The Blooming Season

The gathering of eager faces clusters around me. I'm not on stage tonight. This isn't for show. Tonight's demonstration is the real thing. And yes, it's true. I'm picking on Cassandra for my own selfish reasons. But, I'm careful in what I reveal. I know Cassandra will tell Wallflower about me and I wouldn't want her to get the wrong impression.

Cassandra strips to her bra and panties as instructed. She's rationalizing. I can see it in her expression. Her undergarments cover more than some bathing suits and decidedly more than some of the outfits she's seen at the club so far. But it's different when it's you and what you're wearing in front of strangers isn't socially accepted for public display. Defensively, she curls her arms around her midsection as if she can block her body from view. She lifts her chin to meet my eye. I don't like it and let her know it with a barking command to lower her stare to the floor and drop her arms to her sides. She hesitates and earns a sharp rap with the tips of a soft tailed flogger across the backside for her disobedience. And with the smack of leather kissing pale smooth skin tonight's lesson begins.

Mistress Crystal is on hand to help with tonight's lesson. She's an apt instructor. Perhaps, a bit impatient and brief with explanations, but she is a true master of her craft. We've known each other for years. I trust her with the molding of these eager minds and the handling of these tender bodies that have never tasted leather's sweet kiss.

The club charter mandates that there must be a dungeon master present for all club activities. Sometimes, even a master such as myself needs a night off and Mistress Crystal has been my stand in, my eyes, ears, and voice, when I can't be here personally. She's good at what she does. She'll go toe to toe with anyone who dares to step out of line. She doesn't take any shit. By day, she's an investment broker, but by night, she's a true master of domination. Unfortunately, her work keeps her too busy to be a true contender for my throne.

I've started tonight's lesson. I love teaching baby dominants the true art of domination. They're stripped to their underwear, self-conscious and awkward, blushing and scrambling to save face. Cassandra has a beautiful body. She has the kind of curves that are hard earned in a gym. Tall and lithe, her figure is one of her best assets and I tell her so. I'm teaching the class about establishing limits before the games begin. I want to know hers.

She doesn't like being in her underwear and on her knees in front of strangers. I guessed wrong when I thought she might be an exhibitionist. I soak up her embarrassment and shame the way a plant soaks up sunlight. I walk circles around her prostrate form, tracing the tails of the flogger over her bare shoulders. I was right about the boots. I love the sound they make against the wooden planks of the floor. I'm slipping into my private role and out of my public skin. I can hear it in my voice and feel the eagerness to dominate vibrating from my body down through the tails of the flogger. I'm discussing hard and soft limits, safe words, and negotiating the terms of the game we're about to play.

Much like dogs, everybody has something that motivates them towards certain behaviors. It's my job as a dominant to discover what motivates Cassandra. To find out what makes her tick and what gets her there without pushing her over the edge. I flick the tails of the flogger over her bare skin. I'm restrictive with the force I use. Actually, I've given her little more than a love tap, but she flinches and sucks in a breath as if I've dealt a much harder blow. I stroke her reddened skin to ease the sting and she arches up into the caress of my fingertips.

I'm about to lecture on the fine line between pain and pleasure when the door leading from the vestibule opens and Wallflower bursts into the room on a gust of wintry air. Her cheeks are reddened from the cold. She's clutching the gift I sent her tightly between her palms, holding the pot against her body and curling her shoulders over the flower to protect it from the elements.

Her long brown ponytail is disheveled by the wind and curls wildly over the hood of her winter coat. She's dressed for an Arctic expedition in heavy boots, a scarf, gloves, and the biggest, puffiest parka I've ever seen this far south of the Canadian border. Obviously, she isn't one for cold play, but I wonder what games she will play. I think it's time to find out.

Her eyes are wide and shocked as they travel over to the class. I suppose she didn't expect to see people kneeling in the middle of the room wearing nothing but their underwear or her friend bowing low at my feet. I pat Cassandra on the head and order Crystal to take over the lecture. The class will get a thorough education, especially on the art of pain under her careful tutelage.

