Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 07

"Um, answer some questions?" I suggested, in what I'd come to think of as my little girl voice. He seemed to bring that out in me.

He smiled indulgently. "Perhaps. What would you like to know?"

"Why do you call me cherie?"

"It means darling."

"But why not my name?"

He shrugged. "You are a sub. Why do you give nicknames to your friends?"

I shrugged. "They're just someone to party with."

"Exactly," he replied. "You are just someone for me to 'party' with."

"Oh." I wasn't sure if I like that at all.

"What else do you want to know?" he prompted.

"Where do you go, when you disappear for weeks at a time?"

He gazed at me for a long moment and frowned. "I am called away often."

"Do you have other subs, where you are called away to?" I blurted out, feeling courageous.

"Yes." He answered, still frowning.

"So then I can have other lovers?"

I was proud of myself for trapping him with my logic, at least until he said, "No. You are a sub." Well, it wasn't as if I knew who my dance partner had been, anyway, or if he'd be as good in bed as on the club floor.

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"Enough questions. It is time for me to leave and you to sleep."

I followed him out to lock the door behind him. It had occurred to me, when I had tried to google him before, that I had localized it. If he travelled a lot, maybe I needed to broaden my search. Maybe he didn't even live here beyond that apartment he'd taken a few floors up. And it certainly didn't look lived in. When I got my computer back tomorrow, I would do some more searching.

****

Nice IT Guy – Randy, I reminded myself – showed up right on time, my laptop under his arm. I'd even cleaned the apartment, well, the dining table where I kept my laptop, anyway. He set it down where I indicated, then settled in. "I just want to make sure you get back on your network all right. I cleaned up some stuff for you, too and tweaked your security settings. I hope you don't mind?"

"Are you kidding! Can you come by every weekend and do that for me?" That generated a warm smile that I found rather pleasant. In a fit of generosity, I asked, "You want a beer?"

"Sure," he said, staring at the screen. I brought us both one. My hangover could use a little help with its recovery phase. I sat at the table next to him and marveled at myself. Before my mystery doctor, I had never brought guys to my apartment. It was one of my rules. Now I'd broken it twice with Tom Whatever-his-real-name-was and now Randy. I had to admit, Randy wasn't nearly as heart-pounding exciting, but neither was he anywhere near as threatening.

When he finished with my computer, we sat back and gossiped about work until he finished his beer, then he asked to use the bathroom before he left. I waved toward the bedroom, returning the beer bottles to the kitchen. When he emerged a few minutes later, I walked him to the door, still thanking him profusely and then I shocked the hell out of myself by giving him a friendly hug. That was so not me, but apparently he was perfectly comfortable with the notion. He hugged me back and walked over to the elevator. 'Wait, IT guys hug?' one of my voices was saying in astonishment. "That one does," I answered back, and immediately slapped my hand to my mouth. One of my other rules was to never, ever talk back to my voices. You have no idea how people stare when you do that, even now in the age of Bluetooth earphones.

I sauntered into the bedroom to gather my Saturday laundry project and stopped dead in my tracks. The ropes from last night were still draped over my headboard and laying on the floor, impossible not to see. Then I was flying back out to the living/dining/kitchen room to my newly returned computer. The one he had so thoughtfully cleaned up for me. The one with god only knew what on the browser and search histories, not to mention anything I might have downloaded recently. Quite frankly, I hadn't used the thing for much of anything recently but research into the kinks of my 'boyfriend." Searches for things like BDSM, domination, bondage, submission, sadism, masochism, you name it.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. Shit, he'd even cleaned all the crumbs out of the keyboard. The browser history was empty. How would he know it needed to be emptied unless he'd looked first? But then, he didn't say anything while he was here. And one look around my apartment should have convinced him that blackmail was not going to net him more than a saggy couch. Unless, he was saving the information for work. Oh, my god. Maybe that was why all those IT guys showed up at the bar. Maybe it wasn't to be with Exotic, maybe it was to witness firsthand the Kink Girl. I knew it was weird how much attention they were paying to me. And now, he had confirmation; had probably even taken a picture of my bed to show all his buddies. Oh, god. How could I go to work on Monday? On the other hand, how could I not, thinking of my poor starving bank account? There was only one answer. I had to find a new job, and I had to tough it out at work until I could. I immediately set about filling my empty browser history with craigslist searches.

