Friday, June 1, 2012


~Chapter 34~

“How’s the packing coming?” I call from my spot on the couch, torn between satisfying my curiosity at the outfits she’s selected and her desire to surprise me. I suppose I should allow her this, at least, considering I’ve dictated not only every detail of our weekend, but also her traveling outfit.

“Almost done,” she yells back, her voice accompanied by the sound of sliding drawers and closing cabinets.

I flip my cell end over end in my hand, attempting to distract myself. The flashing red light beckons most helpfully. I open my new message.

I’ll bet you’re shitting bricks right now. xRi

I smile at my wise friend through the machinery in my palm.

Don’t forget to lube up my present before you use it on Sean.

Didn’t just fall off the P-spot truck, ya know!

Happy New Year, man.
(Translation: I love you, Riley.)

Back at ya, gorgeous.
(Translation: If I can’t have you, I’m glad we both have someone who makes us deliriously happy.)

With my Riley-induced smile firmly fixed on my face, I scroll down to the saved text conversation from earlier today.

HEY!! No fair. x IMS
I’ve been thinking…
Uh oh.
Very funny. That was Edward’s shin I kicked earlier.
I know, sweetie. I have the bruise to prove it.
@_@. Poor baby.
Hey! Those pumps pack a wallop!
Look who’s talking about walloping!
Just saying, I didn’t see any masters at the table.
Hmmmm, got a point there.
So I’m off the hook?
…This time.

She’s 100% justified in calling me out; I promised no chocolate chips. Her master has no business imposing consequences for Edward’s tomfoolery. I have to give her credit for recognizing my mistake. Like I told Dad, this girl keeps me on my toes.

I click off the TV that I wasn’t watching and start back toward her room. “Need help with th—?”

I my…ho…fuck. I’m speechless. More accurately, my brain has just been swiped completely clean by the sight at the entrance to the hallway. Riley hit the jackpot this time. All I had to do was email him the first page of the book and he fucking nailed it.

Isabella looks nothing short of stunning in a deep purple silk button-down blouse tucked into a high-waisted, charcoal-pinstripe pleated skirt skimming the tops of her thighs. If I look carefully, and I do, just inside the hem of her skirt I can discern the outline of the garter clips, from which trail black fishnet stockings, running the length of her long lean legs before disappearing into a relatively conservative (for me) pair of black satin platform pumps. I also happen to know that under her blouse is a black lace push-up bra with a front closure that is not going to stay that way for very long. Nor is the matching G-string going to stay put.

“Isabella,” my voice is a ragged whisper. I swallow and try again. “That outfit is killer on you. Thank you for wearing it for me.” My lips are on hers in an instant, and I struggle to maintain control of hands that want to touch her fucking everywhere. Not yet.

Startled by my enthusiasm, she giggles nervously. “Wow. You’re easy.”

“I’m easy for you,” I clarify. “Let me get your bag.”

I brush past her and take the liberty of checking out the view from behind. What is it about seams? Fucking Riley, if I didn’t know how much he loved me, I’d think he was trying to kill me.

Her bag slung over my shoulder, I breeze past the kitchen counter, where I’ve set out a bottle of champagne and two plastic cups. Not exactly elegant, but perfect for the car ride. “Would you mind hanging onto this?” I ask, handing her the bottle and tipping the cups upside-down over the neck. “And our coats?” I scoop them off the couch and fold them together over her arm.

“We’re not wearing these?” she asks, half amused, half not.

“We only have to make it to the car, and then we have a long ride ahead of us. I don’t want our coats to get in the way.”

“In the way of what?” she wonders aloud, cocking her head suspiciously.

“Talking,” I smile. “Let’s go.”

I snake my free arm through the strap of my waiting duffle, and she locks the door behind us. My eyes are locked on those damn stockings in the elevator; when we cross the lobby, I know I’m not the only one salivating. I’m quite sure Isabella knows exactly how hot she is in the getup. It’s not an outfit I’d ask her to wear where she’s likely to be recognized. But tonight, it will serve its purpose well.

“Evening Miss Swan, Mr. Cullen.”

“Domenic,” I smirk at the man’s struggle to remain impassive.

