Friday, September 28, 2012


~Chapter 80~

Tucked into the back of the taxi, Isabella waits on pins and needles, her lower lip between her teeth.

“He knows all about you.”

She gasps.

“About us,” I amend. “He knows that you’re my collared sub and my girlfriend, and he knows we’re playing tonight.”

“Oh my God! I get to meet my Master’s Master!” She’s definitely anxious, but I’d say her overriding emotion is clearly exhilaration.

Calmly, I push ahead. “He has agreed to my guidelines. Marcus will not address you directly, nor will he touch you. Do you understand?”

“Marcus,” she repeats the unfamiliar name. “Yes.”

“You will address him as ‘Sir’ and you will address me as ‘Mr. Cullen’ once we get inside. Is that understood?”


“You will follow my commands without wavering, and you will trust me without hesitation.”

“Of course.”

“Your safeword for tonight is ‘radish’. Just blurt it out or use it in a sentence; I don’t care. I promise to stop immediately and check in with you privately. Got it?”

“Yes. Radish,” she repeats, as we pull up to the distinctive striped awning.

“Here we go, princess,” I say to my beautiful, nervous girl, slipping my wallet back into my pocket before offering her my hand up onto the sidewalk.

She takes a deep shuddering breath and runs an anxious hand through her hair. She subconsciously adjusts her bracelet, running the tip of her finger over the field of black sapphires. I revel in the private knowledge that only the two of us share: only the briefest, most elegant lingerie supports her breasts and her vertical stripe fishnet stockings.

No, there’s no doubt that she belongs to me exclusively, and I itch with anticipation to show her off tonight.

“Mr. Cullen” laces his fingers through mine as the heavy doors open before us. He strides confidently inside, and I attempt to match his enthusiasm, though I am a bundle of jangly nerves. I know how much this Marcus means to my Master, and I ache to make him proud of me.

“Cullen for three,” he informs the hostess, who smiles brilliantly and says, “Yes, sir, your party is at the bar. Just let me know when you’re ready to be seated. We’ve reserved the corner table for you.”

Corner table…? Eeeep! Don’t think, Bella.

Master takes off with a half-skip and pulls me along toward the impressive hunk of beefcake setting down his highball glass and turning our direction. I finally put a face and body to the fantasies. So this is the man.

Late fifties, I’d judge, impressive head of dark hair offset by a distinguished smattering of silver at the temples, deep oceans for eyes, Marcus might’ve stepped out of the pages of Esquire in his grey silk turtleneck and slim-fitting black wool jacket. His eyes crinkle at the corners as his lips curl upwards into a genuinely delighted smile—the smile of a proud teacher toward his successful protégé.

“Edward,” he says, his deep voice oozing warmth and joy. Master steps into his open arms, not letting go of my hand. Marcus manages to take Master into his embrace, and the two exchange boisterous back slaps.

“Damn, Edward, you are looking good. Did you come here to tease an old man?”

Master chuckles at what seems to be familiar ribbing. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, gramps. But no, I came here to show off my girl. Marcus, meet Isabella.”

Suddenly, all four eyes are on me.

“Very nice to meet you, Sir.”

I watch nervously as the appraising gaze of Master’s guru ticks slowly down my body.  I feel every bit the prize livestock vying for the blue ribbon at the county fair. When he gets down to the four-inch heels of my leather boots, he whistles and turns to Master.  Clapping him on the shoulder, Marcus says, “Wow. You were not exaggerating. She is spectacular.”

Master turns proudly to me, and I remind myself that Marcus will not address me directly. This is going to take some getting used to.

“Wait till you see her in action,” Master winks, sending a cold shiver down my spine.

“Can I buy you two a drink?” Marcus offers.

“Sure, one drink will be okay,” Master answers smoothly. “Dirty martini for my dirty girl, and I’ll have a Grey Goose, straight up, lime twist.”

Marcus engages the bartender and Master pulls me in for a kiss. He moves his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I told you he’d love you, baby.”

I’m the toy he’s brought to school for his turn at Show-and-Tell. Question is, how much will be shown and told?

“Right this way, sir,” the hostess leads us through the cavernous restaurant.  After passing through the main dining room, we find ourselves in a slightly smaller side room, with maybe twelve tables, all filled with animated diners.

“Miss?” the hostess addresses Isabella, sliding out one of the heavy upholstered chairs. She begins to sit, when I interject, “No, the lady will sit right here.”

“Of course, sir,” says the hostess deferentially. Isabella moves into the chair I’ve selected facing the corner and I push her in.

“You’ll have fewer distractions this way,” I announce, bringing a bright pink glow to her cheeks. Marcus sits to her left and I sit to her right, arranged so both of us can closely monitor the room.

Just as the hostess begins to offer the opened tri-fold menu for Isabella, I abruptly interrupt.

“She doesn’t need that.” The now befuddled hostess promptly draws the heavy leather folio back and looks at Isabella with mild concern. Isabella smiles sweetly. The hostess mumbles, “Your server will be over shortly,” and hastens to turn tail and leave.

“No collar?” Marcus observes.

“Show him your bracelet, sweetheart.”

Isabella places her wrist on the table. Marcus looks, but he doesn’t touch. A broad grin seeps across his features. “You always were a classy guy, Edward.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all your former trainees.”

Marcus chuckles. “Hell no, I do not. The kid I’m working with right now has one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard. Practically sprained my wrist working that one’s back side last week!”

Isabella’s eyes widen and I chuckle softly into my napkin before spreading it over my lap. The server makes his appearance, drops off the bread basket with a trio of dipping sauces, and rattles off the night’s specials. Isabella perks up when braised lamb shanks are mentioned.

“Can I get you another round of drinks here?”

“Marcus?” I inquire.

“No, I’m good.”

“We’re all good,” I respond for Isabella and myself, dismissing the server.

“You know, Edward, there are plenty of excellent training techniques to combat that slouch.”

I sense Isabella straightening in her seat. No doubt she’s blushing furiously as well. “It’s been a challenge. I’m considering a bondage sleeve at this point.”

Marcus splits apart a warm roll and dips the edge into the seasoned oil. “If it’s a persistent problem, there are more effective methods.” Marcus gets that self-satisfied grin, and his eyes contain a question mark. How far do you want me to take this?

I regard my submissive girl, who is now putting forth her best posture for us; shoulders back, tits forward, chin high.

I offer, “She’s not fond of the correction, are you, princess? Why don’t you tell Marcus how I like to reinforce good posture?”