The club maintains a temperature of a balmy seventy-three degrees. Teaching class and swinging a flogger can be hard, hot work. I'm wearing jeans, a muscle shirt, and my boots. I snatch the flannel button down I abandoned earlier off the back of a chair and pull it on for the sake of Wallflower's sensitivity. I take my time sauntering over to her. She's nervous, licking her lips and flexing her fingers around the pot. As if she's already been trained, she drops her eyes and won't lift her stare to meet my gaze. But, I find I want her to lift her eyes, not to look at me, but to see, really see me.

"I...I came to return this," she says thrusting the plant at me. I don't take the pot from her. I stare her down and she huffs. "I can't accept this." I've made her uncomfortable with the directness of my stare. She shuffles her weight from one booted foot to the other and continues to hold the plant in her extended arms.

I meant the amaryllis as a gift to her. I wanted to show her that I was listening and listening well. I'm determined that when she leaves here tonight she will be leaving with the plant and an accepted invitation to dinner. I gesture with my head toward my private playroom. "Come," I say as I begin to walk away. She'll either stand there, leave, or follow. I'm not surprised when she reluctantly follows.

I chuckle at the almost disappointed expression on Wallflower's face as she follows me into the tiny, cramped office space I use for the business aspect of running the club. "What'd you expect, a medieval torture chamber?"

Wallflower licks her lips and answers, "Well, yes, sort of, I guess." She sets the plant on the corner of the desk and shyly glances around the office. The office is stiflingly hot from being closed up all day. Given the heavy winter apparel she's wearing, beads of sweat begin to blossom on her upper lip. I move to help her out of the parka and almost burst out laughing as she swats my hands away. I normally wouldn't tolerate such behavior from a submissive, but she isn't mine. Yet. Whether I help her out of the coat or she takes it off her self doesn't matter to me. I've gotten her out of the coat either way and that was my objective.

"Sit," I order, testing the boundaries of her obedience. Hesitantly, she sits perched on the edge of a battered chair. I shove the amaryllis away from the corner of the desk and take its place, hovering over her. If she wants to look me in the eye, she'll have to crane her neck. From this vantage point, I've got the upper hand. She's submitting without even realizing that she's doing so. It's manipulative of me, posturing so, but I like it. Submission is a good look on her. "The cat of nine tails and my torture rack are through that door," I say, nodding to the closed door across the room. "Would you like to see them?"

Her head snaps up and she looks at me through wide eyes trying to judge if I'm serious or not. Oh, I'm very serious about my desire to bend her to my will. Joking about the torture rack though. And only a true sadist would use a genuine cat of nine tails as an implement of pleasure. "No!" she exclaims emphatically. "I just came to return the plant."

"It's rude to return a gift." I keep my voice low and even as I chastise her. "I want you to keep it."

"I...I don't want to give you the wrong impression."

There are dark circles of fatigue under Wallflower's eyes. She is still wearing the scrubs she wore to work. The things fit her like a sack, thoroughly hiding her delicious curves. I doubt if she's eaten a proper meal today. She has that pale anemic look of someone who hasn't stopped to eat. I reach into the mini fridge and pull out a juice. I don't care if she likes orange juice or not. She needs the energy. Cracking open the top, I hand it to her. "Drink."

Wallflower doesn't like people taking care of her. People who take care of other people typically don't like being taken care of. I'm exactly the same way. She resents my interference as much as I'd resent it from her. I've thrown off her locus of control. She glares at me, but takes a small sip from the bottle. "And what impression is that?" I ask once I'm certain she has drank enough of the juice to think clearly again.

She blushes violently red and refuses to look up to meet my eyes. Damn, I love this game we're playing. Wallflower is trying so hard to resist, but submitting to me despite her self, and I'm jumping through hoops like a show dog trying to impress her. I'll punish her for it later, once I've ensured her complete surrender. She'll resent being turned over my knee, but she'll like it just the same. "That you and I stand a chance," she mumbles. "I'm not like those people out there. I'm not what you want."

I see her wince at the resounding echo of the crack of a whip. "Mind reader, are you?"

"Well, no."

"Ok, then you really don't know what I want."

"No, but I know what I want and that's no part of this."

