call her. I’ll tie her up. I’ll deny her the use of her senses. I’ll make her beg for me… and what I keep inside of my pants. Real. Fake. Never imaginary. I’ve even gone out of my way to have a brand-new gender-wrenching-martial-aid delivered overnight. It’s one I’ve used before, but it’s not my usual packer. That thing has two practical functions on top of the emotional.

Sure enough, it’s waiting for me at my door. I take the unmarked box inside and toss it onto my bed. Saoirse looks at it as if she can’t believe I’m not opening it for her. Sorry, cat. Daddy is in another headspace.

The Kathleen headspace.

I wouldn’t be a very good Domme if I didn’t claim a sub like her. Even if it’s one night, I want her to know what I truly feel like inside of her. Some call it penis envy – hell, I’ve had a therapist who refused to understand me suggest that – but really, it’s all about the look on their faces when they realize I’m the one doing this to them. I, a God-created woman, have made them feel things that no man has. I know I am better than everyone else. That is my headspace.

Kathleen is bisexual. I’ve seen her with submissive female partners, but I’ve more often seen her with men. She might be surprised to know that I’m familiar with some of those sensations. I’ve experimented, too. So I know. How good it could feel, but how I do it better.

She will know this tonight. No reservations, all egos.

I ready my space. Make sure I know where everything is. Change my clothes, careful to get comfortable with what I’ve just unboxed and hope to put to use tonight. Put out some wine and check the fridge for food in case she shows up hungry. I’m playing a long game tonight. I want to make sure she’s comfortable and into what I’m offering… even if it’s the last thing she expects.

I don’t want to scare her off. Even if it ends up with me simply rutting against her like a wild animal, my face buried in her throat, I don’t care. Dominating her will be a bonus.

See? She’s doing strange things to me. I don’t get this nervous preparing for a date in my own home. I can’t let her see me nervous. From the moment she steps through that door, I am a woman in full control.

Damnit, Kathleen, why are you putting this pressure on me?

At 8:10, when I’m texting her to make sure she’s not standing me up again, someone buzzes my door.

I’m ready. That’s what I tell myself when I step away from my desk and make sure the cat is locked up in the library with her food and toys so she won’t disturb us. Knowing her, she’ll be conked out until three, when she usually begins her next stint of crazies.

I’m going crazy.

Especially when I open the door and find Kathleen Allen, dressed as closely as she could get to my specifications.

She’s damn close, considering I gave her almost no lead time.

On the surface, she looks like a woman heading home from an office job. A military green trench coat – I had asked for brown, but this works – covering her torso and down to her knees. No pants. Just a couple of black boots that clink on the floor when she walks. Those are a Domme’s boots, no doubt. No buckles or belts, but they’re menacing. And hot.

Kathleen’s silky blond hair is coiled on top of her head in an elaborate knot. I had asked her to wear it up. Minimal makeup, aside from a hint of lipstick and some eye shadow. I want her to dress up, but to also show me a more natural side. I don’t see any blush, but there’s probably some concealer there.

Two diamond earrings dangle from her lobes and down her long neck. They glitter with every step, and I’m almost so entranced that I don’t notice the spark in her blue eyes and the smile tugging on her lips. I close the door behind her. I don’t offer to take her coat. Not yet.

I know what she’s wearing – or not wearing – beneath it.

“Good evening,” she says, demure but not quite submissive. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

I step behind her, hands hovering over her hips as my nose takes in the scent of the heady perfume on her neck. “Lovelier now that you’re here, Katie.”

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