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It has been three years since that night I took Lily to the hospital. Three years since we parted ways. Since then, I haven’t been able to bring myself to punish a submissive. I want the submission. I want the control. I want to test their limits, but I can’t enforce my will the way they need me to. Not anymore.
I pick at my food, ultimately tossing half of it into a Tupperware container and placing it in the refrigerator. It’s late, and though my body is exhausted, I know my mind won’t be able to rest. I pop a couple of Temazepam and drop into bed with my clothes still on.
Sleep still doesn’t come quickly or easily.
*****
Thursday comes, and I’m a mess. I end up yelling at some intern in front of his entire team about his botched-up numbers. My secretary and the guy who brings my lunch get similar treatment. Eventually, I lock myself in my office and cancel my meetings for the rest of the day.
All but one.
As four thirty approaches, my stomach is in knots. I can’t stop the feeling of hopelessness, and I start to wonder if I need to be treated for depression. This has been going on for so long, but how do you explain to a doctor that your problem is that you can’t hit your sub?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
Rubbing my fingers into my eyes, I consider calling Holly and telling her to forget it, but it’s already too late. They should be on their way here. I haven’t even seen this sub’s file yet. Holly was supposed to have sent it, but she had been having computer problems.
I close my eyes and try to focus myself. I used to be great at switching into Dom-mode at a whim, but it’s more difficult now. The mindset that used to make me feel strong and powerful now fills me with trepidation and fear that I will screw it up.
Again.
The worst thing I can possibly do at a first meeting is to show my own hesitation and concerns. I need to be strong and sure of myself for her sake. She will need control in all things, and she needs to know I can provide her with that security.
I stand and walk over to the window, reminding myself that I can do this. Domination isn’t about the physical control as much as it is about the mental state. The first thing I need to do is gain her trust.
How can I do that when I don’t quite trust myself anymore?
Rubbing the palms of my hands into my eye sockets, I take several breaths to calm myself. Yes, I’d made a mistake—a big one—in an area where mistakes are unforgivable. I’d learned from it, though. I will never make the same mistake again.
Holly says this one is suited for me, and though we didn’t talk details just yet, I feel I can trust her judgment enough to try. If nothing else, I owe that to the sub she’s bringing to me.
With new determination, I stand up straighter, square my shoulders, and survey the skyline out the window. I focus my thoughts, remind myself to watch her body language more than listen to her words, and glance at the clock.
They’re ten minutes late already.
I’m mildly annoyed, but I’m also grateful for the extra time to prepare myself. I remind myself that I know what I’m doing and that taking control of a situation is my forte. Mistakes aside, I can still do this. Holly believes in me, and she’s very good at matching people from the community with each other.
I hear Holly’s voice outside my open office door as she speaks with my secretary. I’m tempted to pull out the bottle of Maker’s Mark I have in my bottom drawer but refrain. I should have all my wits about me. I’d dived into the relationship with the last sub without due diligence, and I need to be sure I evaluate this one more carefully.
There’s a knock on my door, and I stand. Holly’s all smiles and twinkling eyes as she comes in wearing a tailored business suit. Holly’s a tall woman, attractive and sure of herself. Her hair is cut shorter than it was the last time I saw her but still flows around her head in soft, brown curls. She beams and reaches out to take my hand in both of hers.
“Paul,” she says pleasantly, “sorry I’m running late. Construction traffic. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I reply. I can’t concentrate on the soft touch of her hand because my eyes are drawn to the woman behind her.
She is in her mid-twenties with long, dark hair. It flows over her shoulders and partially covers the sides of her face. She’s small and slight, the effect compounded by her downward tilted head and the long overcoat she’s wearing. The collar of the coat is turned up, and the coat’s length hides her form almost completely. I can only see the simple black pumps on her feet and a bit of ankle. Her skin is smooth and pale, and she has contrasting dark eye makeup and burgundy painted lips.
“Paul, I’d like you to meet Yvette Pearson.” Holly releases my hand and steps to the side, giving me a better look at her companion. “Yvette, this is Paul Bauerman, the chief financial officer of Bauerman and Tate Financials.”
“Mr. Bauerman,” she says quietly as she bows slightly. She doesn’t look up at me or offer her hand, and I don’t return her greeting. Her feet shuffle slightly from side to side once before she goes back to standing perfectly still.
She’s trained, no doubt.
“Here’s her paperwork, Paul.” Holly hands me a small manila envelope devoid of any writing on the outside. I pop open the clasp and shake out the papers. The first page is full of basic personal information—name, address, birthday. I see Yvette Pearson is twenty-four years old, which makes her nearly ten years my junior and the youngest sub I’ve seen. After her statistics are a list of her references, her limits, and another page of personal information. “You’ll want to read that last page carefully.”
I nod but don’t read it just yet. I place the papers on my desk and look at Yvette. She keeps her gaze on her feet, which I like, but I still can’t see much of her.
“Remove your coat,” I command. “Hang it on the hook beside the door.”
