Not Exactly a Master

When I came to again, I was being loaded into an ambulance, and I was only wearing my bra at the top. A startled touch with my fingers, and I realized that somebody had removed the collar I always hid by wearing high collared blouses. Someone, and from the short looks at the horrified faces not just the paramedics, had probably seen the tags and likely also my tattoo. The door was shut, and I was wheeled away to the hospital, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

I had only a slight concussion and was kept there for two nights, then I was released with the promise I'd take things easy for the next two weeks.

The sinking feeling turned out spot on. When I went back to work, my belongings were already waiting for me, and next to the box stood an ashen faced Jazz, who just had her contract canceled.

"You'll certainly understand that our clientele would not understand your... proclivities." Amos, who I'd been working with for the last four years, scrunched his nose, letting me know what he thought. "The uppers don't think you'll want this aired in a court room," he said, meaning there would be no severance package.

"I understand," I said. "I understand that this is something tiny, stupid, narrow minds can't understand," I told him, struggling not to lash out at him physically. "I'm-"

"Going to take your stuff and leave," Jazz said, gripping my hand.

I took a shaking breath, grabbed my box and spun around so he wouldn't see the tears. I managed to make it to the car before I broke down completely.

"Fuck!" I cried, throwing the box into the trunk of Jazz' car, then flinching when I heard the pretty vase I had bought on a trip to China shatter.

Jazz touched my shoulder. "We'll get through this," she promised, but she sounded hollow.

Her business took a nosedive. Word spread around, got embellished and twisted, and two weeks later, she had lost all her customers.

We tried hard. We waited tables to make ends meet, drew up business plans and were rebuffed by the banks faster than we could blink.

When Jazz asked me out to an Italian restaurant -- she'd pay -- I knew it was going to be bad. The hugs and kisses had gone missing somewhere along the way. I loved her deeply, but no matter how hard we tried, it felt like two strangers trying to talk in languages the other couldn't understand.

"I'm going to move to the west coast and try again there," she said, not meeting my eyes. "I can always find a job there."

"You're not asking me to come along," I observed, struggling against my tears.

"It kills me," she said, her voice strangled. "But I feel we... us..."

"I know." The 'us' had somehow gotten lost along the way. "When are you leaving?"

"A week from now. The rent's paid for another full month."

"Thank you, Jazz." I gripped her hand squeezed gently. "You must not feel guilty."

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "I'll feel as guilty as I want to. The badges, the tattoo -- those were my fantasies."

"And ultimately my decision to wear them, you stubborn idiot of a domme."

Her head jerked up. "Impertinent sub! I should -- I swear -- if this wasn't..." Her eyes teared up again.

"One last time?" I asked quietly, hopefully. "A goodbye? Hard and gritty, tear-filled and nasty?"

She bit her trembling lip, then she let out a sobbing laugh. "One last time," she agreed, and put a twenty on the table for our two drinks.

*~*~*

I had struggled. I was full time working as a waitress now, in a restaurant through the day and a cafe in the evenings. My coworkers liked me because I left the best paying slots on the weekend to them so I could go to the club. I had tried to keep away from the club, but I couldn't. Even though I was by no means ready for something new, I needed the company and the inspiration.

Over time, the couples I had thought would be together forever split up and often reassembled in different constellations. The group, surprisingly, stayed mostly intact.

I had a few sexual trysts with Romy when she was on the rebound, and it was fun, but it was just sex. We were friends with benefits. I tried subbing for Mistress Donna once at her home, but she was all stiff and formal and far too worried about hurting me. Halfway through the evening, we called it off, brought out chips and wine and went on a Desperate Housewives binge. We still had an enjoyable time.

But I was getting restless.

And then I spotted her. Young. Aloof. All dolled up in a corset, a coiled whip on her waist, stalking around, homing in on every female sub she could spot but ending up alone just as fast each time.

I talked to Lyra and learned that she was, like I had guessed, a complete newbie, and that she had managed to alienate every sub in the club within two nights. Even management had already received complaints about her crude behavior, and her exclusion was on the table.

With nothing else to do, I decided to interfere.

Something about her eyes reminded me of Jazz.

