The Text Message Ch. 01

Synopsis:

Man reluctantly becomes the Dom of a submissive woman.

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Author's note:

I need to start with a warning to my followers. There is a reason that this story isn't classified as a romance. While there definitely is an underlying romantic element, it is a lot different from my previous stories. Its main theme circles around dominance and submissiveness and the later chapters contain male-female sex, some really soft (!) and totally consensual BD with minimal SM (it's not in the slightest a 'how-much-pain-can-you-take-BDSM-story), threesomes with two girls and one man and there also is an interracial element. I decided to put this story into the 'Novels and Novellas'-category as a sign for this.

The story plays in a fictional city in a fictional country with fictional characters.

The whole story has just over 80k words and is split into six chapters. As usual, the story is (almost) finished, with just some minor editing remaining to be done on the following chapters. You can expect the next instalment in a couple of days.

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As usual my thanks go to my editors, Stattion and Joffa. Everything that's right is their work. Everything that's wrong is my fault.

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Chapter 01: An Unlikely Pair

That bloody bitch. I was still fuming when I thought of her. Why had she made everything so difficult? I'm just glad that we didn't have any kids. The divorce was bad enough as it was. For the last ten years, I had supported her. I had helped her pay her way through college so that she wouldn't have any debts when she was finished. I had helped her buy a car. I had supported her unwarily through her depression. I had been at her side after the suicide attempt. And then she had to cheat on me with her doctor. I didn't blame him, or only a little, as I knew how she was. She was a beautiful woman who could wrap any man around her finger on her day. I must know, I had been wrapped around her little finger for ten years.

But I was hurt, deeply hurt. After everything I had given, she had to cheat on me. I tried to forgive her, I really tried but I couldn't. Not even her usual magic worked. So I filed for a divorce and then it got really dirty. Originally, I had intended to go for a fair fifty-fifty split, I had no intention to fleece her. But she got greedy and her lawyer started playing dirty. He painted her to be the victim. How I had abused her psychological problems to make her dependant on me. They called several of our friends as witnesses in order to show that I had been bad for Doreen and had driven her consciously into the depression and the suicide attempt. I was not really surprised how she wrapped them all around her finger.

I ended the divorce proceedings by blackmailing her. That's how deep I had fallen. When I threatened to denounce the doctor, her new lover, for starting a relationship with a patient, she caved in. She could, of course, keep her clothes, her jewellery and her car but I got the house and the majority of our liquid assets. I didn't care about the house, I didn't want to be reminded of her but by now I was tired of her and begrudged her the dirt under her nails.

What pissed me off the most was that the vast majority of our common friends sided with her. I dropped them. If they believed her more than me, if they thought that her cheating was somehow justifiable or if they thought I should forgive her so she wouldn't drop back into the depression, they were her friends and not mine. I only kept a few, without exception I had known them already before Doreen and I had met.

When the divorce was finally official, she started stalking me. I don't know what happened to the doctor but wherever I went, she would show up shortly after. Whether it was at a restaurant, a bar or a club. She would thwart my attempts to meet new people, to build a new life. After meticulously recording these efforts and collecting sufficient proof, I managed to get a restraining order against her.

Then she started to terrorise me over the phone. She would call in the middle of the night or during work hours. She sent dozens of emails and texts a day, erratically swapping between threats and attempts at persuasion. It wasn't sufficient to just block her number and blacklist her email. She would use any phone, any computer and any email-address she could get hold of. I finally had to change my phone number.

When she realised that I had a new number she couldn't find out, she started to ignore the restraining order. The consequences for her were negligible. She showed up, I called the police, they took her to the police station, tapped her fingers and sent her home. The very next day, it started all over.

After several months of this ordeal, I decided to sever all ties, move cities and start over. The owner of the company I worked for recommended me to a friend who had his own business on the other side of the country. He hired me after conducting two skype-interviews, putting a lot of trust into the recommendation of his friend. Online I found and rented a two-bedroom flat in the upscale part of the city. I bought the most basic furniture, a good bed, a cheap kitchen table and four chairs in a national chain and arranged delivery to my new place where my new landlord would receive them. I sold the house, packed my clothes and a few household items in a couple of suitcases and boxes, sold everything else to a used goods store at a knock-down price, loaded my car and left my old life behind me. To make the cut clean and absolute I also changed my phone number again.

