A Dom's Best Friend

Jacquelynne, a few minutes earlier

My phone's insistent ringing roused me from a numbers-induced trance. Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be happier at one of those enormous math think tanks where I could wallow in numbers, only to come up for air to eat and sleep.

Curiouser and curiouser. The number looked familiar, but no name flashed from my contacts.

With my mind longing to blot out the reality of the confrontation with Matt and Pres, I reached for the phone and pressed "TALK" on the touchscreen. Hopefully, my "talking" would resemble nothing more than a series of "uh huhs" and "uh uhs."

"Hello?"

There was a pause; then, Megan's shrieking giggle was heard. "Jacquelynne, darling! How are you? It's been so long since we chatted!"

Deep yawning pit of depression, swallow me up right now. When Matt ended things--unconventionally--I didn't handle it well. I didn't leave the house for days. I stopped following the precepts of basic hygiene, such as bathing, brushing my teeth, or shaving.

And, because Megan kept calling to gloat over her relationship with Matt, I stopped answering my phone.

Even now, hearing her voice so soon after Matt's visit forced the contrived sunny self-banter that I used to bolster my flagging enthusiasm for life into a dark void.

Self-doubts were always ready to swamp any lightheartedness. I was only a boring mathematician, not fascinating enough sexually or submissively to hold Matt's interest. No longer pure enough, decent enough for any good man--like Pres.

Lingering feelings of self-revulsion, trapped beneath the surface by my quips and forced lightheartedness, overtook me.

"Hello, Megan," I squeaked out.

A feigned, grating laugh, then, "I heard Matt came by to see you today." She positively oozed malice.

"He did," came my halting, hesitant response.

"Oh, dear," Megan clucked her tongue in false sympathy. "I thought he was joking when he said he was looking to humiliate and degrade you again." "I'm sorry, what?"

The barely concealed malicious satisfaction had returned to her voice. "Well, Jacquelynne, dear, he showed me that video of the day he dumped you, with you saying those things that made you simply disgusting to all men who aren't into that thing. And he decided he wants to use you again. Isn't that silly?

"Now, I know you must have been just so embarrassed when I accidentally shared that one vid with everyone in my contacts list; imagine how you will feel if I not-so-accidentally shared his breakup vid with the world? Wouldn't that be fun? No?" She gleefully answered for me.

"Then, you will make sure, won't you, that you let Matt know you aren't interested?" Now, threats colored her words. The tone could not be mistaken.

I thought of Jase, of Karen, of the rest of my family looking at me with, not just disappointment this time, but with disgust. And Pres. My breakfast threatened to rush up from my stomach in those few seconds.

When I heard the uncomfortable silence on Megan's side of the phone, I reiterated, "Megan, Matt and I have been over for a long time. There is no danger of us ever getting back together."

"Excellent!" Megan purred. "Us girls have to stick together,don't we?"

I muttered some noncommittal response and clicked "END." Like a child, I curled myself up, knees-to-chest, in my desk chair. I took slow, calming breaths, trying to restore some sense of myself and not give over to the darkness inside me.

Once I flitted my eyes up to my computer monitor, I saw that I could pretend to arrive at Pres's office for lunch. I simply could be alone with my thoughts ricocheting through my mind no longer.

Keeping my expression deliberately calm, I finger-waved to Sandi, Pres's assistant, and walked purposefully to his office door.

Reaching for the handle, I heard noises from within. Deciding Pres must be on the phone, I opened the door as quietly as I could with my usual (lack of) grace.

Immediately, my nose crinkled. I smelled something--musky. I must be losing my mind! Pres's office reeked of--semen? Taking note of other minor details--Press's possessive hand resting on the lid of his laptop, the slight rumpling of his always meticulous appearance. Those were telltale signs that...Pres had been jerking off?!

My next thought, the one I couldn't shake, was "What does Pres jerk off to?" And, after what I heard through my bedroom wall last night, how could he have any jizz left?

Mentally, I pictured his cock, based on the whispered gossip I had heard. Little could never be a descriptor. Luckily--or unluckily--I had never set eyes on his "monster," as one of his one-nighters called his cock, as we did not share a bathroom.

I felt a blush staining my cheeks, the heat from it making me even more tongue-tied. "I wonder if you are ready for lunch now, Mr. Williams?"

Something flared in his eyes briefly--or was I mistaken?--as I addressed him so formally.

