Page 7 of The Cartographer

They both seem nervous, which isn’t unusual. The man is compensating with brashness, and the girl is fidgeting. They don’t seem to be seeking reassurance from each other, which isn’t a good sign.

“Good evening, Mr. Nickerson. Pleasure to meet you in person.”

Tom takes my hand in his and shakes too vigorously. “Glad you could finally find time for me.”

Me, not us. I note the pronoun and don’t acknowledge the dig, although I make a tally in the dickwad column for Tom. I’m a busy person, and if clients can’t wait, that’s their prerogative. I’m by no means desperate.

“Would you mind introducing me to your partner?”

“This is Julie.”

Julie offers me a shy smile, but not a hand, so I nod at her.

“Now that the pleasantries are taken care of, let’s get started, shall we? Right this way.”

I show them down the hallway to the stairs that lead into the basement that’s been retro-fitted into a dungeon. I’m not crazy about the word, but it’s common usage. Makes me slightly envious of Cris and India’s wood and light-filled studio. They have the luxury of it being a private space, whereas mine is not public obviously, but more of a classroom than anything else.

Once down the stairs, I study their reactions to all the furniture and equipment around them. It’s a large room with just about every apparatus you could wish for, including a few St. Andrew’s crosses; a couple of suspension rigs; a grid of metal for whatever a pervy mind can dream up; walls full of crops, canes, paddles, clamps, cuffs, and yes, whips and chains. Basically, a fantasyland for the kinky.

Julie wrings her hands as her eyes dart around, but Tom’s already taken off, touching and examining various equipment.

“You use all this stuff?” he asks as he pokes at a sybian that’s been placed on a table.

“It’s all been used in sessions I’ve conducted, yes.”

I can understand being distracted, but he hasn’t even looked back at Julie to check in with her since he left her side. Another tick in the column.

He rattles a cage, and she cringes. I have my work cut out for me.

“From our phone conversations, I understand you’ve done some bondage and spanking and you’d like to incorporate a stronger D/s element into your relationship. Am I getting that right?”

“Yeah,” Tom says from where he’s fingering a singletail. “I want to get more hardcore.”

Again with the singular pronoun instead of the plural. With more experienced players, I don’t worry about that so much. It’s a style thing, and it gets some people off, either to treat their partner as a thing or to be treated by their partner as chattel. With couples without enough experience to have developed that vibe? I don’t trust it. It reads as selfishness instead of attentiveness. I want to drag him over to the chalkboard by his earlobe and force him to write lines until the ideas are seared into his brain:I will pay attention to my partner. I will be respectful of her wishes. I will be responsible and worthy of her at all times.

I take his cue, though, ignoring Julie, because I need for him to respect me if I want him to listen what I say. If I try to shove these things down his throat, he’ll walk out and likely take his irritation out on his partner. So appearing to be a jerk it is. Short-term loss for hopefully a long-term gain and I’ll make it up to her later.

“Would you mind having her get undressed? I’d like to see how she responds for you.”

I happen to know the temperature in the dungeon is on the cool side. It always is when I have new clients. In clothes, you wouldn’t notice, but scantily clad or nude, you certainly would. Julie’s going to be head-to-toe goose bumps momentarily. I’ve had some clients call me out on it straight away. They tend to be easy to work with, although not usually the ones who need me.

Tom walks back over and lifts his chin at his partner. “You heard him. Take your clothes off.”

I swallow a sigh. Yes, she heard me as the blush gracing her cheeks confirmed, but she was right not to do anything without his permission. He could have said no. Also, he hasn’t mentioned the temperature. Again, with more experienced people—Dominants I know and trust—I wouldn’t worry. They’dknowtheir partner was uncomfortable, and they would bechoosingto make them uncomfortable. But I suspect this is pure ignorance on his part. Thus far, I’m not a fan of Tom.

Julie takes her shoes off, shrugs out of her dress, and removes her bra and underwear. Because of the chill, her nipples have gathered and I can see the blanket of gooseflesh rising on her smooth skin. Still nothing from Tom, even though he’s staring at her.

“She’s lovely,” I comment, hoping,hopingwhile he ogles her, he’ll notice she’s cold and say something. And yet…

“Isn’t she? She’s just a waitress, but those tits make up for her lack of brains.”

I want to wrap poor Julie up in one of the blankets I have on hand and shove her out the door, telling her to run. But that’s not my job. Not quite yet, at any rate. “Let’s get her on her knees, shall we?”

*

Two hours later,I’m showing Tom and Julie out of the dungeon, and I’m tapped out. I’d managed to coax Tom into being somewhat more attentive, but I’m not sure if the lesson will stick or if he’ll apply it to anything but exactly the things I’ve pointed out. It’s certainly possible to learn how to be an excellent Dominant, but I don’t get the feeling he has the patience or interest to do so. I think what he really wants is rough sex. Which is fine, if he can find someone who wants that too. I don’t get the feeling Julie is that someone.

“Might I have a moment alone with Julie?”

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