tagBDSMWhiskey and Rye Ch. 00

Whiskey and Rye Ch. 00



Author's note:

This story picks up from where Lucky Bastard ended, and is told from Naomi's point-of-view.

It actually takes a little time to develop so if you're looking for a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am you may want to pass this one... I will endeavor to get to the juicy parts more quickly in upcoming chapters! ;-)

Thank you all for your feedback and support on my first story series, and I hope you like this one too – please VOTE and COMMENT – thanks!



After my divorce two years ago I felt like I had to get away from my old life and from the painful memories that haunted me. Dan, my Ex – ex-husband, ex-Dom, ex-love-of-my-life – suggested I should stay at our home for as long as I needed, driven by his honest concern for me as much as by his guilt. But I just couldn't do it. I had to get out of there, get away as fast and as far as I could. I felt the place would eat me up alive if I stayed.

And so the house and most everything in it was sold, and I took my half of the proceedings and a couple of suitcases and the relocation offer that I'd been pushing back for years and moved to the States looking to... disappear, I guess. At least at first. I wanted nobody to know me. Nobody to feel sorry for me. Nobody to ask nosy questions, suggest sympathy and well-meant but ill-placed advice. I wanted everyone off my back, even my friends and family.

Especially my friends and family.

Anonymity is bliss.

I got a tiny studio apartment in a reasonably well-maintained building in Hell's Kitchen, a couple of blocks from Penn Station. I loved the location – it was within walking distance from work and a subway ride to anywhere else. On my first day I rented a van and drove to the closest Ikea megastore over in Jersey, and 5 hours and a few hundred dollars later I was back at my new place with all the basics covered – furniture, linen, lighting, kitchen stuff – the works.

Granted, it made the place look like a student's dorm room; but I liked it. It felt as streamlined and functional and simple as I wanted my new life to be. I could almost imagine myself being eighteen again and living out on my own for the first time, excited and eager to discover what the future held for me.

Except I wasn't eighteen anymore. I was 38 years old; my youth was over, and so was the life I thought I had. The life I loved.

My brief excitement over beginning anew in this brave new world quickly died, squashed by the reality of being a middle-aged, single immigrant woman from a small town in the back of beyond in this huge, fast-paced, sophisticated city.

Yes, I had a good job. But keeping up with it was a struggle. It was a shock to realize my English wasn't as good as I believed it to be back home, and every email I wrote, every presentation I created were tainted with my sense of inadequacy. And on the social side I was a complete misfit. I didn't know how to approach these people, let alone make new friends in this strange place so far removed from everything I'd known, and frankly didn't think I'd be interesting enough for anyone to bother befriending me. And in the end of the day I'd come back to my tiny, impersonal, neutral-colored flat, and have nothing to do except wallow in my sorrow over everything I'd lost and the injustice of it all.

Anonymity is hell.

My sister and some of my closest friends have done their best to keep in touch, truly worried about me. But between the time zone differences and everyone's busy lives it was easy for me to avoid them. Lonely as I was, I couldn't bear to hear their concern. It only made me feel more of a failure. Not only was I not woman enough for my husband, who decided that my giving him everything I could possibly give – heart, body, mind and soul – wasn't quite enough, I was now reduced to being a weight on people's shoulders.

No, thank you. I'd rather lick my wounds in private than become yet another responsibility to my loved ones.

The only one who wouldn't take that bullshit approach from me was Annie. My best friend from the day we met in 7th grade, we've been tight as sisters ever since. A few months after I left, and after several un-returned phone calls and chat messages, she dropped me a note on Facebook: "I'm coming to the City on Labor Day Weekend and we're going to spend it together. I'm staying at your place so you'd better be there when I knock at your door. Love you. xoxo"

That note actually made me laugh... funny how her being bossy was the only way to get to me. She didn't know I was sexually submissive - it was the only part of my life I had not confided with her about – but on some level I guess she figured out this might be the right approach. And I was grateful that she cared enough to push. I did reply to her message, saying I only had one queen-sized bed but she was welcome to share it, have a sleepover like good ol' times. She said that with that promised bonus there was no way she was going to go to a hotel, and so it was settled.

