Whiskey and Rye Ch. 04bysmall_town_girl©
So this chapter is a little longer (I couldn't leave you guys hanging in there *yet again*... now could I?) and I think you'd really like it.
I am dedicating this chapter with lots of love to @Masters_fire – you really touched my heart. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you.
For anyone who's new to this story – welcome! Take this chapter for a test-ride and if you like it, go ahead and give the whole series a read, and better yet – start with Lucky Bastard 01-09 to fully understand everyone's characters and motives...
As always – please VOTE and COMMENT – I aim to please! :)
I wake up when the sun is high enough in the sky to peak above the next-door building and its warm bright rays fall directly on my eyelids thru the sheer curtains. I must have slept like a log, and with my eyes still closed I smile to myself, enjoying the rare feeling of waking up refreshed and rejuvenated even before my morning shower.
I stretch out fully, leisurely, my arms touching the headboard and my feet pointing out, back arching deliciously, making a funny squishy screech as I do so – nnnnnnggggghhhhhheeeeee! - when I become aware of the stockings still encasing my legs up to my thighs and the damp slickness at their apex, evidence of the extremely pleasurable experience I've given myself just before falling asleep last night, and most probably after as well... And with that realization – whoosh! – the memory of yesterday comes rushing back. A wave of renewed desire floods my body, tightening my nipples and making my pussy twitch. Mmmmmm....
No, no, no, Naomi, none of that now. I give myself a little talking-to. You can't spend all morning playing with yourself, much as the idea appeals to you right now. C'mon girl, up you go!
With effort I ignore my tingling flesh begging for attention and reach out to check the time on my phone. It's almost 9am, so I have three hours until I can text Rye my decision. My first thought is of course it's going to be a "Yes" so maybe I should text him right now. But he asked me to think it over when I'm completely sober, and in my case that would mean after I've had my first cup of coffee.
I pad over to my tiny kitchenette to get the brew started still completely nude except for my lace-top hold-up nylons which makes me feel down-right naughty, and then head over to the shower to sort myself out while my coffee drips. Twenty minutes later I emerge all scrubbed and smooth and fresh, wrapped in my soft terry robe that reaches my mid-thigh, my hair in a towel, and pour myself a mug. I add two spoonfuls of sugar and a drop of cream from my minibar-style fridge, and move over to plop myself on my comfy loveseat in the small seating space next to my bed, legs curled under me.
Think – Think – Think... I tap my lips much like Winnie the Pooh would and my head feels just as empty as his. What is there to think about, really? I take a few tentative sips from my steaming cup and try to sort out my thoughts and feelings.
I start with the easy part – the man is hot. If anything, he's grown even more attractive in the decades since my first crush on him. And last night he pretty much got me to cum in my panties just by using his *words*. All right, this is a big, fat 'check'.
Moving on, I reflect on the way he handled himself with me. For one, the man has a sense of humor, which is a total must, plus really, really sexy. Check. Also, surprising as it was, he actually let his feelings show – even those less-flattering ones. I could mostly tell when he was angry, or hurt, or annoyed. That's really important to me; I don't think I could spend a lot of time with a stone-masked Dom; it would simply be too frustrating. Check.
I keep tallying up the plus side – Rye was sensitive, concerned for my well-being, respectful towards me – all the while maintaining an obvious, natural-as-breathing stance of domination over me. Check, check, check, and CHECK. All right, I guess I could spend the whole next three hours just listing the evidence on why he really was the perfect Dom for me... Which probably meant I should try and focus on any reason I should *not* re-offer him my submission. Argh.
Once I force myself to look for it, I realize there is actually one thing that is really bothering me.: While Rye asked me many detailed questions about specific redlines and dislikes and preferences, he has not given me too much insight into his own. He said he was looking for the same kind of relationship as I was – long-term, committed D/s-but-not-slavery-relationship – but his more specific preferences remained mostly obscure.
For example, I still don't know how much into inflicting pain he really is. Should that bother me? And what if he would have liked to permanently mark me at some point, but agreed not to because I told him it was a hard limit for me?
