Submission in Seattle

Submission in Seattle, Ch. 03

Several months later, in an apartment close to downtown, a woman with gloriously curly, long brown hair hunched over a glowing laptop computer. It was, appropriately, resting on her lap as she reclined against a pile of pillows on her queen sized bed. Her name was Monica Peterson and she was trading email with a man whose personal ad she discovered on the internet the previous month. So far, she knew him only as Howard.

She brushed her hair back from her pretty face and frowned in concentration. As she thought about the best way to convey a very private thought to her new correspondent, she recalled some of their previous conversations.

He described himself as a professional dominant for women, a pro-dom. When they first made contact, he asked her to explain in great detail what she was looking for and why she wanted it. It was not easy for her to discuss such private thoughts, but it was a very enlightening exchange.

They traded email almost daily for six weeks and talked on the telephone several times. His deep, sexy voice on the phone made her tingle inside. At first, Monica was reluctant to believe that he was genuine, but gradually she became convinced and started making plans to meet and perhaps sample his services.

Early in their correspondence she revealed considerable information about herself to avoid any misunderstandings about what she was looking for. He patiently answered her numerous questions about dominance and submission, then asked more questions about her past.

In one of their first phone conversations, she asked how he would make her submit. He patiently explained, "I have no interest in

making

anyone submit. Not by seduction, threats or trickery."

"If someone wants to be my submissive," he told her, "they must submit willingly, even eagerly." He had vowed never to waste his time on someone who was not sure what they wanted. She learned that one of his greatest fears was to have a partner appear to submit, then change her mind and accuse him of forcing her.

Monica worked as an account executive in a well-known Seattle-based marketing firm. She believed that the pressures of her job were partly responsible for her intense desire to submit sexually, but the roots of her sexuality extended back beyond her dimmest memories. Perhaps it was even determined by her genes.

As she and Cole were getting to know each other, she conscientiously answered his questions regarding her childhood and her first memories of wanting to submit. "When I was seven," she told him, "I remember hoping that my cousin would tie me up. He was about ten years old and had no interest in me at the time. I was very disappointed."

At age nine in Boise, Idaho, she would wrap herself in long coils of rope and pretend that she was a woman being held prisoner by various villains. She wasn't exactly sure what the villains would get out of it. Apparently, tying up women was part of their job, or at least it seemed that way on television.

Then there were the Nancy Drew books. She discovered them when she was eleven. The scenes where Nancy was captured and tied up held her attention like nothing else she had read before. In one book, Nancy was spanked with a hairbrush by a nefarious thief. In the privacy of her gingham and lace bedecked bedroom, Monica found out what turned her on.

The next step in her sexual development occurred when she found her father's pornography hidden in a dresser drawer among the socks. There were several bondage magazines and some SM oriented paperbacks. Her favorite was the Story of O. It provided her with endless hours of erotic fantasy. Even more important, it proved that there must be others like her. She knew that someone had to be buying these books or the publishers wouldn't print them. The dog eared copy that she had stolen from her father was still kept reverently with her important papers in a safe deposit box.

When she went to college in Chicago to obtain her business degree, the college men that she had expected to be so sophisticated were completely clueless. Sex was a big disappointment. Lots of groping and awkwardness. It was so hard to tell a man what she wanted, especially when so many of them expected her to take charge. Couldn't they see that she wanted them to be in control?

She thought she was close to meeting her secret need when she dated an attractive older student named Robert Hamilton. He was drop dead handsome and came from a wealthy family. Several of her classmates had dated him and many others were interested. She was surprised when he expressed an interest in her, since he was only seen with the best looking women and she did not consider herself to be very attractive.

He certainly acted more dominant than her previous dates, telling her what to wear and when to show up at his place. "Be at my place at eight o'clock, wearing a short skirt and the white sweater that I like," he instructed her. At first, he seemed to understand when she hinted that she wanted him to tie her hands or give her a real spanking. Unfortunately, he insisted that they stick to his script, which invariably required her to satisfy him orally. "Yeah baby, suck it hard, that's right!" His good looks and wealth had conditioned him to expect easy service from women, always on his terms.

They dated three times before she was ready to admit to herself that he had no interest in spanking or bondage. "He's just a stuck up jerk," she finally told her girlfriends. Giving blow jobs could be fun for her, but only in the context of submission. He was also uninterested in helping her climax, so the sheer sexual frustration was becoming a problem.

During her college years, masturbation remained her favorite sexual activity. She built up a nice collection of erotica that she kept in a locked footlocker in her tiny student apartment. It consisted mostly of soft core SM novels that she found at the mall bookstores. The first few times she purchased one of the dirty books, she was sure that everyone was watching and wondering what kind of pervert she was.

The English discipline stories were particularly hot. Reading about a young woman being tied over a bench of some sort and caned beyond the limits of endurance always made her sopping wet. It could be quite embarrassing if she was reading in the bookstore, standing in the aisle where the clerk couldn't see her and wondering if the wetness was showing on her jeans. She soon learned to buy the books quickly and take them home for a thorough road test.

