"He hates me, and I can't figure out why." It was two weeks after Kurt had moved in. He'd done one of his twice-a-month shoots, and was ragged out. Even a twenty-one year old physically superb sexual dynamo could get tuckered by the schedule needed to finish shooting a porno in one day. I was cooking dinner for us both while he sipped another of those dark, warm beers, Mika cuddled on his lap.
"I can't believe that. You're one of the most unhatable people in the world, Emmie."
"Sweet talker. But Langely does hate me. I mean, he's cold and hard with everyone in class, but with me he's sub-arctic granite. Everyone in class has noticed."
"Sometimes it's just chemistry. Two people either click, or explode, for no apparent reason."
"I suppose it doesn't help that... Well, sometimes I accidentally push his buttons." There was a questioning hum from Kurt. "Oh, all right, accidentally on purpose. Today I used Steven King to illustrate foreshadowing. He turned green. I know the very thought of Stevie makes him gag."
Mika climbed up Kurt's shirtfront and balanced shakily on his shoulder. Kurt cupped one hand over him to steady him, completely engulfing the tiny body. "Why did you do it, then?"
"Oh, I don't know." I viciously stabbed a defenseless pork chop that was simmering in a mushroom gravy. "He's always so superior, like he's looking down from the lofty heights on us poor, swarming insects. I just want to rub his face in the real world a little."
Kurt plucked Mika off his shoulder, the kitten's claws making a brief velcro sound as they pulled loose from the fabric. He set the kitten back in his lap, which the frustrated little creature immediately abandoned. Mika went to sulk between Puddin' and Princess, and receive another ear washing. "Emmie, I'm going to put a suggestion to you, and I don't want you to get offended. I want you to consider it carefully."
I covered the pan, lowered the heat, and regarded him cautiously, giving him my full attention. "What's on your mind, Kurt?"
"I want you to consider the possibility that you're a Dominant."
"Me?" I laughed. "Come on, Kurt. I can just see me in a crotch less corset and black boots, wielding a whip like Wanda, the Wicked Warden."
He smiled slightly, but didn't seem deterred from his idea. "There are as many sorts of Dominants as there are people, Emmie. You'd fit the role very nicely. You have a lot of experience with caring for others, taking care of their needs on many levels, don't you? After your parents."
"Ye-es. I pretty much ran their lives. They gave up all responsibility to me when they got sick."
"It isn't a strictly sexual thing. Dommes care for their submissives in many ways, physically and emotionally."
"I'm just not into that, Kurt."
"No? You enjoyed telling me what to do that first evening, didn't you?"
I hastily stirred the peas, hoping he'd think the blush was caused by the heat of the stove. "Wasn't it a turn on," he insisted. "watching me obey your commands?"
It had been. It had been thrilling knowing that this big, sexy man had put himself under my instruction, and would obey my every direction. "Yeah, but there at the end, when I... you know... I didn't really want you to stop, but..."
"So you switched over for a little submission. That isn't uncommon . Hell, I like to be fucked as well as do the fucking. You're flexible. But you've got what it really takes, Emmie. You've got the game playing mind. You can make it fun, instead of just grunt, sweat, bleed, squirt."
"I don't think we should... you know..."
"That's all right. I'm not suggesting you become my lover." He gave me his best leer. "I wouldn't object, mind you. I'm just saying...leave yourself open to the possibilities. If you come into a situation, don't be afraid to react to it. There are more opportunities out there than you'd imagine."
I spent a few moments fluffing rice, setting out plates and flatware, and filling glasses, buying time. As I put the food on the table, I said slowly, "How do you be sure things don't... get out of hand?"
Kurt helped himself to two chops. "Ever practical Emily. That's a very important part of the scene, something a lot of Mundanes wouldn't think of. You have a 'safe' word. It's a word that means enough, stop. If either submissive or Domme uses it, the session's over. No recriminations, no hard feelings."
"What's the word?"
"Lord, Emmie, there isn't a universal one." He loaded his plate with rice and gravy and peas. I tried not to be jealous of the fact that he could devour whatever he wanted, and it never seemed to settle on him. He munched, looking thoughtful.
"'Mercy' is popular. So is 'basta', Italian for 'enough'. Some doms or submissives have one they use in every relation, no matter who they go with. I, personally, like 'crystal'. It's a pretty word, yes? And it isn't likely to crop up in the heat of a fuck bout on it's own, so you'll always recognize it."
"You're a crude dude, Kurt."
He picked up a denuded bone and began to strip away the last scraps of meat. "I don't see any point in using five dollar words when quarter ones will do, and make things plainer. Besides, submissives usually like it. Verbal abuse is very popular, but it isn't as easy as you might think to do it properly."
