A Controlled Descent Ch 05

I keep apologizing, and Tommy keeps staring impassively into his Sauvignon Blanc. He's tired of my act, and I can't blame him. It's dawning on me how many bridges I've burned over the years. How many Tommys have simply given up on me and drifted away from my chaos. For too long, I actually considered it a victory. If it was so easy to drive someone away were they really a friend to begin with? I'm seeing that now for the contrived, self-serving nonsense it is. Might be time to admit that I've been the bad friend all along.

I've been having these little moments of clarity about myself ever since Sunday night when I told Jack I was his submissive. I still don't believe it, not in the sense that he means anyway. Never mind that I've done exactly what he's told me ever since. That's just a side effect of my desire. I want him and to have him means following his rules. Eventually, I will get bored or disenchanted and lose interest as I always do. That should come soon, I suspect. This is already longer than any man has held my attention since sophomore year of college.

On Monday, Jack flew to Seattle for work and didn't get back until last night. Unlike his trip to Moscow last week, however, he's been in constant communication and given me a set of tasks to complete. I thought the idea was stupid at first, and that I would simply fall back into bad habits with him gone. Instead, the list has kept me busy and strangely calm. I fucking hate that when he gets back I want him to be proud of me, but there it is. I've tried diligently to complete every task he gave me. Although, really what's the point? I'm a brilliant liar, and he would never know the difference. Problem is though that I would and that matters to me even if I wished it didn't.

The last task on Jack's list is much vaguer than the others, and I haven't known what to do with it: Repair some damage. What the hell does that even mean? What kind of damage? I asked Jack what it meant, but he just repeated it back to me and told me to figure it out for myself. Sometimes talking to him feels like being an apprentice in an old Kungfu movie where the old master talks in opaque riddles until the apprentice finally has an epiphany and levels up. Is that what a Dominant is? Is BDSM just sex Kungfu? The thought makes me giggle but doesn't get me any closer to knowing what to do.

I thought about it for two days and eventually decide Jack means damage that I've personally caused. That's how I came to be having drinks with Tommy today after work. It took a solid day of begging over text to persuade him to meet.

"I'm really sorry," I tell him for about the fifth time, but he seems as unmoved as the first.

"It's fine."

"It doesn't sound fine."

"What do you want me to say, Mac? You apologize all the time. It doesn't mean anything."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I haven't seen you in weeks. You stand me up. You don't return messages. Are you alive? Have you been sex trafficked? I don't want to be in a relationship where my job is to just worry all the time. How is that fun? I'm too young and handsome to be a father."

"You're not that handsome."

"Bitch," he says and almost, but not quite, smiles. He hasn't entirely written me off yet.

"This time is different."

"You've said that before, too."

I know he's right about that, too. "What can I do to prove it to you?"

"There's nothing. This is our cycle. You scare the shit out of me. Apologize. Like an idiot, I give you another chance. Then you do it all again. I love you, but it's too hard to watch you do this to yourself. You fuck like one of those parkour idiots on YouTube who jump around the tops of buildings until they slip and fall."

"Not anymore."

"What's changed?" he asks suspiciously.

"I met someone."

Tommy puts down his wine glass dramatically. "What?"

"His name's Jack."

"Where did you meet him?"

"An app."

"Of course," Tommy says. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since Sunday, I guess." It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. "But we texted for like six months before we actually met."

Tommy looks incredulous. "You talked to some guy from an app for six months without meeting? Who are you, Voltaire?"

"I know how it sounds, but it's been intense. I can't explain it."

"So, are you like in love with this guy?" Tommy asks.

"No, nothing like that." I don't begin to know how to describe my feelings for Jack, but it's not love.

"But you've been seeing him for like four days and now you're like what, a changed woman?"

"Shut up," I say. "I don't know. It just feels different somehow."

"Well, this guy I have to meet. What's his deal?"

I get suddenly shy. Am I allowed to talk about Jack? He didn't give me any rules about it, so I guess it's okay. "He's a lawyer."

Tommy looks at me expectantly. "That's it? He's a lawyer. Where's he from? Where'd he go to school?"

"I don't know." Other than Jack's name and where he lives, I realize I don't know very much about him. "He's forty-four."

"Ohhhhh," Tommy says as though I've just helped solve a complex equation. "Is he married?"