I think about this one some more. I do trust him to respect my limits as well as my safe words, which I'm sure we'd get around to setting if we took the next step together. What really bothers me is the possibility of not being able to fulfill his cravings, his fantasies, his needs.
Maybe I'm not good enough for him.
Old habits die hard. Especially these nasty little ones that live within a person's head, like my own tendency to belittle myself, to tell myself "I can't do it", "I'm not worthy", "I'm not good enough". I hate myself when I get into this endless loop in my mind, which in turn only makes it worse. And right now I can feel myself sinking fast into the all-too familiar abyss of self-doubt and insecurity.
No! Stop it right now!
I give myself a mental shake. It's been a while since I've spiraled down with these negative thoughts and today of all days I would not let myself succumb to them. I was brave last night and was rewarded with breathtaking results; I will be brave today, and hopefully, maybe, it would give me a chance for – dare I even dream it? – real happiness. And yes, maybe I'm not good enough for him, but that's what this weekend is all about, isn't it? It's his opportunity to consider me as a sub, to decide if he wanted me. To decide if I'm good enough for him or not. I'd be damned if I judged myself not worthy and killed this chance before it even lived.
All right then. So back to the original question: Is there anything about Rye that would make me not want to be his sub?
I start fretting again. But I don't know him. All I have to go by is my recollection of the man he was all those years ago, and the few hours we spent with each other yesterday. How could I make this monumental commitment based on that?
Then something he said yesterday pops to mind. 'If I take you as my sub with the intention of making it a long-term relationship...'
Yesterday it almost sounded to me like he was hedging, but today I realize he's right: In truth, I would be offering Rye my submission with the *intent* of a future together – a leap of faith, for sure, but not quite as monumental a decision as it seemed just a moment ago.
And there I have my answer: Right now, today, there is nothing about Rye that would make me not want to be his sub. Whether forever comes... who knows? I really, really hope so... but I don't need to be sure in order to take the first step forward.
Phew! Yes. I'm going to say YES.
Almost immediately I feel the giddiness start bubbling inside of me, and I realize I'm trembling all over with excitement. Jumping up from my sofa I start walking around in circles, shaking my hands out to try to rid myself of my excess nerves, muttering to myself as I do: "Fuck, fuck, fuck I'm going to do it. I'm really going to do it! Oh my Lord in heaven, I'm going to do it"...
It's still early and there are a couple of hours left before I can text Rye my answer, and I put myself to work trying to kill the time. By eleven-thirty my flat is dusted and swiped and neat, and I pop back into the shower for a quick freshen-up. By eleven-fifty-five I am all ready, and I pick up my phone, open my contacts to pull up Rye, choose 'new text message' and type in:
Then I wait for the built-in clock to show 12:00 before I hit 'send'.
And I wait.
I swear, these are the longest five minutes of my life. It physically hurts to wait, I want it so bad.
The clock hits 11:59am and I start counting out loud: 60, 59, 58, 57, 56, 55...
At 20 seconds before Noon, I can wait no more. Murmuring a curse to no-one in particular, I send the text over. And then I hold my breath waiting for Rye's response.
I am almost dizzy from lack of oxygen by the time it is received, broken into small single-line texts:
*Thank you angel.*
*Be at 2pm at my place*
*Pack an overnight bag*
*Bring your favorite toy*
*I'll see you soon*
Before I even read them all thru, another one arrives with his home address, and I find myself flying into a flurry of activity again. Packing my small trolley is done in about 15 minutes. Favorite toy is even easier as I have only one: My trusted, realistically-shaped vibrator. It resides in a lovely box, and I quickly put it into my bag – and I'm all ready to go.
Rye's place is right between Washington Square Park and Christopher Park down in the Village and I debate with myself whether to walk or take the subway. The sun shining outside promises another beautiful day and I know the physical activity would help keep my jitters down, and besides I have lots of time and nothing better to do, so walking it is.
With an excited giggle I pluck my keys from their place on my counter and leave my little studio, wondering if I'd feel completely different by the time I returned tomorrow night.
