A submissive finds her soulmate.
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Author's Note
I find that quite a few of the dominant-submissive stories I read involve mostly taking and not a lot of giving. This is not one of those stories. There is some mild bdsm in this tale, but I like to think it's mostly just a story about falling in love, and giving your lover what she needs to be happy. It's a slow build, so hang in there.
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The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Start with a Feather
"I'm sorry, Jessie, I just don't think I'd be comfortable doing that."
"It's OK, Kayla," I assured her, stroking the back of her neck as we lay together. I was too busy basking in the aftereffects of Kayla's incredibly skilled tongue to be upset about anything she said. Kayla was a keeper. If being with her meant moving to a house in the suburbs, where we had vanilla sex all the time, then so be it. At least there'd be lots of vanilla sex. Kayla was a sexual dynamo, she just wasn't quite as kinky as I was, that's all.
Kayla and I had recently arrived at that point in a relationship where the topic of conversation moves beyond the simple questions, like "my place or yours?" The point at which a couple begins to explore deeper topics, things such as past loves and heartbreaks, future hopes and dreams, secret fantasies and desires. I liked to think that we were testing the waters for a serious long-term commitment, and so far things were looking good in that regard.
I had only one little misgiving, but I thought I'd be willing to sweep it under the rug if that's what it took to keep her. Sex with Kayla was good, it just wasn't earth-shatteringly good.
I convinced myself I was being selfish. After all, it wasn't Kayla's fault that I was spoiled. No, the blame for that lies entirely with Professor Spanks-A-Lot, my creative writing teacher from my last semester at the university. Not her real name in case you're wondering. I'll spare you the gory details and sum it up as MILF seduces co-ed. She offered to look over some of my writing one afternoon, we had a bit too much to drink, and the next morning I found myself naked and tied to her bed.
At first I freaked. Later, I calmed down and began letting her do things to me -- kinky things. I quickly found that I enjoyed it. Within a week, I was living in her house and practically begging for her do those things to me. She called me her babygirl and lavished me with affection and praise, while the physical side of our relationship got more and more intense by the hour. Sometimes I'd be sore for days, but always so incredibly satisfied. And the orgasms -- Holy shit! -- I had never come so hard in my life!
I refer to that now as our honeymoon period. The happy times ended rather quickly after her book deal fell through. From that point on, the affection and praise started to wane, while the punishments became more frequent and more uncomfortable. I still remember the night I decided to throw in the towel. She had been drinking, drowning her sorrows after receiving word that yet another publisher had given her the brush off. I actually felt sorry for her and decided maybe a little seduction might help to take her mind off things.
She flew into a rage when I touched her. So, instead of spending an hour with my face between her legs like I had planned, I spent an hour bent over the arm of the sofa, sobbing, while she went to work on me with a paddle. In the end I was screaming my safeword, three, maybe four times before she finally backed off.
That was the last straw. I grabbed what I could carry and left, never looking back.
I realize now just how abusive our relationship had become. What's the saying? Something about boiling a frog. She was the water. I was the frog.
I'm glad it's over and done, but I do find myself missing the good times -- the lavish affection, the giddy feeling I got when she brought me to a new plateau I never thought I'd be able to reach -- and let's not forget the intensity of the sex. The sex was out of this world! I have never had an orgasm of the same magnitude since, not even by my own hand.
Now, nine months later, I found myself deeply in love with Kayla. I wanted to put my past behind me and concentrate on all of the good things I had in my life now. I'd be stupid to let Kayla slip away, but somehow there was always a part of me that couldn't help but think I was settling. Six weeks as the naughty professor's pet, and I was spoiled for life.
I snuggled up with Kayla and silently pondered our future together.
*
I still remember when the two of us met. I had decided to volunteer weekends at the low-power FM station that broadcast out of the neighborhood community center. I needed something besides work to take my mind off my break-up with the naughty professor. I was just arriving for my orientation and there was Kayla, standing outside the door, smoking a cigarette.
"I know, it's a nasty habit," she said, almost apologetically. "I only do it when I'm stressed."
"I'm not judging," I replied, smiling, as I reached for the door handle. God, she was gorgeous, a beautiful mixture of innumerable ethnicities, and it looks like she got the best features of each and every one. Quite a contrast to my pale, skinny, geek-girl look. Add to that her smooth, sexy, radio DJ voice and I was instantly captivated.
"Hey, Special K, who's watching the studio while you're out here pounding the coffin nails?" the program director asked, as he arrived to show me in.
"Don't worry, man," she teased, "I put on Stairway to Heaven."
Now I recognized the voice. "Hey, did you do a dubstep show a couple weeks ago?" I inquired.
"Yeah, that was me. I play a little bit of everything."
"I loved that show!" I replied, enthusiastically. I didn't feel the need to mention that I had cranked it up to eleven in my car, because every time there was a bass drop, the vibrations nearly made me cream my jeans. In fact, by the end of her show, I had to pull over for fear of crashing into something. Suddenly, my intrigue for this woman just jumped up a notch.
As I was being shown around the studio by the program director, Kayla popped in to throw a record on the other turntable. She held up a finger and leaned into the mic. The program director and I stopped our conversation midstream.
"This is Special K, finishing up eight minutes of pure, sonic orgasm. From Zeppelin Four, that was Stairway to Heaven," Kayla was saying. "Tune in next week kids, and I'll be playing the whole album backwards to search for hidden messages. But first, it's four-twenty and I'm sure you know what that means. Time for some Floyd."
Kayla gave me a smile as I heard Comfortably Numb starting up. She carefully lifted Led Zeppelin IV from the turntable and slipped it back into its sleeve. "I like to kick the vinyl when I do classic rock," she whispered, as if it were our little secret.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you said that!" I gasped. "Can you even say orgasm on the air?"
"I just did."
"Actually," the program director put in, "as long as you stay away from the seven words listed in the handbook, you're fine. Kayla, this is Jessie, she's new here, try not to corrupt her. Jessie, Kayla, or Special K, as her listeners know her." He handed me a folder and continued, "Your own personal copy of the handbook. Take this home, read it, learn it, live it. That'll wrap up your orientation, unless you want to stick around and watch the master at work."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Kayla replied. And then to me she added, "You got the time?"
"Sure," I said.
She handed me a pair of headphones -- Kayla called them cans. I was learning the lingo -- the sliders on the mixing board were pots, the speakers in the studio were called monitors, and now I found out that the headphones were called cans. So much to keep straight.
"You wanna do the weather at the break?" Kayla asked me.
"OK."