After she climbs in the back seat, I hand Domenic the bags to place in the trunk and ask him very discreetly to lift the privacy partition.

“Consider it done, sir.”

I shake his hand and pass a folded hundred-dollar bill into his palm. “Happy New Year, Domenic.”  I wouldn’t want to be the guy who has to keep his eyes on the road tonight.

Just before he closes my door, he leans in and smiles. “Have a very pleasant ride.”

Isabella sends me a puzzled look, and I shrug innocently. She doesn’t buy it for a second.

“What the heck is going on?” I finally get up the nerve to ask.

“Let’s have a drink.” Master of evasion, he twists off the wire cage surrounding the cork. “Domenic, I’m about to open a bottle of champagne,” Edward warns.

“Thank you, sir,” he answers, raising the darkened glass wall behind his seat.

“Here we go!” Edward’s face lights up like a little boy shooting off bottle rockets in the street. He pours out two full cups of champagne and recorks the bottle before placing it between his feet on the floor and launching into a toast.

“Here’s to us…Isabella and Edward…The Dark Prince and his delicious princess…Black Velvet and On My Knees…am I forgetting anyone?”

I giggle. “Everyone seems to be present and accounted for.” We tap our cups together and I draw down the sweet bubbles. “I love champagne,” I sigh contentedly.

“What’s not to love?” Edward pulls my hand into his lap. He tips his cup back and finishes his drink, then turns his head along the seatback to eye-fuck me again. I’m grateful I had time to properly shave, powder, and perfume myself before slipping into this upscale hooker outfit Edward bought me.  He seems especially excitable today. I hope it’s the prospect of our weekend away and not some weirdo thing left over from lunch with my dad. Ugh, I shake my head and finish off my champagne.

“What’s that about?” he asks. The man misses nothing.

“I need more champagne.”

His eyes twinkle as he tips the bottle into my cup again and refills his own at the same time. He’s quick to take my hand again as soon as he resituates the bottle.  My eyes drift to his lap; turnabout is fair play. His erection is plain as day inside his slim khakis. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Sensing my discovery, he pulls the back of my hand to the area in question and rubs my knuckles across the ridge.

All righty then.

“Look what you’re doing to me, Baby.” He closes his eyes and pulls our hands away. “Fuuuck!”

“Edward, what is going on with you tonight?”

He opens his eyes and shifts his whole body to face me.  “Let me ask you something, Isabella. How many times have you read The Story of O?”

“Oh, um…” I’d say…somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five. “Three or four, I guess. Why?”

His voice is suddenly deeper. “Take off your panties and hand them to me.”

But, we’re not…oh, fuck it. I lift my hips off the seat just enough to slide my meager bottoms under my ass, over my fishnet stockings, and around the ungainly platform heels. I bunch them up and lay them in his outstretched hand. 

"You shouldn't sit on your skirt. Pull it up behind you and sit directly on the seat."  

Fuck. Me. He is quoting me the scene. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass that we’re not in D/s mode. He is fully revved and playing one of my favorite all-time fantasies, right down to the garter belt.

Without moving my eyes from his, I pull the skirt from under me and position my bare ass back down on the leather seat. I pray he brought a towel, or at least a handkerchief, because this is definitely going to moisten the Town Car.

Edward’s pulls in a shuddering breath, and on his exhale, he reaches for the top button of my blouse. Sliding the silk-covered button through its slot, his finger trails to the next fastener, and he opens that as well, baring my bra. With a practiced snap, he releases the clasp, then retracts his hand. Black lace strains open, padded cups catch briefly on tightened nipples before disappearing around fleshy mounds inside my blouse. Cool, smooth silk brushes luxuriously against my delicate flesh.

A flash of tongue glistens greedily between Edward’s parted lips. He reaches a hand once more toward the wreckage, when the sudden blare of a horn draws his attention to the window.  He seems to remember himself and exactly where we are, and thinks better of exposing my tits to the passengers of the taxis surrounding our landlocked car. Pinching the thin fabric between thumb and forefinger, he settles the button placket just over my nipple on each side. In a whisper that doesn’t seem meant for my ears, he mutters, “That’ll have to do…for now.”