My mind discounted the reason I would most like to accept. Pres? A Dom? No way! I've known him my entire life; I would KNOW i he were!

"Of course. Let's go." Pres stood gracefully.

I wobbled a bit on my heels, and he put out a hand to steady me. "Whoa!" he mouthed, and his face filled my field of vision.

Glacial cerulean orbs pierced me, penetrated my soul just as his cock had invaded my streaming cunt in my dreams.

For a moment, Pres's grip tightened, and then, suddenly, he released me as if I had burnt him. Of their own volition, my eyes slid down his body only to be dazzled by the noticeable bulge outlined by the material of his charcoal dress pants.

My mind reviewed all that I had heard of his cock, the whispers of awe from the trail of one-night stands left in his wake: "monster," "pussy destroyer," and, my personal favorite, "I couldn't take it all!"

I swallowed hard and forced my eyes up to meet his knowing smirk. The whispers had not lied or exaggerated.

Averting my gaze, I strove to change the unspoken, but clearly communicated, subject. What came out instead, as we walked to his car in the parking garage, was, "So, what was it you were hiding on your laptop as I came in?"

Stony silence. Remote. Glancing up at his face, I noticed the twitching of his jaw and remembered the last time I saw it twitch with fury and frustration: those days a few months ago when the sex tape leaked.

Not for the first time, I wondered, had he seen it the whole thing? If he did, what did he think?

True, I was horrified by the thought. But I was also more than a little curious. I knew (thankfully) that Jase had not seen the video, but, even in the depths of my misery from the breakup and the vid's release, I put together enough to know that Pres had seen it, at least part of it.

Did he turn it off immediately when he recognized me? Or did he watch it with growing disgust?

The pause grew awkward as we slid into our respective seats in the car. Finally, after starting the engine, he ground out, "Porn."

Some heretofore part of me wanted to poke, to tease, to see exactly how far I could push. "Watching porn at work? For shame," I taunted, clucking my tongue.

"Jacquelynne, drop it," he warned.

Pres uses my full name so rarely that, when he does, I straighten instantly. "Yes, Sir," I still snap back with just a bit of sass.

His hand caressing the gear shift tightened to a white-knuckled grip. "Jacquelynne, don't!"

I subsided into silence. He expertly maneuvered his car into the last remaining parking spot, and I fought the butterflies in my belly. Something felt--different.

Was it my fear of Megan releasing that second video? My stomach churned, dread disrupting the butterflies. Like an actual automaton, I followed him into the cafe and slid into my usual seat in our usual booth.

All I could think was how horrified he would be with me if he saw it. I was tainted, unworthy, especially of Pres.

I glanced across the expanse of the table. Pres's normally clear eyes were stormy, turbulent. "What's wrong?" Somehow, levity would not be appropriate.

He waited until Anna, our usual waitress, placed sour cream enchiladas in front of me and fajitas in front of Pres--our usual. "It wasn't just porn I saw, Lynne," he explained as I tucked into my lunch with gusto. "I mean, what I saw was porn, but..."

My eyes traced his hand that rumpled his hair. I rarely saw Pres flustered. "But?" I whispered, my voice trailing off as his had.

Then, he spoke, and the bottom dropped out from my world.

"Lynne," he whispered, catching my suddenly cold hands in his, "did you and Lester make more than one...video?"

From the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, I could tell he already knew, had already seen it. My blood rushed to my ears. I felt my first few bites of enchiladas bubble back up to the back of my throat, and a hand came up to clutch my lips.

I couldn't help it; I ran.

* * * * * * * *

Prescott

Fuck! I wanted to slam my fists on the table and throw things about in my rage. But I didn't. Lynne needed me to be strong for her. The leaking of the second vid, not to downplay the viral nature of the first, would be completely destructive.

Smoldering, the internal fire banked to embers, I gave my mind full rein. I attempted to determine the focus of my anger. Lynne for making another video? For being with Lester the way I would kill for her to be with me? For not warning Jase and me about the other videos?

Lester was an easy target for my fury. To defile and degrade someone so innocent as Lynne. But then I would have, given the chance, used Lynne. Even now, my cock hardened again as I pictured her being at my mercy.

It was this mask of self-disgust that Lynne saw when she returned from the restroom, visibly paler and shakier.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice as fragile as tissue paper, "I really don't feel like eating."

My hand darted out before my mind could call it back. Fingers digging into her jaw, I tugged her chin until she looked me in the eyes. "We have to talk about this, Lynne. Once this vid becomes viral, it could ruin your career--your life."

