“Alright,” I murmur, stepping back from the bar with my new drink in hand, sweeping my arm in front of me in a mock bow and motioning for her to join me back at the table. This isn’t a conversation I want at the bar.
She takes her seat at my table, crossing her legs at her ankles and leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, chin resting atop one hand and her drink in the other. “Okay, James. Tell me. What is it that brought you here?” she asks.
I sigh and lean forward, resting on my forearms and closing the gap between us, our faces now only a few inches apart. The thrumming beat of the background music reverberates through my chest, the bass strong yet low enough for us to hear each other.
I take a deep breath and decide to tell her everything. “I like to surrender control. To be directed in what to do, to give pleasure, for my partner to use me as she likes. I suppose that would be me being submissive. But sometimes, I do like to be the one in charge, just… not as often, I suppose.”
I look down into my drink, totally confused. Am I neither a sub nor a Dom?
Yes, Miss
“Ah,” Belle says. “Well then, James, you are what we would term a switch.”
“A switch?” I look up, confused. “What’s that mean for me?”
She relaxes and sits back in her seat. She brings her leg up to cross at the knees, giving me a glance of her lace stocking tops through the slit that runs up the side of her skirt. I shift in my seat, feeling myself getting turned on again.
“James, relax. It’s not terminal,” she laughs, prompting me to chuckle too. I finally take a breath and relax a little. “Switches are those who like to mix it up a little. I’m a Domme, James. I like to be in control. I can be submissive outside of a scene, but not often. Not often at all.” She trails off slightly, taking a steadying breath, her eyes dulling momentarily like a shadow drifting across her vision.
"Submissives like to be dominated, told what to do. Switches often find they have a predominant style, either Dom or sub, but they also like to do a bit of both, depending on their mood. They like to sample the best of both worlds. And you, James, appear to be a switch." Her hand rests on my forearm, gently squeezing in reassurance.
She takes a long, slow sip of her drink, the liquid glistening on her full lips, capturing my full attention.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
"Is this new to you? Have you had someone to talk to and guide you? Talk about safety, boundaries, red flags?"
"No, never. My ex-wife wasn’t interested at all. We ended up with very different needs, and since then, I’ve kind of drifted into this. I started coming here to see if this was something I enjoyed," I say, feeling like a lost soul drifting along. This woman is so stunning and sexy, but she has a kind heart, too. It’s a beautifully heady combination; one I don’t want to resist.
Her breasts rise with a deep breath as she smiles at me but seems to falter a little as she stands from her seat. She pauses a beat. "Then, James, I would highly recommend you find someone who can talk to you about this and guide you through your first experiences, someone you feel comfortable talking with and that you can bounce ideas off. Goodnight, James. It was lovely to meet you."
Smoothing her skirt down, she turns and walks away.
My stomach drops. I don’t want her to leave. I want to keep talking to her. She could be that person, surely. She’s so easy to talk to, despite how much I want to touch her, to feel those silky waves slip through my fingers, to run my tongue up those soft thighs, to squeeze her plump ass cheeks in my hands. And her breasts? I could kiss them, bite them, and stroke them for hours.
Why the hell am I just sitting here? My heart pounds as my mind freezes, trying to decide what the hell I should
Yes, Miss
do. If I let her walk away, I may never see her again, but if I go after her, she might tell me she’s not interested, and I’m not sure how I’d deal with that.
Move, James. Move for fuck’s sake, my inner voice screams at me.
Heart pounding, I shoot up from my chair and jog across the bar to the foyer, desperate to find her, to see those eyes again. I search the adjoining rooms, scanning the foyer for any trace of her, but there’s no sign of her.
The hostess watches me as I run about. I approach her, breathless and panicked. My heart pounds in my chest, and nausea rolls through me as I think about never seeing her again. It all felt so right. I need to see her again. I can’t let her go.
"Did you see her? The woman with the black mask?" I ask the hostess, panting.
"I’m sorry, sir," she says. "She just left. You’ve missed her.”
I run out the front door and throw my hands up in hopelessness as I watch the black cab pulling away and down the street.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Chapter 16
Isabelle