How did I fail to predict my frantic desperation? And how can I possibly hope to carry out my plan, to introduce a sane discussion of sexual preferences, when my singular thought is burying every part of myself between her creamy thighs? Thighs barely concealed by the mockingly modest swath of pleated pinstripes.

I regard my companion cautiously, as if the mere act of setting my eyes upon her would in and of itself ignite the keg of gunpowder I’ve become. It helps to see that she’s nearly as gone as I am, which was, in fact, the point of the role play, the outfit, the car. But it occurs to me, admittedly too late, that I may have gone just a bit too far in my effort to get her in the proper frame of mind. I want her excited, not muddled. And I am barely holding it together here myself.

So I don’t ask her to part her legs, and I don’t set my hand at the top of her stockings and dip my thumb under the stitching at the top. I don’t feel the heat from her bare pussy on the back of my hand as it slides closer, and I don’t slip my hand between the soft skin of her ass and the cool leather below it.

But fuck, I really want to.

“More champagne?” I offer, noticing my mouth has completely gone dry.

“Just a half, maybe?” she answers, holding out her cup. I pour, reseal the bottle, and rest my head against the back of the seat. Bringing the refreshing drink to my mouth, I focus on calming myself. I want to do this right.

“Edward,” she says softly. “Where are you taking me?” Is that worry? Fear? Crap.

Well, of course, you dope. You dress her up like O, stuff her into the back seat of the car, serve her alcohol, and start undressing her.  Why wouldn’t she assume you’re about to drop her at the doorstep of Roissy? Surprises are seriously overrated. This one’s already run its course.

“Montauk. To a secluded inn on the water, where I can have my wicked way with you.”

Oh gee, that sounded comforting. Her shoulders slacken into the leather behind her and the crinkles in her forehead disappear.

“Why am I not wearing a collar right now?”

“I think a better question would be, ‘Why am I treating you like a sub right now when you’re clearly not wearing a collar?’”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Then answer that one please.”

“Because you are way too hot in that outfit and because I’m a bit of an asshole.”

“But if you wanted to play this out, you know I would’ve been game. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Because, sweetheart, I was trying to help set the stage for you. I knew this checklist conversation would be rough, and I wanted to help you slide into an accommodating mindset. But you need to be you, not my sub, when you consider your responses.”

She giggles, “Me, but exceedingly horny.”

“That’s always preferable,” I admit. “So…about this talk…”

“Wait…first…kiss me, Edward?” The way she says my name pierces me. She’s both asking which version of me is sharing this ride and requesting Edward’s presence.

I barely get the words out, “I’m here, sweetheart,” before closing my lips over hers.  Isabella is ever receptive and pliable, but I sense tentativeness. Sorry, sorry, sorry, plays an endless loop in my head. I press my tongue gently against hers, but then I wait, letting her take the lead. Nothing.

And then…her tongue reaches back for me, and I find her in the middle. And we share a sweet kiss where neither leads and neither follows, but we both give and we both take. All the tension from earlier is swept away. Not that I’m no longer aroused, but now I am grounded and centered again on what matters.

She pulls away, finally, and her eyes are warm and soft, trusting and reassured. “So where is this checklist?”

I pull the folded pages from my back pocket. “I printed this out…for discussion purposes. When you’re ready to fill it out for real, I want you to go on line and do it.”

“Is that secure?” she asks.

Attagirl. I smile and answer, “Would I let you imperil yourself?”

She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand for the papers. “Just a sec. I want to go over a few things before you freak out.”

“I’m not gonna freak out, Edward. I’ve seen checklists before.” Major eye roll.

“Yes, big shot. And you’ve written all about crawling and getting tied up. Tell me, were you fully prepared?”

Her immediate response is indignation, but that quickly passes as she realizes how utterly unprepared she truly was. Her sails flutter and deflate. “No.”

“First of all, I want you to remember this is a comprehensive list. It covers everything. I didn’t write it, and I’m not into some of this stuff at all. I mean, at all.”

“Good to know,” she smirks. Oh, sweet Isabella, there’s a reason I trapped you in a moving vehicle for three hours to have this discussion. You just have no idea….