The pirate stories were another reliable trigger. Using her favorite books and a small vibrator, she could vividly imagine herself being the helpless slave of a strong, handsome pirate. Of course she was not a very good slave, so she was ruthlessly punished quite often. Her most frequent fantasy involved being tied to the mast and flogged on her back and ass. Then the sexy bearded pirate would take her to his cabin, tie her spread-eagled to the bed and rape her with lots of pinching and slapping of her sensitive parts. Of course her own hands would stand in for Captain Blood, the Scourge of the Caribbean.

She had hoped that the move to Seattle would give her a better chance of finding a compatible partner with whom to share her secret. Unfortunately for Monica, none of the men she liked had been willing to provide the kind of domination that she craved so deeply. What she really wanted was a chance to give herself completely to a dominant man, a master. She wanted a man who would ask her to take pain for him, then use her for his own pleasure.

In her email messages, she briefly outlined for Cole two previous relationships that ended when her partners decided they couldn't live with her kinky tendencies. Modern American men had been conditioned to think in ways that precluded good male dominant sexual play. The constant repetition of media messages against domestic violence made any thinking man recoil at the thought of hitting a woman. She did notice however that there were more and more roles created for sexually dominant women. The image of the leather clad Dominatrix was getting to be a cliché in films and television sitcoms. It made her feel even more alone.

Her dating experience in Seattle did prove that she was attracted to older men. Men seemed to become much more sophisticated about sex after a decade or two of practice. She also wondered if perhaps the older men weren't quite as well indoctrinated with political correctness as the younger ones.

Monica discovered the kinky side of the internet about two years ago and decided to experiment with personal ads a bit later. She had some brief flings when she chose partners simply for the fact that they could play the dominant role, at least long enough to sleep with her a few times. When she realized that what they wanted was vanilla sex, or to have her dominate them, the spell was broken. Each time she came out of the semi-hypnotic state that she called her submissive headspace, she felt disgusted that she had allowed such gross men to touch her.

She suddenly realized that she had been staring at her computer for several minutes, while she analyzed the events that brought her to the present situation. It was time for action, she thought as she added the final sentences to her email message.

"You know I love to be spanked and dominated. It's so frustrating to have a guy give me a few pats on the butt and then ask politely for sex! If I have to pay a pro-dom to get what I want, then so be it. Let's meet somewhere and talk about this face to face. What do you say? Sincerely, Monica."

Working industriously at his home computer, Cole was interrupted by a pleasant chime that announced the arrival of an email message. When he reached the end of a paragraph in his report, he switched to the email program. The message was sent by: subgirl@seattlenet.com<monica>.

As he prepared to open the message, he remembered her description from her second email. She was five feet eight inches tall and one hundred forty pounds with long brown hair that was naturally curly. Her friends described her face as having a touch of Julia Roberts, perhaps because of her dark brown eyes and sexy mouth. She seemed to be rather sensitive about her weight and had described herself as being slightly pudgy. One of her messages led him to believe that there had been some emotional damage done by her mother who was a diet fanatic.

Although some dominants required their on-line submissives to provide their exact sizes and measurements, Cole hadn't asked for a more detailed physical description. For one thing, she was not yet his submissive and he felt it would not be polite. He also felt that most women tended to greatly over or underestimate their attractiveness. Since Monica lived in his own city, it should be easy for them to meet and he preferred to see for himself.

He already knew a lot about Monica and it sounded like they would be an amazingly good match. There was just a chance, he thought, that she might become his long term partner. He pushed the feeling aside to avoid becoming too eager.

Reading tonight's email he found that she was finally ready to meet and possibly negotiate for his professional services. About time, he thought, I've never put this much time and energy into a potential customer before. There is something special about this one.

He wanted to find out if Monica was serious, so he quickly typed his response. He described what he required of the women who wished to submit to him. The list of rules was easy to remember, as it was short and he had typed it many times before.

The first rule was that Monica must continue with her daily life, including work, family and friends. If her dominant/submissive relationship with Cole began to interfere with her other responsibilities, it would have to end.

The second rule was that he was not available for a complete relationship. Only her desire to submit could be fulfilled through this liaison.

The third rule was that when they were together, her submission must be complete and without question. He assured her that their activities would include plenty of spanking, bondage and other forms of SM play which she would be expected to endure.

The fourth rule was that some amount of money, to be negotiated, would change hands to establish that he was a professional.

These rules had worked with many women who Cole had previously dominated in the context of a professional agreement. He was confident that this was the best arrangement for both parties.

Cole closed the message with a request that they meet for the first time next Saturday at one of his favorite upscale restaurants in Seattle. He knew that this would be the test. He guessed that about half his prospects would back out at this point or simply fail to show up at the appointed time. His alternate plan was to have an excellent dinner alone and see a play at a nearby theater. In his dealings with submissive women, he had learned the hard way to have a back-up plan.

When Monica received the message, there was no thought of rejecting the offer. She was exceedingly curious about Cole and badly wanted a chance to meet him in person. She didn't know much more about him than his physical description and how he felt about dominant and submissive sexuality. The pro-dom role that he had chosen for himself did not lend itself to a complete two way exchange of information. If he proved to be reasonably attractive and seemed to be honest about his abilities, she was fully prepared to enter into a professional arrangement.

