I sigh, because she’s not wrong. Amber is a server at Maple Ridge Golf & Country Club, and she makes enough money to get by. But her side hustle as a Dominatrix is really where she thrives. Let’s just say, some of her rich and powerful patrons at the country club are some of her best customers as a Dominatrix.
It’s because of her I discovered my inner Dominant.
I knew nothing of kink or BDSM or a Dom/sub dynamic before her. But when she explained it all to me on one of our first girls-only evenings after Greg was gone and my daughters were fast asleep, I couldn’t turn off my curiosity.
She spoke, and I hung on every word. I researched, asked questions, and joined forums. I had spent my life married to someone who stripped everything away from me. So the idea thatIcould finally be in control—that I could call the shots—felt like just as much of a victory as living free from Greg’s suffocating rules and the life we had together.
Then, for a few uncharacteristically indulgent nights, I called up my former coworker Tracy, a newly retired chemistry professor, and asked her to babysit.
Amber took me to a few different play parties set up through a kink club just outside of Philly. She set me up with a training partner, someone who taught me what submission feels like before ever teaching me how to dominate.
It was through those parties and that kink club that I found a handful of submissives that I could trust—ones who also weren’t looking for anything more than our scenes. Ones who didn’t mind that I only did this once a month.
Once a month.
That’s all I ever allow myself. Anything more than that, and I feel like I’m abandoning my children, and I feel selfish.
That night at Strip Tease, with the raucous laughter ofbachelorette parties, and the smell of sweet cocktails and hairspray, I found something unexpected.
The plan that night was twofold: one, celebrate Amber’s birthday; and two, meet up with one of my subs to roleplay a scene where I catch him cheating on his nonexistent wife. A little public fun—nothing that could get us arrested—followed by a night at the hotel down the road.
But when he bailed at the last minute, sending a flood of apologies, I set my sights on Jonah. And nothing, and no one, has ever been as satisfying as fucking Jonah Johanssen’s mouth.
“You’re really not gonna hit that again?” Amber asks, taking a bottle of white wine out of our fridge and pouring each of us a glass.
“It was wrong of me to do it.”
“It’s not like he’s your student anymore,” she shrugs.
Memories of his time in my class all come back at once, and I roll my eyes. “He’s young, and dumb, and he has hotter, younger, dumber people to hook up with. He does not need or want my attention.”
“Wanna bet?”
Chapter 6
Serious Players Only
Jonah
“Finish strong,” Coach Batsakis yells, right as our hooker throws in the ball for a lineout. It’s our last phase of practice, and we’ve been run ragged tonight.
I’m lined up in the backline, playing fly-half. I’ve played all over the field—I’m what they call a utility player, which just means I can play any position, and I also say yes to everything. But since all my brothers are forwards, they constantly roast me for being a back. The forwards versus backs rivalry is as old as the game itself.
Forwards are the big, rough-and-tumble dudes who do all the hitting and lifting and grunting. They love smashing into people and rolling around in the mud. Total chaos. Backs like me are the fast ones whoallegedlycare too much about our hair and keeping our kits free of grass stains. Whatever. Someone has to swoop in and score all the points.
There’s always beef. Forwards think we’re lazy and pretty. Backs think forwards are slow and dramatic. But hey, someone’s gotta hang out wide, wait for the ball, and make the magic happen. That’s me. Just out here, doing my thing, looking hot, and running fast.
You’d think as a utility player I wouldn’t fall victim to the rivalry, but no—whatever position I’m playing, I adopt the mockery. I like to fit in, okay?
Our jumper tips the ball and tosses it to Small Fry, who immediately passes it to Jimmy (a.k.a. my brother-in-law,Raf), who runs it several yards before offloading it to me to get out wide. By the time the ball makes it down to Wheels at winger, he finds a gap in the D line and scores.
Coach blows the whistle, and everyone joins him at midfield to stretch out. “Alright, boys. Good practice today. While you stretch out, I want to fill you in on where we are with the Premier League. As you know, we’ve been trying to level up to the eastern Premiership for a decade now.”
We have?
“We’ve always been close, but it’s never been enough. Going premier will not look the same as Division 1. The team needs players who live, breathe, and sleep rugby. Players who want to win and to see the team grow. We need big donors and sponsorships, but most importantly, we need commitment from you all. If you want to play for funsies, go join a different team in this city—there are several.
“Thanks to a certain Johanssen brother’s fiancé, we have secured the largest sponsorship to date with Castle Whiskey.”