A fair question given my history. "No, I've been to his place. He lives in this huge rowhouse in Dupont."

"So you've been dating a rich, middle-aged lawyer since Sunday and now everything is just magically different? Do I have that about right?"

I blush. "Well when you put it like that..."

"Hey." Tommy reaches across the table and takes my hand. "We all paint things with the best brush when it's something we really want. You tell me he's okay, he's okay, but I need you to hear how it sounds from this side of the table."

"I know how it sounds," I say. "I can't explain it."

"Just be careful with this guy."

"I will. I promise. I know I'm a lousy friend, but I do love you. And I am sorry. If you give me one last chance, I promise I won't scare you again. I won't disappear. I will be a force for good in your life."

Tommy grins at me. "Okay, Norma Rae lets ease off the force-for-good talk. Everything else sounds good though."

"So one last chance?"

"One last chance."

I spring up from my seat and go around the table to throw my arms around him. Tommy is a little taken aback by my public display of affection, or really any display of affection from me, but he gets into the spirit and hugs me back.

"You are a crazy whore," he whispers in my ear.

"Don't I fucking know it."

After Tommy disentangles himself, we order another round and catch up on his life. Relief washes over me, and I sit there listening blissfully. The big news is that James got a promotion, and they're talking about moving in together this summer. I'm delighted for them, but Tommy is almost apologetic for his charming, drama-free existence. The biggest source of friction between them is where in the city to move and what kind of dog to get when they do. Tommy wants a Corgi, and James wants a Shih Tzu. It's hard imagining ever being where Tommy is - arguing over what adorable puppy to get with the love of your life - and I'm not sure I even want that life, but his happiness is enviable. He may be my role model although I'll never tell him.

My phone vibrates. It's Jack. He got in late last night and has been at the office all day. I tell him I'm having drinks with a friend, and he says he'll pick me up on the way home.

"That him?" Tommy asks.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"You were glowing."

"Shut up," I say. "I have to go soon."

"I should probably get going myself. James is cooking." He reaches for a credit card, but I insist on paying.

We say our goodbyes on the street, and I watch Tommy walk away. It feels good to be forgiven and not immediately start making plans to do it all again. On cue, Jack's SUV pulls up to the curb. I get in, and not knowing how to greet him put on my seatbelt.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"Starving." I've been so anxious about seeing him that eating fell by the wayside today.

"Good, I ordered sushi. Should be at the house about when we get there."

Rush hour is over, but the streets are still bustling with traffic. I ask about his trip, but he doesn't seem inclined to talk about it. Instead, he puts on music. A woman singing quietly that, "I want to do right, but not right now." I start to wonder if he picked it on purpose when he reaches across the center console and rests his hand on my thigh. My mind goes immediately blank.

As promised, the sushi arrives five minutes after we do. Jack sets everything out on the kitchen table and gestures to where he keeps his glassware. I fetch two cups and a bottle of saki from the refrigerator. Not knowing what I like, he's ordered a mix of rolls and sashimi. It all looks amazing but before I can sit down beside him, Jack holds up a hand.

"Clothes off," he says and then repeats it when I don't hop to. "Clothes off."

I stifle an urge to say something smart that will get me in trouble. His rules, I remind myself. I follow his rules, I get him until I don't want him anymore. That's the deal. I reach for the top button.

Tommy met me right after work, so I'm dressed pretty conservatively. I strip down to my underwear, a cute little set that I picked out specially for Jack. I'm reaching around to unclasp my bra when he tells me to stop.

"Leave those on. Very cute."

"Thank you," I say and settle in beside him to eat.

He apologies for being remote in the car and tells me about his trip Seatle, and the stubborn client who is refusing to follow Jack's recommendations. It sounds incredibly frustrating, and I ask sympathetic questions all while stealthily eating my weight in tuna. He asks about my work. I'm a staffer for Congressman Ray Dillion, and it's been a hectic week on Appropriations, the committee that Dillion chairs. It feels like I've been in a dead sprint since Monday without making any progress. Although in a way that's every week in my job.

"What do you think of Dillion?"

How to answer that diplomatically? "He's an effective politician."

"Oh you have a future," Jack says with an appreciative chuckle and holds up his saki.

We toast and drink.

"He's a prick," I admit.

