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And she came.
April collapsed to the floor, her strength melting away in a single explosive moment. She slumped forward, her fingers still buried within the folds of her pussy, and her legs shaking violently. I saw a spasm shudder along the length of her spine like ripples on a lake. She convulsed, sobbed… and then lay still, the sound of her breath sawing in her throat.
I got to my feet and had to step over April to reach the console. I ripped the mic from its jack and dropped down into her big leather seat.
“That…” I paused with all the theatrical drama I could manage, “was shattering. Thank you my submissive sweethearts for one of the most memorable experiences of my life. You’re branded now. I have made you my own – claimed you as my property to serve my every sexual desire. Welcome to your new reality…”
We went into a block of four commercials. The sub-club session was over. I looked down at where April lay, panting like a marathon runner who had collapsed across the finish line. Her legs were splayed, her body flung down on the carpet like she was broken. She must have sensed the gaze of my eyes. She rolled onto her back, her breasts perfectly formed rounded mounds, her legs wide apart. She threw her hand up to her face and felt her cheek, then licked her lips. Her eyes were misted and dreamy.
“In-cred-ible…” she broke the word into three separate syllables between gasps of breath. “It felt like you fucked me – fucked my mind…” the words she groped for weren’t there. She hesitated, took a breath, and tried again. “It felt like you were inside my head – your voice – your presence… You consumed me, Jericho. You burned through me like a fire.”
Chapter 27.
Four commercials were not enough for April to compose herself and dress with fingers that still shook and fumbled. We went into a block of music, and I listened to Joe Cocker rasp about a girl who could leave her hat on. Finally April fell into her chair and clamped her hand over the two-way intercom.
“Do we have the phones working yet, Grover?”
His voice came back, vaguely breathless and tinny. “Almost,” he said. “Two more minutes.”
April frowned. “What have you been doing? You’ve had over half an hour.”
Grover didn’t answer. April shrugged and looked at me across the desk like she wanted to say something profound but still couldn’t encapsulate her feelings with words.
I said nothing.
The music continued. We played three more songs before Grover finally came back on the intercom. “We’re up,” he said with a note of triumph. “Twenty lines at least. We might get the rest back later. Take line sixteen. It’s a question about something to do with the sub-club.” There was a second of silence and then Grover’s voice was back, sounding rattled and off-balance. “Um… her name is Angelina.”
April smiled before she spoke, inflecting her voice with the kind of light-hearted happiness listeners expected. “Hello there!” she said. “Thanks for calling the station, Angelina. Jericho is sitting right here. Are you ready to ask the man a question?”
Angelina sounded quite young, but also serious – maybe troubled. She spoke softly like she was frowning through the phone.
“Hi, Jericho. Thanks for another wonderful night of sub-club.”
“G’day, Angelina. I am glad you are enjoying the program.”
“I am,” the woman said, “but I have a problem with submitting to you through the club, and I wanted to ask your advice on how to deal with this.”
I sat forward. The caller sounded serious and so I treated her that way. She obviously had concerns. “I’ll help in any way I can,” I said levelly. “Tell me what’s causing you conflict.”
The woman sighed, and I thought for a moment she might hang up. I waited in the brief silence.
“When you started the sub-club last week you asked your listeners who wanted to experience submission to go somewhere secret in the house… and that has been making me feel really awkward, Jericho. I love my guy and I feel terrible that I have to keep what I am learning a secret.” Angelina paused for a moment, then added. “I just need to understand why.”
I shook my head as I spoke. “Angelina, I never advocated that anyone joining the sub-club do so in secrecy,” I said. “I only asked that you listen to my commands while you were somewhere in your home that was private.”
There was a bewildered pause. In the silence I imagined Angelina replaying in her mind the actual words I had said a week earlier.
“I never suggested that people should keep their submission a secret, Angelina,” I went on. “All I suggested was that you follow my instructions in a place where you wouldn’t be interrupted. For some women, perhaps they need to keep this time secret – that’s their choice. But if you have a husband or a boyfriend, then I would encourage you to talk to him about your interest in submission and maybe even invite him to listen in on the show.” I wasn’t trying to make Angelina sound foolish, but I wanted to be specific. “The ideal situation for couples would be if your partner participated, right? If that was the case, you would be able to submit to a real live Master, and someone you trust, rather than obeying me through the radio.”
Angelina made awkward embarrassed sounds. She stumbled over a rush of apologetic words and hung up.
I looked at April and shrugged. I only hoped I had cleared up any confusion for other listeners who might have misunderstood my intentions.
We went straight to another call. It was from a man – one of only a couple of guys who had ever contacted the show. April welcomed the man and at the same time also encouraged other male listeners to phone into the station. She handed the caller on to me.
He sounded middle-aged. I had an unbidden image of a businessman, sitting alone late at night in a high office building, maybe staring at a computer screen full of stock prices. Some guy who didn’t want to go home to his wife.
“Hi John,” I said. “Thanks for taking the time to phone through. What’s on your mind tonight?”
“I’ve been listening to your show,” the man said. “Every evening. I find it informative. I just wanted to give you a pat on the back. There are a lot of folks benefitting from your advice, me included.”
He sounded weary. Maybe the price of pork bellies had tanked, or the Nikkei Index was plummeting.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “Are you involved in the lifestyle, John?”
He laughed disarmingly. “I’m trying,” he confessed. “But I am afraid I don’t have your confidence or attitude. I’ve learned over the past few evenings that it’s something not easily acquired.”
I was curious. “Care to explain?”
Some of the wry humor drained from his tone and his voice became lower, almost confidential. “I just think it’s very hard to please a woman who has such high expectations,” he said abstractly. “I mean a guy can only do as much as he can do. For some women that would be enough,” he paused. “But not all women are that easily satisfied…”
“Reading between the lines, John, it sounds like the lady in your life wants you to dominate her, and you’re finding it hard to be the fantasy she has in her mind…”
“Yeah…” he said. “That’s pretty close to the truth.”
I sat back in the chair and pulled the mic with me. “Mate, I give you credit for being willing to try,” I said sincerely. “A lot of women around the country go to bed utterly frustrated each night because the man in their lives won’t even contemplate experimenting with the lifestyle. At least you’ve heard your lady, and you’ve made an effort to meet her somewhere in the middle.”
John’s voice stayed gruff. “Yeah, well can you tell my wife that? She’s pissed at me because I’m not comfortable in this role, and it’s taking some time to get my head around the way she suddenly expects me to treat her. I mean, we’ve been married for twenty-seven years…” John went silent for a moment, then his voice came back again, a little stung and hurting. “Jesus. It’s all right for her. She’s apparently had this whole thing
simmering in her mind for years. But for me, it’s like, come out of nowhere. It takes time to get your head around, y’know?”
I nodded my head, and smiled as I spoke. “I do understand,” I said. “A lot of women just expect a dominant attitude to be instinctive to men, but it’s not – not to every guy… and being in such a long term relationship can make it hard to see your wife in a totally different light sexually.”
“So what do I do?” John asked.
Good question, actually.
“Are you home now?”
“No. I’m in my car.”
“Does your wife listen to the show?”
“Every damned night.”
“So she would be listening now, right?”
John sounded a little bewildered. “Yeah…” he said like he hadn’t actually considered that possibility before he had phoned into the radio station, and now it was dawning on him.
“What’s her name?”
“Um…”
I didn’t make a big deal about it. The guy was worried his friends or family might recognize him. “Or her nickname?”
The silence stretched out. Finally John said softly, “Missy.”