She came in on Friday afternoon and got me going out for drinks and we talked and talked until closing, just like we always used to do. And then we returned to my place and took our showers and changed into our pj's and cuddled together under the blankets, hugging close. We started giggling as we both vividly remembered our curious, sweet make-outs as teens, discovering our own bodies and comparing notes, trying out new "moves" on each other before letting any boy take a shot...

"God we were so young!" Annie said to me. "It was such a long, long time ago, but I can still remember how you used to make me smile..."

She squeezed me in a tight hug before pulling back to kiss my cheek and caress my hair gently, repeatedly, and told me that everything was going to be all right. She said it softly, lovingly, in a calm and soothing voice. Her "mommy" voice. I felt a ping of envy before I willed myself to let it go, and to enjoy the sweetness of the moment. My eyes drifted closed, and for the first time in over a year I felt cherished and cared for and maybe even a little hopeful.

The next day I woke up spooning her and stayed there, eyes closed, my nose in her hair inhaling her sweet jasmine scent, my hips pressed against her beautifully rounded bottom, the front of my thighs brushing the backs of hers. I snuggled closer, and she wriggled her ass in sleepy response, and in return I felt a small tingle tremble down low in my belly.

I chuckled softly to myself, thinking it was time my libido showed some traces of life after having hibernated for so long... Letting myself enjoy the sensation of her warm body pressed into mine I just barely kept my hands to myself. Instead, I leisured in the delicious feeling of waking up close to another human being whom I loved, and at that moment I realized I couldn't stay alone for the rest of my life.

I had to get out of my funk, and re-join the world of the living.

So that's exactly what I did.

We spent a fun weekend playing tourists together. We went cycling in Central Park and then bargain hunting down 5th Ave, where I found a beautiful, sexy, elegant, flirty little black dress that was simply perfect. Amazing how something like that can lift a woman's spirit. The look on Annie's face when I came out of the dressing room was priceless. Her jaw almost hit the floor and she literally was out of breath. She made me stand in front of the mirror peeking from behind me, her hands on my shoulders, and said: "Take a good look at yourself, Naomi. What do you see?"

The woman who stared back at me from the mirror seemed oddly familiar, and at the same time very strange to me. I looked myself up and down slowly, taking inventory with a critical eye. Straight, thick, long honey-blond hair in need of some styling; Good body that could lose the couple of extra pounds that had crept up on it; Beautiful blue eyes looking a little weary. I guess what I saw was... potential.

I told Annie as much and she laughed out loud. "Jeez, honey, but you're a tough critic! Personally I think you're a knock-out, especially in this dress!" Then she seemed to think about it for another moment and added: "But you know what? I think this may actually be a worth-while exercise, so let me play along: What is it that you feel you should improve about your looks?"

I answered honestly, in detail, and she proceeded to take me up on each and every one of my comments. Not giving me any time to argue, she picked up her mobile and located the perfect venue and set up a spa appointment for the two of us for the following day, including full-body scented oils massage, facial treatment, hair styling and a mani-pedi.

On the next day while enjoying the luxurious treatments it dawned on me that I have done none of these "me" things ever since the saga of my divorce started, and I felt I could have spanked my own behind for being so neglectful and un-caring towards myself. I came out of that spa feeling properly pampered and rejuvenated, vowing to take better care of myself from now on.

Then Annie got me to visit my neighborhood's branch of the New York Sports Club where she convinced me to sign up for a full year membership, including a twice-a-week group aerobics/dancing class. "It would make you leave that isolated safe-place of yours and meet other people. You know what you need most is to get out of your shell, right?"

I knew she was right. And again was grateful for her loving, take-charge attitude.

Labor Day Monday came around too soon. We had another fun brunch together and then said our goodbyes, as Annie needed the rest of the day to prepare for the super-busy workweek ahead of her. She couldn't meet again during the week, but promised – or rather threatened – that she would be back checking up on me every quarter on the weekend before her company's board meetings, and that I'd better be shaping up, or else.

So again, I did.

