The Shape of Surrender (Ch. 04)
soppingwetpanties
This is Scott's unrequited fantasy of female domination.
This story can stand alone although reading the previous chapters will give you more context.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Chapter Four
Sabina
Clara was an intelligent, attractive and headstrong teenager. She was also my daughter, the only bright light to emerge from my loveless (and virtually sexless) marriage to Rose. She was a student in Kenyon College's English department (where both Rose and I attended) and was between her sophomore and junior years, working as an unpaid intern (is there any other kind of internship?) at a small, but well recognized publishing house in Northampton, Massachusetts.
She was living with me for the summer while her mother was away on an international book tour introducing her new collection of award winning short stories. Rose achieved all the professional accolades I craved (as an aspiring but yet to be published author) while I tried to content myself with teaching and academic research as an English professor at Smith College. She also moved in with her lover, a sexy blonde, Dr. Eleanor Vance, who Rose met, ironically, at a faculty event that I dragged her to. Her lover, fittingly, was a full professor heading the Study of Women and Gender department at Smith.
I now had to eat a large helping of humble pie at Smith faculty events, as Rose and Eleanor came as a couple, a power couple if there ever was one, Rose achieving international acclaim for her most recent collection of short stories that explored the inner lives of women navigating desire, betrayal and reinvention, and Eleanor's reputation for scholarship on gender, power and the politics of intimacy. I have no doubt that Rose's widely read stories were a thinly veiled narrative of our marriage, where an affair I had many years ago with a former girlfriend was a body blow to an already failing marriage. It turns out that I wasn't the only spouse who strayed. Rose started her affair with Eleanor years before we were divorced, and her moving in with Eleanor was simply a public recognition of a poorly kept secret.
Maybe it was that humiliation, or something deeper in my past, that caused me to seek my sexual gratification as a submissive, finding Vivian Stroud on a BDSM-themed website. Mistress Vivian helped me reorder my priorities, with of course her coming first and me being at her beck and call. For the first time I felt real purpose in my life - - a reason to wake up in the morning - - to be of service to a woman I truly worshipped. I loved Mistress Vivian with my very soul.
Though my soul belonged to Mistress Vivian, my heart still belonged to Clara. To my amazement (and chagrin) Clara blossomed over the past year from a giggly teenager to an attractive young woman. She had the slender build of her mother and also her height, just a few inches over five foot, and her auburn colored hair. She realized she was becoming attractive to older men and discarded her college clothes for those of a young professional. Her stint at the publishing house no doubt raised her awareness of the "real" world and her level of sophistication.
Clara made a number of friends at the publishing house she worked at, Larkspur Editions, and entertained often. I didn't mind being surrounded by youthful beauty, even though I knew they regarded me as an old fart at the age of forty-seven. I wasn't a threat to them so I often hung out with them at the pool we had in the backyard. It was tough duty serving drinks and snacks to scantily clad young women.
The pool was the best feature of my house. The house itself was built in the 1930's and demanded more money and attention than I was willing to give to it. But the pool, installed just before I bought it, was in pristine condition and popular with Clara and her friends. Summer was quickly becoming fall, with the leaves turning and the temperature dropping, though the past week brought a heat spell and one last hurrah at the pool.
I'd been with Mistress Vivian for several months and between time with her and the demands of the job I'd spent less time with Clara than I would have liked. Though with her, I was always self-conscious about revealing my true self. How would my daughter react to my admission that I'd licked a woman's pussy in a crowded restaurant, masturbated on her boots and then licked the cum off, and stripped naked under her dinner table and ate out her girlfriend's drenched cunt? I reconciled myself to behavior that others would deem shameful as I'd already unconditionally surrendered my soul to Mistress Vivian and the darkness within me. Now I embraced and reveled in the darkness under the guidance of Mistress Vivian's firm hand.