“The more nonjudgmental you can be, the better this whole thing works. Just try to keep your mind open?”

“Got it. Non-judgmentally open mind coming right up!”

I recognize flippancy as one of Isabella’s go-to defense mechanisms. She’s understandably nervous. Sharing, or even admitting, one’s sexual preferences is not easy, especially the first time around.

“Okay.” Unfolding the sheets, I show her the columns off to the right. “This first one… ‘done it’ . . . is a simple check box. You’ve either done it or you haven’t.”

“So far so good,” she responds.

“Next is where you rate desirability. If you haven’t done the activity, just imagine how you would feel and record your response. A hard limit is an activity you are completely unwilling to do.” She blinks over at me and then back at the page. “Anything you don’t hard limit is mine for the taking, so if something feels dangerous, in any way, make sure you check off hard limit.”

“Yours for the taking…?” she repeats, questioning eyes shifting to mine.

“Yep. That’s how it works. But don’t forget for one instant the underlying philosophy here is ‘safe, sane, and consensual’. You’re filling this checklist out in the context of your submission to me, and me alone, where we are right now in our relationship. That’s not to say that you’d allow any Sir Tom, Dick, or Harry to tie you to the bed and take a crop to your pussy.”

Jeezus, Edward! Give a girl a fighting chance, will ya?” She giggles nervously and I offer a largely insincere apology.

“What if half my list ends up as a hard limit?”

“So be it. It’s unquestionably better to err on the side of caution, especially at first. We don’t need to rush this thing.”

Her lips relax into a smile. “We have a thing?”

“Oh, we most definitely have a thing.”

We have a thing. Okay, Edward Cullen, tell me more about your checklist.

“So, if it’s not a hard limit…?”

He smiles. He freaking loves this, and I kind of absolutely love that he loves this. In fact, this is pretty much exactly what I’ve always wanted and never dared to hope I’d find.

“The next rating is neutral. You’re willing, but it doesn’t set your panties on fire.”

“Hmmm…” Playing Scrabble with Edward would set my panties on fire.

“Think about the wife in your A Day in the Life story.  Were there things she did, because she had to, that really didn’t turn her on?”

“She didn’t love being a footstool all afternoon.”

“There you go,” he says.

“Okay. This last rating, desirable, seems fairly obvious.”

“Yes, the hard part is being honest about what arouses you.”

“And what if something arouses me,”—fuck, that word—“but it also terrifies me?”

He shifts in his seat and gives me the most serious look I’ve seen since we got into this car. “Isabella, if you’re not willing to try it, then you have to check ‘hard limit,’ but if you are…willing…you just need to give it over to me.”

Give it over to himGah, I think I need my panties back.

Deep breath, Bella. All kinds of scary, exciting images loop through my mind. Things I know I want…with him. But how do I dare? He’s right. This will be the hardest part. After suppressing and repressing and burying my darkest needs for so long, checking a box on a computer screen will bring everything to the harsh light of day. And that’s exactly why you’re here, OMK kindly reminds me. 

“Also,” Edward has continued, “that’s what this comment box at the far right is for.”

“What, you mean like I write ‘terrified’ in there?”

He chuckles gently. “Write whatever you need to in there, and we’ll talk about it.”

Am I ready for this? Obviously, the better he knows me, the more enriching the experience will be, for both of us. And yet, spelling it out this way feels like short-circuiting all the normal rituals involved in getting to know someone, handing him the keys to my castle of kink.

“This is like a cheat sheet on crack!”

He smiles at my reservation. “I consider it more of a road map. It gives me a really good idea where I can push and where to lay off, and even how to reward you when you’ve been a very good girl.”

“Yeah,” I gripe, “and how to discipline me when I haven’t.”

“Oh, abso-fucking-lutely,” he smirks most evilly.

Dear God.

“So, you ready to take a look at the categories?” He finally hands over the papers and I’m already intimidated by the sheer volume of the sexual activities I’ll need to consider. While wearing no panties and an unhitched bra, locked in a vehicle barreling through the night at seventy miles per hour with a crazed sex fiend.

Am I ready? Not a chance. “Sure. Just one thing, Edward?”

“Anything, sweetheart.” Mr. Accommodating.