I walk down 7th Avenue enjoying the perfect early summer weather. I'm feeling pretty and feminine in my favorite sundress – smoked-blue thin cotton fabric with small white polka dots, simple crew-neck and fitted bodice flaring into an A-line skirt coming down to my knees. My well-toned shoulders and arms are bare, and so are my just-shaved, nicely-muscled legs. A narrow white belt accentuates my waist and a pair of lively green flats completes my outfit. The warm sun and light breeze caress my skin and softly drift thru my hair and something like joy spreads within me, lending extra bounce to my gait. I feel young and carefree and... excited. Like I haven't felt in a long, long time.
I hum to myself an upbeat tune I hear at the gym a lot – 'I gotta feelin' that tonight's gonna be a good night...' – as I make my way across Chelsea passing by the Irish pub from last night and then into the West Village, and turn left on Greenwich Ave. I've been walking for almost a half hour now and the heat is starting to get to me, plus I feel myself getting agitated again as I draw closer to my destination both in space and in time. I know I should still have more than an hour before I'm to meet with Rye, so I make a small detour into Jefferson Garden and take a seat in the shade, my trolley beside me, stretching my feet out in front of me and leaning back, catching my breath.
I love these small islands of green in the city, these patches of nature amidst all the concrete and asphalt and steel and glass. They remind me of the countryside I grew up in. I let my head fall back, my eyes staring un-focused at the blue skies peeking thru the greenery above me listening to the birds chirping all around.
Just as I start to relax my phone rings. Maybe it's Rye. I snap to alert and quickly fish it out of my purse, answering in a breathy, dreamy voice without checking the caller ID.
"Hello, girlfriend, how are you doing?" Oh, it's Annie. I forgot that she promised to call on Saturday to hear how it went with Rye the night before.
"Hey honey, I'm good, how are you?"
"I'm great, and we both know why I'm calling. So – the suspense is killing me here! Tell me. Did you find him? Did you approach him? How did it go?"
"Well... Yes, I found him. And yes, I approached him. And yes, I made him my offer, and he very nearly kicked me out right then and there."
"Oh no!" Annie sounds almost as distressed as I was last night.
"Oh yes. But – it actually turned about all right, and he ended up inviting me to spend the weekend with him!"
Silence greets my enthusiasm on the other side of the line.
"Hello? Annie? You still there?"
"Yes... Yes I'm here, I'm just a little shocked... whoa, Naomi, good for you! It sounds like it went amazingly well - I'm so proud of you! I can't believe you pulled it off... Wow!" She sounds so breathless it's almost like she's about to faint.
For some reason, I feel tears prickling behind my eyes at her words, and a little sniffle escapes my lips. "Th-thank you so much, Annie. You know I couldn't have done it without you... without your support. I just hope –"I can't help the old insecurities rising in me. "I just hope I'm good enough for him, you know...? Oh Annie, what am I going to do if I'm not?"
"Shhh... C'mon honey, listen to me. I know Dan did a real number on you, but you've got to remember what happened between the two of you had nothing to do with what a wonderful woman and wife – and sub, I'm sure – you were for him... And that issue is going to be completely irrelevant to Rye. We both know that. You're one in a million, honey. Rye would be a fool not to recognize it. And I don't think he's a fool."
The love and the confidence I hear in Annie's voice help me regain my composure. Nodding my head though I know she cannot see me I reply in a much calmer voice:
"You're right. I love you Annie. Forever and ever. I'll call you on Monday and will tell you all about it but I've got to go now, okay?"
"Sure, honey. Now go, have fun! I'd be green with envy except I have my own juicy stuff to tell you but it'd keep till Monday. I love you too. Bye now!"
She hangs up on me without waiting for my reply. The witch! So she's been busy too, huh?! Well I'm going to grill her all about it on Monday, but right now my phone is showing 1:45pm and I really need to get going.
It takes only a few minutes to get to Washington and 6th and another two to locate Rye's address, and at five minutes before 2pm I am standing in front of his building. Like most of the surrounding structures it is only four stories tall and is made of bright red bricks, its windows trimmed with white. It looks... quaint. And unremarkable. I wonder whether the insides would match the exterior... Well, I guess there's only one way to find out. And with that thought I feel a rush of excitement and nerves come back to explode inside of me, leaving me shaking and breathless and sweaty.
