The Choice

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The Domme's perspective.
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This is a retelling of my two stories 'Chance Encounter' and its sequel 'First Night', this time told from the Domme's perspective. While not absolutely necessary it might be enjoyable to read or re read those two stories at some time to get the full flavor of the tales.

*

It was promising to be yet another dull and empty Saturday evening, after another full and demanding week at work. With the latter at least I derive a sense of fulfillment and the expectation of eventual attainment. I've never been able to say the same about my personal life. While I have partaken in more than a few one night, and even multiple night stands, I have never been particularly enamored of them. And none have ever been more than occasionally and momentarily physically satisfying, nor had any ever shown any potential for even beginning to achieve my ultimate hopes and dream. And so it had been quite some time since I had bothered to further indulge in any of them. Though my dream in actuality may be beyond reach I refuse to compromise in my quest of it. Thus my recent but prolonged string of idle nights. With the long and continuing lack of success and progress in my hunt I had allowed myself to fall into a rut.

Shaking off my torpor I suddenly resolved that it was well past time for another visit to the club. It was over two months since my last time there, and while I rarely, and not in a very long time, have been an active participant there, I do like to use the ambience of the place to recharge my batteries, so to speak.

Club O is a fetish club operating on Friday and Saturday evenings in an old converted warehouse in the 'artsy' section of the city. As it advertised it serves as a place for Dominants and submissives of all types and genders to gather and play in a safe and consensual environment, or just to watch and enjoy others doing so. Nowadays I exclusively fall into this non participant group as I no longer have any desire to playact. But I do like to observe, to help get the 'juices' flowing again, to re stimulate my ongoing search for something more meaningful and real.

Almost anything goes at the club short of real physical harm, and there are club monitors to prevent that. Overt sexual activity is also prohibited publically but there are private rooms available for those who do wish to indulge. To discourage unwanted attention when I'm there, I now go out of my way to dress down for these outings. While unattached submissives have to actively offer themselves up for service, as a Domme I don't need to worry about doing that. But I do need to make myself as unappealing as possible to avoid such approaches. Still, I do like to feel feminine, and for work and in most other social settings I do try to dress smartly and attractively. For this type of occasion though I have to limit such to my unseen lacy black bra and panties, which I cover up with a pair of rumpled dark blue sweat pants and a mismatched unadorned gray sweatshirt. Over my white anklet socks I wear a pair of old running shoes. I tie my shoulder length dark auburn hair carelessly back with a tie behind my head. To top it all off I don a pair of unnecessary ugly owl shaped non-prescription eye glasses. Despite such similar efforts in the past I have occasionally still drawn interest from some timorous subs, whom I always politely shoo away. I hope that I won't have need to do so again this night.

Thus prepared I make my way to my car for the half hour drive from my suburban condo to the city. Once there I park in the public lot and then make my way down the side street to the entrance of the club. Although still fairly early there are already a fair number of people in the long entrance hallway waiting to get in, far more on the long slowly moving line for submissives than on the shorter much faster moving one for Dominants, who are always taken care of first. The entrance fee for us is $5 as opposed to the $30 tab for subs, although it is not unusual for a submissive at the front of their line to also pay for a Dominant up front, hoping no doubt to curry some later favor. Dressed as I do this thankfully never happens for me, and I would refuse it nonetheless. Indeed I often draw a number of startled looks from the submissive line as I make my way to the front of my own, many very likely wondering if I am just pretending to be a Domme so as to pay the lower fee and get in faster, something I'm sure no true submissive would ever do. On this night, as always, I dutifully and without delay pay my $5 and enter.

Once inside, although early, I see that the cavernous club is already fairly crowded, although not as packed as it will likely be as the night progresses. As usual there is a wide diversity of appearances, from those wearing many different types of leather or latex, as well as many of the submissive persuasion being either naked or sporting only some form of chastity device and/or a range of collars. More than a few patrons however remained dressed in every day clothes, with only their attitudes and affect proclaiming their orientation. None however were attired quite like me, which served my purpose perfectly.