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So here I was three months later. Thirty-five years old and all alone in the world. My mother, a single child, had died from breast cancer shortly after my marriage to Doreen and my biological father was unknown. Having moved only a short while ago I had no friends, barely found my way around and I knew nobody except for a few people from work. The coincidental reasons I had come here were that I had been fortunate to find a new, well-paying job as Head of Controlling with a medium-sized craft beer brewery covering mostly the local market and it was about as far away from Doreen as I could get without leaving the country.

As soon as I had started working with my new employer, I had also enrolled in an online correspondence course to improve my qualifications and give me the opportunity to later aspire for a CFO-function (CFO stands for Chief Financial Officer). This course was the reason I sat at home one Saturday evening, my nose buried in a book about accounting when my smartphone beeped, breaking my concentration. I hadn't received a single text from anyone since I had moved three months ago as I had been far too busy to learn about the company's procedures and structures and to keep ahead on my studies to go out and meet new people. I admit that I felt lonely but for the time being there was not much I could or wanted to do about it.

My first thought was that Doreen had somehow found out my new number and therefore I dreaded to look at the text. But that urge everybody gets when their phone beeps finally won. I looked at the screen and just saw it go dark again after having illuminated when the text came in. I just had the time to notice that it was not from one of the few contacts whose numbers I had saved in the contact list as I caught a glimpse of numbers instead of the usually displayed name on top of the pop-up.

Curiously I pressed the home button, opened the message app and the message itself.

'Dear Dad, I hope that things have gone better for you than they have for me lately. I've just left Justin after he beat me up again. Love A.'

That wasn't intended for me. I quickly pondered whether to reply or not and decided to send a short reply.

'Dear A., you seem to have mistyped the number because I'm definitely not your Dad. Nick.'

I expected this to be the last I would hear but I was wrong.

'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I will not bother you again. This used to be the number of my deceased Dad and I regularly sent him messages of what is happening in my life.'

That was a lot of story in a very short text. She seemed to need someone to talk to and, to be honest, so could I.

'If it makes you feel better, you can keep writing him. I don't mind. It sounds like a great method to handle the grief.'

I didn't hear back from 'A.' for several weeks and forgot about the event quickly. I was fully immersed in what had become my new life, mostly oscillating between work and study. Despite not being the most natural socializer, I started to make friends or rather acquaintances. Making friends has always been a very slow process for me but feeling lonely I started to regularly go to a sports bar on Friday or Saturday evenings. With a couple of beers in my bloodstream and a common topic, it happened almost automatically. I also connected well with some of my colleagues at work who knew about my situation and actively introduced me to their social circles.

Nevertheless, I was at home, studying, when my phone buzzed roughly two months after the initial exchange. I was more used now than I was to receive texts from different people so I didn't think about it when I took my cell phone and checked the message.

'Dear Dad, life hasn't been nice to me in the last few weeks. I'm desperate and lost and could use some guidance. A.'

It took me a moment to remember what this was about. I hadn't expected to hear from A. again so I sat at my desk for a minute reflecting on what to do. I decided to reply.

'I don't know the reasons for your difficulties but if you need someone to talk to, you can explain your situation to me and I can try to give advice. Nick'

After several minutes I received her reply.

'Thanks for the offer but there is nothing anybody can do to help. Alicia.'

After a short consideration, I decided to offer her a last opportunity.

'Tell me. New perspectives from third parties and unemotional advice often help in seemingly hopeless situations.'

It took almost an hour for her reply to come in. I had already accepted that she wouldn't talk to me.

'Can you pay my rent? Can you fill my fridge? Can you protect me from my crazy Ex?'

Crazy Ex. That was something I could really identify myself with. But I wouldn't be able to help her. I didn't even know where in the country she lived. I wouldn't pay her rent but I could send her some takeaway food if she was hungry.