“If I keel over in the middle of this, would you please fix my blouse and put my panties back on before the paramedics strap me to the gurney?”

He leans in for an amused kiss. “I promise.”

Let’s go.  Section One, Sexual Activities…Anal penetration, Anal fisting, Analingus…. Oh Holy Lady of the Back Door!  What a way to start! I sneak a peek over at Edward, who’s staring intently at me.

“What are you going to do while I read through this?”

“I’m going to be available for questions.”

“You’re just going to sit there and watch me, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have some questions.”

I shake my head. He-who-will-not-be-deterred. “Whatever.” I continue down the list. Cock worship, Cunnilingus... oh shit, is that N/A or do I really need to address that? Double penetration, yada yada, aaaand…threesomes.

I flip the page, not giving him the satisfaction of asking any questions.

“Maybe you should take a break before hitting the fetish category,” he suggests.

“Oh no way. I’m on a roll.” I guzzle down half the champagne and flip to the next page.

“Agalmatophilia—sex with statues, yes, definitely arousing. Oh look here, Edward. Altocalciphilia—there’s actually a name for your love affair with those green spikes!”

“Let me see that,” he reaches for the sheets, but I hold them away and shake my head. “Nope, this is my checklist. See? Submissive’s checklist. Get your own, you big dom, you.”

“Okay, go ahead and play it that way…”

I ignore him. “Bathroom use control—oh shit.” Literally.

It’s a little harder to be nonjudgmentally open-minded on the fetishes page, but I freeze my expression and read on. Bestiality, blood, corsetry, diapers….fuuuck, diapers??... exhibitionism…

“Where are you?” he asks, curiosity oozing from every pore.

“Exhibitionism,” I try to answer nonchalantly.

His eyebrows lift and he runs two fingers back and forth across his lips. Got an exhibitionism thing, Edward? I turn back.

Golden showers, latex, medical, blah blah blah, rubber, scat—um, NO!... shaving

“SHAVING HEAD HAIR??” I place a HUGE “X” in the hard limit. “Got that, Buster?” I turn the paper to Edward, and he starts laughing so hard he finally has to wipe his eyes.

“Isabella, I promise you, I have no desire to shave your head,” he says, fighting through residual hilarity.

“That’s just disturbing,” she answers.

“Hold on,” I say, “No judging, remember? Maybe this seems outrageous to you right now, but if you really stretch your mind, could you see a scenario where a master might demand that sacrifice, and it might just be perfectly paired with a sub who wants to prove her devotion by giving up something so basic to her identity?”

She thinks about it for a minute, looks out the window, then back at me. “I’m sorry, I can’t stretch quite that far. But I do get that you can understand it.”

That’s pretty good for now.

“And I’m really glad it’s not high on your list,” she adds hastily.

“It’s not anywhere on my list. I love your hair,” I promise.

She flips to the D/s page and I watch as her eyes travel halfway down the page before alighting on something that interests her. Mightily, from the looks of it. She’s killing me here. Watching her facial expressions without knowing exactly what she’s reading is an exercise in masochism—and I am no masochist.

“Oh, come on! At least tell me what you’re looking at!”  

She throws me a bone, but she refuses to meet my eyes. “Forced orgasm.”

Yes, princess. Fortunately, I am well acquainted with the entries that grace the lower half of the fetish page—all kinds of humiliation—and again, her blush is a dead giveaway.

“Bondage?” I confirm, as she turns the next page.

“Mmm. This should be easy…I like bondage.”

I bite the inside of my lower lip. She has no idea.

“Here we go…Ankle restraints…blindfold…body bag? Holy shit, Edward, what is that about?”

So much for holding in my responses. She’s just too much fun. “Seriously? I can’t speak to the body bag. You’d have to Google it if you wanted to learn more, but—”

"Breast bondage, chains, collar and leash…”

Oh hell, does she have to blush so brilliantly? I’m trying so hard to be a good boy. Yeah. That leash is coming out really soon.

Gags. I don’t know how I feel about gags.” She looks to me as if I’ll have her answer. I shrug.

“I don’t know how you feel about gags either.”

“Well, you’re a big help.” She rolls her eyes.

