PRIDE/Journal Entry Eleven
January 28, 2012
Master's assignment: Reflect on the last of my submissive vows—Above all, I will take pride in who and what I am, and I will wear my title of submissive with honor.
In my last journal entry, I sent you a plea, Master. I asked for your help in shedding my defenses, and here you are giving me the key to unlock the conundrum. I recited this very promise to you just four short weeks ago, and though the words passed through my lips, it was only the beginning of my journey of understanding that the more humility I embody, the more pride I earn as a submissive.
I’ll be honest, this has been the hardest vow to uphold; it’s not something I can do, it’s something I have to feel, basically in direct opposition to what I’ve been taught to feel my whole life up to this point. For a girl raised on such encouragement as, “Go get ‘em, Tiger!” and “Show ‘em who’s boss!” I get why there’s a fierce little core inside of me reluctant to relinquish control and responsibility. It is difficult to wrap my head around the inherent paradox of taking pride in my deep desire to be controlled, owned, humiliated, used—whatever un-PC word you want to use to describe what feels like the exact opposite of pride.
But I want to, so much, for both our sakes.
I struggle with this issue every day on some level, and yet, I can so clearly feel your growing pride in me for coming to grips with who I am, what I desire, and how I need to be. In your Dominant vows, you relayed your appreciation that I give myself to you in mind, body, soul and spirit, and I fully agree that on every level, I am profoundly, unequivocally yours. In return, you accept my confidence, reliance, faith, hope and dependence on you.
That is some heady stuff right there, Master, but in no way is it overstated. Becoming your submissive—your choosing me, pursuing me, believing in me, and committing yourself to me—makes me swell with pride. So…what’s stopping me from reaching my potential to be a proud, honor-badge-wearing submissive?
I think it’s when I’m just me that I falter, just a submissive, not a submissive in relation to you, which seems so obvious and so easy. “Who and what I am…wear my title of submissive with honor…” There’s the challenge. What kind of submissive am I if I’m not yours? I shudder at the very idea.
But rest assured, Master, I am up to this challenge. This isn’t some random New Year’s resolution scribbled hastily on the flip side of an envelope just to say I’d done it. No, I made this promise to you, Master, and I get it now. I see how my trust in you and pride in myself work together to strengthen us, making me a better submissive and allowing you to be your most Masterful self. *shivers*
How about all of you submissives out there in the ether…anyone have any insights for me?
I have my two priorities, Master: pride in myself, trust in you. As always, I thank you for being that person worthy of my best efforts.
My most Masterful self.
Would she think that right now if she saw me bracing myself against the cold tile wall and slicking up my cock with her body oil? I didn’t even see her this morning before she got in the shower; just reading her journal entry has me so worked up I have no choice but to take matters into my own palm.
It certainly isn’t helping my situation any that all I can think about is tonight’s scene, and I have no idea how I’ll make it through the next nine hours until I can claim her once again and start practicing pride and trust. Oh, princess, we are definitely going to get your best effort tonight…and tomorrow. The hundred or so visuals swirling in my head narrow to five, then three, then one, and with that glorious image before me, my balls tighten under my hand, there’s a twitch, and then the sweet agony of release.
I have a definite spring in my step as I head to my dresser. Weekends have a whole new feel to them now that Isabella is in my life; it’s not just Raisin Bran and microwave dinners any more, not buzzing around the apartment trying to keep from getting tired of myself, and not jogging alone aimlessly on the streets of a city that doesn’t know me or care.
Slipping one of my innocuous ties around the collar of my workday white button-down, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Since I haven’t shaved in a couple days, I haven’t otherwise had the opportunity or reason to really look at myself.
My face seems suddenly less angular, a little bit softer around the edges, I guess I’d say. I still see the intensity burning in my eyes, but what always seemed like a semi-dominant expression on my everyday face seems to have been replaced by something less harsh. My hands work the silk of the tie while my brain drifts back to last night.
What was that anyway?
I’ll tell you what it was, it was the dom’s night off, and there wasn’t a chocolate chip in sight. And what about the other night, when I happily let Isabella take the lead? I had zero problem with it; in fact, she was hot as sin in the confident, commanding role, something that definitely surprised her, I think.
Is it possible that this is what happens to a dom when he’s been gifted the most extraordinary submissive? The scenes are so satisfying that in between, there’s no urge to take charge? Is this the new me? A life without chocolate chips?
“What the heck is taking you so long?” Isabella’s voice at the bedroom door shakes me out of my strange musings.
I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror. Fat chance, Edward! You’re just showing your versatility, I reassure my reflection.
“Sorry, I’ll be out in a sec,” I call over.