The club is set up in multiple distinct sections, some with a large number of bondage equipment, crosses, stocks, horses, tables and winches. Others with animal cages of varying sizes for incarceration, and still others with whipping posts and the attendant necessary paraphernalia. At the far end there is a mud wrestling pit which always seems to draw a large enthusiastic viewing crowd, although I always avoid it. Interspersed between all of these areas are at least a half a dozen bars, from which the club makes most of its money, all surrounded by a number of easy chairs and tables, and a private platform and whipping post. These are usually utilized by Dominants to congregate for a restful interlude and to trade notes and share experiences together, with submissives there only to serve them and as examples. I usually try to find an empty such area to spend my entire evening soaking in the surroundings alone.

I made my way over to my favorite area and bar and was very pleased to find that the cluster of easy chairs there were still unoccupied. This was likely not only because it was still early, but this area was a bit off to the side and was nearest to the entrance/exit which made it the least popular site, which was exactly what I wanted.

As I passed I noticed that Trina was located in her usual spot, blindfolded and naked with her hands tethered above and facing her whipping post, her sign 'Punish me , if you please' next to her with her flogger attached. I had met and gotten to know her a bit quite a while back when we were both leaving the club at the same time one night. It turned out that she is not really a true submissive but rather a closet masochist. She comes to the club periodically to anonymously satisfy those insistent urges, but the rest of her life, both socially and otherwise, is purely and happily vanilla. She is not into severe pain, and trusts that the attendants of the club will not let things get out of hand as she allows herself to be helpless, and for the most part they apparently do.

I understand her need, but I am not a sadist and I do not enjoy inflicting pain of any kind, especially corporeal, and so I have never availed myself of the opportunity to administer any to her, even for her own gratification. But there was one time when I observed an overzealous Dom applying his strokes to her for far too long and far too aggressively, so I felt compelled to go and grab his arm in his next mid swing, saying 'It's enough'. He turned to me snarling and I was ready to stand my ground when another Dom took hold of his other arm and added, 'As the Lady said. It's enough". And that was that. The only other thing heard was Trina whimpering a thank you. I've never known if that was for stopping it or for the whipping itself, but whichever it was, maybe both, I was glad that there were other non-sadistic Dominants around keeping an eye out for her.

As I approached the bar I was happy to note that it was manned by the usual bartender. From past times he knew my reserved proclivities well and offered only a respectful nod as I ordered my White Zinfandel. When he set it down in front of me I handed him a twenty, which included a generous tip, drawing another silent nod, this time with a hint of a smile.

I settled into one of the comfortable chairs in pleasant solitude, hoping that it would continue as such. Dressed as I did this usually proved to be the case, although it rarely slowed down the traffic to the bar. I began to take in the scene progressing around me which was the usual panoply of fetish phantasmagoria. I am not really into humiliation and degradation, and even less so S&M. For me it's all about loving command and control, and willing, adoring submission in return, and there was little to none of that in this setting. But I do try to use the surrounding spectacle to help rekindle the fire deep within me, that is only allowed to smolder vainly most of the time. This night however, as I sipped my wine and viewed, the spark just didn't seem to be there for me and the vibe seemed all wrong. I had always understood that for most of those here, while they have these inclinations, do come solely to play with them for this short period of time. Yes, there are undoubtedly some who consider it more of a lifestyle orientation, but even for them this was little more than an overt game. And I wanted, needed so much more. While I realized from past experience that I was never going to find that here, I was slowly coming to the sad reality that I was unlikely to find and achieve my dream anywhere. Continuing with my wine I forced myself to come to this unsettling and sobering conclusion, which I had obviously been avoiding and denying for far too long. And this led me to an even more startling and depressing one, that I was now more turned off than turned on by this artificial surrounding circus. Finishing my drink I knew that I immediately had to take my leave from here, probably for the last time.