Eyes washed with a salty sheen of misery, Lynne nodded within my talon-like hold. "I know," she choked out. "I deserve it. I"m tainted, disgusting. Even you think so; I saw the look on your face."

"No, I don't. You are a victim of Lester's--" I began, but she cut me off.

"I was willing; I consented!" her near shout drew inquisitive stares.

My hand clasped her shaking ones. "You might have consented to being filmed, maybe even to what you did on the video, but I GUARANTEE you did not consent to the distribution of the vids." The vehemence in my tone shocked even me.

Now, all eyes in the cantina were on us. Lynne, her cheeks pinkened to match the hue of her aroused nipples--Don't go there!--ducked her head to avoid the avid glances.

I gentled my tone. "You do realize that; don't you?"

She nodded, her eyes luminescent with unshed tears, unable to meet my gaze. Obviously, she didn't believe me.

Fortunately, Anna realized our need to leave and brought the check with to-go containers. Lynne sat mute as I readied us to leave.

"C'mon," I broke the uncomfortable silence, standing up.

Sighing, she stood as well, allowing me to guide her away from the questioning stares. I waited until Lynne buckled before driving away--in the opposite direction of the work offices.

"Wh-where are we going?" Lynne sputtered.

In lieu of an answer, I told the bluetooth to dial Sandi. At my assistant's cheerful greeting, I addressed her, "Sandi, clear my schedule for the rest of the day. Make sure that Jacquelynne Andrews's schedule is cleared, as well." I didn't wait for Sandi's response before severing the connection.

My eyes drifted to Lynne, more specifically to her hands that she was twining, twisting, wringing together. Something twisted inside me, and I again asked that question that filled me with dread. "Lynne, did you and Lester make more than one video?"

"You already know the answer," she forced the words past quavering lips. "Megan must have already released another one--she had threatened to earlier today."

Navigating the car into the driveway at home, I then turned to her after cutting off the ignition. "Lynne, how many are there?"

For a good minute, I thought she would not answer, but then she threw up her hands in defeat. "I don't know. Twenty? Thirty?"

I knew she misinterpreted the look of horror on my face, my unadulterated rage at Lester for taking advantage of her, at my self-absorption in not noticing what he did to her--until it was too late.

Her eyes darkened, and I knew what she was about to say, to ask. "Which one was it?" Lynne's voice, usually lyrical and sweet, was little more than a croak.

Gritting my teeth and attempting desperately to forestall the inappropriate arousal at the thought of it, I answered, "The breakup one between you and Lester."

Inwardly, I cursed everybody and everything as Lynne's face crumpled and her shoulders shook with sobs. She scrambled to open the door and fled toward the house.

I pursued her, grabbing her by the elbow just before she entered the house. Lynne spun around, her head still down. Gingerly, trying to conceal my rampaging erection, I folded her into my arms. Her softness melted into my hardness.

Guiding us inside, I stopped only to close the door before continuing our progress to the living room couch.

Sweetly innocent, she rested in my arms, my embrace. I had never held anything so perfect!

After several moments, she let out a shuddery sigh; I cradled her closer, never wanting to be apart. She pulled back, eyes dull, and I reluctantly loosened my hold.

"Tell me what you know of it," Lynne spoke haltingly.

Nervous, I ran my hand over my face. "A friend of mine found it on a website, a porn website. A BDSM one. The good news--if there is any--is that most people won't just stumble across it."

"Did you watch it?" she whispered, her voice husky.

"I did," I voiced, knowing that, even though I spoke sotto voce, the two words would have an almost explosive impact.

Lynne blanched, then flinched, as I tried to return her to my arms. I felt the denial keenly, but persevered.

Settling her, not only in my embrace, but also on my lap, I willed my predictable arousal to fade. And I was able to, until she tilted her face to look up at me.

Clear green eyes, dewy from her tears, coupled with trembling full pink lips--what can I say? I'm human.

My lips crashed down on hers, and I could feel her shock--for bare seconds. Then, her lips softened, parted, as she responded.

Scorching passion flared as my arms tightened around her. I tasted the fiery heat of the salsa that lingered in her mouth as well as the pure sweetness that was Lynne. Her nails dug into my arms, scoring my skin, and I growled into her enthusiastic mouth. Lynne wiggled, squirming on my hard-as-a-lead-pipe erection, her shimmies making me nearly black out in pleasure. My hand raised, aching to admonish her, to slap the plump globes of her ass.