In honor of Jazz, I took out the rubber dress she had gifted me with for our fourth anniversary. The white, thigh-high rubber stockings were hell to get into. The set came with red rubber panties, a white rubber miniskirt, a rubber bra that matched the panties' color and a short cropped white top with a front zipper. After a bit of rummaging, I also found a pair of glossy, red high heels that were a close match. For a moment I pondered putting on matching red lipstick, but that would be too perfect in looks. I picked up the pink one instead and went for green with the eye shade.

*~*~*

It was already getting late, and she had been without success once more. I slipped into her booth without asking.

"Hey!" she protested.

"I'm Sarah-Marie," I greeted her. "But you can also call me Sam or Peeper or Pee, whatever you prefer. You're Leilani, right?"

"Mistress Leilani," she snapped.

"Are you sure?" I could see the lack of respect was really getting to her.

"Why don't you go away, little sub? I didn't invite you here. This is my table!"

"Do you enjoy being alone every night, Leilani?"

She froze. I could see the struggle in her expression. "You little shit!" she hissed.

"That's the first time I'm being called that," I said evenly, grabbed her glass and took a sip.

"Hey!"

"You have beautiful eyes. You have a great body and a lovely voice. But I doubt anybody is really going to notice because they're all trying to get away from this crude imitation of a domme as fast as they can."

"You," she growled. "I'll -"

"You'll listen," I said, putting my hand on top of her wrist and feeling her stiffen. I tapped her temple with a finger. "This is where the fun happens. The mind. Think, Leilani. You're rushing into this with the sensitivity of a bull in a China store. We subs here are horny little things, yes, but we know how vulnerable that makes us. We may crave a good walloping and dream of submitting utterly to a woman as beautiful as you are, but before we prostrate ourselves before you, trust needs to be built. Understanding needs to happen. A dominant who goes over the top can really, really damage a sub. There must be limits laid out. Expectations shared. Safewords exchanged."

I shifted closer, moved my hand from her wrist and laid it atop her fingers. "This sounds tedious when you're impatient to finally indulge in these cravings you've hidden for so long, I know. All of us know. But it doesn't have to be. It's a wonderful game called seduction. Tease with your mind, with your words. Don't grab. Dangle the carrot, reel in the line, let the subs bite and crawl after you. Talk less, listen more. Let them set up the trap for themselves, they're bound to do that. Then catch them in their own trap, and enjoy watching them wriggle and squirm until they've expended their nervous energy and finally succumb to your charms, hopeful and ashamed and vulnerable."

I was getting to her. Her eyes seemed transfixed, and she was breathing hard. I wrapped my fingers around hers and squeezed gently. "My last dominant was a woman I met here, and we were together for over five years. When she seduced me, I was certain I was a hundred percent straight. And she wasn't a classic beauty. She had barely any breasts, she was too thin, and her choice of rubber clothes made that incredibly obvious. But she had patience, a dark humor, and a way with words. She got into my head and only gently prodded my insecurities and neediness until I delivered myself to her with hide and hair."

I wiggled out of the white top and turned around. I heard her gasp.

"This is pretty lifelike. This is her and me. Can you imagine the devotion I felt when I got this for her?"

I turned back around slowly. "If she could inspire such devotion, can you begin to imagine what power you could wield with your angelic face and perfect figure?"

She stared at me for ages. "Wow," she finally whispered, slumping against the backrest. She took a big swig from her drink, then held out the glass to me. "I guess I was quite the asshole," she said, looking ashamed.

I took her up on the offer and took a swig too. "It's hard for newbies. There's no newcomer's guide to the BDSM scene. You stumble into it with wild stories from the internet and your own exaggerated fantasies running around your head. The people you meet there act strange and you have trouble understanding them. A lot of people are lucky and get introduced by friends. It's easier for them. Did you graduate from college recently?"

It turned out Leilani was still in college and about to enter her last year. She'd been secretly reading BDSM stories for a while, but it was during spring break that she learned about the club. She was studying history, with a focus on early human societies. Her goal was to join an expedition team that went to the Amazon area or former Sumeria.

I shared a few bits about myself as well. She wanted to know about my relationship with Jazz, and while talking about her still hurt, it also felt good to remember the better parts.

The club was emptying at some point, and the music stopped.

She gripped my hand. "Will you be here next Friday?" she asked.

