Make Me (8 page)

Linda

It is a new day at work and I am glad to be back in my element, but in my element or not, I have learned a valuable lesson. Antagonizing a Dom is the same as stirring up the proverbial ‘hornet’s nest.’

Again, I can’t help but think that if hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, then that goes double for a Dom. I had no idea how sadistic a disrespected Dom could be before last night’s spanking.

Before last night, I didn’t know a Dom could cut you to the core with just one look. Anyone who has ever felt the wrath of a true Dom won’t soon forget it. I didn’t know that a Dom never forgets details or bad behavior. I didn’t know that with one cold stare he can pull his sub right back in line, but I sure as hell know it now!

I have learned a lesson that can’t be taught through any amount of research. I feel my face and chest redden at the memory of the night before. I have no intention of getting in David’s way today. The shame and embarrassment of last night will see to that.

To top it all off, could I really have gotten turned on by it? I push the intrusive thoughts from my head. I hate him right now. I hate him but my body can’t get enough of him. How fucked up is that?

David

I know she will go out of her way to avoid me today, but I have other things on my mind. I have a plan I am going to put into motion. It will permit me to accomplish just what I want to accomplish. It will show the world BDSM is not some cool pop culture thing to do, it is a lifestyle. It will also give me the opportunity to set these women straight.

If Linda thinks I traumatized her, she will be stunned when she sees how shell shocked these little gold digging, social climbing girls are going to be by the time I get through with them.

These girls made a big mistake when they decided to ride the BDSM popularity wave. I smile to myself as I think.
There will be no woman left standing—except for the two I have decided that I am going to have mercy on.

I look up to see Linda viewing the look on my face as if she is trying to figure out what I am up to. I cock my head to the side and raise a brow as if challenging her and she quickly looks away. She is learning—she is learning something that no amount of research can teach her. She is learning that Doms aren’t just made, they are bred. It isn’t what we do, it’s who we are.

The control of it all is making my cock hard…

Barbie

I know the girls feel threatened by me and that, in turn, makes me a target. I just don’t give a shit.

I eye the girl who is pointing an accusing, manicured nail at me as she speaks. “I guess anything goes on this TV show. It looks like we’re going to have to get a little trashier like Barbie here.”

“If you can’t stand the heat, then get the fuck out of the kitchen. As far as I’m concerned, Kathy, you shouldn’t sign up for a BDSM show when you are a fucking vanilla bean, missionary sex loving bitch like you are,” I counter.

Kathy stands, with her mouth open and shrieks, “Did you just call me a white girl? What is a vanilla bean?”

“Point made, dumbass,” I scoff as I walk away. I turn and shout over my shoulder, “Google is your friend, idiot! At least research something about the lifestyle before you come on a show like this. And close your mouth before your flapping jaw drops.”

I hear David’s chuckle as he comes around the corner and grabs my arm, “We need to talk,” he whispers as he escorts me into his bedroom.

Seeing the two of us walk away together only solidifies the women’s hatred for me. What they don’t know is being a sub is not equivalent to being a doormat. It is equivalent to being a very strong individual though. If they think for one moment I am intimidated by them ganging up on me, they are sorely mistaken. I couldn’t care any less than I already do about any of these women in this house. What I do care about is that they are using this show as an opportunity to make a laughing stock of the BDSM community. That community is the only family I have; my own disowned me when they got wind of me being in the lifestyle. The community has been the only friends and family I’ve had for the last ten years of my life. I don’t appreciate these girls making a joke out of the lifestyle and, for that reason alone, I have every intention of staying on the show.

I won’t lie, I do need the money, but it goes deeper than that with me. I want to win because as far as I can tell, David and I are the only ones here who know or care anything about the lifestyle or the people who are in it. That alone is enough to make me stay and finish what I started. I’ve been through a lot worse than catty women ganging up on me. I’m not here to make friends; I am here to prove a point to the vanilla world.

BDSM isn’t something you do—it’s who you are…

Linda

I take my time getting ready. I am in no hurry to go to David’s bar but I have no choice; it is where the TV shoot is tonight.

I don’t know what it is with me, but there has always been a hint of rebellion in my nature. I eye myself in the mirror and even I am pleased with the reflection looking back at me.

I’ve chosen a black shirt with no backing except chains that cascade down my bare back. I pair it with tight, straight leggings so that David can’t corner me and slide his manicured hands up my legs. My hair is up in a loose pony tail with pieces hanging down around my collared neck. The black stiletto ankle boots pull the ensemble together.

In the BDSM world, a collar is much like a wedding ring and I am hoping it will deter any male attention. I make my way out to my car and put any intrusive thoughts about what the night may hold out of my head.

Just get through tonight, Linda…

David

I can feel myself getting angrier by the second. She was supposed to be here at 8:00pm and it is 9:30.

That little brat!

I know that the elite of the elite in the Dom community will be here tonight due to those damn TV cameras. I push away thoughts of some debonair Daddy Dom trying to take what I consider to be mine. I don’t like the way this woman is making me feel. Damn her!

I know as soon as every eye in the place turned towards the door that it is her making an entrance.

That little vixen is wearing a fucking collar… and I am powerless to decree that it is mine. What the fuck is she doing wearing a collar anyway?

I can feel myself on high alert. The Doms that will be here tonight are the crème de la crème. These guys are the real deal and many of them are rich, powerful business men. Even knowing that Linda isn’t a money grubbing social climber doesn’t help. I am worried about these Doms because I know Linda will intrigue them as much as she does me. I also know intrigued Doms will stop at nothing to obtain that which they covet.