It was then that I saw him, standing about 20 paces away, staring at me almost as if in terror. It took me a few moments but then I knew him as well and my own heart stuttered a beat. It was Raymond Post, a senior executive and Vice President at the company where I worked. While he was not directly my boss I had recently worked for him on a project and had enjoyed it immensely and had hoped to do so again some time in the future. He was always fair and friendly in his authority and was very well liked and respected. But now he looked totally like a fish out of water. As our eyes remain locked together I could sense him desperately trying to decide whether to run and hide, or to face the facts of our mutual recognition. I wasn't sure which of the two myself I would prefer. After several more seconds he began to walk over to me, and my heart really began to hammer.

"Good evening Miss Kelly." he respectfully addressed me, if a tad formally.

"Mr. Post." I responded.

"May I join you?" he continued, somewhat more timidly.

Wary but now intrigued, and realizing that this would not be my usual anonymous rejection if I said no, I looked around at the empty chairs around me and then offered him a smile. "Be my guest."

He sat down on a chair angled next to me, propping himself only halfway back and sitting bolt upright. After an awkward period of silence he began, as if to explain.

"I've never been here before." he started

"I know." I answered.

This seemed to startle him.

"How so?" he inquired.

I decided immediately not to be coy but to be straight and up front with him. To be myself no matter what the consequences might be, and to answer him honestly.

"Well," I began, "It doesn't appear that you're aware of the unwritten protocol on how to approach someone unattached here."

"Protocol?" he practically sputtered.

I smiled gently to try to put him at ease before continuing.

"Yes, when an unattached submissive approaches a Dominant, even within a group of them, he or she is expected to kneel down silently and wait to be acknowledged. If the Dominant isn't interested the submissive is dismissed or shooed away. Sometimes though they can be made to wait quite a while, but if the Dominant does finally deign to accept service the submissive is then given some menial task to perform and the connection is established for the evening."

I stopped for a second to see how he was taking all of this, and whether it appeared that he wanted me to continue. His avid and intense expression suggested that he did.

"If a Dominant approaches an apparently unattached sub," I then continued, "they generally just come up and say 'follow me'. The sub then has his or her one and only choice in the interaction, to humbly demur, or to get up and follow and be in service for the rest of the night."

He took some time to try to digest all of this before somewhat sheepishly proceeding.

"I guess I'm a submissive." he admitted.

"No guess about it." I concurred

He seemed a bit taken aback.

"Am I that obvious?" he asked almost plaintively

"I guess." I replied.

We both simultaneously laughed at the word play which helped to lighten the atmosphere. He took a few more moments and then went on, seeming a bit more comfortable.

"Can I take it then that you're also of a submissive leaning yourself?"

\

I couldn't stifle an even more hearty laugh, but seeing the look of horror on his face I rapidly stopped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you Mr Post." And I truly didn't. "Although I suppose that being a Domme should mean never having to say that you're sorry, but I don't believe that." And, again, I truly don't. "I believe that everyone should be treated with respect, so I AM sorry." I really was. "Please forgive me."

He seemed shocked, but not for the reasons I supposed.

"You're a Domme?" he stammered. "But the way you're ..."

"Dressed?" I finished for him dryly. "I don't come here to be anyone's fantasy Mr Post." I continued more sharply. "I come here now and then purely to take in the vibe, to refresh the mindset so to speak, not to playact with anyone."

I was clearly annoyed, but then stopped and realized. This was precisely why I dressed as I did, to deflect and deter anyone from approaching me as a Domme, or as anything while I was here, and now I was barking at this innocent man for responding exactly as I had intended. I summoned up a smile as contrite as I was able to muster.

"Pleases also forgive my mini rant." I began. I also then realized , to my very great surprise, that I wanted to continue to talk to this man, even under these very unusual circumstances and our prior connection. This might ultimately prove to be a very big mistake but for reasons that I couldn't explain it was a risk I suddenly desired to take.

"I do think it would be nice to continue our pleasant conversation." I offered, "but if we're going to I would like something to drink to accompany it." And as much to fortify me, and give me some time to collect my thoughts. "Do you think you could go get me a glass of White Zinfandel from the bar?"