I bit my lip and sent her a shy smile. "Do you want me to be here?"

She gave me a long, intense look, then she turned my hand over and traced the lines of my palm with her fingernail. "I might," she said quietly. "I might have a little reward for you if you come. How does that sound?" She looked at my eyes again.

She was a quick learner. "Intriguing," I said.

*~*~*

Lyra caught me when I was about to enter the restroom. "You're hanging out with her?" she asked full of accusation. "I know you're on the rebound, but really! She's-"

"She's in over her head. Or was. She had no clue what to do once she got here, how to act. All she had to go on were silly erotic stories."

She eyed me warily. "She's not your type."

"I have a type? After having one real relationship?"

"She and Jazz are like polar opposites."

This was getting tedious. "Listen, Lyra. I loved Jazz, and I'll never stop loving her. But people are individuals. I'll never find another Jazz, and even if I did someone who resembles her, it wouldn't be exactly the same, so there's no use crying after her or looking for her twin. But if you must know, I saw that Leilani was just as lost here as I was when I discovered the club. I more or less threw myself at every dom I met, and I was far too excited to think about boundaries or safewords. Without Jazz, I might have given up or done something really stupid. Jazz took her time to introduce this ignorant sub to the real world. Leilani was the same, just on the other end of the scale."

"I get it," Lyra huffed. "You've had one relationship, and now you've eaten wisdom with the spoon." She squeezed past me, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Lyra," I pleaded, but she ignored me.

*~*~*

I slid back into the alcove.

"Where have you been?"

"I met a friend, and we had a bit of an argument."

"Sorry about that."

I shrugged. "Happens to the best."

"Are you saying you're one of the best?"

I laughed. "That depends."

"I'd demand from my subs that they are the best at everything," she said quietly, looking me in the eyes. "You're a good listener, a good judge of character, and a good teacher. What else are you good at?"

That hit me totally unexpected, and a nice warmth blossomed unexpectedly between my thighs. "Uh," I stammered.

"Eloquence under pressure is apparently not among it," she said with a soft, chiming laugh, linking her fingers, her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands.

"I guess I'm pretty flexible for my age. I do a lot of yoga and stretching."

She nodded sagely. "Flexible. What else?" She licked her lips.

"Uhm. I'm very dedicated when I put my mind to something."

"Dedicated. I like that. Go on."

How had this turned around so fast? She kept staring expectantly, lifted an eyebrow. My heart started hammering. My cheeks started burning. "I -- I was told I'm very good at sucking and kissing nipples."

"Sucker lips. Well, there's nothing like a well-rounded resume. Anything else?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. I mean, I could have listened all kinds of inconsequential, everyday stuff. But we both knew that didn't matter.

"How about crying?" she asked quietly, fixating my eyes. "Are you good at crying for your domme?"

She watched me gulp hard. "I think I could be," I said, feeling hot and lighthearted.

"I think I could be, Miss Lei," she said, then she nodded at me.

"I think I could be, Miss Lei," I repeated.

She smiled. She licked her lips again. "Are you good at being wet, Sarah-Marie?"

I had to bite down the moan and rejoiced in the heat that suffused my cheeks. "Yes. I'm very good at being wet, Miss Lei."

"I'm not sure I can believe you. Why don't we check that?"

It was at this moment that I realized that I had nothing more to teach her. She kept smiling at me, waiting, self-assured in the knowledge that she held the power, reveling in the need that was so apparent in my eyes, biding her time because she know I couldn't resist such a challenge to expose myself with the thrill of maybe misinterpreting her expectations.

Even recognizing the psychology behind it didn't diminish the thrill. I slowly got onto my knees on the bench and wiggled my rubber panties down my thighs. Then I waited.

After what felt like ages, she sat upright and looked at my pussy. Then she reached out, touched my opening and wiped her fingers all the way up over my mound.

I whimpered a little.

She held up her hand, turned it this way and that, and then she fixed me with a hard look and clucked her tongue. "That's a lot of slime, Sarah-Marie, a lot of slime. I can see why you wear rubber panties. You're absolutely drenched down there. Tell me, has your domme ever put a bowl under your pussy to capture it and measure how much slime you produce?"