I shrug. “Let your pussy be your guide.”

“Thanks, Pinocchio.”

“Actually I believe that was the Blue Fairy’s line.”

“Well Jiminy Cricket! Aren’t you the little Wikipedia tonight?

She turns back to the page. Her lips quirk downward at the corners. “This page is too scary…moving on.” She flips to the last page, scenes.

Animal play…doggy stuff?”

“Doggy, pony, crates, bowl feeding, doggy walks—”

“As in, peeing outside?”


She looks horrified.

“Try not to think of it within the bounds of our apartment in the middle of Manhattan. Just…you know…airlift the fantasy to somewhere it might possibly make sense and try to look at it that way.”

Medical scenes? Is that like stirrups and blood pressure equipment?”

“I’ve always been partial to the stethoscope myself.” Not gonna lie, I do love stirrups, too, but she seems a little skittish right now.

“Teasing, tickling, torture, vampire…oh delightful! Aaaaand, that’s a wrap. Thank God.”

I fold the list hastily and hand it back to him like a hot potato.  He stuffs it into his pocket, retrieving his cell in the same motion.

“Test results are back,” he announces, scrolling through the message before handing me his phone—clean bill of health.


He shrugs, clearly not expecting anything different. He reaches down, snags my purse from the floor, and holds it out to me expectantly.

I roll my eyes and say, “Fine,” clicking through the details. “Boring and clean,” I report.

He’s even less surprised at my results. “What about birth control?” he inquires.

“I’ve been on the pill for ten years. Would you like a note from my GYN?”


A wide smile breaks across his face. “So…”

I provide the mirror image. “So, yeah.”


  1. I shrug. “Let your pussy be your guide.”

    “Thanks, Pinocchio.”
    Are you trying to kill me? Huge snort laugh in the middle of the gym. How exactly did Edward think the list read would go after three glasses of champagne ?

    1. Glad you enjoyed my Disney moment *grins*

      You'll see that Master is VERY careful to make sure his submissive is fully present in scene, but he knew the alcohol would help loosen her up for their very necessary conversation! XX

  2. Good morning once again Born. I hope all is still well with you. Interesting chapter. You defiled Disney. LMFAO. I am so glad my kids are older now. Not that we still don't watch Disney movies. Hell I just bought Monsters, Inc. LOL.

    Can I just say that I am so happy that she called him out on the whole lunch issue. I got my thong in a huge ass twist for nothing. I am happy that he sees now that it was a mistake. Edward doesn't seem like the type of person to make the same mistake over and over again. He is just going to make new ones. ;) I do think this is a learning experience for both of them. I do see that.

    The car The check list, I'm not going to lie, some of it would have me ducking for cover. I have a feeling that comment box on the side is going to be used a lot. I wonder if there is a word limit for it? She should probably use a notebook or two. LOL. I think this pretty much sums it up....{I fold the list hastily and hand it back to him like a hot potato.} Wahahahaha.

    I can't wait for the trip to really get started. Thanks for sharing your wonderful story with us. Once again I hope you have a fabulous day. Take care and peace. T.

    1. I am glad you got your thong in a twist, and it wasn't for nothing. These characters might not always get it right the first time, but I tend to judge people by how they clean up the messes they make. I happen to think this guy is pretty good at it. He's honorable, and when he screws up, he has the balls to admit it.

      Just remember...not your list...not my list!

  3. Let me just say one thing..... When he mentioned the Story of O and enacted the scene, Isabella wasnt the only one who was shit scared of where he was headed... Even though i logically knew he was taking her to an Inn... Power-fucking-full writing there.

    1. Thanks, Dream. I'm so pleased the story is moving you. Thank you for letting me know.

  4. Is it safe to say that anything anal went on her hard limits? are you going to reveal this list to us? his list? c'mon!

    1. LOL It's safe to say you'll learn where she stands (or sits) on that one!

  5. I was dying laughing at the let the pussy be your guide comment. I don't think I will ever forget that! Words to live by:)

  6. What, no tinted windows in the limo? Well, that's no fun LOL! Will Bella get a look at Edward's checklist? Seems only fair to me but, like Edward said, no one promised fair!