"Yes of course." he responded enthusiastically.

"And get something for yourself as well." I added.

"Thank you." he replied, perhaps unnecessarily as he was the one buying, but which pleased me greatly nonetheless. As he bounded off to procure our drinks I tried to understand why I had let this progress even this far. This man was a senior executive at my place of employment, and though I knew and even liked him, at least superficially and from a distance, there was the very real possibility, even likelihood, that this encounter could severely damage and derail my career there, something that I greatly cared about. Yet for some inexplicable reason I really wanted now to get to know him better, not just as a Domme meeting a new submissive, but even more as a person. And it wasn't as if this didn't also pose some risk for him as well. I sighed. I had cast the dice and there wasn't much I could do about it now. I would just have to deal, however I could, with where it might lead. And with that resolution I also felt a vague sense of excitement which I hadn't experienced in quite some time.

As he returned with the two glasses of wine and handed me mine before perching himself again on the edge of his chair, we were both drawn to the sound of a whoosh, crack and following cry. Turning, we both saw a casually clad young woman wielding a cane with which she had just administered a stinging blow to the butt cheek of a naked young man bound to a nearby pole, leaving behind a long red weal. As we continued to watch she delivered another symmetrical stroke to his other cheek and then paused as if to admire her artwork.

"Is that the type of thing that you like Mr. Post?" I had to know, reorienting his attention back to me.

He actually shuddered. "Absolutely not." he replied, scoring a point with me.

As if on cue, a Dominatrix in full leather regalia strode past us from the opposite direction pulling on a leash which was securely attached to the genitals of the naked male trailing behind her.

"How about that, then?"

He cast his eyes down, shook his head morosely and again answered no, raising my estimation of him even more. But that then raised the fascinating question: What WAS he looking for here? It was something I now really wanted to discover, but I suspected that I would have to probe slowly and ever so carefully.

"Well, I think that if we're going to sit here and converse we should at least pay some deference to the atmosphere and dynamic of the place, don't you think Mr. Post?" I began, considering ways to try to find the key to him. "My feet are very sore and tired, after walking around in high heels all day at work." I saw his brows knit at the reminder of our other association but I plunged ahead. "Do you think that you might indulge me with a nice foot massage as we talk?"

His face visibly brightened. "It would be my great pleasure." he answered.

"Excellent." I concurred, and lifted my feet up onto his lap. He looked down at them for a moment before carefully untying and taking of both of my running shoes followed by my white anklet socks. I was very happy that I had made one of my frequent visits to the salon the day before for a mani-pedi, and my nails were pristinely polished. He stared at them a moment more, almost in reverence, and then softly started to caress the tops with his fingers. Before long, as his confidence seemed to grow, his thumbs slowly began kneading into my arches and soles.

Not wanting to push too far too fast I started to talk about things in general. To try to put him even more at ease I told him truthfully how well regarded and respected he was at work and how much I had enjoyed working with him recently and hoped to be able to do so soon again. He appeared genuinely surprised and pleased at this and was soon relaxed enough to venture forth with some jokes, many of which were lame but just the way he told them had me chuckling along and becoming brave enough to attempt some of my own in return, and soon we were both laughing in total enjoyment. And he continued to rub.

I began to ask him a bit more about himself. It was common knowledge at work that he had been divorced for a number of years but I didn't want to push him on that. He started by telling me of his upbringing and schooling, proceeding on his career interests and drive, and seemed at first to be embarrassed and then delighted by my real interest. He then tentatively began touching on his personal life, admitting that his wife had been the only serious romantic relationship he had ever had, and that he had truly loved her and had thought that he was making her happy, or at least trying so. He had not been expecting the day when she had announced to him that while she had always liked him, she had now found the true love of her life and was leaving him. Having it so starkly and convincingly stated he had felt it was thus futile and he hadn't contested the divorce. But I could easily see that he still felt the pain.