"You mean, don't get like a dialogue loop in a sex movie, same thing over and over down to the grunts and groans?"
"Exactly." He shook the bone at me. "A natural, that's what you are. Really, Emmie, it's going to be a horrid loss to the B and D community if you don't at least consider it."
"Why are you pushing this, Kurt? If we're not going to be hot and heavy, what do you get out of it?"
"Where would the world be if someone hadn't recognized
Michelangelo's talent, and encouraged him? Just consider me a patron of the sexual arts."
I thought about what Kurt had said later, turning it over in my mind. Me...a dominatrix? I considered it, as he'd asked. I thought of myself speaking sternly to someone, berating them for some trivial offense. I thought of them cringing in dismay at having displeased me, offering to do whatever I desired to soothe my anger. I imagined the judicious use of pain, not too much, to enhance someone's erotic stimulation. I began to get very, very interested.
Langely and I clashed again the next morning. We'd been assigned to outline a character's development to share with the class. "From Harry Potter, Miss Benoit? Harry Potter?"
"I happen to like Harry Potter."
"And so do several million other gormless children. That's no excuse for you. Have something else by next class."
"You didn't say we couldn't use children's literature." The rest of the class was following this exchange with interest, their heads swiveling back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
"No, I didn't. But I assumed that if you did it, you'd have the sense to choose a real writer. Even Laura Ingles-Wilder would have been a better choice."
"I like her, too."
A martyred sigh. "Why am I not surprised? From now on, clear these sort of choices with me before you present them and waste my time."
I'm afraid I gaped. "But no one else has to do that. It's unfair."
"Life is unfair. If you want fair, stay home and play Monopoly. I'll expect you by my office before the end of the day with another choice for this assignment."
Son of a bitching bastard! I had to go back to the library, when I'd been planning on going home for a long soak in the tub. I may have disconcerted a few patrons with my grumbling as I stalked the stacks that afternoon, grabbing books off the shelves.
Langely's office hours were from two to five on M,W,F. I made it to his office at five till five. I knocked once, and went in. He was at his desk, and he looked up with a startled expression. His ever present briefcase was open on the desk before him. He shoveled a sheaf of papers and a cell phone into it before hastily snapping it shut. But he didn't move fast enough to keep me from glimpsing the open, glossy magazine inside. Hm, the professor was indulging in a skin mag at the office.
"One generally waits till one is invited in after knocking." he snapped.
"Unless one was raised in a barn, I know."
"Did you find something else for the character study?"
I placed a paperback book on the desk. "Can we get this over with quickly? There's a tub of hot water at home with my name on it."
"Yes. Wonderful thing, hydrotherapy. Do you use aromatic oils? It makes it much more relaxing and refreshing." I only had a second to contemplate the oddness of this observation. He picked up the book, getting out his reading glasses and donning them. "I Know What You Did Last Summer." He dropped it as if it were used toilet tissue. "Emily, this is intolerable!"
"No one said you could call me by my first name." His eyebrows rose. "I don't like you well enough to grant you that privilege."
"I see." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers before his face, gazing at me. At last he said, "Sit down, Miss Benoit." I crossed my arms. He sighed. "Please sit down."
Like most faculty offices, it was incredibly crowded. The desk, a bookcase and an uncomfortable looking straight back chair took up most of the room. Somehow or other, he'd managed to cram a tatty love seat along one wall. It almost blocked the door. I sat there.
"So, you think that I'm being unfair." I didn't answer, just looked at him. "I suppose I am, from your point of view. But there's a reason for it." I said nothing. His tone told me that he was going to explain himself.
"I am teaching Elemental English. Do you know what that means? It means that I am teaching the dregs. My students are the ones who barely scraped by on their admissions, and this college frankly is not all that choosey to begin with. I don't like stupid people, Miss Benoit. They make me hostile."
I could feel my temperature rising. It took a lot of gall to be so blatantly insulting.
"I can see by your expression that you've misread me. I wasn't speaking about you. On the contrary. You are the one ray of sunshine I've had since I started that damn course four years ago. The single daffodil on the dung heap, if you will."
"Then why are you pushing me if I'm doing so well?"
"Because it also makes me hostile to see someone with intelligence, and even a gift for learning, squandering themselves the way you do. Honestly, the crap you read." He shoved the book disdainfully with the tip of one finger.
"That's your opinion, Professor. My opinion is that a good, trashy read never hurt anyone. I can read Melville and Faulkner and Hemingway any time, too. I happen to like an occasional dose of Jackie Collins."