She tries to hop onto her feet, but I'm blocking her with my body and force her to sit down. "Do you even know what this is or are you judging by the bullshit you've read about in books and seen in the movies? Let me clarify a few things for you. I don't have mommy issues. I don't fuck random women. There is no written contract or signing on the dotted line. I respect my submissives and myself too much to require something as demeaning as a piece of paper to define what goes on behind that door.

"I train dominants and submissives in hopes that I can keep them from truly harming one another. I protect people. I accept them for who and what they are and give them a safe place to express themselves and explore their boundaries. It's true. I can't do normal. I can't offer you hearts and flowers. It's not in me. But, you're the judgy one, not me."

"Then why would you want me?"

I'm resting my weight on the arms of Wallflower's chair, glowering down at her. Our faces are inches apart. She can't look away. I can see the internal battle going on in her head. "Honestly, I don't know. You're attractive, that's for sure. But, I've got a club filled with attractive women. I don't want any of them the way I want you though."

"You think I'm pretty?" she asks interrupting me. Her eyes are suspicious and questioning. She doesn't see her own worth. Perhaps, she never has. I can see our first lesion is going to be on manners. I don't like being interrupted. But, before I can begin to train her. I have to teach her a few things she doesn't know about herself. First of all, that she has value as a person and as a woman.

I grasp her chin and hold the point loosely between my fingertips. "Wallflower, I think you're beautiful."

"Amy, my name is Amy."

I'll give her this small concession. "Amy, I think you're beautiful."

"Oh."

She drops her eyes, looking anywhere but at me. I don't like it. "Look at me, Amy." She's hesitant, but does as I demand. In her eyes I see the first of her many walls begin to crumble. She has been harmed badly. From the information Cassandra willingly divulged. Amy's ex husband really did a number on her. I can see that he almost broke her. Almost. But, I can see the woman she truly is peeking out from beyond the fortress she's constructed to protect herself from harm. It's that woman I want.

"Let me take you out for coffee tonight." It's not a request. It's a command. She knows this.

"Coffee? Not a good idea. I have to work in the morning. Caffeine and me this late at night, bad combination."

Amy is wilting under my stare. I've got her where I want her. "When would it be a good idea?"

"Thursday."

"Ok Thursday it is," I say triumphantly. I gently release her chin from my hold and back off to allow her to reclaim the space I've invaded. She breathes out a sigh of relief at my retreat. "I'll pick you up for dinner on Thursday."

"Wait a minute. I thought you said coffee and I don't recall agreeing to go anywhere with you." Amy is seething as the realization hits her that I've taken control of the situation and of her.

"You said Thursday."

"I only meant that if I were going to go with you for coffee. Thursday would be better."

"Ok, Thursday then." I'm not going to let her win this argument. I want her acquiescence. I can see her angling for a way out of this. It's almost like it hasn't occurred to her that she can simply say no and I'd have no choice but to accept it. That's ok though. I think she wants me to pursue her so that she can see the full measure of my determination. If I'm going to get anywhere with her, I'm going to have to work for it. I haven't had to work to earn the right to take a woman out...ever. I'm rather enjoying the chase.

Amy's eyes narrow and I can see that she's picked the terms of her surrender. I lean back on the edge of the desk with my arms crossed and wait to hear them. She cocks her head and eyes the plant. "Tell you what. I'll go out for coffee with you if you take back your present. You manage to keep that plant alive and I'll meet you at the coffee shop across the street on Thursday."

I chuckle at the way she throws my manipulation back at me. "You know I'm a dominant, right?"

"You've made that point abundantly clear."

"People usually scramble to do as I tell them to, not the other way around." Amy shrugs unapologetically and defiantly lifts her chin. "Ok, you've got a deal. But, if that plant is still alive by Thursday, you accept it as a gift."

"Deal."

I nod in acceptance to our terms.

"This is coffee, not a date," Wallflower specifies.

"Of course not." I mockingly agree.

"Oh, and I'm paying my own way." She stands and pulls her coat over her arms. I see her wince from the stiffness that has set into her back and shoulders. She has had a hard, long day and it shows in her body stance and expression. She needs a long hot bath, some food, and sleep.