She hesitates for just the briefest moment. “He lifts my hands to the back of my neck and spreads my elbows wide apart.”

“And?” I prompt.

“Mr. Cullen ties my elbows back with rope so that I don’t forget myself again.”

“Hmm,” Marcus replies. “If I wanted to extinguish the behavior, I’d opt for an instant feedback loop. I assume nipple clamps are an option?”

“Of course,” I answer quickly, flashing a knowing grin at Isabella, whose fresh embarrassment causes an awakening inside my boxers.

“Good, then this is an easy fix,” Marcus continues, pulling out a pen and a business card from his inside jacket pocket.  He draws a diagram of a complicated rig with clamps and spreader bars and thin wire. I watch the evil genius at work, eager as ever to learn from my old Master.

Watch this, he scrawls next to the picture, before handing me the card.

“Once you get her properly trussed up, one hunch of the shoulders ought to fix her. If she’s particularly stubborn, it might take two.”

I sneak a peek at Isabella’s heated response and shake my head in awe. “Instructive as ever.” I break off the tip of a breadstick and pop it into my mouth. “Mmm, salty. Here, sweetheart. You’ll like this.” She opens her mouth obediently. I push the end of the breadstick in and let go, leaving her one beat longer than comfortable with the thin protrusion coming from her mouth.

“You can use your hands.” She gratefully pulls the food from her mouth and reaches for her water glass.

“Sweetheart,” I direct her, easily loud enough for him to hear, “tell Marcus what you’re wearing under your clothes.

She flushes but turns to him and answers, “A bra and garter belt, Sir.”

“Hmmm,” Marcus addresses me. “I thought this one was a writer.”

From the look of mortification on her face, she seems to be wondering if I’ve actually shown Marcus her stories. “Isabella, help our friend visualize exactly what’s going on below the silk and leather.”

She blushes deeper as I knew she would. “Sir, I’m wearing a lace bra the color of ripe cherries and a floral garter belt to match. My fishnet stockings are held up by four sets of crystal clips with red elastic bands.”

He smiles at her but addresses me, “Well that certainly sounds promising. She’s not wearing any panties then?”

“Not a stitch. And… she’s about to spread her legs for me.”

Master has just given me a direct order, and he turns to watch me obey, though there’s nothing much to see above the line of the table, other than the fact that my cheeks are practically on fire at this point.

Thankfully, the white tablecloth reaches to the floor, and I’m realizing this was no accident. There must be a special Zagat Restaurant Guide For Doms with ratings on a scale only they could appreciate. Service: wait staff to provide additional humiliation; décor: privacy of under-table areas; food: ample selection of mouthwatering dishes to deny your submissive.

“You don’t need to check?” Marcus queries.

“Oh no. Isabella never fails to spread her legs. Tell Marcus why, sweetheart.”

Hesitation will get me nowhere good. “It shows Mr. Cullen I’m eager for him.”

Marcus smirks and nods approvingly to Master.

“Thirsty, sweetheart?” Master’s comment might sound like a question, but the three of us are crystal clear on the command. I lift my water glass, consoling myself he’s not necessarily going “there.” Most likely, he’s just looking to counter the dehydrating effects of the drink I guzzled at the bar. 

Not that I could be sitting here calmly between these two sexual dynamos with such a charged past without the slightly slackened inhibitions of said guzzled drink.

I know it’s wrong on so many levels…I know I shouldn’t…and if only Master would divulge even a snippet of his time spent learning at Marcus’s boots, I wouldn’t have to create my own vivid fantasies starring my very own, gloriously naked, blindfolded, perfectly aroused, helplessly chained Master down on his knees, with this intimidating man demanding—

“Princess, my napkin?”

Oh, crap. I’ve floated and missed Master’s cue.

“Sorry, M—Mr. Cullen,” I say, hastily jumping out of my chair and retrieving his napkin for him, squeezing my thighs together tightly as I bend my knees so as not to flash the entire side of the restaurant. Instead of taking it from me, he lifts his hands out of the way and I refold the rectangle and slide it onto his lap. Seconds later, Marcus “drops” his napkin to the floor and regards Master expectantly.

Oh my God. I’m the ball girl!

I jump from my perch and retrieve Marcus’s napkin. I feel his eyes on me, and for all my thigh clenching, I am wet. Servicing another man for Master, even in this relatively innocent manner, feels foreign and exciting. Without the physical barrier offered by the chat room, I’m trusting even more heavily in Master’s command of the situation and Marcus’s integrity.

Following protocol, I replace Marcus’s napkin without touching him.

“So, as I was saying…” Master begins, then slides his elbow along the table, “accidentally” knocking his spoon to the floor. “Oh, darn.”

I scurry from my seat around to his right side and pick up the spoon.

“Knee,” Master commands on my way down, forcing me to remain on one knee at his side, where Marcus would be unable to share the view. My skirt is a useless band of material stretched too far up my leg to cover the wide opening between my legs. Master leers appreciatively for a few beats before helping me up.

I hate the idea of returning this dirty spoon to Master’s place, so I slip it next to my plate and give him my own.

“Nice,” Marcus comments. “What happens when she runs out of silverware?” He pushes his fork off and I trade him for mine. I’m practically out of breath when the server comes back to take our order.

“And what can I get for the lady?”

“She’ll have the lamb shanks,” Master interjects.

Our server regards me briefly before recording the order. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the Porterhouse, medium rare, and we’ll need two more place settings. I apologize. She’s quite clumsy.”

Marcus stifles a laugh, then places his order. The server seems relieved to be done with us, but Master calls him back. “More water for the lady, please.”


“Isabella, remind me, what color was that last stoplight we saw on the way here?”

“Green, Mr. Cullen,” I answer immediately. Green, yes-and-more-please, green, please-don’t-stop, green!

If she’d hesitated for even a second before saying green, I’d have saved this for another day.

“You know, Marcus,” I exaggerate waving my fork, “I was just thinking…” and my hands disappear under the tablecloth.

I don’t love exposing myself to the harsh teeth of my zipper, but the prize is worth it. Readied for her, I place the fork delicately between my legs. I don’t want her to miss what I’ve got waiting for her, but I also don’t want to impale myself on the sharp tines.

“Shoot. I just cannot seem to hold onto my utensils today.” I shrug pointedly at Isabella, and she slips dutifully below the table. I hold myself out to her, the signal unmistakable. Isabella does not disappoint, or even hesitate. I can’t help my smug grin as she latches on to me. I run my fingers tenderly through her hair, another message she is sure to receive: Beautifully done and thank you most kindly, princess.

