The Allure of Denial

This may sound cliché, but you'll just have to deal with it. (I work in media, which is often about recycling and reusing old ideas – clichés – that have worked well in the past. And if they worked then, they'll work now. Times change, people don't. Think I'm wrong? Take a look at my car, my Gold Coast condo, and my stock portfolio and you'll see just how wrong I am.) But like I was saying... I knew I wanted her as soon as I saw her. No, "want" is too weak a word. I had to

have

her. I had to

dominate

her – to

possess

her entirely, even if only for a time. And I'm not the type of man who tries to screw every woman he meets. Actually, I can be picky. So that should tell you, right from the get-go, that for me to pursue her means that she must be special. And she is. But don't ever tell her I said so.

I don't kid myself. I know that when women fuck me, they aren't really fucking

me

. They're fucking an idea – my success or prestige. I've learned to accept this, and even appreciate it. (There's a kind of moral freedom in knowing that you're using a woman and that she's using you right back. The only intimate relationship that could be more open and understood is a prostitute and her John.) I'm not sure I'd be successful with women at all if I weren't so successful career-wise. But there's one type of woman who I have a hunter's instinct for – who I'd score with even if I was dirt poor. That woman is the submissive.

Like I said, I work in media, and everyone in this industry has to schmooze. A lot of it happens on the clock (as if I've ever had to "clock in" a day in my life), but at parties we can all let our hair down a bit, get a few drinks in, and hope we don't say anything too personal about ourselves. (I should make it clear right here that this industry is full of gossip queens. Nearly everyone around me – in the office, at company events, at parties – is obsessed with gossip the way your average Joe is with reality TV or porn. So the advice that's often given, but rarely followed, is: if you don't want something known in this business, don't tell anyone. I'm one of the few people I know in the industry who can actually keep something to himself.) And it was just such a party where I met her, three months ago.

It was a typical shindig at Sasha's loft – (you know the kind of place; all sterile white walls covered with modern art) – and all the usual faces were there. Michael, who I first met at a meeting a couple weeks before Project Anvil started, showed up with this stunning woman on his arm – this hot Asian (Korean, I later found out) in her mid 20's with an awesome body. If I didn't know Michael was married, I would have guessed he hired one of those classy escorts who charge five figures just to shake hands. She certainly dressed to kill, wearing a tasteful-sexy slinky dress – a strapless job that hugs the body just right – and impossibly tall high heels. Her hair looked like it was just done by some River North fag stylist – nicely highlighted with the bangs framing her delicate face.

I have to say, though, that aside from her killer looks, there was something more to her that attracted me. Have you ever had the experience where you've seen a girl who wasn't all that much to look at, but the way she carried herself made her so alluring that you couldn't help but want to fuck her sore? Well, this girl had the looks

and

that

je ne sais quoi

. And it wasn't overt; it was nuanced – a turn of the head, a smile, a shift of posture... all of it oozing raw sexuality. It was the kind of subtlety that I have a talent for noticing, and that she has a talent for communicating. Before she'd even gotten her coat off I had the impulse to force feed her my cock.

I made it a personal challenge to speak to her. Luckily, Michael left her to her own devices while he schmoozed. But still, it wasn't easy to get her alone; she floated from person to person, talking each up with well-practiced grace. She didn't look at me, but I know how these Asian girls are – they'd rather drink their own piss than lock gazes with someone they don't know. I noticed that she was nursing a mixed drink, but as the evening wore on she became more giggly and free with her movement. When I gabbed with someone, I made sure to face in her direction – looking over Hank's or Stefan's or Stefan's wife's shoulder – watching and waiting for my chance to get near her.

There's a moment of impulsiveness that I relish. It happens when I'm apprehensive about doing something, but the circumstances line up so elegantly, so perfectly, that it takes almost no effort to act. It happens almost subconsciously in a state of hazy excitement, like the first time you slip it inside your high school girlfriend, both of you agreeing wordlessly. I had one of these moments with her. I was jawing with a project manager when I noticed her going to the bar, her glass empty. My glass had been dry for a couple minutes too, so I excused myself and made my way over. (I forgot to check my appearance in the restroom, but I was pretty sure I looked good.) She pretended not to notice me when I stood next to her, but I'm well aware of women's protocol. My instincts took over – all excitement and determination – and I inserted myself into her life.

