Synopsis:
Man reluctantly becomes the Dom of a submissive woman.
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Author's note:
I need to start with a warning to my followers. There is a reason that this story isn't classified as a romance. While there definitely is an underlying romantic element, it is a lot different from my previous stories. Its main theme circles around dominance and submissiveness and the later chapters contain male-female sex, some really soft (!) and totally consensual BD with minimal SM (it's not in the slightest a 'how-much-pain-can-you-take-BDSM-story), threesomes with two girls and one man and there also is an interracial element. I decided to put this story into the 'Novels and Novellas'-category as a sign for this.
The story plays in a fictional city in a fictional country with fictional characters.
The whole story has just over 80k words and is split into six chapters. As usual, the story is (almost) finished, with just some minor editing remaining to be done on the following chapters. You can expect the next instalment in a couple of days.
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As usual my thanks go to my editors, Stattion and Joffa. Everything that's right is their work. Everything that's wrong is my fault.
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Chapter 01: An Unlikely Pair
That bloody bitch. I was still fuming when I thought of her. Why had she made everything so difficult? I'm just glad that we didn't have any kids. The divorce was bad enough as it was. For the last ten years, I had supported her. I had helped her pay her way through college so that she wouldn't have any debts when she was finished. I had helped her buy a car. I had supported her unwarily through her depression. I had been at her side after the suicide attempt. And then she had to cheat on me with her doctor. I didn't blame him, or only a little, as I knew how she was. She was a beautiful woman who could wrap any man around her finger on her day. I must know, I had been wrapped around her little finger for ten years.
But I was hurt, deeply hurt. After everything I had given, she had to cheat on me. I tried to forgive her, I really tried but I couldn't. Not even her usual magic worked. So I filed for a divorce and then it got really dirty. Originally, I had intended to go for a fair fifty-fifty split, I had no intention to fleece her. But she got greedy and her lawyer started playing dirty. He painted her to be the victim. How I had abused her psychological problems to make her dependant on me. They called several of our friends as witnesses in order to show that I had been bad for Doreen and had driven her consciously into the depression and the suicide attempt. I was not really surprised how she wrapped them all around her finger.
I ended the divorce proceedings by blackmailing her. That's how deep I had fallen. When I threatened to denounce the doctor, her new lover, for starting a relationship with a patient, she caved in. She could, of course, keep her clothes, her jewellery and her car but I got the house and the majority of our liquid assets. I didn't care about the house, I didn't want to be reminded of her but by now I was tired of her and begrudged her the dirt under her nails.
What pissed me off the most was that the vast majority of our common friends sided with her. I dropped them. If they believed her more than me, if they thought that her cheating was somehow justifiable or if they thought I should forgive her so she wouldn't drop back into the depression, they were her friends and not mine. I only kept a few, without exception I had known them already before Doreen and I had met.
When the divorce was finally official, she started stalking me. I don't know what happened to the doctor but wherever I went, she would show up shortly after. Whether it was at a restaurant, a bar or a club. She would thwart my attempts to meet new people, to build a new life. After meticulously recording these efforts and collecting sufficient proof, I managed to get a restraining order against her.
Then she started to terrorise me over the phone. She would call in the middle of the night or during work hours. She sent dozens of emails and texts a day, erratically swapping between threats and attempts at persuasion. It wasn't sufficient to just block her number and blacklist her email. She would use any phone, any computer and any email-address she could get hold of. I finally had to change my phone number.
When she realised that I had a new number she couldn't find out, she started to ignore the restraining order. The consequences for her were negligible. She showed up, I called the police, they took her to the police station, tapped her fingers and sent her home. The very next day, it started all over.