It was Wednesday, my usual day off, and my routine was to catch up on personal paperwork, yard work, and waiting for Mistress Vivian to summon me. But Mistress Vivian was out of town on business that day so I decided to take Clara up on her offer to join her and her book editor to enjoy the last vestiges of summer. I was in my bedroom trying on my swim trunks, standing sideways in front of my bathroom's full length mirror and assessing the slight outward curve of a belly that was once perfectly flat, the price one pays for a bachelor's diet that had too much delivery pizza, beer, sodas and fast food in it.
Fuck it. I'd wear my trunks. Somehow my sexual freedom didn't unshackle me completely from my usual insecurities about my body, though my male ego wouldn't let go of the hope I'd somehow impress Clara's guest. I knew that the book editor Clara worked for was a tad under thirty and reputed to be a real looker with a razor sharp intellect. I remembered her name, Sabrina Carlisle, and recalled a few years ago she attended one of my seminars, attractive with long dark hair, though I couldn't remember exactly what she looked like. I imagined she had large breasts and that thought immediately triggered an erection, not exactly the look I was hoping for in tight fitting swim trunks.
So I thought about Rose and my erection disappeared. I fished in the refrigerator and pulled out a longneck, popping the cap, and walking out of the sliding glass door in my swim trunks (sans erection) and flip flops. Clara and Sabina were sitting with their backs to me on padded chaise lounges that faced the pool. I could see that Sabina had long, dark hair like I remembered as it glowed in the bright sunshine.
Clara jumped up when she heard me walking towards them. She was wearing a bikini with a floral design. I tried not to look at her breasts when she stood in front of me.
"Where is everybody?" I asked her. There were usually five or six of them on hot days like this one. It was strange that Sabina was the only Larkspur employee there.
"Don't you remember Dad? Rose is doing a book signing in Boston. She's kicking off her worldwide tour there. The others decided to drive there to attend it. I'm skipping this one because I'm flying to Paris over Christmas break to attend the one there and in Rome."
Fuck. I'd forgotten that the last time I saw Rose she mentioned the book signing and I promised to attend it. Of course I promptly forgot and it never made it to my calendar. She was going to be pissed at me for missing it, knowing my ego couldn't stand her success. She always thought that was the reason I brought up the idea of a divorce (and not her). She didn't know the real reason and never would.
"I thought you were supposed to be there," Clara added after thinking about what she'd said.
"I was," I said. "I forgot."
"Bad daddy," Clara said, playfully admonishing me.
She knew I was jealous of Rose's success but would no doubt give me dispensation for my sin. She knew that professional jealousy didn't cause my split with Rose though her mother could sometimes be an insufferable
prima donna.
I told her the reason was personal to me and she never asked me another question. I loved that she respected the flimsy boundary I'd drawn for her. She too would never know the real reason. As a bright academic, she understood the frailties of the human condition and had already judged me a good and worthy father. I would do nothing to dissuade her from her judgment.
"I know," I said. "Mom's going to rip me a new one."
"You already have so many," Rose said, giggling. She'd been witness to some of the fights Rose and I had, most of which I came out on the short end.
"So sorry Daddy. This is Sabina Carlisle. She's the book editor I'm working with."
Sabina sat up in her lounge chair and raised her sunglasses so I could see her shimmering emerald green eyes framed with jet black eyeliner. She had espresso brown hair with subtle lighter chestnut undertones and a heart shaped face with high cheekbones and a slightly pointy chin. There was a quiet intensity to her features. She filled out a bikini that redefined the word "skimpy." I tried not to look at her attention getting breasts but was apparently unsuccessful.
"Dad!" Clara barked at me.
I realized I'd been staring at Sabina's chest. She outdid my imagination. Her bikini barely covered her breasts, and there was a large area of exposed skin that was much lighter in color, suggesting this bikini was more revealing than the one she usually wore. I was not
per se
a big boob man but it was hard to ignore the majesty of perfect breasts.
"That's OK," Sabina said to me, before I could utter an apology. "You're not the first."
"It's not OK," Clara insisted.
I was embarrassed.
"Let me apologize," I said.
"Thank you," Sabina said to me, taking me off the hook.