“Were you messing around in the shower again?” she teases.
I grin broadly at myself as I give my tie a final tug. “Maybe.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, an adorable smirk on her face.
I take the shoe bag and barrel out the bedroom door. “Come on, would ya? You’re making me late for my seminar!”
“That’ll be the day,” she kids back.
I spin us through the revolving door and into the frigid air. Isabella pulls her scarf tighter around her chin and comments, “Cold today.”
“Wish we were driving?” I know she does this for me. She really hates the cold.
“Not in the least. I love this; it wakes me up.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, like a cold slap in the face.”
She looks over at me, her eyes crinkling at the sides just under her wool cap. “I can think of more fun places to be slapped.” Her cheeks pink up immediately and I make a mental note to find one of those places at my next opportunity.
“Are you trying to get me all hot and bothered before I have to stand in front of a group of twelve women all day?”
“Whoops.” She is entirely unrepentant, the little she-devil. “Were you actually having a moment where you weren’t thinking about sex?” she challenges me.
“Are you standing next to me?” I answer.
She shakes her head in that what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you? way that makes my heart swell. Is there a greater happiness than being understood and appreciated so thoroughly?
“Finishing up with Alice’s team today?”
“She still your star?”
I turn my head toward Isabella, only to find her studying the sidewalk with every step.
“Yes. She’s outstanding,” I answer, watching her carefully.
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“Isabella,” I start playfully, “is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”
“What?” She ventures to meet my eyes, and now she knows that I see everything. “Hunh,” she huffs.
“You know, there’s nothing she can do that you can’t learn. In fact, I know where you might even find a private tutor who might be persuaded to barter lessons for sexual favors.”
Without missing a beat, she cocks one of her brows right up under the hem of her cap and responds, “Oh, would you put in a good word with your friend Zack for me then?”
Her soft giggle gets mostly swallowed by her scarf, and I transfer her shoes to my outside hand and weave my fingers around her glove. She huddles closer and we slosh our way into work just like that.
I'm just scraping at the bottom of the cherry yogurt container when my phone buzzes.
I’m sitting here stuffing my face with a tuna sandwich and an apple.
Yeah, tiny bag, 80% air
Limp oatmeal cookie
Poor baby. What are we doing for dinner?
Reservations at Atlantic Seafood Company at 7
Nice…lobby at 6:45?
It’s a date.
Question- is dinner part of the scene?
Why do you ask?
I wanted to talk to you about Marcus- just as me.
No problem- we'll start after dinner.
Great! Didn’t really want to wait until tomorrow afternoon.
Glad you mentioned it. Gotta go XE
Now that I’ve told him I want to have this conversation, there’s no chickening out—which is precisely why I mentioned it. I also want to hear Edward’s thoughts on my journal entry. All I know thus far is that whatever I wrote inspired—or at least didn’t dissuade—his morning self-love fest. I so love my eager boy. Sigh…
“What’s that for?” Jessica startles me at my office doorway, one of the drawbacks to my new open-door policy.
“Nothing,” I cover poorly.
She grins knowingly. “’Nothing’ as in, that boyfriend of yours?”
Repeating Edward’s answer from earlier, I respond, “Maybe.” Why lie? I know it’s written all over my face.
Jessica leans against the doorjamb and sighs theatrically, and we share a quick giggle.
“Fun plans for the weekend, Jessica?”
“The usual. Heading out tonight with some of the other admins and curling up with a good book and my Persian tomorrow. How about you guys?”
Don’t think about scening. Don’t think about slapping or spanking or talking about Marcus. Don’t even think about Edward at all. Don’t…
Jessica chuckles. “Never mind. I’ll just be jealous.”
I shake my head and apologize.
“No, don’t be sorry,” she answers. “I’m glad you’re happy. It gives me hope…you know.”
Her sincerity and generosity give me pause. “That’s sweet, Jessica. Thank you.”
“Sure. Now what about this meeting on Monday you need to get ready for?”
“Good point. Why don’t you come in and sit down and help me get myself organized here?”
“Love to,” she answers with a wide smile.
After forty-five minutes, I’m in great shape for my report to the Marketing group on Monday. I shift to Friday afternoon mode, battening down the hatches for the weekend: answering emails, checking in with my team members, and cleaning up my desktop.
My curiosity piqued by our conversation on the walk to work, I click open the network folder and take a look around. I see where Edward has added a folder for tutorials, and I decide to forage for goodies. It’s oddly titillating to read through his detailed instructions on everything from “Make Friends With Google Chrome” to “Top Ten Ways to Waste Time with MS Outlook.” His sense of humor is all over the place, and I can almost hear his voice in my ear as I peruse one file after the next, gobbling up his pearls of wisdom like chocolate truffles.
