Page 73 of The Dommes

I haven’t been here in a few days. Not since that night, which ended with bagels and cream cheese over coffee. And oral sex for me.

After that, I took another shower, put my trench coat back on, and took a cab home without another kiss or hug from Ira. I didn’t want them.

Last night, I heard from her for the first time. “Meet me somewhere to talk business.” I’ve been feeling pretty antisocial as I sort my shit out, so I told her I didn’t want to do dinner or drinks even in a private lounge. That’s how I ended up in this elevator, making my mad ascent to that place we last made love.

Made love. Not words I thought I would ever say concerning Ira Mathison.

I’m dressed for business, not pleasure. I’m on my period anyway, so fuck sex. And I don’t mean well, I guess I’ll just go down on you instead period. I mean don’t fucking touch me and let me rot with my ibuprofen period.

I pop another one before the elevator opens. My stomach lining is doomed, anyway.

I text Ira saying I’m here, and she says the door has been left unlocked while she finishes something up in her library. When I enter, locking the door behind me, I find the place as I left it. Ira definitely lives in a stereotypical bachelor pad, but it’s homey. I don’t doubt she gets the place professionally cleaned once or twice a week, but she isn’t a slob, either. There’s one dish in the sink and a few spots on the carpet around the TV. The most clutter comes from books on the coffee table and cat toys strewn across the room.

A cat. With an almost impossible-to-pronounce Irish name, because deep inside, Ira’s a pretentious fuck.

When she comes out of the library, dressed in business casual and offering me a drink, I clench my thighs shut. It ain’t happening tonight.

Business talk over bourbon. Sitting across from each other in the living room. No sweet talk. No covert touches. It really is business.

Important business.

Ira wants me to join her on her remodel project. She cleared it with our fathers so I could be properly paid for my services. All I need to do is bring Annie to help me and, you know, pay her as I always do.

This whole time I’ve barely drunk any of the bourbon, but now I guzzle it. Should’ve done that earlier, because it’s doing wonders to numb my cramps.

“Didn’t have any other plans, did you?” she asks, half-empty glass in her hand as she dangles her arm over the back of her couch. “I assumed that your schedule was empty now.”

“You assumed right.” My plans were the museum. Now that it’s put on hold, I have to figure out something else to do with my time. Take some classes. Find a new cause I can champion. Go on vacation in Europe, where the clubs are hopping and I can do some shopping.

Ugh. Hooking up at the club, with God knows who and for God knows how long.

I don’t know if it’s my period or my mental health right now, but I have been so turned off ever since I left this place on Sunday morning. My mind is in constant turmoil over it. Do I need to purge my system and dominate someone? Or do I need something else?

Until I came here tonight, I thought it was the former. Now that I’m here…

I can’t stop staring at her. How attractive she is in tight trousers and a light pink shirt with the top three buttons undone. Asymmetrical hair unstyled, but tamed. Her preferred masculine cologne still hits me, and it makes me feel… comforted.

No way can I forget what happened this weekend. I went too far with her… yet she proved to be a better woman than I ever thought in how she handled it after the fact.

All this time I’ve thought Ira Mathison was a stuck-up rich kid who indiscriminately used women because, well, that’s what people in these circles do. So many enter BDSM as dominants because they wanna spank and choke women who line up to have it happen to them. Sure, lots of them have great relationships, but as a woman, let alone a Domme, I’m always wary of another’s true intentions.

Maybe Ira isn’t any of those things. She’s a decent person. Maybe a great one.

I want a relationship with her.

Now, hear me out. I’ve thought a lot about this. I’m not… in love with her. Not like that. Besides, let’s be honest. She and I are so the same that we’re too different for each other. I don’t want to be a sub full-time. I barely want to do more exploration into that side of myself.

This is why it won’t work out between her and me. Not on a serious relationship front.

She knows that too. That’s probably why she hasn’t made a move on me since I got here.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “What do you need? Administrative work?”

“Kinda. I need help keeping the contracts in line and making sure everything goes according to plan. It would be nice having one person I can trust instead of a few I barely know from Adam.”

“You trust me?”

She looks at me as if she should be the one asking that. “You have a vested interest in the quick completion and success of this project. So, yes. That said, we start in a week. The sale will take about a month to complete, but until then we can start making the arrangements. I’ll also need you to write some copy for the press. You’re way more experienced at that than I am.”

---