"I'm Vince," I said, affecting a warm grin and seductive gaze.

She delicately took my outstretched hand and returned the smile. If I had any misgivings about her hidden character, they all melted away when I felt her hand offering no resistance. I immediately wanted to feel the soft skin of her fingers wrapped around my dick; make her jerk it, my hand firmly around hers, guiding her movements; kiss her mouth harder than she cared to be kissed...

"I know Michael from work," I said.

She introduced herself as So-Yeon. Her personality was reserved and pleasant, the kind any guy would want his wife to have. But despite this, I picked up on her subtleties like a fucking bloodhound. See, I can smell out submissives. To anyone else, her expression would have said,

It's a pleasure to meet you.

To me, it said,

Take me... use me for your enjoyment.

Maybe she didn't always send out these signals in such risky circumstances (I could've hit her husband with a blue cheese olive, he was so close), but later I learned that she gets tipsy easily, and she had a couple in her already.

Now, a lot of college kids and old virgins will tell you that the dominant–submissive relationship is sexist, immoral. I say bullshit. Many women choose to be submissive; it's the only way they can be truly gratified sexually (even if it means denying them gratification, as it often does). In this kind of relationship, both parties get what they want. And don't give me that "no means no" crap. When a submissive says no, she and I both understand that it means "Yes!" It means, "Treat me like the whore I am. Slap my face and hate fuck me until you're satisfied and I'm left wanting more."

But don't be fooled. You can't just force yourself on a submissive – at least not at first. You have to feel her out and maneuver your way in; a lot of game-playing and balancing acts are necessary. When she's ready to take the plunge, she'll let you know. And if you miss that opportunity, you'll be going home alone again, jerking off to fantasies of what could have been.

I chatted So-Yeon up, talking about my career accomplishments without sounding like a blow-hard. I held my body in a way that looked natural and relaxed, but emphasized my physical strength. (My trainer could live modestly with just me as a client.) I treated her respectfully, of course, but shaped my language to communicate that I was the one in control. She followed all my cues perfectly.

After a few minutes of smalltalk laced with intense eye contact, she said, "You look like the type of man who knows how to treat a woman the right way."

"Some women like to be treated differently than others," I said, grinning crookedly.

"How do

you

think women like to be treated?"

I pretended to ruminate over an answer. "The type of woman I prefer likes to

give

to her man. She makes sure that his needs," emphasis here, "are satisfied."

"Yes," she said, and looked up at me with an expression that bordered on anticipation. "A woman should serve her man."

I nodded slowly. "And she should be an object of desire," I said, almost whispered.

So-Yeon and I didn't have much reason to be nervous about others overhearing us. Like I said, these industry types are all gossipers; they were too busy yapping to even notice her and me speaking. Besides, by appearances, it looked like we were just having a friendly conversation. Just two regular adults at a party, shooting the shit, probably gossiping, ourselves. We had them fooled.

"'An object of desire'..? Do you view women as objects?" she asked.

Would you believe me if I said that her expression was hopeful? You should...

"Some," I said meaningfully. My eyes grinned over my martini.

An intense silence followed – the best kind, like the moment right before rain pours down in buckets, when the air is heavy with the inevitable. I was so hard that I had to shift my posture. Of course, I never gave any hint that I was that turned on. I played it real cool, showing that I was fully in control of everything – my emotions, my body language, and, most of all, her. And I

was

in control.

Don't believe me? Listen on...

"You know, I've never told anyone this before." She stole a glance to make sure her husband wasn't watching, "but I have fantasies of being... objectified."

If she hadn't been so high on G&T's, she probably wouldn't have opened this door quite so soon. I had to choose my words carefully – too much force and she'd pull back (no matter how buzzed she was); too little, and I'd give the impression that I wasn't serious.