He actually winced, like he'd gotten one of those sudden ice-pick headaches. "I can see this discussion is going nowhere. You'll continue to get my approval for your course materials."
"What if I make a complaint of unfair treatment to the Dean?"
He smiled. "Then I'll just make it a requirement for the whole class. Won't they love you for that?"
I could scarcely keep my voice from trembling with rage. "You--are--a--horrid man."
The smile broadened. "Good word choice. I'll give you till tomorrow to choose an acceptable alternative. You know what I want, so just give in and do it."
As I stood up, he said quietly, "Enjoy your bath." I slammed the door on the way out. I was in a fury. He'd basically told me that he was pissing me off for my own good. Condescending, pompous, smug little brat. Somebody ought to paddle his ass good.
Whoa, where had that come from?
At home the cats sensed my mood and scattered, hiding. Mika tried to worm his was under a sofa cushion, and ended up trapped. I had to haul him out. I'd never hurt my animals, but my anger made them nervous, and they felt it better to be out of my way. Perhaps they were right.
Kurt was at the kitchen table, studying. I slammed my books down on the table so hard that they fell over the edge. I swore, and bent to snatch them up. Papers that had been tucked inside one scattered over the floor. I screamed and threw the offending book against the wall.
Kurt watched me, round eyed. When I dropped into the chair opposite him, breathing heavily, he said cautiously. "Bad day?"
"The man," I said slowly and deliberately, "is trying to give me a heart attack. That's all I can figure. He seems to have adopted making my life hell as his own, personal crusade."
"Ooh," Kurt's voice was almost falsetto, and simpering. "He likes you."
"Idiot." I said shortly.
He clucked. "Temper, temper, Miss Emily. Remember, control. You need control if you're going to be a Domme."
"Who said I was going to? Kurt, this whole idea of yours is so... so..."
"Emily," he said patiently. "You have a Dominant nature. You need to control and nurture. The instincts were satisfied while you were caring for your parents. You managed to closet the sexual side of it, but now that they're gone, your true self is raging to get out. Really, if you don't accept it, you're going to become quite neurotic."
"Since when did you become a psych major, stud boy?"
"It's my minor, but I'm thinking of completing the degree. I'll need something to fall back on eventually, when my stamina starts to fail."
I snorted. "Probably sometime around the next millennium." I got up and headed for the door. "I'm going to take a long, steamy, bubbly bath. I'm going to keep refilling the tub with hot water, and soak till I'm a prune, damn the gas bill."
"I'm going out in a bit." Kurt called after me.
I stripped and put on my robe, then started the bath. I poured in a generous portion of rose scented foaming bath oil. I don't know why, I hadn't been planning on it before. I'd bought the stuff ages ago in a fit of self indulgence, and had never used it.
I shut off the taps, testing the water. Perfect. I was about to shed my robe, when there was a knock at the door. Crap. Kurt was probably already gone. The knock came again, and I knew it was true. I looked longingly at the tub again, then went out to the living room. Maybe Kurt had forgotten his key again.
I tried to retie my sash as I walked, but the damn thing had slipped a loop and kept swinging out of my reach. The knocking became a pounding, setting my teeth on edge. All I wanted to do was stop the noise. I clutched the front of the robe shut and jerked open the door. "What?"
Thomas Langley stood on my front step, fist upraised as if to continue knocking. When he saw me, his eyes widened. Oh lord, of all the people in the world who could have come knocking on my door. "What are you doing here, Professor? How did you find me? What do you want?"
For once, the normally cool Langely seemed flustered. "It wasn't hard to find you. Your address and phone are listed in the freshman guide."
"That's explained. On to the second mystery. Why the hell are you bothering me at home?"
"You left your trashy novel in my office."
"You could have given it to me in class."
He was staring at me. I found myself standing straighter, glaring back. How did he expect a woman to look when she was surprised at home?
His attention seemed to be focused on my chest, and I looked down.
The robe was old, ratty, and as comfortable as sin. I either hadn't noticed the hole, or had willfully ignored it. The terrycloth had long ago lost most of its pile, and had almost disintegrated in places. One of them was right over my right breast. My skin showed milky white through the hole, with a thin rim of brown aureole.
I jerked the flap of the robe farther, covering the spot, and held out my hand for the book. He offered it. When I took hold of it, though, he didn't release it. I tugged, my irritation rising, and he at last let go.
"You're ready for your bath."
"I have a nice, steamy tub of rose scented bubbles waiting for me, Professor. I'd like to get to it before it gets cold. Was there anything else?"
He licked his lips, almost nervously, and seemed about to speak. Then he turned abruptly and walked to the street. I banged the door shut, and went to the bathroom again. Aggravating man.