"This is my shocked face," Jacks says, taking out a pen and small moleskin notebook, opening it to my tasks. "So how did you do with the reading?"

Before he left, he gave me a list of books on BDSM. "I read most of the Jay Wiseman book. It's interesting."

"A little dated now but still a good place to start. Read the

New Bottoming Book

next."

"Okay."

"Don't okay, me," he says sternly.

"Sorry." It's hard not saying 'okay,' but he really doesn't like it. "Can I ask a question?"

"Always."

"Why am I reading all this stuff? Why can't I just learn from you?"

He nods approvingly. "Because I don't want to be your sole source of information. It's not a healthy dynamic and doesn't make a well-rounded submissive. What was your major in college?"

"Political science?" I say not understanding the segue at first.

"Did you read only one author? Have just one professor? No, you read broadly and learned from many different viewpoints. That's how education works."

Now I see his point. "Yeah that makes sense. Can I ask another question?"

"As many as you like."

"Am I supposed to be calling your Sir or Master or Daddy or something?"

He grins. "Well, those are all options. What would you like to call me?"

The question surprises me. "Don't you choose? Isn't the whole thing that you tell

me

what to do?"

"Yes, but not yet. We're still figuring out what that's going to look like. To be honest, I don't mind what you call me as long as it resonates. Sir, Master, Daddy. These words all mean something different and have different connotations. Whichever one you chose will tell us more about what kind of sub you are and what kind of Dominant you need."

"It has to be one of those three?"

"No, I knew a girl once whose Dom required her to call him, Lord."

"Seriously?"

"I know, right? Not all the different from Sir if you actually think about it, but Lord just sounds...."

"Goofy," I finish.

"Goofy, exactly. Why not just call yourself Viscount and be done with it?" he says, and we both laugh. "Anyway, she hated it and felt embarrassed saying it. The idea of a sub cringing every time she address her dominant depresses me. I don't want us to be in a position where you aren't invested in what you call me. I want you to feel it."

"What if I don't feel any of them?"

"Then call me Jack."

"Really?"

"Sure. Until you feel something."

I start to say okay but catch myself. "Yes, Jack."

"Oh, I like the sound of that when you say it," he practically growls.

His easy confidence just melts me, and I want to climb all over him. Miraculously, I stay sitting although I am very conscious of my wetness. His finger slides down to his second bullet point.

"Did you get tested?" he asks.

"Yes. On Monday. Results aren't back yet."

"Remind me why I made you go?"

"Because I'm a filthy whore," I say, repeating his words while fucking me on Sunday. It's true. I mostly try to be careful, but my need has been known to get the best of me. Sometimes safety comes second for me, sometimes not at all.

"Why else?"

"Because I'm yours, and you want to fuck me without a condom."

"Do you want that?"

"More than anything." The thought of feeling his bare cock inside my pussy makes me weak.

"Did you pick a safe word?"

"Red," I say. "But I won't use it."

"Yes, you will," he says, half threat, half promise. "Did you make a list of hard limits? Things I can't do to you?"

"You can do anything you want."

"That's foolish," he says with a weary sigh.

"I mean it," I say defiantly.

"I know you do. It's fine. We'll add to it as we go." His finger moves down the list again. "How did the masturbation go?"

I've been dreading this question. "I did it every day, but I just can't get there."

"I can see how frustrated you are," Jack says and takes my hand.

"I just thought...after the way you were able to make me cum that it was getting better."

"We will get there. I promise, but it's not going to be a straight line."

"You're not disappointed?"

He puts down his pen and looks me in the eyes. "What was your instruction."

"To masturbate every day and try to cum."

"And did you try?"

"Yes."

"Then how could I be disappointed?"

I feel very emotional suddenly and nod rather than speak. He picks up his pen and makes another notation. Is that whole notebook about me, I wonder.

"Did you repair any damage?"

I tell him about drinks with Tommy and apologizing for the way I've behaved. He closes his notebook, looking pleased.

"Did you fuck anyone while I was gone?"

"No." I'm hurt by the question even if it's completely reasonable.

"Did you think about it?"

I hesitate but don't want to lie to him. "Yes, a lot."

He's not upset only curious. "So why didn't you? I didn't say not to."