Damn it, Damn it, Damn it!

Linda

I look up to view a mass of blonde hair and striking blue eyes staring at me.

Oh great, surfer boy Dom

I order a shot of Patron, slam it down, and walk away. These Doms are too damn intense. My nerves are going to be grateful for the end of this TV shoot.

I can’t remember ever feeling this flustered.

The Patron kicks in and I casually make my way around the bar, making sure to keep the pot stirred with the contestants. The girls are finally coming out of their shells.

Any professional wants to be successful; it goes with the territory. What doesn’t go with the territory, are the conflicting feelings that I have.

I know not to get emotionally involved with people in business deals, but David has given me no choice. He has bulldozed his way into my life—he overwhelms me. I fawned over the contestants, stroking egos and staying out of David’s way.

Everything is going so well that I should have known it is too good to be true.

“Get over here and check this shit out,” the camera man says. I scurry behind him to see what he is referring to.

David

I turn, glaring at the woman who approached me, and grab her by the throat, pinning her to the wall.

“The first fucking rule of BDSM is you don’t put your fucking hands on me without my permission. You have no idea who or what you are toying with, little girl! You want to be my sub?”

I know my voice is dripping with contempt and sarcasm. I chuckle as I note the poor girl’s eyes look like saucers.

“You know nothing about the lifestyle but let me give you a real quick synopsis.” I grab a handful of her hair and roughly jerk, “I like it rough, baby, real fucking rough. I don’t do mushy; I do straight up primal!

“I don’t give a fuck about your feelings or your needs. I am a cold, calculating, ruthless bastard and I might use you once, twice, or fifty times. It really all depends on how good of a fuck you are.” I pulled her bottom lip down and taunt her in a baby voice, “Do you still want to be my subby?”

Linda

I growl at my camera man, “Get the girls out of here! We are done shooting for the night.”

I watch in horror as Lolita burst into tears, running out to the bus.

“Everybody on the bus now! All of the girls that is.” I turn and eye my camera man, “David’s driver will bring him back to the house and I have my car. Go—now!”

This is turning into a freak show.

I make my way to the bathroom with intentions of getting the hell out of dodge.

I am washing my hands and rise up to dry them when I view David in the mirror silently standing behind me—glaring.

I calmly turn and eye him, much as a mother reprimanding her child would. “Would you care to share with me what just happened out there?”

“No, Linda, that isn’t what I would
care to do
right now. What I want to do is take you into one of these playrooms and bend you over the foot of the bed so I can stare at that sweet little pussy you shaved this morning.

“Then I want to kick your feet apart with the toe of my designer shoe so I can get up close and personal with your pussy, watching it twitch nervously as you suffer the scrutiny of my gaze.

“Then I want to take my finger and slide it up and down your moist wetness, thrusting it into you when you’re least expecting it. I want to make you jump and hear you make a girly noise like ‘oh.’”

His eyes rake over me with an icy cold candidness that I have never been subjected to before. How can somebody look so cold and still radiate the raw sexiness this man is exuding right now?

He reaches up and fists my hair at the nape of my neck.

“David, you are scaring me.”

“You should be scared, Linda—you should be very fucking scared. By the way, the fear you’re giving off right now… is making my cock hard. Now, what are you going to do about it? Tick-Tock…Tick-Tock… Linda… time is a-ticking.”

He grabs my hand and rubs it over his tailored pants that are now tented with the outline of his hard cock. “All of that hardness is because of you. I want to fuck you every time that I look at you. I want to rip these Doms’ heads off when they look at you.”

“I can’t be in here with you, David. I have to go; I can’t get caught talking to you.”

His reply only confirms that pacifying him isn’t going to be an easy feat.

“Bzzzzzzzzzzz, wrong answer. You know that sound, right, Linda? It’s the buzzer on a game show for: Wrong. Fucking. Answer.

“You are the producer of a game show—right?”

He takes one finger and runs it under the collar that I am wearing, using it to pull me into a playroom.

I really am staying pretty calm, but I am scared. He pulls me right up into his face by the collar and growls, “I asked you a question. What are you going to do about my rock hard cock? Because you, little lady, are the one who is making it that way. All I think about… is fucking you senseless.”

Linda

I stand with my arms crossed and look down at the floor. The energy this guy is giving off is raw, primal, and reeking of sex. He has one hand against the wall by my head, and the other under the collar that I am now wishing I hadn’t worn.

“Tick-Tock, the game clock is ticking, baby girl.”

I face him without looking at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say, David.”

His finger slides out from beneath the collar and he lifts my chin with it. “Look at me.”

I look up at him and he only says one word, “Strip.”

“David, we can’t…” is all I get out before his eyes clearly let me know that he isn’t in the mood for excuses.

He doesn’t wait for me. His hands make their way down to the hem of my shirt and he pulls it off of me. He glares into my face as his fingers unbuckle the collar that I’m wearing. He throws it across the room with an indignant air and states: “Don’t ever let me see you in a collar again until I place one around your neck.”

His eyes never leave my face as he rips the pasties that I’m wearing off, one right after another. It feels like when you rip a band-aid off of a sore. It stings until his tongue flicks with tiny little pulses over the area they had covered—my nipples. His hooded eyes look up in my direction. “Why are those jeans still on?”

I wiggle my way out of them, ignoring the voice in my head that screams:
You shouldn’t be doing this.