“Jesus,” Marcus whispers incredulously, leaning across the table, “Is she blowing you?”


“God, what a pervert you are.”

I have to laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

Impatient with my proprietary behavior, he barks out, “Get her back up here.” He wouldn’t be saying that if her lips were sealed around his cock. Spoiled sport.

“Fuck, you used to be way more fun.” I hook my thumb into Isabella’s mouth and she returns to her chair while I stuff my engorged cock painfully back into place.

“Moving on…” Marcus says, shaking his head at my antics. “Tell me, Edward, what’s been your biggest challenge?”

I regard Isabella’s flushed, fresh-off-my-cock face and she seems curious but not anxious over what I might reveal. Perfect.

“Look at her, Marcus. Sometimes, I just get carried away.”

Isabella smiles gloriously at me.

Marcus shakes his head and chuckles, “Control was never really your best thing, my friend.”

Isabella coughs suddenly and I give Marcus an accusatory stare. “Now look what you’ve done. Here, sweetie, finish your water.” This will be her third glass and she’ll be getting fairly desperate very soon. Because I’m an evil bastard, I slip my full glass next to her plate while she finishes the one in her hand.

She must be thinking anything but gracious thoughts, but she very sweetly thanks Mr. Cullen.

Our food arrives, and I slice into my steak and place the juicy meat onto my tongue.  The earthy aroma of the lamb tempts her, but she knows full well to wait for my signal before lifting her fork.

“After you finish that water, you may eat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cullen,” she forces out with a smile. I notice it takes her a little longer to get this one down, and if I were to look carefully, I could probably make out the water level rising behind her eyeballs.

Marcus chuckles and shakes his head. “So cruel.”

“Learned from the Master,” I retort proudly.

“So what would you say is her best quality?”

“Easy,” I answer him. “She is the most eager beaver one could ever hope to collar.”


He elaborates. Awesome.

“I’m telling you, Marcus, this girl is ready, 24/7. I can wake her from a sound sleep and she’s dripping for me.”

“How nice for you.” Marcus grins. “I believe you know my stance on dry pussies and flaccid cocks.”

“Yes, I recall,” Master answers darkly, rolling a large piece of meat into his mouth.

Oh my God. I feel as though I’ve entered an alternate universe. Seriously, the room is starting to spin. Sure, that might be all the water I’ve consumed on top of my cocktail. But more likely, it’s the domfest taking place at this table, with me the token submissive.

Master turns to me. “Isabella.” Holy hell, it’s showtime.

“Yes, Mr. Cullen?”

“You’re wet right now, am I right?”

“Of course, Mr. Cullen.” And now, wetter still, thank you so very much.

“Ask Marcus if he’d like to see evidence.”


I turn to Marcus, who’s watching me expectantly. “Sir, may I please show you that I’m eager for Mr. Cullen?”

“Day-ummm, Edward! You finally found a girl with a vocabulary!”

“Told ya,” Master answers with a proud nod.

“Yes,” Marcus replies casually, as if he hasn’t just virtually dragged his fingers through my otherwise private parts. “I’d love to see that.”

The two of them continue to cut their food, chew, and even swallow, but every ounce of their attention is focused on me. As they await my compliance, I search the table desperately for the proper implement. The knife catches my eye, sleek and steely. I slide it furtively beneath the tablecloth.

“I want to hear about it,” Marcus prompts Master.

“Isabella, tell Marcus how it makes you feel to slide an eating utensil between your legs at this elegant restaurant, while people all around you are dressed in their finest clothes and enjoying gracious service and gourmet food.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “I was imagining something less Village Voice restaurant review and more, ‘How does it feel to be playing with your pussy under the table?’…but I suppose that’ll do.”

Gahh, the way these two bat about the word ‘pussy’ the way normal guys would toss out stock prices or sports statistics!

I turn to Marcus as the blunt end of the knife reaches my wet slit. “Sir, the knife feels cold and hard inside my soft body.”

Master places his hand on my inner thigh and squeezes. “Use your proper words, princess,” he warns.

“Inside my soft… pussy,” I whisper. Master slides his hand further up my leg, pinching my flesh while I twist and pump the knife handle.

“You’re not letting her get off right now, are you?” Marcus asks in a severe tone.

“Of course not.” Master says, “Show him.”

I draw the knife out carefully, and hold the glistening handle up for his inspection.

He takes the knife out of my hand and brings it directly to his nose.  “She is impressive.”

HOLY SHIT! Did he just inhale my pussy juice at the dinner table?

Master laughs and shakes his head.

I seriously need to mop up below. Not to mention the fact that my bladder has now decided to get in on the act, and the challenge of containing myself between these two—without panties, no less—is an increasingly dangerous proposition.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cullen.”

“Yes, what is it, princess?”

“May I go to the bathroom?”

“You mean, you just want to walk over there to the door and come back?” he challenges lightly.

“No, I mean I need to go inside, please.”

I see Marcus shift in my peripheral vision. Master narrows his eyes. Uh-oh.

“I’m surprised at you, girl. You know how to ask properly.”

His tone is worrisome. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cullen. May I use the toilet please?”

There’s an awful moment of silence where he doesn’t answer, and my heart jumps to my throat.


I stifle my gasp. Master has never denied this request before. Either he’s feeling especially cruel or I’ve really pissed him off.  Either way, I have to deliver the disappointing news to my bladder that it’s not getting emptied any time soon. I do my best to clench muscles that are easier clenched when not gaping widely open.

“Thank you, Mr. Cullen,” I say with a forced smile, straightening in my chair and redoubling my efforts to please him.

“I apologize, Marcus,” Master says, making me feel a million times worse.

“Edward, with your permission,” Marcus starts quietly, dabbing his mouth and setting his napkin next to his plate, “I’d like to take Isabella to the bathroom.”

From Master’s expression, I can tell they did not discuss this earlier, and I’m prepared to hear his refusal. Master regards his mentor and measures his offer. There’s an entire conversation that takes place between their eyes that I cannot begin to understand, nor is it my place.

Master nods his assent to Marcus. My stomach plummets to the floor.

Eyes back on his steak, Master calmly says, "Go with Marcus," as if he didn't just give this stranger carte-blanche to do God-knows-what with me in the Ladies' Room.

I don't know this Master.

I vaguely notice Marcus shuffle to his feet, and I have the sense that I am expected to do the same. But I can’t. I’m locked in place. My bladder problems fade to the background as a new kind of fear grips me.