****

On Monday, I slunk into work at the very last minute, ducked into my cubicle and became more productive at data entry than I'd ever been before, not looking up for anything or anybody until the boss walked by. He'd taken a really weird interest in me in the last few months. I had no idea why. This day, he glanced at my screen and said, "Really good work, Sky. Keep it up." Then he sauntered away. I stared after him. There was no way in hell he could tell from my screen whether it was good work or not. Well, I guess he could tell I was doing data entry and not browsing porn sites, not that the IT department would allow such a thing on company time. I cringed at that thought. Oh, god. Please, please, please someone call about my resume. At thirty seconds till my break time, I was getting ready to make a mad dash to the coffee room. On work days, I made a point of letting the company pay for my caffeine fix, to save money. And today I was in desperate need.

Five, four, three, two, one. I was up and walking really fast towards the break room. Nothing to see here, just a chick in need of a cup of Joe. My own coffee cup had disappeared a few weeks ago. Hazards of a communal break room. I dug around in the cupboard until I found something that could hold hot coffee, and moved to the coffee machine. The carafe was, of course, empty. I swore under my breath, refilled the filter chamber, pushed the appropriate button and stared at the carafe, willing it to fill faster than the dismal drip, drip, drip. Someone stepped up beside me, empty coffee cup in their hand. It was Nice IT Guy; maybe, probably, not so nice anymore.

"Um," I said, part of my brilliant repartee. I'm sure I was blushing beet red. "Don't you guys have a coffee room on your own floor?"

"Sure," he replied. "But I was looking for you. I was hoping you'd go to lunch with me today."

All I could think of was that he wanted to rub salt in the wound. "Why?" I demanded. Wow, look at me being assertive.

"Because I think we should talk," he said in a low voice that reminded me of something. I hugged myself as if it was cold in the room. "Your secrets are safe with me," he said, and I was trying to remember what song that was from as he took my stand-in coffee cup and filled it from the carafe. He gave it back to me, filled his own, then said, "I will be back here at 12:30 to take you to lunch."

One of my voices was screaming, 'Whaaaaa!' I ignored it, staring at him. I took a big gulp of coffee. It hit my stomach and brain at almost the same time. Okay, Alicia Keys, Diary. I was making headway. So next step. Was the lunch thing a threat or a... What? While all that was rolling around in my head, he had turned on his heel and left.

And of course, Office Cut-up, the premier gossip, walked in at that moment. He looked at my vivid blush and cocked an eyebrow. "Fall asleep in the tanning booth?" Then, as if putting two and two together, he turned and looked after Nice IT Guy. He turned back and leered at me. "You're seeing randy Randy?"

"Randy Randy?" I asked before the mouth filter kicked in. Broken rule. Never ask the office gossip for information.

"Even I can't believe what people say about him," he said, shaking his head as he filled his coffee cup.

"What do they say?" Once I'd gotten started, I couldn't seem to shut up.

"I've heard he goes clubbing. A lot. And I don't mean dance clubs. Stay away from him, Sky. He's trouble."

I bumped my chin on the floor when my mouth fell open. The last thing I ever expected from Office Cut-up was any concern about my reputation. He was usually all too happy to spread rumors about me and most anyone else in the department. He had to be playing with my mind. IT guys and players were mutually exclusive. He had to have some ulterior motive for keeping me away from Nice IT Guy. But why? When I saw Blondie headed toward me, I scurried back to my desk. I didn't need her inquisition this morning after all the other full frontal assaults I'd had. I was feeling like Bozo the Bop Clown.

At 12:30 sharp, Nice IT Guy – randy Randy? – was standing at my desk. I was wondering if I should tell someone where I was going, just in case I didn't come back. But the only one nearby who hadn't left for lunch already was Office Cut-up and like hell I was going to tell him. In fact, I was really hoping to sneak out without him seeing. Fat chance. "See you later, Sky," he called as I tiptoed away from my desk.

We wound up at a deli a few blocks down the street. I kept looking around to see if anyone from the office was there. Randy seemed oblivious. We took a small table against the wall and I picked at my food, waiting for him to say something. He seemed to be watching me and waiting for me to say something. Finally, in exasperation, I said, "You wanted to talk."