When I told her to elaborate, she said that she had an orgasm denial fantasy. Very hot stuff.

Right away, I began envisioning how I'd fulfill it. I posed the problem that it might be difficult to find ways to fuck her without making her cum. (Yes, I am that good.)

To this she said, "It's not so hard to fuck me without giving me an orgasm. I don't really cum unless my clit is touched, so if you don't do that, you can fuck me as long as you like and I won't cum. It's very frustrating."

She punctuated with a seductive smile. That, and her saying "you," instead of the hypothetical "someone," had me really wound up. My cock was throbbing. I wanted to take her right then and there, do her real hard, pull her hair a little too roughly. I'm sure my gaze communicated this. And I'm sure she was receptive despite her cool, business woman slash good wife demeanor. Like I said, I can pick up on this stuff; and I could see in her eyes that sharing these fantasies got her wet.

Unfortunately, I'd spent so much of the evening stalking her, that by the time our conversation was really getting good, her husband (along with the rest of the first wave of party deserters) decided it was time to leave. He came up to us, smiled cheerfully at me, and let her know.

I flashed So-Yeon a seductive grin when he wasn't looking – one that said, "You and I have unfinished business..." She returned the sentiment with a look. I imagined her going home, slipping into the bathroom while Michael watched ESPN, and masturbating in the shower to conjured images of her and me fucking. I thought about doing the same, or calling one of my old stand-by's for a late night quickie. But I reveled in the suspense of it all. In fact, I decided not to fuck or jerk off until it was with her. When I would finally blow my load on her face or tits or deep inside her cunt, it would be a gift. My gift to her and her alone.

Do I feel bad about making advances on a colleague's wife? No, and I'll tell you why. I know how these media execs like Michael are – everything is appearances. Chances were good that he married So-Yeon because she looks good in a dress and heels (as well as out of them) and speaks articulately. In a word, she makes

him

look good. It's a relationship of mutual benefit (although, to be honest, I'm not sure what she gets out of the deal besides a well-to-do husband – he doesn't look like he could give it to her the way I can). There's nothing sacred about their marriage. And if it's not sacred, then why treat it like it is? I've been in this situation before and felt not a lick of remorse. I'll do it again, too. But don't assume that just because I'm saying this I'm not a caring and compassionate person. I am... but I'll justify that some other time.

I played it real cool around the office. I didn't ask when the next party would be (you already know about the gossip queens – they'd put two and two together in the blink of an eye); but I made sure to listen closely when someone brought up the subject. Three weeks later, Stefan told me that there was gonna be a project wrap-up party at Room 25, one of the local hot spots for industry types.

I asked if Michael would be there.

"Yeah, he should be."

I went back into my office and smiled like the cat that ate the fucking canary.

*******

I was real busy with work, so I didn't spend too much time fantasizing about So-Yeon (which was good – like I said, I wanted to save my load for her). She would pop into my head at the damnedest times – in the car, on the eliptical, at the spa... I imagined doing all these amazingly hot things to her, and her loving it all.

I had a unique feeling during those three weeks, like I knew I was going to experience something new and exciting. I'm no artist, but I imagine that this is what one feels like when he has this itch to get something down on the canvas or staff paper or word processor; he isn't sure what the end product will be, but the vibe he feels tells him it'll be incredible. I had this fresh, electric sensation, like the first time I knew I was going to get laid. I didn't fall into any of my somber moods, either; I felt full of potential energy – a sledgehammer about to drop.

The party rolled around, and I made sure to be even more sharply dressed than usual. So-Yeon arrived on Michael's arm wearing a red top under a black jacket, a miniskirt, and stockings and heels (of course). Our eyes met, but she turned away almost immediately. I thought it was cute. She could get away with that for now, but soon enough she'd be obeying me like a good slut, doing whatever I told her to.

I worked my way over to her by the middle of the evening. She wasn't drinking much this time, but that didn't stop her from picking up where we left off. When we were out of earshot, she told me that she'd been thinking about me. I didn't tell her that she was the only thing on my mind whenever I'd had a moment to myself... that would be giving her too much power.