“Izz…a…bella,” Master forces out through clenched teeth, his reddening face still locked on Marcus.

My blood runs cold. Is he so angry that he’s willing to lend me out to another man?

Isabella doesn’t understand that Marcus has just offered me a way to allow her a trip to the bathroom, which she so clearly requires, despite her errors. I trust him implicitly, and I know that our rules will still guide his actions. He won’t allow any harm to come to her, and he won’t touch her.

I turn my head, afraid of what I might see. Sure enough, Bella’s lower lip has disappeared between her teeth, and I’d lay odds she’s about to start quaking. Yep, here it comes. Shit.

“Isabella, look at me, please.” I speak firmly, but more gently than before.

She turns doleful eyes my direction. She knows she’s let me down, but from what I can tell, she believes I’ve just betrayed one of her hard limits, and that is the worst possible place she can be. Anxious to put an urgent end to this, but allowing her to control the safe word this time, I offer, “How do you feel about those bitter, red, hard balls they cut up and put on salads?” 

“I…HATE…radishes, Mr. Cullen.” Her voice is measured and controlled and scared and angry.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Excuse us, please, Marcus?”

“Of course. I really am going to the bathroom. Take your time,” he says evenly before slipping away from the table.

“Talk to me, Isabella. No ‘Mr. Cullen.’ No ‘Master.’”

Her eyes brim with tears but she doesn’t seek physical comfort. “I know I messed up, but were you really going to send me off and let him have his way with me?”

The tears overflow and her beautiful face is marred by sadness.

I shift my body closer to hers and though it kills me, I honor her need for space. I settle for touching my knees to hers and bending forward onto my elbows. “Of course not, sweetheart. Marcus would never have touched you. There was no ‘having his way with you’ in the deal.”

“But you gave him permission!”

“Just to walk you to the bathroom. So that you could go, even though you messed up the protocol.”

“I don’t understand,” she sobs, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “Why was it okay for me to go with him when I couldn’t go alone?”

I offer her my hand, palm up, hoping she’ll take hold. Reluctantly, she does. My eyes follow Marcus across the room, and my lips curl up involuntarily. “Marcus would’ve found a way…something totally acceptable to all of us…for you to make it up to me. By serving me through him.”

“Serving him? I don’t understand.”

“Well, we can ask him what he had in mind when he returns.” I feel myself flinch when I add, “He can be very creative.”

She mops up her face with her napkin. “Don’t talk like that and not expect me to conjure up all kinds of scenes between the two of you.” A brave little smile breaks through.

My own tension eases when I see that she’s relaxing again. “Conjure away, sweetheart. It’s all good.”

“I really need to pee. Do you think you could come up with a way I could…just service you?”

“Sure. Come on.” Our hands are still clasped together, and we walk together to the Ladies’ Room door. “Okay, go in there and remove your bra. I will meet you back at the table, where the scene will resume. You will pass your bra to Marcus under the table, and all will be forgiven.”

“Thank you, Mister Masterward Cullen Velvet Prince Santa.”

I feel her lips curl into a smile while she’s kissing me. Not the most romantic spot in the place, but it works.

I push open the Men’s Room door and Marcus is just zipping up. “Everything back to good?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just a little misunderstanding.”

He crosses his arms. “I hope I didn’t make matters worse for you, Edward.”

I unzip, and I see his eyes drift downward. I try to pretend it doesn’t affect me. I turn my focus to the urinal wall. “I understood what you were trying to do, Marcus. Thanks for that. I’ve explained it to Isabella.”

“I meant what I said, Edward. She is spectacular. It warms my heart to see that you’ve found someone so obviously perfect for you. She’s a lovely sub. But she’s certainly no pushover.”

I chuckle. “No.”

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

“No. I was waiting to see if you two had chemistry.”

He looks amused. “And…?”

“I suppose I can feel a bit of a seismic rumble."

Now, he laughs out loud. “Not sure you can attribute that to me, pal. I see the way she leans into your words and soaks up your praise. It’s really beautiful to behold.”

It’s getting a bit awkward having this conversation with my willy hanging between the two of us, semi-stiff and all. I shift my shoulders away from Marcus, hoping maybe he’ll take the hint and leave me to pee in peace.

“Yeah, well, you missed the part where she accused me of sending her off to be mauled by the likes of you.”

“Ouch,” he flinches for both of us. “Hmm, perhaps you’ll want to give it a little time then?”

I sigh, loudly. Speaking of time…

“Hey listen, could you…um…y’know?” I tip my chin toward the sink area.

“Seriously? You’ve still got it bad for me, don’t you, kid?”

“What can I say?”

“All right,” he says with a cocky grin. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“Oh,” I call over my shoulder as the pee finally starts to flow. “Isabella is going to give you something at the table.”


“I want it back at the end of dinner.”

“Business is good then?” Master observes appreciatively, as Marcus closes the leather folio around his Amex black card.

“Can’t complain,” he answers. “I’ve got a steady group of doms who hire me to break the bad habits they themselves have created. The subs are brats who have either been getting away with topping from the bottom or they’re pain sluts who draw punishments because it’s the only way to get their needs met.” 

Marcus sighs a weary, tired sigh. “If any of those doms had come to me the way you did, they wouldn’t be paying for your dinner right now. I’d take another one like you over the lot of them any day.”

“I love you, too,” Master grins, accepting the compliment. “Thank you, Marcus. This was most generous of you,” Master says.

“Yes, thank you for dinner, Sir. It was delicious.”

Marcus chuckles. “She didn’t even eat, poor thing. Oh, and here, Edward. I wouldn’t want to break up the matched set.”

Master smirks and places his hand face-up in the center of the table, and Marcus sets my carefully folded bra into his palm.

“Mr. Cullen,” I venture, “Would you mind asking Sir about that thing we were discussing earlier?”

Master smiles and asks, “We’d like to know what your bathroom escort would’ve entailed.”

Marcus grins knowingly. “Sure. I was going to allow Isabella to use the Ladies’ Room first and then wait outside the Men’s Room door for me.”

“That’s it?” Master asks, cocking his head in disbelief.

“Well,” Marcus smirks, “I would’ve let her know that I was planning to give myself a very thorough hand job in her honor while I was in there.”

“And were you?” Master asks.

“Oh I absolutely would’ve done it. I just can’t guarantee that every thought would’ve been spent on your sub.” Marcus winks at Master, who shakes his head. But I can tell he’s pleased.

