Horner Springs, The Institute Ch. 02

She stopped in mid word when she saw Laurie put down her fork and with a patient, forgiving expression slowly shake her head.

"No."

"No? What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Willow, Jake is not getting in touch with his inner Dom. He hasn't got one. 'Top', yes, but Dom he is not."

"I thought they were the same."

Laurie sighed. She often forgot that while the students needed twenty-four units of Human Sexuality to graduate, the faculty could be hired without any background, at all, in the subject—beyond what they figured out on their own, of course.

"Willow, there are two different dynamics at work in BDSM—or any other sexual relationship, for that matter. There's the relationship between the Top, the active partner, and the Bottom, the passive partner. However, there's also the relationship between the Dom, who calls the shots, and the Sub, who does what the Dom wants. Jake is doing what you want. He gets absolutely nothing out of it except the satisfaction of knowing he's made you feel good."

"Wait a minute. That sounds like I'm the Dom. That can't be right."

"But it is. You're what is known as a Dominant Bottom. Jake is a Service Top, doing whatever you want or need. A very noble position, if you ask me, very altruistic."

"But—but that has to be wrong! I didn't want that. I wanted him to be like you."

Laurie smiled crookedly. "But he is, exactly like me. Willow, BDSM is what I study, not what I am. Coming up in Bakersfield, the Leather scene was something what we called 'those perverts in San Francisco' did; my only interest in it was kind of morbid. It wasn't until graduate school that I began to ask 'why' and 'how'. It was at UCSF that I designed the experiments that paved the way for my doctorate, my reputation and my position here. I have lots of friends in the BDSM community nationwide, but I'm always a guest. I don't belong to it. Even with years of skill building, I get no charge from wielding a flogger, except to know that I got someone off."

Willow's previously eager, flushed face was now sober and pale. "Laurie," she asked, dreading the answer, "—then whatdo you like?"

For the first time since they'd first met, it was Laurie's turn to blush. "Would you believe plain vanilla, missionary sex?"

"I knew it! And because of your reputation, every man attracted to you is either out to get topped or is intimidated and afraid you'll want to take a cat-o'-nine to him, aren't they? That's terrible. That's—that's unfair."

"Oh, it isn't that bad. I have tenure, my reputation, my horses—I've done a lot better than most men, not to mention better than most women. I manage."

Willow's eyes narrowed and she stood up, drawing herself up to her full five-foot-two. "Hunh! That's as may be. But thank-you for clarifying things, Dr. Bindre. You've given me a lot to think about."

*****

March first had brought an early thaw but a week later the ground was covered with snow again as Laurie Bindre guided her 4x4 across Horner Springs to the McAllister's mobile home park. The invitation had been decorated with confetti and sequins, sugar sprinkles and stars. It said she was invited to a multi-reason celebration at Jake and Willow's and that they wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

It had been a month since her conversation with Willow and she hadn't even seen Jake since the 'night of the clothespin'. That he worked on the campus clear across town and had a reputation as a diligent and somewhat solitary researcher meant that his lack of visibility was no surprise. And since she had gently dismissed the couple from her guidance she wondered what the party was really about. Maybe Willow was pregnant? Maybe she'd decided after a couple of scenes that BDSM wasn't her thing after all? Maybe the young art historian had gotten tenure tracked. Now that last would be something to celebrate!

Pulling up next to the doublewide she saw Jake tending an open fire with several dutch ovens sitting in the coals. He waved cheerfully and motioned her on in and when she opened the door, Willow greeted her with an enormous, even suggestive hug.

"Sit right down here," the smaller woman bubbled, "we're having chuck wagon tonight, with a California twist. It should make a Bakersfield gal feel right at home."

Jake brought in the dutch ovens and set them on tiles down the middle of the sideboard. He lifted the lids and the scent of hot food filled the room. Laurie was delighted.

"Onion braised short ribs? Pintos with bacon and onions? Sourdough biscuits and—and canned peach cobbler! Oh, guys, you know how to make someone homesick, don't you?"

"And a big green salad with avocado, too. And to wash it down a Lodi Zinfandel. Dish up, honey, we're celebrating."

Warm and well-fed, a couple of hours later, they all sat around the pot-bellied stove in the living room.

"Okay, you two," Laurie started, "just what are we celebrating?"

Jake laughed. "Well, to start with this is a late celebration of something that deserved a party five years ago, something about a certain Kiger Mustang stud getting best in show in Sacramento."

Laurie was amazed. "You knew?"

"No, but I found out. When Willow said you had horses I just looked you up. Dr. Bindre, your stud may be small but it is choice."

"Which," Willow continued, "brings us to the second and third celebration. Jake was hired to do a range analysis for the new owner of the old McPherson place, some East Indian cyber-type from Silicon Valley with visions of becoming a cowboy. His recommendations got him referred to one of Mr. Patel's friends and now he has two multi-year contracts to turn two different ranches into showpieces. And money is no object. That means, celebration number three, that we can bug out of this tornado trap (it is a trailer park after all) and get our own place. Hi, neighbor, we're moving next door to you."

"Wait! You—you bought the place next to mine I'd been saving up for, didn't you?"

"We did. And that means you can lease the back four acres and expand your stables and that Jake can bring Ponca down from Kalispell. It's cruel to keep a cowboy away from his horse."

Laurie was nearly speechless. "I—I don't know what to say. I really don't."

Willow stood up. "Hah! I know what you want to say. You want to protest that having you and Jake next door to each other is a recipe for trouble. That you're afraid you'll find yourself in the position of 'other woman' because you think he is one hot stud and you can tell he's attracted to you, too. And that, my dear Mistress, is where you are wrong. Growing up in Santa Monica, in a politically active family, I heard a lot about Social Justice. I have to admit much of it was pretty self-serving and some of it downright bigoted."

"Yup," Jake broke in with a chuckle, "her mother is okay with me because I teach Environmental Science but she would just die if any of her friends found out that Willow is really married to a cowboy. We get along best at a distance."

"Quiet, you. It did, however, give me very definite ideas about what justice was and what it should be. And what it should not be is Willow-the-Pillow-Princess getting off constantly because Jake and Laurie put her pleasure first without getting anything for themselves. No! Don't interrupt. As the Dom here I have a responsibility to my service tops. You guys have been wonderful. You've given me ecstasy beyond my wildest dreams. You've catered to my slightest whim and made every one of my 'scenes' something to be treasured in memory forever, and you haven't asked one damned thing in return.

So now I have one more. We're going to do a scene here, tonight. Shut up, Jake, I'm not finished. And the scene is this. Laurie spends the night with us and I get to watch while you two have some happy, vanilla missionary sex together. No! Laurie, it's okay. It's fair. You deserve to be happy as much as I do, as much as Jake does because you two make me happy. Now stand up, you two, strip down and come with me. I bought a new, comfortable chair and put it in the bedroom so I can be tied down to watch and I don't want it to go to waste."