C'mon girl. Don't chicken out now.
Resolutely, I cross the street and walk up to the door. The intercom has apartment numbers on it and I press Rye's number: 13. I push on the door when I hear the buzz and find myself inside a small, neat, empty lobby. The elevator is right across from the front door and I walk into it and ride up to the top floor as instructed in his text message. When the doors slide open I find myself in a small hallway that leads to three apartment doors marked 10, 11 and 12.
Huh? Is this some kind of a joke? A riddle? What's going on? Then I notice the door marked 'exit – stairs'. Aha!
I walk into the stairwell and climb the last flight up until I reach the last landing and a door out to the roof. It's made of heavy, solid metal and I need to push hard to swing it open. Just outside of it and to the right of me, there's one more apartment – a small one, obviously a later addition to the building; maybe a converted boiler room? The door is bright blue in color and there's a black cast-iron number on it. #13. I'm here.
I step up to the door and raise my hand to knock when it swings open and Rye is standing in front of me, a smile curling his lips in his otherwise tense face and I realize he looks a little nervous... and a little relieved.
He also looks really, really hot.
That thought flashes in my mind as we each take a moment to check out the person in front of us for the first time in broad daylight. My pulse quickens as I feel his gaze sharpen and heat up and caress slowly down my body while I return the gesture, fully enjoying the sight in front of me.
His thick once-dark hair is now liberally sprinkled with silver and tamed with a super-short crop, and is still damp from his shower. His strong face is smoothly shaven and his olive skin seems to glow under the hot rays of the sun overhead. He is wearing a chocolate-colored polo shirt that hugs his powerful chest and shoulders and brings out the hazel flecks in his green eyes. A pair of dark blue jeans clings tantalizingly to his hips and thighs. And he's barefoot, his toes sinking into the lush carpet under his feet.
"Welcome to my humble home, Naomi. Please, come in."
He steps back and holds the door for me as I cross the threshold into his flat and past the tiny entry hall, stopping a couple of strides in to look around me in amazement. I barely register the soft click of the door shutting behind me.
Rye's place is... unexpected. The space is very small; it must be no more than 500 square feet in total, just slightly bigger than my own studio apartment. But it is well-lit and feels spacious due to the higher-than-standard ceilings with their exposed beams running across the whole open-space floor plan, and the line of windows on the wall in front of me.
To my right there is a beautiful, cozy living area with a single dark leather recliner and a small chaise covered in rich, velvety fabric, positioned along a low solid coffee table made of smooth timber. The recliner faces a flat-screen TV mounted on the exposed brick wall above the fireplace. A door leads off back from the living space into what must be the shower and restroom.
On my left is a custom-built sleeping loft constructed of the same dark timber as the coffee table. It looks like it fits a California king-size mattress with some room to spare. The narrow stairs that climb up to it along the inner wall separating the loft from the kitchenette/dining area actually make up the top of a large custom storage cupboard. Under the loft, the wall opposite the stairs is arranged as a small workspace with a hinged hanging desktop and a single padded armless iron chair.
The kitchenette is tucked into the corner on the other side of the inner wall ahead and to my left, leaving just enough space for a small round wrought-iron, ceramic-tile-topped table and three matching, sturdy-looking padded iron chairs. This area too has a couple of windows looking out in the same direction as the living room windows, and I notice another narrow door which probably leads out to the open roof.
The most striking feature of the space though is the fabrics and colors used throughout the apartment. Walnut-colored hardwood floors are covered in thick, darker-brown carpets. The walls are a warm caramel color trimmed in creamy white, except for the reddish-brown exposed brick on one side, and the light ceiling color matches the trims in between the dark beams. The windows are treated with semi-transparent cream roman shades, currently drawn down to keep the direct glare of the sun out.
The one living room wall that is free of windows and furniture is covered with two strikingly beautiful Afghan rugs, leaving only the small part of the wall bearing the bathroom door bare. A third smaller rug hangs on the wall above the stairs to the loft. Their deep, bright royal-blue and burgundy-red hues are reflected in the chaise cushions and the iron chair paddings, as well as the bed cover in the loft overhead.