“Isabella will be sending you a copy of her submissive journal reflection of tonight’s events,” he promises Marcus, whose warm eyes dance over my face.

“I will be delighted to receive it,” he tells Master. “That will provide at least some measure of compensation for having to return her lingerie.”

We all move to the door and coats are donned. “You take care of this beautiful girl, or I will personally come back and kick your ass and greatly enjoying myself in doing so.” He punctuates his promise with a stern finger point. “And you know that’s not an idle threat.”

“Yes, Sir,” my Master answers in a clipped voice, sending a chill down my spine. 

The men hug once more, while Master holds me protectively behind him. I catch Marcus in a rare, unguarded moment as he closes his eyes and places a kiss on Master’s cheek.  I have always known about the strong bond between the two men, but until this moment, I did not fully appreciate Marcus’s restrained attraction. He opens his eyes and catches me staring. He opens his eyes and catches me staring. Rewarding me with an affectionate smile and a wink, he understands I will keep his secret.

A/N: I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this one. Comment here, PM me on or Facebook, whatever works! A long time ago, someone quite special to me helped me write this chapter, then asked me not to thank her. (Sorry, I tried.) XXX ~BOH

Friday, September 21, 2012


~Chapter 79~

Bacon sizzling…check!
Coffee brewing…check!
English muffins toasting…check!
Scrambled eggs scrambling…check!

And most importantly, Edward still sleeping…check! It’s been ridiculously difficult to surprise him with breakfast in bed, and I vow not to let this chance slip away.

Between slicing cantaloupe and rinsing berries, I sneak a peek at my laptop. As usual, Kitkat is first and entertaining as ever.

[Comment on your Journal] Entry 8: Chat
Aw princess...I think I'd be worried if you did enjoy that 'kiss'.  Pushing boundaries is a must, but I would LOVE to see what your Master thought of that kiss.  Did he enjoy imagining his little subbie taking another man's breath into her lungs?  Did the thought of you worshiping another man's tongue get him hot and bothered?  I guess it might have been a learning experience for him as well. And seriously sweet with that last line, p.  You giant suck up. :) kk
kk- HA! Me? A suck-up? I guess I’d agree with you if I didn’t actually mean what I wrote! Master loved the kiss, until I didn’t. Hot and bothered? Always! x ~yp
My sweet sister in submission is still with me, I’m pleased to see, and I eagerly open His kitten’s comment:

'I’m guessing I’ll always have this “good girl” element ….'  This is way more true than you think. 'Coming Out' as a sub is a very scary thing. There are those that are BORN to be a sub and are just waiting to tell the world. But there are those of us that have that 'good girl' in them, always wary of what others will think. You will see over time that it gets easier to let the 'good girl' go, but never completely.

Being in an on-line world makes it easier to lose ALL your inhibition as those people CANNOT see you in person, so you may feel more comfortable doing more. I can only guess that the intimacy level of an open-mouthed kiss with another man may have been what freaked you out the most. My Master has never shared me on-line or in person, as I DO NOT want that and neither does He. I have no desire to share that kind of intimacy with anyone other than my Master. But that's just my opinion. 

But as always, Master was there for you and made sure that when you reached your limit He came in stopped it. Just as you did, you must ALWAYS tell Him. Yes, you are there because you want to serve Him, but you own Him just as much. He lives to make sure that your needs and desires are taken care of as well.

Trust in Him, as I love to say!

His kitten

kitten- So sharing isn’t always caring? I get it, I get it. To each, our own. And who the heck knows where Master and I will end up? I do trust him, and that is the most important factor in any and every scene.
The ‘good girl’ syndrome confuses me sometimes! I’m so used to ‘being good’ equaling doing what is expected and makes others proud, but now, it feels like ‘being good’ means pleasing my Master. Is it possible that being “bad” is really being good after all? *head spinning* Your insights are most welcome and appreciated, as ever. X ~yp
And this morning, there’s a new voice on the scene, from her signature, one who is curious about the lifestyle but not living it herself. I click open the new comment with trepidation, but soon I see I have a new ally.
Dear Princess,
I see that Master has taken you on yet another step in your adventure!

How very wise you are in using the puppy analogy, because that, my dear princess, is exactly what you are. Just like that pup will get yanked back by the leash when he tries to go too far, so will the sting of your Master's leash yank on you when he feels it necessary.

Your Master is nothing short of brilliant, having used the chat room to give you a taste of what a public scene would feel like without actually scening in public… who wouldn't enjoy something so utterly delicious? How I would have enjoyed being part of the audience that night! Your anonymity was a key factor and although you say you would never want anything like that in real life, you were able to participate in something that was beyond your comfort zone. Embrace the hussy that was in the chat room, my dear princess, for she is simply a bolder part of yourself!

I wish nothing but the best for you and your Master, and I will continue to follow you on your journey.

Curious- Thx for the support and well wishes! Who knows, maybe one day you WILL be in that room with us? As for my “comfort zone”…well, that seems to be a moving target these days. Love your motto- ‘Embrace the hussy’- words to live by if ever I’ve heard them! Stick around but fasten your seat belt. This journey is a wild ride! x ~yp

The toaster pops and I add the muffins to the waiting wicker tray loaded with juice coffee, silverware, and salt and pepper. Figuring I’ll make this a little more interesting, I untie my robe and toss it over the couch before delivering the tray to Edward’s bed.

“G’morning, sunshine.”

Isabella’s voice in the doorway breaks through my morning fog and I force one eye open.

“Morning.” Holy smokes, what a sight! “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I thought I’d finally surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

“Wow! Naked girl and hot food…two of my very favorite things! Wait a second, did you cook this all in the nude?”

She smirks. “You are most welcome to think that if it makes it more fun for you.”

I sit up and make room for her to join me on the opposite side of the tray. “It’s already plenty fun. I was just curious.”

“I hope this is all okay?”

“Okay? It’s a minor miracle! Crispy bacon, hot coffee with just a drop of milk, scrambled eggs well done, English muffin toasted to perfection, and oh, can you pass the grape jelly?”

“You like grape jelly now?”

“Sure. How am I gonna make green eggs without it?”


God, how I love to surprise her. “Isabella, do you not think I can evolve?”

She slides me the jar of jelly with an amused grin. “So, Mr. Evolution, what’s our timing today?”

“After I properly thank you for breakfast…you have the day to yourself. I need you showered, dressed and ready to go by six.”

She lifts an eyebrow at the ‘ready to go’ part but knows better than to fish for details. If she had any idea she’d be meeting my mentor and possibly hers, she’d be sick with worry all day.