"Tell me what you've been thinking about," I said.

She brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"The next day, after the last party," she began, "I felt so nervous I when I realized that I'd shared so much with you. I was a little tipsy," she said with a sweetly deferential smile. "I don't usually share those kinds of things with anyone. You know how this industry is..."

She gave me a knowing grin; I returned it in kind.

"But..." She paused, looking away for a moment.

"But what..?"

"But I realized after a moment that the nervousness was only on the surface," she said, looking me in the face again, "and that underneath I felt, for some reason, like I could trust you."

I nodded, not affirming or denying. It's not like I'd ever tell her she couldn't trust me, but if she were a little unsure, that would just add to the thrill.

"I also realized that I liked sharing my fantasies, especially with a man who I don't know anything about." She bit her lower lip just a little. "And I decided that I wanted to tell you more..."

I can't begin to describe how I felt at this moment. It was almost better than sex or the anticipation of it. I encouraged her to go on, of course.

She told me a story about how she developed breasts (considerable ones for an Asian) early in school, and how the other girls teased her.

"I always acted real offended, but actually it turned me on," she said, fingering the rim of her cocktail glass . "There was something exciting about it."

That led to telling me about her fantasies of being objectified as an Asian. How she liked the idea of fulfilling the stereotype of submissive Korean girl. I, of course, already understood all this instinctively, but listening to her tell me – confide in me – was a serious turn on. I urged her to continue, and she was happy to comply.

"One time," she explained, "an ex-boyfriend told me, when he was really drunk, to suck him. I wouldn't. He said that I should be submissive and accept his cock like a good girl since I was Asian – and Asian girls know how to obey. I think I should have been offended about that, but the next morning I woke him up with a blowjob instead."

She shot me a smile that could given even one of those blocky 1950's robots a hardon.

"I can't really explain why I felt like that."

Something occurred to me at this point. I'd had this creeping feeling that, despite her openness, So-Yeon was hiding something. After a moment I realized what it was. She wasn't telling me about her fantasies of objectification, but rather things that had actually happened to her. Even when she told me about her orgasm denial fantasy last time, she didn't go into detail about how she wanted it fulfilled. I pointed this out.

"Objectification..." she said ponderously. "It's elusive for me."

She looked at me; I sensed extreme vulnerability, want, and... something else.

The pieces lined up at that moment, and I understood it all. (And I have to say that I was disappointed in myself for not seeing this sooner – live and learn.) The reason she wasn't detailing her fantasies is because... wait for it... she wanted

me

to take control of them. You see, she was looking for a counterpart to submit to

completely

– someone to give

all

the power to. If she had a fantasy fulfilled – even if it was the most debasing, dehumanizing one imaginable – she would still hold on to a little bit of the power, because it would be "her" fantasy. Someone else would be helping her fulfill it, would be in service to her. No, she didn't want a partner; she wanted a master. Someone who would understand her and be able to realize her fantasies – and, more importantly, his own – without her having to define them.

Did she understand all this consciously? My feeling is that she didn't, that this was a subconscious desire she'd never put into words and maybe never even thought about. It was uncharted territory for her, and she needed a strong and assertive guide to see her through it.

That's where I came in.

Believe me, I was more than willing to fulfill both of our fantasies. But still, I didn't let it show. Well, maybe I let it show in my eyes, my body language; but by not saying anything I was holding on to the power just as she secretly wanted. Yeah, I could've pulled her into a dark hallway or room and stuck it in her, but it would have been less gratifying than drawing out the anticipation. Also, if she was gonna be a good whore for me, she'd have to risk more. And that was part of both of our fantasies.

Before we realized it, the night was over. Michael came to whisk her away from me. (Again, he had no clue.) I wished her a good night and a safe trip home. My expression told her, again, that this wasn't over. Hers told me that she got the message loud and clear.

*******

Since Project Anvil was nearly done, I had more time to myself. This meant I had more time to think about So-Yeon (which I sometimes had to force myself not to do) before the next party.