Page 27 of A Secret and a Lie
I smirk. “Depending on the prize, I might even ace it.” Leaning forward in my seat across from her, my elbows rest on my knees. “Is it something good, Genevieve?”
The swells of her breasts rise as she inhales deeply, her shiny black top—is that latex?—accentuating her tits perfectly. She smiles, the apples of her cheeks rounding, but the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Theprizeis Sloane, and the knowledge that you’ll be a capable and good Dominant.”
I don’t want to dominate Sloane; I want to dominateyou.
I open my mouth to tell her that, but she shoves to her feet, harnessing control of the direction this conversation is headed in.
“Assuming you did read up on the basic tenets of impact play and the toys associated,” she begins, and I grit my teeth. “Let’s go over some things that the internet may not have covered.”
I twist in my seat, watching as she strides across the room, stopping in front of the chest of drawers just beyond the armoire. Stretching to my full height, I move to stand beside her as she slides the top drawer open.
An array of bondage elements is laid out on black silk fabric in an organized fashion, similar styles grouped together. Thick black cuffs—some padded, some not—are on the right side, in the middle are several perfectly coiled lengths of rope, and on the left are a variety of metal cuffs and chains.
“Your bondage drawer?” I ask, my hands curled into fists in my pockets. My vision is fixed on the metal handcuffs in front of me as I imagine the way they’ll look when I snap them around her wrists as I explain her rights. The thought twists my stomach, but this is an op, and I always see my jobs through to the end.
She nods. “Unless a client is into Shabari. I keep more ropeelsewhere,” she comments, closing the drawer gently. I wonder how many of her clients are into rope bondage. After looking into that last night, I determined that Shabari isn’t my cup of tea. Although, the prospect of having Genevieve restrained does hold a significant level of appeal.
“Anal play,” she announces, dragging the next drawer open, and I take in the incredible volume of toys. Some I recognize, some I don’t.
I tilt my head to the side as I attempt to make sense of the thing nearest to me in the drawer that looks vaguely like a duck bill or Medieval torture device. Sensing my curiosity, she begins to point to the items, assigning them all names and meanings. “Anal beads, plugs—glass and silicone—dilators and trainers, tunnel plugs, anal hooks, speculums, and dildos.”
Drawn to the silver hook on the far right, I lift it out, the metal glinting in the light. It’s heftier than I expected, my index finger grazing the round ball fixed at the end. Continuing my assessment, I twist the ball and find that it unscrews, probably for cleaning. “These don’t scare you?”
She giggles, and I glance over at her, loving that sound. “No, anal hooks don’t scare me.”
I arch an eyebrow, the expression morphing into a smirk. “I’ll remember that.”
Her pupils dilate, but she remains quiet. “When you’re done looking, set the hook atop the dresser. It’ll need to be cleaned now.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, placing the stainless-steel item where she indicated. I should’ve considered that she’d have to sanitize anything I touched.
“Never apologize for curiosity. That’s how you learn.” With a wave of her hand, she walks me through the items in the next several drawers—vibrators, strap-on equipment, gags, cock rings, more dildos, clamps, and something she referred to as “e-stim” toys.
“Chastity and genital torture,” she says, revealing the contents of the last drawer.
I balk, my eyeballs nearly popping out of their goddamn sockets.
“Cages, ball stretchers, penis pillories, genital pumps, urethral sounds, glans and cock rings, chastity belts, and finally, penis and ball leashes.” By the time she’s finished describing the items in the drawer, I realize that my hand has moved to cover my dick of its own accord.
Now that she’s given me permission for inquisitiveness, I remove one of the items from the drawer. It has five metal rings in a line descending from largest to smallest with a black leather strip connecting them.
“That’s a Gates of Hell chastity device.”
“These are…sadistic,” I state, a little impressed and a lot horrified by the prospect of stretching my balls or stuffing my cock into one of these devices. I twist my neck to find her eyes gleaming with amusement before setting the item next to the hook.
“Plenty of submissives would drool at the prospect of being locked up. If it’s being caged that turns you off, it might because you’re not a submissive. How do you feel about inflicting pain on someone else?”
“I like that better than having that done to myself,” I answer honestly. My mind fills with images of Genevieve bent over for me, offering her unblemished ass for me to paint with red welts.Yeah, I could get behind that.
Gifting her with more honesty, I divulge, “I think I prefer the items in the armoire to these.”
Genevieve has obviously been doing this for years, if not decades. She knows herself inside and out, understands her own desires and the lusts of others. Discovering this side of myself at thirty-five puts me behind the curve, but I suppose it’s never too late to unbox hidden aspects of yourself. I’d never tell Drake he was right, though.
She smiles, the expression exuding quiet confidence. “You prefer impact play. That’s perfectly normal. There are many types of dominants, just as there are many types of submissives. You don’t have to box yourself into one category either.”
I want to ask her what type of Domme she is. More importantly,I’m itching to know what kind of submissive she is. Instead, I ask, “What are the types of Doms?”
