Page 81 of The Dommes

“A to-do list. For you.”

So it says. At the top of the page Ira has written “K” for my name, I’m guessing. Below is a list written in shorthand. I barely make out “doesn’t let go easy” and “fights for control.” The other stuff is… pretty sexual.

Doesn’t like things getting “messy." Talks back when we’re doing it. Says titles sarcastically. Owns an Avalon Lite – Investigate.

“Did I miss anything?”

Scoffing, I take a pen out of my purse and scratch something down in my curlier handwriting. “Thinks I’m a jerk.”

“Mature.”

“You’re mature.” I don’t realize what I said until it’s too late. By then, Ira is laughing, her ridiculous face looking beyond stupid as she makes fun of me.

By the time we’re finished with lunch, I don’t feel any better. We’ve set up a date for Friday after work, and I know it won’t be kinky, but I can’t help but feel she has an ulterior motive. Especially after showing me the notes she’s keeping.

I can’t think about it, though. Currently, I have to be regular ol’ Kathleen, the one who knows it’s probably going to end in the hot sex I crave with her. Hot, non-domineering sex. Just her, me, and the creaking of her bed as we succumb to pleasure.

Now I’m turned on. When I catch a glance from her at the busy intersection, she smirks, and I can practically see the scenarios playing through her head.

Not today, honey. Save it for Friday.

Chapter 32

Kathleen

This morning, all I could think about was what I would wear today. Whatever it was, it had to be functional for work, but also good enough for a date.

I don’t know what Ira and I are doing. After our lunch the other day, I’m not sure I want to know. I’ll either be so horny that I don’t care about what’s going on until she fucks me, or I’ll be so over her shit that I leave early and call everything off.

We’ll see.

The way I ended up dressing… you’d think I was trying to impress her. My dress is a crimson halter that matches nicely with my black flats I have to wear around the construction site. I decided on a plunging necklace to make sure Ira stares at my cleavage all day – without realizing that everyone else will be looking too. Oops.

It’s fine. I’m a professional. They… try to be professional. I could do without the foreman and his cronies muttering to each other with stupid smiles on their faces every time I walk by. I don’t let it get to me.

At least Ira is looking. Although the only thing she’s commented on is my hair, worn up for work. What she doesn’t know is that I’m now in the bathroom, after work, getting ready for our date.

First thing I do is take down my hair, combing it out so it falls nice and straight on my shoulders. Then I open my purse, searching for my makeup kit, because sometimes a girl needs to put on some red lipstick, light blush, and thank the heavens for liquid eyeliner.

Once I’m convinced I’m the most beautiful woman on Earth – for five seconds, anyway, until I notice a zit on my chin and promptly freak out – I collect my stuff and meet Ira in the foyer of her gutted hotel.

“Aren’t you a vision?” She doesn’t take my arm. We’ve decided to keep this relationship a secret for now. Not because we’re ashamed, but because it’s so complicated that we don’t know how long it will last or if it’s worth the press we’d get. I can already see the papers discussing our marriage date – and how long it would take Ira to cheat on me. I want to barf.

“Thanks.” I walk beside her out of the building and to the curb, where Ira hails a cab. She lives close enough that she’s been walking to and from the site every day. Saying something about needing the exercise if she’s not able to hit the gym.

I’m glad she’s keeping her physique in check because I know under all these clothes she’s strong enough to, well, somewhat pick me up and half-carry me to her room.

I hide a grin of excitement as she closes the cab door behind me. Within ten seconds, she’s sitting beside me, telling the driver to take us to the restaurant I stood her up at. As usual, we have things to prove to one another.

Although it takes one small glass of liquor to get me settled, I’m soon relaxed enough to laugh at one of her stupid jokes. So far she hasn’t said or done anything that implies domination. The more I think of this as a regular “vanilla” date, the more I’m able to see her as my equal in all areas, including sex. Remember, Kathleen? You are capable of this with a woman like her.

Not always, but usually.

“There was this gal in my house,” Ira says, referring to her stint in a high-class sorority in college, “who dated a new guy every month. Except you’d never guess, because all the guys looked the same. Redheads. Freckles. Some of them dressed differently, and a lot of them had the most basic names you’ve ever heard, but once we caught on… shit, we never let her live it down. The girl had a real fetish.”

I smile over my half-eaten dinner. “You mean like you and your thing for blondes?”

“Why do people keep saying that?”

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