True to her word she came back every quarter, and I loved 'showing off' my progress to her – sharing my little successes at work, introducing new friends from the dance class, modeling a new outfit over my slimmed-down, newly-toned body... and getting the validation I still desperately needed by seeing myself thru her eyes. And now, nine months later, I was excited and almost nervous to see her again. Especially since I felt I needed her "push" in taking the next plunge: Going back to dating again.


So, here I am, sitting at a little café, almost giddy with excitement to see my Annie again. Hearing the musical jingle of the doorway bells I look up... And there she is. Wearing a curve-hugging cornflower-blue sundress and her obligatory weekend-walking-around-town flats she looks ten years younger than our real age. I'd be green with envy if I didn't love her so much.

She spots me and a huge smile breaks on her face and she waves excitedly before quickening her step to get to our table. I smile and wave back and stand up, eager to welcome her back with a hug.

As she draws closer I notice some more details, and those make me frown. On the one hand she looks more than just happy to see me – in fact, she looks radiant, almost glowing. There is a distinct sensual undertone to her step.

It's as if she were acutely aware of her pussy lips rubbing each other as she walks. I think to myself. Fuck, she looks... sexy... and deeply sated... like she just tumbled out of bed from an extremely satisfying session.

But then on the other hand, I can tell that something is wrong. Her eyes and nose and mouth are just a tiny bit red and puffy, just enough to give me a strong suspicion that she'd recently been crying.

"Hello there, girlfriend... Oh how I've missed you!" I open my arms and she steps into them hugging me close. When a few moments pass and she wouldn't release me an alarm bell sounds off in my head. Then I feel the soft tremors shaking her shoulders and I take a tiny step back to look into her eyes. Sure enough, she is crying.

Damn! Whoever made my best friend cry is going to pay dearly, just as soon as I get my hands on them!

"Hey honey, what's wrong? Come on honey, please don't cry... Here, have a seat and drink your mimosa and tell me all about it."

Annie sits down and obediently takes a sip of the drink I got for her earlier, then wipes her eyes and nose with a napkin and turns her watery, beautiful green eyes to me.

"Oh gosh Naomi I... I don't know where to start. The last 24 hours have been like a dream... like an out-of-body experience. And now I woke up and all I want is to have Jon here with me, form him to hug me and tell me that he loves me... and it's going to be a whole week before I can see him! I don't know how I'm going to survive it!"

She covers her face and weeps quietly and then suddenly raises her head, turning large, stricken eyes at me: "Oh shit honey I'm so sorry! That's such an insensitive thing for me to say to you!"

"Oh nonsense, honey!" I wave reassuringly at her and huddle close, giving her another quick hug. "What, because of Dan? Don't worry about it hon. I think I am finally over him. God knows it took me long enough... And frankly it's refreshing to get back to talking about you for a change!"

I lean back to look straight into her eyes. "So come on Nini-girl, spill. What's going on?"

Taking a deep breath she starts talking.

"Well, I met this man on the flight over..." and continues to tell me the crazy tale of how she hooked up with this super-sexy guy, got to play some real naughty games with him on the plane – she let him finger her pussy under her folding tray and then fuck her in the airplane restroom, for crying out loud! – and how she then invited him to her hotel room and spent the night and this morning with him.

For a moment I think I'm hallucinating. This cannot be Annie. Then I remember something she'd told me a long time ago and ask: "Is this part of your agreement with Jon? About... about it's being OK to play with others when abroad? To 'experiment'?"

Annie nods, but doesn't meet my eyes... and I can tell there was more to the story. I decide to push.

"So, how was it? Did you learn any new tricks?"

Annie raises startled eyes to me, and starts stammering. "I... I... Oh gosh I can't tell you! You'll think I'm... I'm some kind of... pervert!" And she blushes a pretty red and covers her face.

This makes me laugh out loud, and I pry her hands away from her face and make her look at me.

"Please honey, I promise not to judge you. Whatever happens between consenting adults is completely fine with me, I swear. And now I REALLY have got to know what happened, so stop stallin' and get talkin'!" I give her my best mob-head imitation, hoping to lighten her mood up.

Luckily it works – or maybe she really needs to get the story off her chest. Scooting close in her chair so that she can whisper in my ear she haltingly tells me:

"Well, Naomi, you see, it wasn't just your plain old sex... I actually asked this man to... to dominate me. To control me... in bed... you know?" She looks at me in trepidation, gauging my reaction.