I shrug not wanting to tell him the reason. He doesn't press and tells me to clear the table. When I'm finished, he's waiting in middle of the living room with a wooden slat back chair. He tells me to sit and that's when I see the circle cut into the center of the seat.

Jack fishes through a chest and retrieves several neat coils of purple rope. "Put your back against the chair, sit up straight."

I do as I'm told.

"I'm going to tie to the chair now."

"Yes, Jack," I say struggling to keep my nerves out of my voice.

He goes to work, methodically binding my ankles and calves to the legs of the chair. Rope goes around my thighs above the knees, pulling my legs apart, spreading me open, leaving me vulnerable. The rope is smooth and sensual against my skin. I think it looks pretty and watch him, mesmerized at how fast his hands move. His competence is so hot. My arms go over the back of the chair and are tied securely to the slats, forcing my shoulders back, my chest forward. He steps back to study his creation, shakes his head, and takes two more coils of rope from the chest, which loop around my collarbone, lashing me down to the chair even tighter.

"I'll buy you anything if you can get free," he proposes.

I struggle against the ropes, but I'm not going anywhere - guess that pony I've always wanted will just have to wait. That's when Jack reaches into the chest and produces a white Hitachi like an evil magician. My eyes go wide. I've never tried one but know they're supposed to be crazy strong. He kneels beside me and reaches under the chair. The head of the vibrator appears between my legs, and I hear an audible snap as it clips into place. Jack adjusts the alignment until the vibrator just barely rests against my panties. I get the distinct impression that I may be doomed.

He caresses my forearm with his knuckles. "I'm curious. Did you shrug at me back in the kitchen?"

"What?" I say, my heart sinking.

"Did you. Shrug. At. Me?" he repeats, punctuating each word in a calm tone that I find incredibly intimidating.

"I didn't-" I begin to say when Jack catches me open handed across my cheek and snaps my head around.              When was the last time I was slapped? Middle school, maybe? It's shocking, and my hand tries to touch my stinging face but of course it can't. I shrink away from him as much as the ropes allow.

"Look at me," he says. "Look at me, Mackenzie."

Timidly, I raise my head like a mouse venturing from the safety of its burrow. I meet his eyes, which are watching me attentively. His open hand comes up slowly, and I flinch and let out an involuntary whimper. He shushes me and runs his fingertips thoughtfully across my cheek.

"Choose your words more carefully," he tells me. "Did you shrug at me?"

"I'm sorry."

His hand twitches, and I let out a little cry. He's shaking his head at me like I'm an idiot. "I didn't ask if you were sorry, whore. I asked if you shrugged at me."

"Yes, Jack. I shrugged."

He relaxes a fraction. "How do you respond to direct questions from your Dominant?"

"I answer them."

"You answer them," he agrees. "Would you like to practice now?"

"Yes, please."

"Why didn't you fuck anyone while I was gone?"

I swallow, afraid I'll say the wrong thing again. "Because I knew it would be a waste of time."

"Why? What's changed?"

"You." I could use more words but that's the sum of it.

He nods as if that makes perfect sense to him. "What if I'd told you to fuck someone while I was gone. Would that have felt like a waste of time?"

I look at him curiously. The thought hadn't occurred to me. "I don't think so? I don't know."

"Fair enough." He pats my cheek condescendingly, which I find disturbingly sexy. "Isn't the truth just better?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Good girl. How do you feel?"

"You hit me really hard." I can't quite keep the accusation out of my voice.

"I can do anything I want to you, remember? Do you want to change that answer?"

He's got me there. "No, Jack."

He presses his hand against my pelvis and slips it inside my panties. His index finger fords me like a river and slides in with no resistance. I'm embarrassed how wet I am. My bastard hips grind into his palm like the traitors they've always been. He grins at me and leans in close.

"Ask me to slap you again."

"No," I say, fear spiking through me. It hurt too much.

"Ask me," he whispers. "Be the brave girl we both know you are."

"I'm not," I say but can feel myself weakening. I blame his artful fingers.

"You are. You can do this. Just ask me."

"Please." I just wish I could get more of his hand inside me.

"Please what?"

"Slap me again."

"No cowering this time. No drama. No big doe eyes."

"Yes, Jack. I promise."

"Good girl," he says and slips his finger out of me and licks them clean like he's a boy sneaking a taste of cake frosting. "Delicious."