'If you want, I can place an order for some takeaway and have it delivered to your place. Or any place where you pick it up. Send me the name and address of a takeaway, a food order, and a delivery/pickup address.'

'Why?'

'I had to run from my Ex-wife all across the country.'

'You are very kind. Please give me a minute.'

After only a couple of minutes, I received a list of dishes from an Asian takeaway in the same city but in a different district and the information that she would go there and pick it up. As the order didn't cost more than a few dollars I decided to increase the portions and looked up some additional dishes which I guessed she might like and had the whole package charged to my credit card. The food would be sufficient for two or three days and I still wouldn't notice a difference in my bank account from it. That way she wouldn't have to worry about her fridge in the short run and would be able to focus on the rent and handling her ex. After I had placed the order I sent her another text with the order number so she could pick it up. I didn't mention that I had increased the order.

Twenty minutes later she wrote back.

'I cannot possibly accept that.'

'Yes, you can. Get back on your feet and when somebody else needs a little bit of help you forward the favour.'

'I'm in your debt.'

'No, you are not. This is a gift.'

'Thank you very much! Where do you live? Anywhere close?'

'Coincidentally, yes. Same city, but the northern district.'

'When I've sorted my problems I'd like to meet to thank you for helping!'

'Sure. Why not. But now enjoy your dinner!'

'I will. Thank you! You're the best!'

'Good luck!'

That was the last I heard for another two months. While I was curious to hear how she fared, I was hesitant to contact her as I didn't want to leave an impression of imposing myself or demanding attention, or worse, in exchange for paying for her food, so I was forced into the passive role.

I continued my life as had become usual. I worked long hours, studied in the evenings and Saturday daytime but went to the sports bar or went out with the people I've met through colleagues at work on weekend evenings. I noticed that when I was invited somewhere more and more often 'eligible' single women were also present. The efforts to set me up remained casual but they were obviously there.

While I was not fundamentally averse to a new relationship I remained careful after my experience with Doreen. For a few weeks I dated one of the women I was introduced to but while the sex was good, we soon agreed that we didn't connect and didn't have any common interests apart from being lonely. We split up on friendly terms and agreed to remain friends.

So I was back in the bar having a beer and watching some English soccer on a Friday evening when my phone buzzed. Alicia. A call, not a text. I rose from the table to leave the bar as it was way too loud to talk on the phone in there and answered the phone on my way out.

"Nick West."

"Hi Nick, this is Alicia."

"Alicia, what a pleasure to hear your voice. I have to admit I've been curious to find out how you sound," I confessed.

"But not how I look?"

"Of course! But one step after the other. What are you up to? Is everything ok?" I enquired, evaluating different options in my mind. Was she out of money again? Out of food? Troubles with her ex?

"Yeah. Everything's good."

I enjoyed hearing that and not only because I wouldn't need to help her again.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"Don't you remember? We agreed to meet when I've sorted my problems."

"Congrats! Back on your feet?"

"As good as it gets."

I could hear an unspecified sadness in her voice but decided to not follow up on that.

"Glad to hear."

"What are you up to tonight?"

"Nothing important. I'm having a beer watching soccer in a pub on the corner of Second and Northern with a few buddies. And you?"

"I was wondering if I could interest you in a drink."

"Yeah, gladly. Where are you?"

"All the way down at Twenty-eighth and Harbour."

The other side of the city, close to the takeaway I ordered her some food from.

"No prob. I'll catch a cab and meet you there."

There was a moment's hesitation before she replied.

"Would you mind if we met closer to your place? But I might need help with the fare."

It didn't really matter to me. I would either pay the cab there and back or here and back.

"Sure. My treat. Take a cab and come to O'Reilly's. I'll pay the fare and will make sure you get back home."

"Thank you. How do I recognise you?"

I looked down my front to remind me of my clothes.

"I'm six foot one, one hundred and eighty pounds, dark brown hair and I'm wearing dark blue jeans with a black button-down shirt. Give me a call when you're outside and I'll come out to get you and pay the driver. How do I recognise you?"

