If I’m being honest, I don’t have any control over my life at the moment either, so that’s probably why these rules make me feel balanced. They let me know what I should and shouldn’t do in this fucked-up situation I’ve found myself in. Though my current rules are much different than the ones my parents had for me.
My personal and professional lives stay separate.
I don’t date students.
Consent is non-negotiable.
What happens at the club stays at the club.
Subs never come home with me, and we do not fuck.
I require complete submission.
Getting attached is out of the question.
I never show my face.
I didn’t plan on living a double life, but certain situationsforced my hand. My parents raised me to make good choices, but their version of good differs from mine. We went to church twice a week. I spent most of my life studying God’s word and being expected to uphold it.
As a middle child who was desperate to please my parents and keep the peace in our house, I did everything right, according to their rules: I got good grades, I did mission work, I found a job at a Christian school. The deeper I got into my work and the more people I helped, the more the hypocrisy overwhelmed me. I was raised to love my neighbor by parents who couldn’t do the same. I teach at a school where the mentality that reigns is “I love Jesus, but not you.” I’ve never felt further away from God than when I was surrounded byhischurch people.
And that God failed me when I needed it most. And even though I eventually broke free from my family’s religious oppression and their ridiculous rules, I’d already found my academic home at Faith Union. I’ve spent my time here searching for purpose, for a way to atone for the fuck-ups in my youth, to help others, even if I couldn’t help myself. And along the way I made a new set of rules to keep me on the path I want for my life.
The only place that has given me true sanctuary is Pulse. The kink community there is open and accepting, and even though I prefer to isolate myself to protect my identity, I have never felt more welcomed or at home.
There are specific rules I’m expected to follow as a professor at Faith Union, and living out my BDSM fantasies at a sex club definitely isn’t on that list. But it’s the only outlet I have when I have little to no control over my life. While my work there is enjoyable, my encounters are transactional. I don’t allow myself to get close to anyone.
Most of my clients are women, but I’ve helped a few couples too. It’s a misnomer that all BDSM dynamics involve sexual interactions. People come to me for help. Some justwant to turn their brain off and have someone else be responsible over their choices for a bit. Others want to feel cared for. And then there are couples that I’ve helped coach, instructing one partner how to top the other. While my interactions over the years have involved acts of intimacy, it’s always one-sided. I might talk someone through their own self-pleasure or use toys on them. Normally I don’t participate.
When I agreed to take on Emma as a sub, it was supposed to be just one session. But my savior complex kicked in almost immediately. There was something about her that grabbed my attention, as though her eyes were begging for the kind of help she couldn’t vocalize. The last time I saw eyes like that… I can’t go there.
I need to figure out a way to end this arrangement, it was supposed to be temporary, but damn if I don’t need another hit of her sweet scent, to feel the taste of her on my lips again.
I’ve been attracted to subs before, but I’ve never been overcome with the urge to act on it until her. It’s more than just lust with Emma; I’ve been under the limerence spell before and never felt this out of control. It has to be attraction and her innocence. And the fact that of all the men she’s encountered, I’ve been the only one to successfully touch her. Make her come. And fuck if I don’t want to do it again.
I’m going to go straight to hell for this.
Pulling out my phone, I note the time. She’s late.
Me
If she’s not here in ten minutes, I’m leaving.
Alyx
Chill, dude. I’m about to walk her down. It’s my fault. Don’t take it out on her. She’s fragile right now. Had another nightmare last night. She’s had one every night since she met you.
This is a terrible idea. I’m not a therapist. I’m not equippedto deal with emotional trauma. I just get off on spanking people.
Okay, there’s more to it than that, and despite what happened last week, I don’t usually get off with or around my subs. I wait until I’m home or alone and rub one out.
I open my door right as they approach, and I get a waft of her perfume. It’s flowery and subtle and consumes my senses.
“You gonna be okay?” Alyx asks, removing his hand from her shoulder as she steps into the room. She nods, and we speak over each other.
“Need to hear you say it, sis.”
“Verbal consent, pet.”