Once again it strikes me what a natural teacher he is, how Edward is able to somehow meet his audience where they are and move them forward. Before I realize it, I’ve spent two hours and gone through every word of advice he’s offered, and I’m all the richer for it.
I’m practically bouncing in my boots waiting for him to appear at the stairwell door.
Edward cocks his head curiously at my expression, instantly picking up the scent of my enthusiasm. He crosses the lobby swiftly and presses his front up against mine. Even through the layers of our clothing and outerwear, I can feel his passion and he can feel mine. Without greeting me, he wraps his hand behind my neck and pulls me to his lips. He kisses me in a leisurely manner, as if we’re not standing in the lobby of our building needing to get somewhere across town in fifteen minutes. His fingers snake their way up the back of my head, pulling through my hair and cradling me against him.
I was practically breathless before he touched me, and now, I literally cannot draw air into my lungs. As much as I hate doing it, I push his chest away and separate our mouths so I don’t pass out. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and stands there grinning at me while I pant and calm myself back down.
Just to torture me further, he leans forward and places his mouth next to my ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve been surfing porn at work, Miss Swan.”
I grasp a handful of his hair and turn my head so that my lips just graze his ear. “That would be ill-advised, considering that every keystroke is recorded and stored on the company server for 120 days before reaching the backup storage facility in Yonkers.”
He pulls back suddenly, a look of utter astonishment on his face.
I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve actually surprised him. It’s a ridiculous thrill.
“Why, Isabella, have you been reading my tutorials?” A look of delight replaces his initial shock.
I pull out my favorite word of the day. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’ll be…” he says, shaking his head proudly—whether of me or himself, I can’t be sure. “Come on, you can wow me in the taxi with all your new skills.”
“Hmm,” I pout playfully. “I was rather thinking we could continue with that kiss you just almost smothered me with.”
He seems perplexed by the dilemma, which makes me laugh out loud. “Oh my god, you are such a geek!” Shaking my head, I start walking to the exit.
My elbow gets tugged from behind, spinning me around to face my playful boyfriend. “But I’m your geek, right?”
“Yes! You are the hottest, mine-est geek I know. Now get your sweet nerdy lips in this taxi and start kissing me!” I command, tossing him the bag holding my pumps.
We practically trip over each other getting to the revolving door, laughing all the way into the cab.
“I think you’re getting bossier,” he says, just before he brushes his thumb down my jaw line and kisses me again.
I can’t decide if his comment was an observation, a compliment or a warning, but once he starts kissing me, I discover that I couldn’t care less.
“Feel free to have a cocktail or two,” I tell Isabella. “This is one of those nights where being relaxed will only help.”
She peeks over her laminated menu. “No consequences for messing up?”
I finish chewing the piece of sourdough bread I cut from the loaf the instant we sat down. Little does Isabella know, the bread basket is why I brought her here tonight. I knew she’d be excited about the fresh fish, and I could eat this entire round of bread with glee. As a dinner partner, she rarely eats even half of her fair share, yet more proof that she’s perfect for me.
“No consequences,” I affirm. She smiles victoriously, and I stab a finger in her direction. “No consequences for anything alcohol-induced. I’m not giving you a free ride tonight,” I clarify.
Rather than fading, her smile deepens and she nods once. “Got it.”
“Know what you’re having?” I’m pretty sure she’s going for the trout special, but she surprises me—yet again. She seems to be making a habit of it lately.
“I’m in the mood for bluefish.”
“Well for one thing, it’s grey—and forget the fact that it’s called ‘bluefish’ and it has the nerve to be grey—that’s just not appetizing at all. Then, you’ve got the off-the-charts mercury levels…”
“Oh, are they that bad?”
“Yes. They’re at the top of the food chain, so they just collect all the mercury and PCB’s from all the other fish they prey on.”
Her lips quirk up into a tiny smirk. “I guess I have a thing for predators.”
ZING! Just like that, we’re Black Velvet and OnMyKnees having a late-night chat about one nosy IT guy named Edward Cullen.
“Clearly. Okay, forget the unfortunate color and the fact that it’s unsafe, it tastes like…garbage.”
Her eyes pop out and her mouth drops open as she lets loose a big guffaw. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel? Sheesh, did you have a childhood trauma involving bluefish?”
“Not that I can recall, but I’ll ask my mom next time I talk with her.” I grin sheepishly. “Sorry, I guess I came on a bit too strong?”
“You?! Pshhhhhhh.” She waves her hand across the air between us.