"I'll be the woman embracing you and possibly crying out of gratitude."

"Which one? There are usually three or four of those a night," I replied with a chuckle.

She didn't reply to that but I heard a sharp intake of air.

"Just joking. See you in a few then."

"Yeah."

The moment I disconnected the call, a thrill of anticipation set in. I didn't understand why I was suddenly so antsy, we had only exchanged a few texts and I had bought her one take-away-dinner, but starting with the first few texts, I had somehow felt a connection with her.

What did I know? She was from the rather poor southern district. She had a crazy ex. She had been in severe financial trouble a few weeks ago. Her name was Alicia. Her father had died over nine months ago because they hold back numbers for six months and I had had the phone for a while before the first text came in. How the hell could I feel a connection with somebody based on that knowledge?

I went back inside and ordered a water at the bar as I had already had two beers and I wanted to be as sober as possible when I met Alicia in order to make a good impression. I sat at the table with my buddies and waited for the cell phone in my hand to ring again, looking at it every few seconds to make sure I hadn't missed her call. About an hour later, the match was just approaching the final minutes, it finally vibrated.

I jumped from my chair, grabbed my jacket and rapidly darted towards the door, sliding my thumb over the screen to reply.

"I'm almost outside."

"No need to rush. I'm still a minute or two away but the driver seems to be a bit nervous about being paid."

Her voice slurred a bit.

"What? Why?" I asked as I exited the pub.

"You'll understand soon. I can see the pub's sign now."

"Ok. I'm right outside."

It took Alicia a few seconds to reply, "We're standing at the red light. Yes, now you're looking right at us."

Again it seemed as if she had difficulties with the pronunciation.

"Ok. I'm hanging up now."

I waited patiently for the cab to drive the last few yards until it stopped at the curb in front of me. The back passenger door opened and the first thing I saw of her were two feet in black heels. My eyes wandered up to see two shapely, dark-chocolate brown coloured calves. Next, she leaned out and I saw pitch black, curly hair which turned out to be arranged in a messy Afro hairdo. I extended my hand to help her climb out of the car.

It was now that I noticed that her blouse was torn, doing a bad job of hiding her bra, and when she looked up at me I saw that her lip was bleeding and her left eye was swollen shut. I automatically slipped off my jacket and put it around her shoulders to help her cover her almost exposed chest and was so shocked by her condition that the fact that she was black faded out of my mind.

"What happened?"

"My Ex finally got hold of me. I was lucky to get into the cab."

I carefully held her chin to look at her injuries, "You need a doctor take a look at this."

"Can't afford one."

"Don't worry."

The driver was still waiting for his payment so I told him to take us to the nearest hospital. On the way there, she gave me a quick summary of what had happened since our last call only an hour ago.

We arrived at the hospital and I accompanied her to the reception where her appearance kicked off several activities. First, a doctor was called, then security. It took Alicia a few minutes to explain to everybody's satisfaction that it was not me who had beaten her but that I had saved her. That was not exactly true but it solved the initial accusations. I was quite sure that she would be additionally questioned in the treatment room where she was safe from the potential offender.

While she was in the treatment room the doctor in charge came out and spoke to the receptionist who pointed in my direction whereupon he came over.

"You came here with Mrs Alicia Blue?"

Blue. I realised that I hadn't even learned her last name yet.

"Yes."

"Are you aware that she has no insurance?"

"I assumed that. How much will it cost?"

He gave me a rough estimate and I promised to stand in for it. He led me to the receptionist who took my credit card and made a reservation in the amount of the estimate plus fifty percent margin. Pleased that the payment was guaranteed, the doctor returned to his patient.

I sat down in an armchair in the waiting room and took one of the well-read, months-old magazines and waited for Alicia to return. Half an hour later she came back out, her lip and the swollen eye treated. With a lost looking posture she went to the reception where she exchanged a note against some medicaments and received detailed instructions on how to treat her wounds. I rose from the chair and walked from the waiting room into the reception hall. When the receptionist pointed in my direction Alicia looked over, her face lighting up and she came over to me, sinking into my arms and buried her face in my chest, sobbing.