I stripped off the robe and eased into the water, an inch at a time. It was hot enough to sting a little at first. Then the heat began to make it's way into my body, and I started to relax. Langely had been right, I thought grudgingly. The scented oil made a big difference.
I felt the hot water working its magic, loosening the tensed knots in my muscles. I played with the bubbles a little, drawing patterns on my skin with the foam. Then the phone rang.
I blessed it heartily. I didn't want to answer it. It had almost never rung when I was living alone. Now there were occasional calls for Kurt, and I assumed this was one of those. He's out, I thought, sinking a little deeper into the steamy comfort. Give it up.
But the phone kept ringing. Five rings, eight. Whoever you are, I thought, you're a persistent bugger. Ten, twelve... Damn it! It looked like they were willing to let it ring all night.
I couldn't stand it any more. I hauled myself dripping out of the tub. I was alone, so I saw no point in bothering with the robe, and strode naked into the living room.
I snatched up the receiver and said ungraciously, "Hello?" There was no answer. "Hello? Who's there?" There hadn't been a hang up, there was no dial tine. What was this, a crank call?
I remembered Dabney. Dabney was the son of one of the newer tenants, who'd moved in when the agent bought me out. He was a gangly kid, tall for his age. Dabney was fourteen, and pretty much a walking hormone. Everything seemed to get him excited. He walked around with a boner those fashionably baggy pants couldn't entirely conceal.
There'd been some trouble with the other female residents. Every woman in the building, including old Mrs. Tuttle, who looked like Margaret Hamilton as the Wicked Witch of the West, had gotten obscene phone calls. I hadn't escaped, either. But after a few incidents of moaning and panting, I'd recognized his voice and reported him to his parents. Some might not have believed me, but since they'd just found out that Dabney had run up close to five hundred dollars on sex phone services, my accusations were taken seriously. Dabney was threatened with military school, and the calls stopped. Was Dabney up to his old tricks?
"Dabney, is that you?" No answer. "You little twat, I said is that you?" Still no answer, but I heard faint breathing on the other end. "Listen, motherfucker, I'm not in the mood for your games. I was in the bathtub. I'm standing here dripping all over my carpet."
I could have been mistaken, but I thought the breathing speeded up. "I'm serious, Dabney. It pisses me off when I have to go mother naked to answer the damn phone just to find out it's some little pervert like you, getting his jollies."
Still no answer, and my anger grew. I should have just hung up, but I'd spent so much of my life being tactful and oblique that I was ready to bite someone's head off, and if he didn't have enough sense of self preservation to draw back in time, that was his problem.
My voice was low and venimous. I hardly recognized myself speaking. "Listen, you pathetic piece of shit! You need to have your little round butt switched good. If your mama and daddy had laid the belt across your bare ass a couple of times, maybe you wouldn't have grown up to be such a prick."
The breathing was definitely faster now, approaching a pant. I heard a rhythmic, rustling sound, and was struck by a sudden conviction that almost floored me.
"You little bastard, you're beating off, aren't you?" My voice rose in outrage. "You're listening to me and rubbing yourself." I heard a moan, and my amazement increased. "Dammit, I know you are. I can hear your hand moving on your cock." Another moan, almost desperate.
"You fucking degenerate! I wish I could get my hands on you right now. Do you have any idea what I'd do to you?"
I hadn't expected a reply. I was shocked when a rough male voice answered eagerly. "Tell me."
I slammed the receiver down into the cradle, and stared at it. After a moment, the phone began to ring again. Oh, no, I thought. I don't want to deal with you. I unplugged the jack, and the device fell silent.
I went back to the bathroom, and tried to recapture the serenity I'd felt before. It hadn't been Dabney. Despite the hormones flooding his body, causing him to sprout hair and other, larger items, his voice hadn't dropped yet. That had been a grown man on the other end of the line. Just a random caller? Langely had said that my address and number were in the freshman guide. I shuddered. That was pretty much a stalker's menu, then. Maybe I'd better get an unlisted number.
I told Kurt about it when he got back. "It seems I'm not the only one who thinks you have potential. From the sounds of it, you made him pretty happy for a few moments. Poor bastard."
"Poor bastard?"
"Yes. You didn't let him finish up. It's no fun to be left with aching balls, let me tell you."
I snorted. "When was the last time someone cock teased you, and didn't go through with it?"
"It's been awhile, granted. But it happens to everyone. Next time why don't you play with him? Enjoy it."
"What on earth would I get out of it?"
"Find out."
"It was probably random. He must've just punched buttons till someone answered."
"I think he'll call again."
"Why?"
"Because you're good, Emmie."