The waiter saves me. “What can I get you two to drink?”
I gesture to Isabella and she says, “Well, I was considering a glass Sauvignon Blanc. That okay with you, dear?”
The waiter, not surprisingly, looks puzzled. They both turn to me expectantly. I open my palms to the ceiling and adopt my most angelic expression. “Who am I to say?”
Isabella sniggers, and the poor waiter looks back and forth between us, scratching his head with the wrong end of his pen. “So…one Sauvignon Blanc then?”
“Make it two,” I say, just to make it easy on the guy.
“Okay then. Be right back with those.”
I don’t think so. “Hang on, we’re ready to order, aren’t we, sweetheart?”
Isabella smiles sweetly. “Sure. I’ll have the tilapia.”
The waiter turns to me again, pen poised about six inches above his pad. “She won’t have the tilapia?”
Isabella covers her mouth with her napkin, watching me squirm. “I thought you wanted the bluefish.”
“You convinced me otherwise,” she answers.
“Oh. Because if you wanted that, I didn—”
“Edward, it’s fine. What are you having?”
“I’ll have the swordfish.”
“Swordfish for the gentleman…” the waiter murmurs. “And for your two sides?” He looks back and forth between the two of us.
“I’ll have cole slaw and asparagus.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Sweet potato fries and…” and I really want a double order of sweet potato fries, but instead, I say, “asparagus, I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back with your wine.”
The waiter tucks his pen behind his ear and spins on his heel.
I turn to the bread basket for solace. “Can I cut you off a piece?”
“No thanks, I’m gonna wait and drink on an empty stomach. Something tells me I’m gonna need it tonight.”
“So, you wanted to talk about Marcus?”
“Yes. You know, I heard from him again today.”
“He emailed you again?”
“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?” I tease him.
He sits back in his chair and spins the stem of his wine glass at the corner of the table, causing the wine to slosh side to side. He watches it for a bit, then turns his intense green eyes on me. “I don’t really do jealous. If there’s something I want, I just go after it. Like you did today, studying those files at work.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t entirely sure you were going to relay my offer to your friend, so I figured I’d better take matters into my own hands.”
“I’m impressed,” he says, serious all of a sudden. I feel warmed by his compliment. He shakes his head and stares past me in a way that makes me reluctant to interrupt his thoughts. When he speaks again, it was well worth the wait.
Leaning forward across our small table for two, he captures me with those passionate eyes and poses a most interesting question. “You know how I know that you and I are right together?”
“I can think of about a hundred answers to that, but I have a feeling I’d never come close to whatever it is you’re about to say.”
He huffs lightly, acknowledging the truth in my remark before responding, “I’d sure love to hear your hundred answers some time, but you’re probably right.”
I reach across and grab his hand because I hate that we’re not touching. “Tell me.”
“Every day—and often, more than once a day—I learn something new about you that makes me love you even more.”
Good thing I’m sitting down, is my very next thought. “That may even be more romantic than grabbing me a bouquet at the grocery store!”
His eyes drop to the tablecloth and I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. I jiggle his hand in mine so he’ll look up at me again. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“If you don’t get up and kiss me right now, I’m gonna—”
Neither of us has to find out what’s at the other end of that threat. What was I gonna do, anyway? Cry? Fall of my chair? Climb over the table and attack him? I don’t have a clue. His lips are on me and his arms are around me and he’s close and that’s all that matters.
We are interrupted by a loud throat clearing, and for once, Edward behaves himself and goes to sit down. I think he must feel bad for putting this waiter through the wringer when we’re not even playing.
The guy sets down the array of entrees and side dishes, spending the absolute minimum length of time in doing so. “Another round?” he asks before heading off.
“Sure,” Edward answers for both of us.
If Master doesn’t mind that I’m tipsy, I’m game.
“All right, you totally sidetracked us. Let’s get back to Marcus,” he says, spearing his asparagus and cutting off the tip.
I ignore his empty accusation and plow ahead. “I think we should consider doing this.”
His brow cocks up. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Marcus seems…calm and wise…and maybe it would be helpful to have that objective perspective.”
“Nice rhyme, babe,” he grins, sending me a wink. “Calm, huh? Not always.” Edward chuckles to himself and I can tell he’s replaying some scene in his head.
“No fair,” I complain. “You guys have too many secrets.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to make you feel left out. It’s just…I don’t really think you would’ve liked me too much at the start of my dominant career. I was a little bit of a jackass. And Marcus never lets me forget it.”
“How does he know how you were as a dom? I thought you only subbed for him.”
“He was there. He supervised for a bit…until I figured out how to not be an asshole about things.”