After several months of this ordeal, I decided to sever all ties, move cities and start over. The owner of the company I worked for recommended me to a friend who had his own business on the other side of the country. He hired me after conducting two skype-interviews, putting a lot of trust into the recommendation of his friend. Online I found and rented a two-bedroom flat in the upscale part of the city. I bought the most basic furniture, a good bed, a cheap kitchen table and four chairs in a national chain and arranged delivery to my new place where my new landlord would receive them. I sold the house, packed my clothes and a few household items in a couple of suitcases and boxes, sold everything else to a used goods store at a knock-down price, loaded my car and left my old life behind me. To make the cut clean and absolute I also changed my phone number again.
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So here I was three months later. Thirty-five years old and all alone in the world. My mother, a single child, had died from breast cancer shortly after my marriage to Doreen and my biological father was unknown. Having moved only a short while ago I had no friends, barely found my way around and I knew nobody except for a few people from work. The coincidental reasons I had come here were that I had been fortunate to find a new, well-paying job as Head of Controlling with a medium-sized craft beer brewery covering mostly the local market and it was about as far away from Doreen as I could get without leaving the country.
As soon as I had started working with my new employer, I had also enrolled in an online correspondence course to improve my qualifications and give me the opportunity to later aspire for a CFO-function (CFO stands for Chief Financial Officer). This course was the reason I sat at home one Saturday evening, my nose buried in a book about accounting when my smartphone beeped, breaking my concentration. I hadn't received a single text from anyone since I had moved three months ago as I had been far too busy to learn about the company's procedures and structures and to keep ahead on my studies to go out and meet new people. I admit that I felt lonely but for the time being there was not much I could or wanted to do about it.
My first thought was that Doreen had somehow found out my new number and therefore I dreaded to look at the text. But that urge everybody gets when their phone beeps finally won. I looked at the screen and just saw it go dark again after having illuminated when the text came in. I just had the time to notice that it was not from one of the few contacts whose numbers I had saved in the contact list as I caught a glimpse of numbers instead of the usually displayed name on top of the pop-up.
Curiously I pressed the home button, opened the message app and the message itself.
'Dear Dad, I hope that things have gone better for you than they have for me lately. I've just left Justin after he beat me up again. Love A.'
That wasn't intended for me. I quickly pondered whether to reply or not and decided to send a short reply.
'Dear A., you seem to have mistyped the number because I'm definitely not your Dad. Nick.'
I expected this to be the last I would hear but I was wrong.
'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I will not bother you again. This used to be the number of my deceased Dad and I regularly sent him messages of what is happening in my life.'
That was a lot of story in a very short text. She seemed to need someone to talk to and, to be honest, so could I.
'If it makes you feel better, you can keep writing him. I don't mind. It sounds like a great method to handle the grief.'
I didn't hear back from 'A.' for several weeks and forgot about the event quickly. I was fully immersed in what had become my new life, mostly oscillating between work and study. Despite not being the most natural socializer, I started to make friends or rather acquaintances. Making friends has always been a very slow process for me but feeling lonely I started to regularly go to a sports bar on Friday or Saturday evenings. With a couple of beers in my bloodstream and a common topic, it happened almost automatically. I also connected well with some of my colleagues at work who knew about my situation and actively introduced me to their social circles.
Nevertheless, I was at home, studying, when my phone buzzed roughly two months after the initial exchange. I was more used now than I was to receive texts from different people so I didn't think about it when I took my cell phone and checked the message.
'Dear Dad, life hasn't been nice to me in the last few weeks. I'm desperate and lost and could use some guidance. A.'
It took me a moment to remember what this was about. I hadn't expected to hear from A. again so I sat at my desk for a minute reflecting on what to do. I decided to reply.
'I don't know the reasons for your difficulties but if you need someone to talk to, you can explain your situation to me and I can try to give advice. Nick'
After several minutes I received her reply.
'Thanks for the offer but there is nothing anybody can do to help. Alicia.'
After a short consideration, I decided to offer her a last opportunity.
'Tell me. New perspectives from third parties and unemotional advice often help in seemingly hopeless situations.'
It took almost an hour for her reply to come in. I had already accepted that she wouldn't talk to me.
