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We clinked glasses and a man from the table beside us turned his head curiously. Nancy giggled.
“It gets even better,” she took a sip from her glass and then set it down. “Much better…”
The waiter arrived. I saw a brief flare of aggravation spark in Nancy’s eyes. She was impatient, and resented the interruption.
I flicked open the menu and ordered. Nancy gave the man a curt stare and ordered the same without ever browsing the menu. She snapped her finger and ordered a bottle of champagne. I saw the waiter narrow his eyes in a reflex of annoyance – and then he turned on his heel without the customary smile.
Nancy noticed none of this. As soon as we were alone again she leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“I’ve negotiated a job for you too,” she declared, and her smile widened. “I’ve demanded the Board make you my assistant. They want you to come to New York with me, Jericho, and then help me go through the selection process of choosing the on-air Masters for each of the affiliates. We will be able to live together, and travel the country together.”
I said nothing.
The smile on my lips faltered.
Nancy looked suddenly bewildered.
I sat back. “Why do they need twenty-six other Masters,” I asked carefully. “Don’t they just pay one guy a truck-load of money and then syndicate his program out to everyone else?”
Nancy nodded her head, but frowned at the same time. “They do – normally,” she said. “Some of the big broadcasters have shows that reach all around the country, but the Board has decided we need a grassroots approach. They’ve listened to the program tapes, and they feel the one thing lacking is more information about the local BDSM scenes. They want the personal, informative feel, where part of each night’s show will be about what is happening within the lifestyle in each city we broadcast to.”
“I see…”
Nancy’s expression began to crumble. She reached across the table and took my hand. “Jericho? What’s wrong?”
I said nothing.
“I thought you would be excited for us,” confusion spread across Nancy’s face. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Can’t you see that?”
“Your lifetime, Nancy,” I shook my head. “Not mine. I never wanted to work in New York. I never wanted to travel the country… and I don’t feel you and I are compatible enough to ever live together.”
The air in the room seemed to fill with sudden frost. Nancy started shaking her head with slow incomprehension.
“But… I thought everything between us was…”
The champagne arrived. The waiter made a grand display of presenting the label and then uncorking the bottle. He poured a small amount into my glass and I sipped.
“Thank you,” I said. The young man looked relieved. He filled Nancy’s glass, and then re-filled mine. He set the bottle into a silver bucket beside the table and then vanished.
I took a deep breath.
“Nancy, one of the reasons I arranged tonight’s event for you was to gain some insight into who you were – what kind of a submissive you would be – without the restriction of you knowing I was the one pleasuring you. I wanted you to be unrestrained – to express those inner desires that people sometimes keep hidden. Do you understand that?”
Nancy nodded, but her gaze became wary. She was watching me carefully, analyzing every word and its meaning.
“After we had finished – when you were showering – I had time to think… and confirm what I had already begun to suspect over the past few days.” I leaned across the table suddenly and fixed her with my gaze. “We’re just not compatible as a Master and a submissive,” I said sympathetically. “That’s not your fault, and it’s not mine either. It’s just a fact, and it needed to be recognized before we went any further.”
Nancy flinched, her face frozen. I saw the start of tears in her eyes, but then she blinked them away. “What makes you say that?” her voice became low and level, almost menacing.
“Because you want pain – you want a Master who will demean you and treat you more roughly than I am comfortable doing. You want to be beaten and almost abused… I just can’t give you that.”
She sat straight in her chair. Her gaze remained bitter and frosty, but there was also a flicker of some understanding. “Why can’t you give me that?” she asked coolly.
I sighed. The waiter arrived with our meals. He set them on the table without either of us acknowledging his arrival or departure. There was a fraught tension that seemed to crackle in the air.
“Nancy, when I first came for the job interview, you asked me if I was in a relationship? Remember that?”
She nodded.
“And I told you that I wasn’t. I told you that I was a boat builder, and that there was no one special in my life.”
“I remember,” her eyes turned into narrow suspicious slits.
“Well I only told you part of the truth,” I explained. “I only told you what I thought you needed to know – until now…”
Nancy’s expression became darker. She touched at an errant strand of her hair and I noticed her hands were trembling. “Go on…” she said. She had become tense. There was a rigid set to her shoulders.
“I did have a submissive,” I said softly. “Her name was Joselyn, and we were very happy together. I worked for her father in his shipyard building yachts. When Joselyn and I broke up, she went off the rails in pretty dramatic ways. I think she got involved in drugs, and then she became involved in an underground BDSM scene. I don’t know much about it – I really don’t. But I do know that one night she went to a bar, and a few hours later the police found her dead. She had been beaten. Badly. It was some kind of a BDSM scene that went very wrong – that she couldn’t get out of. The cops found her handcuffed and dead in a basement. I still have nightmares about it.”
Nancy gasped an explosive breath of shock. Her expression filled with dark horror.
“We had been apart for a few months by then, but her father somehow blamed me. Maybe he resented me for introducing his daughter to the lifestyle,” I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know. After Joselyn was buried I decided to look for other work.”
“The radio station.”
I nodded. “That’s right,” I said. I glanced at the glass of champagne and suddenly decided I didn’t feel like drinking. I tipped the contents into the ice bucket while Nancy watched in silence.
“Since that time I simply abhor violence to women – especially the kind of treatment you were asking from me tonight. I can spank you, but I can’t beat you. I can dominate you, but I won’t abuse you… I can’t give you the rough demeaning experiences that you crave.”
Nancy looked like she was about to say something. I held up my hand to cut her off. I had to get this said – I had to explain everything.
“Please don’t think I’m damaged, or broken… or any of that other romantic stuff that women seem to fall over men for. I’m not,” I shook my head. “I’m just changed. And that’s why we could never be Master and submissive. And it’s also why I won’t come to New York with you.”
/> Chapter 39.
For a long time Nancy said nothing. The ebb of sound and laughter from the other tables seemed to swirl around us.
“Jericho… I can’t give up this opportunity to work in New York. It’s just too great an opportunity.” Nancy said softly.
I leaned across the table and held her hand. I smiled. “I know,” I said. “And I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to stay in Boston because of me. That would be madness – and it wouldn’t alter anything, Nancy. We’d still be the same two people who have different desires and limits. Staying here won’t change who you are, or what you want. And it won’t change the fact that those things you’re looking for in your personal life are not the kind of experiences I could ever comfortably give you.”
She shook her head slowly, not in denial, but maybe in disbelief.
“You could try…” she offered weakly.
“No,” I said. “I know the man I am. I know the kind of submissive I am looking for – and you should now know the kind of man you need to satisfy you,” I kept my tone conciliatory. This wasn’t an argument – it was just the truth.
Nancy’s eyes brimmed with tears again. Her lips were trembling.
“You’re not the kind of submissive who is ever going to completely surrender to any man, Nancy,” I went on slowly. “You know what you want, and you know how you like to be treated. A true submissive is obedient and accepting – you’re not. You still want to influence the experience. You still try to get what you want from a scene, rather than accepting the events as they unfold.”
She started to protest. She opened her mouth and there was a flash of defiance. I held up my hand to cut her off.
“It’s not a criticism,” I assured her. “It’s an observation. In the room tonight you were compliant… but for all your willingness to give your body, you still craved something more.”
“But…”
I shook my head. “Deny it,” I dared her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you could be a willing submissive who accepted every scene without question, and a submissive who would be satisfied with the pain limits I will not cross.” I stared across the table, my gaze serious and unwavering. “Tell me that – and I’ll come to New York with you.”