“Okay. That leaves me plenty of time for a mani-pedi. Now that the difficult maintenance is taken care of…” she starts, shooting me that look of amused annoyance, “I need to get on that easy stuff.”

“Heading back to the Four Seasons?” I ask, bringing a bite of my egg sandwich to my face.

“Uh, no, thank you very much. I’ll be visiting Queen Nails and zoning out while the four sisters and five brothers who own the place talk and laugh amongst themselves in Vietnamese, most likely about the customers.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s awesome, actually.” She picks up her bacon and gnaws off the end. “Ever had a pedicure?”


“Want one?”

“Never thought much about it before.”

 Her eyes twinkle and she suggests, “Come with me.”

“I don’t want one of the brothers,” I answer immediately.

She smiles around the piece of meat in her mouth. “You can have my regular girl—Wei. She’s very cute; you’ll like her.”

“I have to admit, that sounds enticing. But wait, are you gonna have one of the brothers?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just feet.”

I suppose if she had some kind of foot worship fetish I might be concerned, but to Isabella, there is nothing even mildly sexual about that part of her body, or mine, for that matter. Not without the psychological piece that Master overlays, anyway.

“You sure you don’t mind if I invade your moment? You know I’ve got you from six p.m. till three tomorrow.”

“Hmmm. Let’s see. Can I bear to spend an hour in a massage chair next to my gorgeous hunk of boyfriend while we both get our feet buffed and massaged and polished?”

“Whoa! I am not getting polish.”

She halts the coffee on the way to her mouth and bursts out laughing. “Did you want me to snort this all over the sheets?”

“Ah…a snorj.”

“Cut. It. Out.” She manages to set down the cup before shaking the entire bed with her giggles.

Naked giggling girl. Happy, filled belly. Morning wood standing at attention, patiently waiting to be called into service. I pick up the tray and move it to the nightstand so I can pounce on my girlfriend. She howls in surprise and giggles even harder.

“I came over to say thank you for breakfast,” I tell her, nuzzling my nose behind her ear. Kissing her is clearly out of the question until she can draw oxygen again.

“You’re welcome,” she gasps, “but stop… tickling… my neck. I can’t…breathe!”

“Is this better?” I move my mouth to her jiggly tit and grab a nipple between my lips.

“Nnnngh,” she responds, her breathing shifting instantly.

“How about this?” My hand takes in the other, stroking her with my thumb.


I kiss my way down her belly to the tender bikini line. “What if I do…this?” An experiment, a whisper soft kiss above her bare lips.

Isabella tenses for a moment, expecting discomfort, but sinks into the mattress with relief. She nods.

I slide my body down the bed and wriggle in between her legs. I’m rock hard against the bed and the friction feels damn good.

I kiss lower. She smiles. Lower. Smile. Lower.

Isabella is done playing. She wraps her arms around my neck and pins me to her body, basically letting me know I’m not leaving until this job is done.

I nuzzle her gently with my mouth and nose, inhaling her musk and taking great pleasure in skimming my face across her smooth skin. “Mmm, fuck, you feel so good like this.”

My tongue slides between her bare lips.

“Yesss,” she hisses urgently.

I lick gently at first. The feedback is most definitely positive. Isabella opens her legs and begs, “Please, Edward!” and I am hers.

No longer holding back, I nibble along the outside and probe deep inside her with my tongue. Her juices mix with mine, and soon, she’s one slippery slosh of need. I flatten my tongue against her clit and she gasps and tenses her thighs and tightens her fist around my hair.

This one’s gonna be painful for me.

I press and hum and lap at her in a tiny line and her breathing stutters and she yanks harder. I pick up her rhythm with my hips and straddle one of her legs, rutting against her silky skin as we rock together.

“Ohgod ohgod that feels so good!” she squeals. Her breathing picks up and her entire focus is the tiny bud of nerves under my tongue.

Suckle, lap, press.


My own head is getting fuzzy with her pleasure and her taste on my tongue and the pressure against her leg all swimming together.

“Please, please, please!” she implores me, flexing her hips off the bed and holding my head against her with every ounce of strength she can muster.

Lick. Nibble.

And then she sings—that sweet high pitch she sings just for me, the one that tells me she’s on her way. I slip two fingers inside and cover her with my hot mouth, letting her feel me everywhere, and with a violent shudder, she falls off the edge of the cliff, bringing me with her.

I drop my head onto her thigh as we both pant and sigh. I barely notice the sting of my scalp until she loosens her grip with a giggle. “Shit! Sorry! I guess I needed something to hold on to.”

I scrub my fingers over my scalp. “Maybe we should attach some handlebars to the headboard.”

She laughs and suggests, “Or we could keep a couple stress balls under the bed.”

I lift myself up and crawl up to her happy face. “Mind if I kiss you?”


So I do.

Jesus! Ouch! Shit! You didn’t tell me about this part!” Edward sputters, looking as betrayed as I felt when he checked us in for my waxing.

“Shhhh! Here, squeeze my hand or something.”

He ignores me, lost in his personal agony.

“Where do these people train anyway? Some kind of secret military installation? That’s it!” he rambles maniacally. “Deep beneath the streets of New York City, there is a secret compound where the most sadistic citizens of Vietnam are locked away and taught the most invasive torture techniques. They’re not allowed to leave,” he guts out as if his life depends on finishing the fantasy, “until they…yow!...extract a liter of…ouch!...nail crud… yikes, woman!

His eyes are wild and he pinches them together every few seconds while Wei holds tightly to his squirming foot attempting to scrape out thirty-four years of accumulation from under his nails. She clearly wishes to be anywhere but here, not fully understanding Edward’s crazy mumbling but reading his body language without any chance of misinterpretation.

Poor Edward, he grips the arm of his massage chair so tightly his knuckles are white. “And there’s a goddamn prize…for the one...seriously?...who draws the most blood!”

“Aww don, Meestah Edwuh.” Wei looks nearly as relieved as Edward, who throws his head back in the chair with a deep exhale and closes his eyes. His back undulates unnaturally with the motion of the massage rollers beneath him. I reach my hand tentatively to cover his and he opens one eye and focuses it in my direction.

“I thought you said this would be fun,” he accuses.

“The fun part’s coming up.” I smile.

“Can’t fucking wait.” He throws his head back dramatically and I stifle a giggle.

“I ex-foh-lee-ate now?” Wei asks cautiously, a scoop of honey sea salt waiting in her palm.