What the fuck?! Where did that come from? Sweet and wholesome Miss-American-Pie Annie did WHAT???" My shock is written all over my face and Annie buries hers in her hands again, whispering hoarsely between her fingers:

"Aahhhhh! I knew it! I knew I shouldn't have told you...! You're disgusted with me now, aren't you, Naomi? You'll never want to be my friend ever again..." Her voice breaks and she starts sniffling again.

Taking a few deep breaths I try hard to compose myself. After all, I'm the last person in the world who should be shocked by the gap between public appearances and what happens behind closed bedroom doors. I bend to hug Annie close and speak softly in her ear:

"No, honey. I promise I am not at all disgusted... Just surprised, is all. I never knew you were inclined to be submissive... in anything, really!"

I chuckle a little because frankly it's hard to imagine... And then my laugh turns to a soft gasp as a vivid image flashes in my mind's eye – of Annie kneeling on the floor, naked, breasts thrust forward, nipples hard, thighs spread wide, pussy sleek and gleaming with her need, blindfolded, hands tied behind her back... And a muscular, lean, sexy Dom fisting his hands in her hair and shoving his hard cock into her mouth, fucking her beautiful face slowly and forcefully...

My heart is beating rapidly and my pussy floods at the mental image, and a moment later gushes again when realization hits me that she actually did it – or something along those lines – only a few hours ago. I imagine I can smell it, smell the combined scent of her pussy juice and his cum rising from her skin... Oh lord, I think I'm losing it. What a time to have my freakishly-long abstinence period catch up with me!

I realize I've been quiet for too long and Annie is searching my face, looking for further reassurance. I know it's time to tell her the truth about myself – I would be a total hypocrite not to do so, plus it's the 100% surest way to ease her mind about my acceptance of her newly-discovered sexual preference. So quietly I say:

"Actually, honey, not only am I not disgusted; I know exactly what you're talking about. You see, I never told you this because, well..." and I shrug, more than a little embarrassed, before continuing "because I didn't think you'd understand. But obviously you would, so here goes...:" and I look her in the eyes when I drop the bomb to let her know I'm not pulling her leg:

"I am a submissive, hon. I've been sexually submissive in every relationship I've ever had, right from my first serious boyfriend, and all the way thru, including my marriage."

I see Annie blink in surprise but don't give her a chance to say anything as I go on.

"Dan and I – he was my Dom, not only in the bedroom but also in many other aspects of our life together. I think it is part of what made our divorce that much harder for me." I finish quickly and hold my breath. Well, it's out now. I'm out. I can hear my blood rushing in my ears. Please, please, let her understand!

With each word I speak Annie's eyes are growing larger, and her jaw slacks further. It would've been comical if I weren't so damn anxious about her reaction. Her mouth moves a couple of times before she can force any words out of it.

"Wha.... What?! You too? Oh fuck..." And then she's hugging me close, shaking in something between laughter and tears. "Oh Naomi... Thank goodness, I'm not going to lose you...!"

I shush her, rubbing her back and laughing softly in her ear. "No honey I promise you're not going to lose me... and you're not changing the subject so easily, either." Again I put some distance between us so we can see each other's faces.

"Now that you know I would understand, you really need to talk to me honey. You look more than a little shaken by your recent experience. So – what happened?"

Suddenly a chill runs down my back. My voice starts rising in alarm: "Oh, no, honey, please don't tell me the bastard did something bad to you... Jeez...! Did he hurt you? Is that why you were crying for Jon just now?!" My concern spikes with every word I say and I am imagining horrific scenarios, and before I know it I am running my hands down her arms looking for injuries, babbling with my rising panic.

"Honey, please, please tell me – are you hurt?! Oh why didn't you talk to me before? I'd have given you some guidance... safety tips... How could you put yourself in such a risky position with a stranger?!" By now I'm almost shouting and only vaguely notice the half-curious, half-accusatory looks I am getting from nearby tables. Annie is trying to calm me down, pleading me with her eyes to keep it quiet.

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