The next evening, Cole found another email reply from Monica. She agreed to meet him Saturday evening at Cutter's restaurant on the waterfront. He typed out a few details that she would need. The reservations were at 6PM under her name, Anderson. She didn't know his last name yet and he wanted to keep it that way for now. She knew that he was a legal professional and that he lived East of Seattle in a nice neighborhood. He described himself as being about six feet tall, short dark hair, average build, with a well-trimmed beard and mustache. He would be wearing roundish metal framed glasses and a black sport coat. She also knew his correct age of forty one years.

He reminded her that he had not yet agreed to accept her as his submissive and vice versa, so there would be no play at the table. Cole laughed when he reread that, since he could imagine punishing her later for being a naughty girl and playing at the dinner table.

After a hectic Saturday afternoon dealing with a distraught client whose patent had just proven to be invalid, Cole went home to clean up and dress for dinner. As promised, he wore a black sport coat that would be appropriate for the restaurant. His car was still in the repair shop, so he had to drive the minivan that he normally used to carry clients and their staff to important meetings. He proceeded downtown, traveling against the evening traffic in the sleek black Voyager. Not exactly your typical bachelor's vehicle, but the nearly opaque windows and large carpeted floor space had come in handy on certain memorable occasions. He parked in a lot beneath the restaurant just off Pike street and walked around to the front door at five minutes before six.

Monica was already there, watching the entryway from her seat in the bar, so that she could sneak out quietly if the man who asked for the Anderson reservation turned out to be something other than what she expected. She felt a familiar tingle inside her nether parts when she heard a handsome man, looking thirty fivish, ask for "Anderson, party of two?" He was pretty much as he had described himself, except he had neglected to mention that his frequent workouts made him trimmer and more muscular than the average forty one year old. He seemed to walk and move with unusual ease, as if possessing great internal energy. The beard and mustache were trimmed in a way that made him appear intelligent, but slightly dangerous.

After Cole was seated at a table near the window, Monica approached the desk and asked to be seated at the Anderson table. Cole saw someone walking behind the hostess, but did not immediately think that this was the woman he was waiting for. He was expecting someone a little on the heavy side, but that did not describe the woman approaching him in a slinky black cocktail dress with a high neck and long sleeves.

This woman was built like the playboy playmates that he fantasized about as a boy. The thin black dress was made of a knit material that clung to her body as if it had been painted on. The dress revealed the precise shape of her breasts, which was perfect and yet not quite perfect, so it was hard to tell if she was wearing a bra. Surely she must be a plaything of one of those rich executives that he knew so well. Her lush figure caused Cole to start drifting into an analysis of how society had come to demand that women must look emaciated in order to be attractive. It took him a moment to realize that the woman had stopped at his table. Then she smiled and spoke directly to him.

"Hi, I'm Monica. May I sit down?"

A mild feeling of embarrassment washed over him and Cole felt like he was thinking in slow motion as he looked up from her nicely rounded hips, past her narrow waist and perfect breasts. Then he noticed the brown eyes and slightly wide mouth. He was momentarily stunned. Slowly, a smile of understanding crept across his face.

"Of course, I'm Howard. Thanks for being so prompt. I like that."

He collected his wits as Monica sat across from him at the small table that was set for two. He had to remind himself not to stare at her body in the black dress. He made up his mind to look either at her face or out through the long bank of windows where the lights of early evening were sparkling on Puget Sound.

They made small talk with the pleasant waiter, who took their orders and entered them into a small hand held computer that used a wireless connection to the kitchen. When they were alone with glasses of an excellent Chardonnay, they began to talk.

"So... what's it like being a professional dominant?" she asked, a bit breathlessly.

"It's hard to describe. It can be very intense, totally absorbing and sometimes very rewarding. I think it's probably the most exciting thing I've ever done," he replied calmly while looking into the dark pools of her eyes. "Although I think semi-professional would be more accurate. I wouldn't want to try making a living at it."

"That's too bad," Monica said, "it's such a hot fantasy." She wondered if her body language was projecting the flirtatiousness that her friends often pointed out, even when she was not trying to flirt. At least this time it was intentional, she thought.

They could both feel the chemistry already. It was a bit like air and gasoline being mixed, waiting for a spark to set off the mixture.

The service was excellent, as usual. As they ate their dinner of perfectly grilled salmon and pasta with a mild cream sauce, Cole explained in rather serious tones what he expected from a submissive and what he had learned from his past partners. His comments alternated with Monica's candid description of her previous experiences and what she was looking for. Their conversation seemed to flow naturally, as if they had known each other forever.

"I have to admit I'm a bit surprised at how attractive you are," he told her. "From the comments in your email I didn't expect such beauty."

"Really? You think I'm attractive?"

"Extremely. Why, don't you think so?"

"It's a long story Howard. One of those emotional baggage from childhood things."

"Hmmm, someone told you that you were ugly, I'd guess. Was it your mother or your father?"

"My mother. Let's talk about something else. Why do you think I'm attractive? Is it because I'm subby?"