I bow at the waist in an over the top gentlemanly way. I push off the edge of the desk and help her settle the coat over her shoulders. I turn her so that we're face to face and clutch the lapels of her parka so that she has no escape. I'm an expert in body restraint and I know she's not getting free until I release her from my grasp. I want to give her a taste of what she's in for and dip my head low to seal our deal with a kiss. She tries to turn away, but I've got her captive. I claim her reluctant mouth doing what I do best and take complete possession of her.

The kiss doesn't last long. Her mouth is soft and lush, sweet with the lingering flavor of orange juice. I could have stayed like that kissing her into submission, but my concern for her physical state is too demanding. She needs rest if she's got a shift in the morning. If she stays, the last thing she'll get is rested.

Wallflower tried not to kiss me back and failed miserably. Her tongue darted into my mouth, searching me out and surrendering to my advance. Her lips molded and yielded to mine. The kiss wasn't awkward, but natural and filled with denied need on both of our parts. I haven't had a kiss like this one before. A kiss so much like a first kiss and yet at the same time delivered with the experience of so many other kisses. "I'll see you Thursday at six."

Incapable of speech, she nods, licking my taste from her lips. Her cheeks are flushed with a blush and her chest heaves breathlessly as she tries to regain her composure. She makes a feeble attempt not to bolt for the door. "Amy, eat some supper before you go to bed."

She salutes mockingly and says, "Yes sir," before walking out and shutting me in. I'm chuckling to myself at her resistance. She is going to be so fun to bend. Break her though? I wouldn't try.

I hear her voice through the door. Wallflower is deflecting and defensive. I suppose mom mode or the authoritarian persona of a nurse is her default setting. She barks at Cassandra, reminding her that she's got an early shift in the morning too. Wallflower shouldn't worry about Cassandra. Cassandra now falls under the umbrella of my protection, as all the members of the club do, and as she does now as well, whether she knows it or wants it or not.

Wallflower

I'm very careful about the details of my personal life that I share with my kids. In other words, I don't tell them a thing. My private life ceased to be any of my kids' business the minute they moved out of the house and declared themselves legal adults. Before now, it isn't like I really had anything to tell them anyway.

Janie calls me every Wednesday evening like clockwork. She's a college freshman this year, living on campus away from home for the first time ever, and from what I gather from the gist of her incessant chatter, loving every minute of it. I do hope she's learning something and not wasting her father's money. It'd serve him right if she squandered every penny, but a wasted free ride to college wouldn't do her future much good.

Janie is a pretty girl, energetic and vibrant, and so much like her father in appearance and attitude that sometimes it makes my teeth ache. I know she's my kid. After all, I was there when she was born, but I don't see much of myself reflected in her. Unlike me, she doesn't have a reserved or pragmatic bone in her body.

I'm scared for her future. I worry more about her than I do my son. Jack is an acorn that didn't fall far from the tree. He's exactly like me. Jack's life plan includes settling down with a good job, a wife, and a nice, predictable life in suburbia. Janie however, I don't see her easing into a routine for a very long time. Right now, I'm just trying to get her to focus long enough to survive her first year of college. I'll just have to pray very hard that the rest falls into place and her life ends up having something resembling order.

Tonight, Janie isn't her usual animated self. She's babbling, but the conversation is careful and avoids anything having to do with her father. She is a daddy's girl to the very core of her soul. She talks to me once, sometimes twice a week. She's on the phone with him almost every night. Despite the physical distance between us, after twenty years of raising her from an itty-bitty baby to adulthood. I know my daughter and I know when she's hiding something from me. I suspect it has something to do with her father.

I automatically start drumming up scenarios in my head. I run down my mental list of worst possible situations. Things like cancer, heart attack, car accidents, and about a thousand other completely horrible ways to die. I confess, during the divorce there were times I wished my ex husband dead, but it was in the figurative and not the literal. Bob is a decent guy. Falling out of love with someone isn't anybody's fault. But, his falling into bed with someone after the falling out of love, I guess that gives me some liberty to hate him just a little bit. However, I wouldn't wish anything truly bad to happen to him. Erectile dysfunction would be poetic justice, but he doesn't deserve a slow, painful death.