Edward looks down his nose at the petrified woman by his feet and manages a soft smile. “Sure.” I know all is forgiven when she starts scrubbing and Edward sighs long and low and flips his hand over on the arm of the chair and interlocks his fingers with mine.

“Feels good, right?”

Edward turns his head and, out of the clear blue sky, says, “I want to take you to a warm, sunny island in the middle of nowhere and spend all day cherishing every inch of your body and your sexy brain. I’ve cleared the third week in February with Jessica. What do you say?”

He’s already cleared it with Jessica? Wow. I don’t have much on my social calendar that doesn’t involve pleasing my Master, so it seems all systems are go. Except…

“You have to let me split the cost with you.”

“Done.” He answered too quickly. And soon enough, I hear the catch. “But I’m not telling you where we’re going. You have a valid passport, I assume?”

His eyebrows challenge me, but we both know my answer. “Fine, and of course.”

He smiles for the first time since Wei started working him over and lifts his beautiful, happy face to the ceiling.

Wei finishes him off with a foot massage and he sits next to me quite agreeably while I have my toes painted.

“You’re in that hammock again, aren’t you?” I mumble into his ear.

“Yep,” he answers, not moving his head. “And guess who’s on top of me.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to have a manicure with me?”

“You know, I think I’m good,” he answers swiftly.

“Have we finally uncovered one of your hard limits?” I tease.

“Yes. Subdermal torture with sharply honed implements, definite hard limit for me!”

Just as Mae is finishing the top coat, Edward asks, “So what’s next? Hair extensions?”

“Your feet are soooo soft.”

She regards me over her laptop from the other end of the couch. “I can’t think while you’re touching me like that,” she accuses.


Roll of the eyes. “So, that’s not fair. You know I want to finish this journal entry before we go into our next scene.”

“Fine.” I set her foot down gently in my lap and concentrate on the playoff game. Trying to keep my mind off the upcoming scene hasn’t been easy.

She burrows her foot between my legs and when I look over, she smiles.

“Now who’s not being fair?” I grumble.

“Almost finished.”

I make a big show of clasping my fingers together behind my neck and refocusing on the game. Go ahead, baby. Draw your warmth from me, even tease me a little bit. I’ll be your sandbox any day.

“Done!” she announces brightly, turning the laptop screen my direction. “Here. You don’t have to read on your Blackberry.”

“You gonna watch me read?” Speaking of evolution.

She smiles. “You might have questions.”

“You’re awesome, you know that?”


“Bossy,” I grin, loving every second of her boldness, and turn my attention to her latest entry.

~ / ~

SILENCE/Journal Entry Nine
January 20, 2012
Master's assignment: Write about the imposed silence

Oh, Master, however did you know? In demanding my silence, you offered me the most perfect gift—an escape from turning our reunion into an interview, a dull retelling of facts.

I must admit (because I’m a damn open book for you) that when I received your instructions, I couldn’t imagine not sharing every morsel of the last few days with you. How strange to be so thoroughly gagged without the gag (thanks for that, by the way—I don’t think hotel management would’ve appreciated that little display). Sorry for being such a wobbly, teary mess. I guess I’d been holding an awful lot in without realizing it: pressure over getting the account, being away from you, and then just the most intense anticipation ever about how it would feel to be back in your orbit, to feel your strong arms close around me. Not being able to speak, I guess my only choice was to express myself on a subatomic level…and BLAM-O! Tears!

But then you held me until I calmed (finally) and I realized that we had just told each other everything there was to know in the most profound way.

Here’s my thought, Master, and I have to admit, it’s scary: With your emotional IQ off the charts, do I even need to speak at all? And if not as your submissive, as your girlfriend? *shivers*

Grateful as ever for your uncanny intuition-
~your princess

~ / ~

“Please tell me that’s rhetorical.”

She opens her mouth to answer but closes it again and shrugs. Oh, fuck no.

“You’re too far away from me. C’mere.” I move her computer to the coffee table and pull her into my lap. She hides her face in my shirt, leaving me to address the top of her head.

“You were on the right track. I took away what you most likely would’ve experienced as the obligation to speak, not so much your freedom. You and I both know that words are kind of our thing. Whether I’m working you into a certain head space with some especially dirty or humiliating language…”

She groans into my chest and I pause to kiss the top of her head before continuing my sentence.

“…Or whether you’re using your words to yield and beg for more—” I have to chuckle at her embarrassed whimper. “Or whether you’re writing porn, for me or for the world. So please trust me when I tell you, I don’t take away your voice lightly. And believe me, there were girls, submissives, I couldn’t muzzle fast enough.”

Isabella looks up with a combination of horror and amusement as my memories of brassy, whiny voices bring on a shudder. “True story. But I’ve never once felt that way about you.”

“Good to know,” she replies.

“After four days apart, I needed to meet you soul to soul, and words would’ve brought the mundane between us. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” she reflects quietly. “Perfect sense.”

“As your Master, I’m usually pretty accurate anticipating your needs, but hearing from you directly is always going to be very important. Isabella, I appreciate the compliment, but I can’t read your mind.”

Her eyes have gone watery and my stomach flips over.

“So please, don’t ever believe that the silence is about me not wanting to hear you.”

Cue the slow roll of tears down both cheeks.

“Okay,” she finally says, letting a small smile peek through.

“And by the way, as your boyfriend, I assure you I would be completely lost without your voice and your ideas and even your occasionally bossy orders. I mean, who else is gonna call me out for making up words?”

Edward tips my chin up and kisses me so sweetly that every last drop of apprehension slips away. His tongue slides between my lips and reassures me with every delicious pass. When I’m feeling better, I pull back and nestle my face into his neck while he holds me.

I must nod off for a bit because when I feel his chest vibrate with, “You know how much I love you, right?” I open my eyes to find that the room is no longer bathed in the warm sun coming through the windows, but the dim light of dusk.

I hate that I make him worry all the time that I can’t handle things, but at the same time, I know he’d hate it if I tried to hide my feelings. Plus, that absolutely never works with him.

“Yes,” I answer his blazing green eyes. “And you know how insanely happy I am, right?”

“Good,” he nods. “So, it’s five o’clock, and I’m about ready to collar you.”

Those words never fail to send a shiver down my spine.

But,” he adds hastily, “before I do, I need to make sure that you’re feeling up to something…fairly intense tonight.”

Lost in his eyes and his warmth and his excitement for whatever this “intense” thing is going to be, I answer truthfully, “Yes. I’m feeling completely healed. I think all that loving after-care really paid off.”

