But the thought of not seeing Casey's face light up when I showed her a new hockey move, of missing Wednesday dinners, of disappearing from their lives—
I couldn't do it.
So, Wednesday morning, I'd done something I hadn't done in months. I'd opened the Sassy's website that Beck had told me about over a year ago during a team night out.
I'd gone a handful of times since then. It was enough to get comfortable with the dynamic, to understand what I was doing, to earn the five-star reviews that appeared on my profile. Enough to know I liked it. The control, the trust, the clarity of boundaries and expectations. No games. No mixed signals. Just honest communication and mutual satisfaction.
But I hadn't been back in months. Hadn't needed it.
Until now.
Without complications.
That's what I needed. A way to work through this sexual frustration that didn't involve Palisade, didn't risk Casey's stability, didn't blow up the careful balance we'd created.
I pulled up my existing profile. The preferences were still accurate. Experienced Dom, patient, good at reading what people needed. Emphasis on trust-building and communication.
Then, I'd marked myself as available and left it alone. Didn't actively seek anyone out. Didn't commit.
Until Wednesday afternoon, when a request notification came through.
Beginner seeking experienced Dom. Saturday evening. Interests: sensory exploration, trust exercises, surrender. Hard limits: no pain, no degradation, complete anonymity required.
I'd accepted before I could overthink it.
By Saturday evening, I was second-guessing everything.
I'd done this before. Multiple sessions over the past year, always professional, always satisfying for both parties. The reviews on my profile proved that. But something about this request felt different. Perhaps it was the moment, acknowledging it as I consciously steered clear of Palisade, channeling my frustration in a manner I couldn't otherwiseresolve. Maybe it was the vulnerability in those preferences. The trust implied in "surrender." The careful boundaries around pain and degradation.
Someone who wanted to explore but needed to feel safe.
That resonated with me in a way I couldn't quite explain.
That evening, I pulled up to Sassy's wearing the required mask and black button-down I'd agonized over for twenty minutes. Professional but not cold. Approachable but confident.
Meredith Marchand greeted me at the door with her usual warm professionalism. She'd checked me in before on previous visits, but she did not indicate recognizing me behind the mask.
She reviewed the protocols, confirmed my safe word.
"Your submissive arrived early and is waiting in room seven," she said, her gaze intense, as if her words held a hidden secret. "The sub indicated she's nervous but eager. First formal scene."
My chest tightened.First formal scene.This was someone stepping outside their comfort zone, trusting me to guide them.
I wouldn't fuck this up.
Standing outside room seven, I took a moment to center myself. Get my head in the right space. This wasn't about me or my frustrations. This was about whoever was on the other side of that door, about creating a safe space for them to explore.
I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The woman sitting on the bench was beautiful. Dark hair fell past her shoulders. A black dress hugged curves I forced myself not to stare at. Hands folded in her lap, and her knuckles laced at her waist, white with tension.
She looked up as I entered, and even through the mask, I could see her eyes widen slightly.
Something about her felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. Maybe the way she held herself or that mix of strength and vulnerability. Maybe the shape of her mouth, lips parted slightly as she took a sharp breath.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Palisade