He put his sandwich down, rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands, looking at me thoughtfully over the top of them. "I'm a live and let live kind of guy," he began. "What you do on your own time is your business."

"Thank you," I said sarcastically.

He just kept eyeing me evenly. "I just want to be sure your being safe."

"Are we talking about condoms here? Because I learned all this in sex ed." I thought I was being pretty clever, until I noticed people around us glancing at me. I scrunched down in my seat.

He just kept looking at me the same way. "Sky," he said softly. "You're playing with fire. You're a sweet girl. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Because you've hurt someone?" I challenged. God, I really needed to get my mouth filter fixed.

His eyes narrowed and suddenly, he didn't look all that much like a nerdy IT guy. My stomach did a little bit of a flip flop. "No. I haven't hurt anyone," he replied quietly.

I lowered my eyes and picked at my food some more. "I don't know what you expect me to say. Are you asking me to tell you all about my love life?"

He sighed. "Love? Is there any love involved?"

"Jesus. Seriously?" I demanded. "It's the twenty-first century. I can have sex for sex's sake." I carefully didn't look to see how many people might be staring at me. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but his eyes narrowed even more. I pulled a piece of cheese out of my sandwich and nibbled on it intently. This person sitting across from me was not the same person who came to fix my computer at work and smiled shyly at me. Body double?

"There's nothing wrong with having sex," he said patiently, though his eyes were still dark and narrowed. "There's nothing wrong with being into the BDSM scene." He paused for several beats. "As long as you are being safe. Are you being safe, Sky?"

Suddenly I felt like a little kid being lectured by a teacher. I even squirmed in my seat, just like in grade school, during that spit ball episode. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said with a frivolous shake of my head. First defense is always denial.

"What's your safe word?" he asked, just like we weren't sitting in the middle of a crowded deli. Okay, I started it with the sex talk, but still... "What are your hard limits?"

"How do you know I'm not the Domme?" I challenged.

He just rolled his eyes. Was it that obvious? He continued, "Do you have a contract? Anything in writing?" I started picking at my sandwich again, and he reached over and grabbed my wrists. "Sky, you're going to get hurt. It's going to get heavier and heavier, until your limits are exceeded and then it will be too late. Walk away now."

I straightened in my seat to hide the fact that his hands, wrapped tightly around my wrists, had sent that same zing straight to my nether regions that Tom Whats-his-name 's touch did. Jesus, what was the matter with me?

"I can handle it," I said softly.

"Look at me and say that." I looked up at him, but my vocal cords weren't of a mind to cooperate. "Walk away, Sky."

"I can't," I muttered.

"Why not? Do you need help? A restraining order? What do you need?" I sat back, pulling against his grip on my wrists. He reluctantly released them. "What do you need?" he repeated.

"Sex," I whispered, barely audible.

This time, he was the one who sat back, studying me. "It doesn't have to be from him," he finally said.

I looked up in surprise. "You know him?"

He shook his head. "I know his type. He's not a Dom, Sky. No true Dom would put you at risk. Their entire responsibility is to keep you safe. Did he tell you he was a Dom?"

I shrugged. "He said I was his sub."

"But not that he was your Dom," he concluded. "He was taking no responsibility." He sat forward, leaning across the table toward me. "Do you like it? Being a sub?" I shrugged, then nodded. He smiled. What if we find you a real Dom? One who will respect your needs and keep you safe." I frowned at him. "I want you to come to a club with me Wednesday night. See what the real thing looks like."

"So the rumors about you were true?" It was his turn to frown.

"Rumors usually have a kernel of truth. Just don't assume you know which kernel is the truth."

I smiled at him. "Very profound."

He smiled back, looking like the nerdy IT guy again. "Are you going to eat any of that sandwich or should we head back?"

I shook my head and stood up, realizing at least half of the deli crowd were looking at us. "And if you liked that scene, be sure to catch the whole play at the Southerland Playhouse Thursday through Sunday," I announced. There was actually a smattering of applause. I felt pleased with myself as we walked back to work, so when he asked again about Wednesday night, I was feeling agreeable. We made arrangements and went to our separate floors.