Oh fuck. The image was strong. Too strong. I moaned, staring at her eyes, and I saw the delight in them. My cheeks exploded in flames.

She giggled and grinned. "Let's add one more skill to your resume. You blush prettily. But you can pull up your panties. We've already seen how wet you are, haven't we?"

I reached down to tug the panties back up when she said, "I mean, if you want to pull them up, pull them up. Or you could leave them where they are, and if anybody asked, I could tell them you want it like that because you're a little exhibitionist. And you'd have to agree, or you would have to call me a liar." She took my hand in hers and smiled. "You wouldn't call me a liar in front of others, would you?"

I gulped. I shivered. "No, Miss Lei," I said.

"Now your hand is sticky with your cunt slime too, Sarah-Marie. Really, I don't know what to do with you!" She started getting up, and I stared at her like a deer in the headlights. "What are you waiting for? Let's go wash our hands!"

For a moment I considered pulling up my panties. But then I climbed out and waddled after her, blushing and dripping under my skirt.

*~*~*

"Before I say anything else, I have to apologize," Miss Lei said. "During my first visits to the club, I behaved with the sensitivity of a bull in a China store, as my lovely pet worded it so aptly. I needed a reality check from her to realize just how badly I was acting, and I am really sorry for making so many of you uncomfortable. I was caught in a fantasy and forgot that all of you are real people. That's no excuse, just an explanation. I hope that, over time, you'll forgive me."

I snuggled tighter against her and looked around. Lyra and Mistress Donna were still a bit skeptic, but the others had lost their hostile glares.

"Don't hesitate if you want to ask me anything."

"Why don't you sit down before we start pestering you, honey," Miss Clare said with a friendly smile.

"Thank you." Leilani took the offered chair and pointed between her legs. I knelt where she had indicated, folded my arms over her legs and rested my chin on them so I could look up at her. Since I had to tilt my head back really far, it wasn't a position I could hold indefinitely, but she liked it when all my focus was on her. And I liked it too.

She talked with the others, absentmindedly stroking my hair every now and then, and I felt pretty content. Who would have thought it would end like this?

*~*~*

But it didn't end, thankfully. That would have been a short relationship. Leilani graduated college and got a job. Before she started working, she went on a month-long journey to Europe. My own perseverance at work paid off in that time, and I was promoted from waitress to daytime manager at the cafe. There were a number of trainings I had to take for that, and they were out of town. The timing was unfortunate. I had to leave the day before Leilani came back.

We texted and called, but I was on massive sex withdrawal by the time my trainings started. Three weeks later, I came back buzzing with anticipation.

It was Friday at six when I arrived at home. I quickly showered, put on the pink rubber shorts and crop top and the matching high heels, then I headed to the club.

Ever since I told Leilani how much it got to me when Jazz made me wear pink, she kept gifting me stuff in that color and basked in my embarrassment.

I spotted her quickly in one of the armchairs and made a beeline for her, giddy with joy, but when I was about ten feet from her, I froze. Just at that moment her head turned towards me, and she caught my shocked stare. Next to her legs on her right knelt a sub, a pretty red-haired girl her age with the body of a gymnast, and the girl's eyes were full of adoration and riveted to Leilani's face. It was a punch to the guts.

Miss Lei saw me stop and sent me a sharp look. Then she crooked a finger and pointed to the floor on her other side. I gulped hard. My instincts screamed to turn around and race home, and my eyes threatened to mist up, but then something happened that made the situation even more surreal.

Lyra was suddenly at my side and touched my arm. "Go to her," she said.

I started questioning at her.

"Go. You'll want to talk to her before you jump to conclusions." She squeezed my arm and left.

I needed to take a few deep breaths before I could trust my legs to hold me up. Then I approached them. Miss Lei's finger once more indicated where she wanted me.

"Miss Lei?" I said while I lowered myself to my knees.

She ran a hand over my hair, and the intimate gesture threw me even more off the track.

"I don't understand, Miss Lei," I confessed.

"We have a little conundrum," Leilani said. She kept stroking my hair. "Sarah-Marie, this is Lucy. We shared a flat at college, and we were a couple for two years. Lucy, this is Sarah-Marie, my sweet, wonderful sub."

I chanced a look at the girl. Gosh, she was pretty. And she was Leilani's longtime lover.