“You had Marcus in your scenes with you?”
“I did. He said he felt responsible for quote ‘setting me loose upon an unsuspecting female population’ end quote, and he wanted to be there to make sure I was acting responsibly. My first few subs didn’t seem to mind either that I was inexperienced or that there was a Super Dom in the room with us.”
“Wow.” I can’t imagine having my first scene with those two, but then again, I can’t picture Edward as incompetent at anything.
“Anyway, those circumstances were entirely different. I’m sure Marcus would be totally calm with you. How’s your tilapia?”
“It’s fine.” I have so many questions, I’m not sure where to start, but I know I don’t want to talk about fish anymore tonight. “Can you just give me an idea how this would work?”
“Sure. I mean, I’ll try, but like everything else, it’s not cookie cutter. It all depends on the people involved. What I can picture is the three of us sitting down and talking together at first, agreeing on the ground rules.”
“Such as, from my perspective, you can tell Marcus whatever you want about us—like a therapist. You know I’m not squeamish that way. If you can’t be honest and open, there’s really no point to it.”
“Okay. I appreciate that.”
“But—” Edward pauses to swish down a big forkful of everything with some water before continuing, “You have to remember that Marcus is not a priest.”
“I don’t think I’ll have trouble there.”
Edward huffs. “Probably not. What I mean by that is that he’s going to communicate with me if there’s something I need to know. Maybe it doesn’t always work that way, but like I said, this is a unique relationship. Marcus has always been about helping me improve, and he is not one to beat around the bush—so to speak.” The last part he adds sheepishly, as it seems to be my metaphoric bush we’re discussing, and the beating thereof.
“So he’d be actively mentoring both of us?”
“Primarily you, but yes. Is that going to be uncomfortable for you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. As for the other ground rules, it will be up to you to establish your comfort level when the two of you are alone. Obviously, he wouldn’t be seeing you undressed or touching you in any kind of intimate way, but if there’s something instructive, then that’s a different story.”
My fork slips and clangs on the plate, bringing Edward’s immediate concern. “Sorry,” I mumble, dabbing at my lips. “You’re okay with him touching me?”
“Only when it makes sense, and only at the level you’re comfortable with.”
“That seems highly subjective.”
Edward slides my wine glass along the tablecloth until it meets my fingers. “That’s why you have to choose a mentor you can totally trust.”
Alcohol seems like a fine idea, and I tip the goblet against my lips, sending the cool drink to soothe my nerves. “Could you give me an example of when touching would make sense?”
He smiles warmly, but it barely makes a dent in my unease. “I think you should focus on the second half of my answer first. It’s all about your comfort level. You don’t want it, he doesn’t do it. That’s the bottom line. Take a deep breath.”
I do take that breath, along with another sip of wine. “I’m having a hard time understanding why this doesn’t bother you,” I admit to him. I know his views on sharing.
“Look, there are always going to be people who touch you; it’s not the act itself, it’s the intention. You’re not going to stop going to the doctor, are you?”
I bend across the table and whisper shout, “Marcus is going to touch me like THAT?”
His kind, gentle face immediately transforms into a scowl. “HELL NO, he is not! That’s not what I meant. I was just making the point—”
Once I start to giggle, I can’t stop myself. The fact that Edward-slash-Master is ferocious on this point is utter relief to me. As soon as he sees that I’m more relaxed, he falls back into his chair and tosses his napkin on the table. “I think you’re doing this to rile me up, Isabella.”
“Honestly, I’m not,” I answer, the tail end of my laughter dying out. “I was freaking out a little bit there when you didn’t seem concerned in the least that he’d be touching me.”
“I’ll admit the doctor was a very poor example.” He shudders at the thought. “Have you ever worked with a personal trainer?”
“Sure. Don’t you remember?” I wink at him, causing him to shake his head and smile. It’s so refreshing.
“Okay, he’s not touching you like that, either. Picture a normal personal trainer, not your boyfriend, not your dom, just touching you instructionally to illustrate a point. That’s all. A shoulder, a knee…nothing covered by a bikini.”
“So my new string—”
“Nothing covered by a conservative two-piece suit. Sheesh!” He picks up his napkin and mops his brow comically. Pulling his credit card out, he waves over our server. “Check please!”
“No dessert tonight, darling?” I chuckle at his desire to end this conversation; it’s so unlike him.
Edward finishes adding in the tip and signing his name. As he returns the card to his wallet, the transformation begins. He pushes his chair back from the table and an instant later, he pulls mine out for me, lifting me to my feet. Meeting my eye directly, he says, “Oh, I’ll have my dessert tonight. Rest assured, princess.”