****

Come Wednesday night, I was wondering why the hell I had agreed to this. Randy had assured me we were just going to look and talk to people, but I was still nervous as hell. I'd spent probably an hour trying to decide what to wear. The last thing I wanted to look like was a player, but I didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb, either. I finally settled on some tight jeans and a camisole top with a denim jacket over it. When Randy arrived, we hopped the subway to the south end. I was surprised when he led me to a strip joint. He explained that the club, aka dungeon, was in the basement and membership only. He may have picked up on my fierce case of nerves, because he put an arm around my waist as he led me to a dark hall, preventing my escape. He nodded at the bouncer – no membership card needed – and we moved on to a theme decorated elevator. It was all pseudo-stone walls and flickering lights. When I paused at the threshold, his arm tightened around my waist. "It's just to set the mood," he said lightly.

"It's the mood I'm worried about," I muttered.

When the elevator doors opened on the dungeon, we were in a large lobby sort of room, although still with the castle dungeon theme on the walls. The furnishings were much more mundane and actually comfortable looking. There was a bar to one side, but rather than tables and chairs, there were soft couches and low tables, definitely designed for mingling. And mingling was going on. While not crowded, there were a couple dozen people talking, drinking and wandering in and out of halls that spoked off the room. Many of them were dressed in fetish gear, but not all, so I wasn't totally out of place.

Randy took me over to the bar and I ordered a glass of wine. He asked the bartender for paperwork, which was readily handed over. I stared at Randy. "I have to sign something?"

He laughed. "No, not unless you decide you want to use one of the rooms. I just thought you'd like to see the sorts of things that should be discussed and agreed to before anything takes place. If two people hit it off here, they both fill out this paperwork, saying what they are willing to do in a scene. Each person knows exactly where the lines are, the dungeon knows where the lines are and the monitors know where the lines are to keep everybody safe. There are always safe words. This is how it's supposed to be."

I heard a scream and jumped. "It's okay," he assured me, tucking the papers under his arm, picking up his beer and taking my hand. "Come on, I want you to see." I was pretty sure I didn't want to see, but I followed him down one of the halls. "These are public scenes," he explained. "There are private rooms, too. People like to come here, because there is furniture like spanking benches, crosses, suspension equipment, stuff they don't have room for at home. A lot of these people are in committed D/s relationships. Some are looking for one time hook ups or maybe their partner has a hard limit that they want to explore so they can find a willing sub or Dom just for that activity." He paused in front of a room. A woman in lacy underwear and stilettos was cuffed to a cross and being hit with a cane by a man dressed in leather pants. Each blow raised a red welt on her back. She was moaning and writhing in pain.

I shook my head and looked away. "She signed something saying she wanted this?"

"Yes. Some people enjoy it."

"I can't imagine," I said.

"Really?" he asked. "Not even with your Master? What if he decided this was what he wanted? Would you, could you say no?"

"He wouldn't...," I started to say, but then I remembered the cupboard, remembered him making me chose what he punished me with.

"How bad is it?" he asked softly. "What's the worst he's done to you?" I hugged myself. "What has he used on you?" Randy asked, his voice low and insistent.

"A crop, a flogger," I answered, and wondered why.

"Did you want it? Did you like it?"

I shook my head. "He was punishing me. It was my fault. I broke his rules."

"Did he at least tell you how you would be punished if you broke a rule?"

"No," I answered in my little girl voice. Why was that coming out now, here?

Randy ran his hands through his hair. He seemed angry. The woman in the dungeon room was screaming now as the blows crisscrossed previous welts.

"I want to go now. Can we go?" I asked.

"Not yet. I want you to meet someone." But he was leading me back to the lobby and fetching another glass of wine for me. I didn't even remember finishing the first one. He led me to a sofa. "They'll be here in a minute," he told me.

"So are you a Dom?" I asked. He nodded. "So you do stuff like that?" I gestured back to the hall we'd been in.

"Not like that, no. That's my hard limit. For some people it's more psychological, about control, about willingly giving up control. For some people, it's about pain, giving or receiving. For most people, it's somewhere in between. That's why negotiation is so important; to sort all that out. And there absolutely has to be trust. The submissive has to trust the person they give control up to and the dominant has to trust the submissive to let them know when they've reached their limits. All of this should have been explained to you."