The next week was filled with interviews and piecing together my own emotions surrounding Jeff and me. Funny, he had taken me to a place I had not been before. I am accustomed to being in charge, even sexually, and he completely took over. Of course, I let him. This. Confusion. No regret, just confusion.
Giving up control just is not me!
The first article about Jeff and his view of BDSM was a hit – with the Feminine Digest editors, especially Grace, and with the readers. As I read comments from the readers, I found myself a little jealous. Another contradiction. I never get jealous, especially of other women and their "men". But, here I sat, reading comment after comment of women wanting to meet this RealDeal guy and let him have his way with them.
I felt possessive over him.
Ridiculous, Chance! He's not yours. You're not his. You belong to no one! Stop it, right now!
But, there it was. That little possessive voice inside my head saying, "No! You can't have him!" So sophomoric!
After a few days, I began my next interview process with women, submissives, who had answered my query on FetLife. Most were by email, but one in particular stood out above the rest. She called herself LittleKitty, and she was a real life submissive that was willing to talk without using her real name.
I met with LittleKitty at the same Starbucks. She offered a wealth of information. Admittedly, I expected some meek and mild domesticated woman, but was met by a strong-willed independent business woman who knew her own mind and what she wanted.
She strode into Starbucks with ownership. The heads that turned toward her were filled with admiration and deference. People moved out of her way and let her through the small crowd waiting to decide on the menu.
She was perfectly dressed in a form fitting royal blue sheath, with manicured hands, and stiletto heels. Her blonde hair was shiny and full with soft waves forming around her face.
LittleKitty was what every woman covets to be and what every man yearns to have. The difference between her aura and that of other women was her power. She embodied raw power while looking every part a sex kitten.
She ordered her coffee, or rather Chai Latte, and moved straight to the chair across from me at my table. I know I looked surprised that she knew who I was.
"Hello, Chance Ames!" She offered her hand with a strong, powerful handshake. "I recognize you from your byline. Very nice to meet you."
I shook her hand and took a mental note of my own appearance. Dark brown hair, almost black, with auburn highlights, slim but not built like LittleKitty. Attractive but not drop dead gorgeous, dressed in jeans and my usual white button shirt and camel wool blazer. Certainly not the sort that turned heads.
What is wrong with you, Chance? You never cared before! Stop it!
As she sat down, she said, "I have to tell you that I had to talk Master into letting me talk to you. He was dead set against it, but as long as I don't use my real name and you write about me respectfully, he okayed it."
Stunned, I asked, "You needed permission?"
She chuckled, "Oh, I could have done it without permission, but I respect his judgment. And he is very protective over me."
From there, she told me she owned her own marketing consulting agency and had received awards and recognition from the top Fortune 500 companies. Her world was one of power lunches and power meetings where she called the shots.
She talked of playing hardball and winning with the best of the best. In her world, she was known as a ball buster and the Iron Lady of marketing.
Inevitably, I had to ask her, "Then why the submissive role?"
At this question, she threw her head back and guffawed.
"Oh, Darlin! Here's the deal. I spend my days always in control, always on top, always the boss. Being a submissive away from my professional life lets me relax and just be me. To be able to give up control, and let someone else take the reins, so to speak, gives me a chance to let go. It's a sort of stress release. And having a Master like I do, that understands that and knows me and what I want before I do lets me become even stronger than before."
I was recording her (with her and her Master's permission) and furiously taking notes. My pen stopped when she said this. "Stronger?"
"Oh, yes. You see, Master pushes my boundaries, but never further than I want. In pushing past my boundaries, I become even stronger – more empowered. He pushes me to be better – a better me. He sees me in all of my flaws and imperfections, and shows me unconditional love and care."
From what I had read about Domination/Submissives, unconditional love was hard to stomach.
"But doesn't your Master (I had to choke out that word) punish you?"
Again, she guffawed, "Darlin, it's called discipline, no punishment. In his training, I am becoming a better woman, a better person. Don't you see? It's because of him, I am who I am."
That still didn't sit right with me. That a woman can only become better because of a man?
YOU ARE READING
Bdsm Virgin
FantasiI've heard it all. With my name, Chance, each and every pun has made its way to my ears.