Too soon, some sentient part of me cautioned myself, and I used that hand to plunge into the complicated uptight twist confining her honey brown tresses, scattering hairpins at my feet. Curling my hand into her now wild mane of hair, I tugged her head back,exposing her throat to the path my lips now traveled.

A feral whimper escaped her lips as my tongue tasted the delicate skin just above her dress's neckline. Clumsy fingers unzipped her dress, and I peeled it from her torso with the hushed reverence of unwrapping a much-anticipated birthday gift.

I couldn't disguise the hunger in my gaze. My lips descended until I nuzzled in the pronounced cleavage formed by the translucent lace of her navy blue bra.

Something in that worshipful act beat its way into my skull, and I had a "What the fuck?" moment. Here I am taking advantage of Lynne when she's extremely vulnerable. I was no better than Lester.

My traitorous dick twitched. I pulled back, remorseful.

"We shouldn't have--" I started, and I watched, wincing as Lynne's expression closed, growing remote, as she tugged her dress back in place, concealing from my eyes her bountiful curves.

A sense of loss settled over me as she shoved off my lap. "You're right," she snarled, "we shouldn't have." With that, she dashed to her room, and I heard a very definitive slam above my head.

I stood, my dick constricted within the loose front of my pants. Fuck, I wanted to yell. My cock wanted to make my conscience disappear.

To prohibit my stomping upstairs and ramming her door down and taking her as I wished, I stalked to the bar at the corner of the room and poured a hefty measure of whiskey into a glass.

I tossed it back, focusing on the burn in my throat rather than Lynne's scent that permeated the room.

So close, I was so close to having her the way I always wanted her in my fantasies. And I destroyed that chance myself. And for what? Friendship and a misplaced sense of chivalry.

I poured a second glass full of whiskey, again eschewing ice as I pondered my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My hooded eyes brooded, and my lips snarled in a grimace of self-hatred.

Rather than toss back the whiskey; I chose to sip it this time. My feet moved of their own volition, propelling me up the stairs and past Lynne's room to my door.

My hand and my fantasies would be my only relief. Stripping, I settled on my bed, my favorite salacious scenario starring Lynne made only slightly less improbable by the evidence of her sexual proclivities on the vid.

In my mind, I pictured her, kneeling in my dungeon I kept in an old warehouse downtown. Nude, she presented to me, the dim light of the single bulbs barely illuminating her ivory skin, turning her hair a darker burnished gold.

The dungeon was not a hedonist's paradise, not a romantic ideal of domination for 'nillas-at-heart. It was all about the stark hell I wished to mete out to subs who caught my interest.

All subs that I had taken to the warehouse had let me down; none could keep up with my controlled brutality. Maybe they thought that, to me, it was all a game. A visit to my dungeon quickly cured them of that notion.

None could withstand my harshness. I rarely shared that side of myself with any of my dates recently, but vanilla sex was not fulfilling me anymore.

And now, after today, the ridiculous pipe dream fantasy of cruelly putting Lynne through the paces, training her to receive the depths of depravity I wished to lavish upon her, no longer seemed an impossibility.

That made my fantasy dangerous because I did not know how long my desire to maintain our lifelong friendship and the veneer of chivalry would last in the face of such temptation.

Even now, my baser instincts and needs scoffed at my resolve. I needed to bid on one of the subs up for auction at the Kinkster's Ball.

My hand curved, tightly furled, around my already pulsing dick as I imagined the tableau.

"Your safe word?" my voice rasped in the near gloom, and Lynne started, startled and anxious.

"Snowcone." Her uncertain whisper echoed in the cavernous space, sparsely furnished with implements and instruments of torment.

Even in my fantasy, I softened, recalling countless summer snowcones we had shared, giggling--the three of us, Jase included--over the technicolor hues that stained our tongues.

I stomped up to her. There were other uses for her tongue that I wished to employ. "Stick out your tongue, slave," my tone harsh, my arousal unmistakable in my jeans.

Her pink tongue darted out, flattening without my having to request further. "When you speak in here, slave, you are to speak so that I can hear you. Is that understood?" Lightning fast, I slammed the tab of a crop against the spongy skin of her tongue--too fast for her to flinch until after the fact. "Well, slave?" I raised the crop again consideringly, intimidatingly.