He smiles. “Well that’s good to know, but I was referring to mental kink intensity.”

He’s watching me so closely, measuring. Always measuring.

And he has me so intrigued and so…wet. Just like that. Luckily, there is a shower in my near future.

“I’m ready for anything.” Eager. Attentive. Dedicated.

He stares me down a couple more unnerving minutes then must decide I pass muster. “Take a walk with me,” he says mysteriously, lifting me off his lap and weaving his fingers with mine. My heart is beating hard, the fact that he’s warned me only makes it that much more enticing.

I somehow manage to walk down the hall next to him, and he only pauses for a second before crossing the threshold to my room. I’m pleased he didn’t ask permission. He draws me over by the closet and lets go of my hand. “Mind if I rifle through your clothes a bit?”

“Have at it,” I allow, curious as hell.

He starts at my skirts. He shuffles hangers with the scrutiny of a Bloomingdale’s personal shopper. The moment he lands on my black leather mini, his eyes widen and he hands it out to me.

“This…” he says, returning to the clothes, eyeing the top rack now. “No, no…maybe…no, oh hell yeah.” He pulls out a cream-colored silk blouse, long-sleeved and not particularly revealing. More like what I would call a classy choice. “Hold this, please.”

He crouches down and assesses one pair of shoes after the next, and I work hard to make my mind a blank. Despite my best efforts, I find myself willing him not to make me wear those hideous elf spikes tonight, especially not in public. Shame on you, Bella. How is this being “ready for anything”?

“Here we go!” he exclaims happily, pulling out my black leather boots with the four-inch heels. I send up a silent tribute to the subbie god for tossing me a bone.

“You are going to look so hot in this tonight.”

Edward is some hybrid right now of himself and Master, and he is way excited. It’s completely infectious, while at the same time, absolutely terrifying. I pacify myself with long, deep breaths and continual reminders. I trust him. He loves me. I trust him.

“Show me what earrings you’d normally wear with this.” He pulls the clothes from my hands and lays them out on the bed, waiting there while I walk over to my jewelry drawer.

“Something like this?” I present him with a pair of cultured pearls set in yellow gold.

He shakes his head no. “Think bigger.”

Bigger. Forget pearls then…something gold…I scan the drawer until my eyes land on a pair of large costume gold hoops I haven’t worn in years. He’ll love them. I pluck them out of the velvet organizer and hold them up to my ear lobes. Edward’s eyes light up like the Fourth of July sky. I love that he is so damn easy.

“Bingo.” He walks over to me and gives me a highly enthusiastic kiss on the lips. “Okay, hop in the shower. When you’re finished, everything else you need will be laid out on the bed. Oh, where’s your bracelet?”

He holds out his hand, palm up, and there’s not a shadow of a doubt which bracelet he’s talking about. I lift it from the place of honor in the drawer and set it into his hand. “Better hurry, it’s already 5:15 and I know you want to look your best for me tonight.”


Well, fuck me running.

Exactly who is this bright red garter belt supposed to keep on edge tonight, anyway? And the matching lace bra?

You’ve really done it this time, Cullen. You just had to go for the fishnets with the back seam? Nope, no halfway for you, Bucko!

Fanfuckingtastic. While my submissive is showering, I’m sitting here amongst her lingerie like a horny teenager let loose in Frederick’s for the first time. Tonight is all about control, and I am keyed the fuck up.

Checking out the Master’s timepiece, I note that there’s no time for a quickie, and I’m reluctant to take matters into my  own hand…again. Enough’s enough already; the next one is on my submissive.

On my submissiveSplooj, my inner ten-year-old sniggers.

Alrighty then, I better get myself out of here and into my own shower. I sure as hell will not be late to meet Marcus. Old habits die hard.

What is it about Marcus that still makes me so damn eager to please him, the masterful bastard? Amazing the voodoo he worked on me, still potent all these years later, maybe even more so. The older I get, the more experience I gain as a dom, the more I appreciate his gift and his charms.

I ponder this and other mysteries and thankfully I am distracted enough to get through my shower without choking the chicken. I even manage to dress myself without “accidentally” brushing my palm over my stiff shaft. Oh, aren’t we the civilized Master tonight?

Before leaving my bedroom, I pull Isabella’s collar and cuffs down from the shelf in the closet and lay them out on the entry table. Master will not have time to spare when we get home tonight. The swoosh of leather and the soft click of heels alerts me to Isabella’s presence, and I spin around to catch sight of my sweet, sexy subbie looking as hot as she ever has in clothing. From head to toe, she’s a smooth combination of elegance and sin. She’s taken the time to blow dry her hair perfectly straight, and her makeup is minimal, exactly the way she knows I love it. Knowing what lurks beneath the surface of the leather and silk makes it all the hotter, and best of all, she knows it. Her confidence is off the charts right now, and there is absolutely nothing sexier.

“Isabella, you look beyond amazing.”

She smiles and takes in my outfit as well. “You’re not half bad yourself. I’ll be battling other women for your attention yet again,” she sighs theatrically.

“There are other women?”

“Sheesh, such a charmer.” She rolls her eyes, but it’s clear she loves it.

I step closer and take her hands in mine. “I want you to understand that tonight is really special for me. I’ve asked an old friend to join us.”

“Oh. Riley?” She’s still relaxed, not freaked out yet.

“No. Do you remember my telling you about my mentor?”

Her jaw drops. “The dom who trained you?” Okay, so much for relaxed.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

She starts firing questions at me. “What do I do? What do I say? What should I call him? Does he know—?”

“Hey,” I interrupt her gently, taking her hand in mine. “Breathe, okay?”

She nods her head quickly and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry; I’m going to tell you everything you need to know on the ride over.”

Partially appeased, she nods again.

“Before we head out, I’m asking you one last time, do you feel that you can handle something intense?”

“If you think I can.”

God, could she be any more perfect?

“Isabella, I promise I would never put you in a situation I didn’t feel you could handle.”

“Then it’s settled.”

All systems are go. This is happening. Two of the most important people in my life are about to meet for the very first time, the most dominant meets the most submissive. “Thank you.” Can she hear the quiver in my voice? “Give me your wrist.”

She complies immediately.

“Are you ready to serve me, Isabella?”

“Yes, Master. Always.”

I link the bracelet around her wrist and help her on with her overcoat, blanketing her in  its warmth. As we head toward the door, she spies the collar and cuffs, and her breath catches in her throat.

I take her hand and pull her through the door. “That’s for later, sweetheart,” I reassure her.