The One Worth Finding (3 page)

Aaron snorted. That was one thing he could
assure Sam about - so far, every woman in his life had been all too
eager to let him go.

Chapter 3

“
Permission to hug my best
friend?”
Grace said, looking up at her Dom with big, innocent
eyes.

Sid growled, but he nodded
benevolently.

Grace
squealed and threw her arms around
Aaron’s neck. He chuckled. Sid was a decent guy, but honestly, his
Big-Bad-Dom attitude wasn’t all too convincing. Grace was topping
from the bottom all the time, no matter how hard Sid tried to play
tough and uncompromising. Aaron had no idea what Grace saw in him,
but his squeaky best friend loved the big oaf with all her heart,
so he was more than willing to play nice.

The airport was buzzing with
life so s
oon
after Christmas, and Aaron wondered how Sam and his mysterious
friend Jack had managed to get him on a plane on such short
notice.

When
Grace released him, he checked his
appearance in the glass door right next to him. He wore a pair of
dark blue jeans that rode low on his hips just the way he liked it.
A light blue shirt and a dark grey cashmere sweater completed the
outfit, together with his black woolen overcoat and the flashy dark
red scarf.

He hoped the Domme would love him at first
sight and be good to her temporary little pet. Damn, he needed
someone to simply be good to him for a while. He just hoped she
didn’t constantly whip him raw when he didn’t show the desired
reactions. But hey, he was a pro. He could submit to anyone. He
would take whatever she dished out and then go his merry way. And
Sam would be happy.

He smiled at
Grace.

“
It’s too bad that you won’t be
here for the rest of the holidays,” the beautiful redhead pouted,
“I’ll miss you so much. But, if you’re already stuck in icy
Seattle, try at least to capture the heart of the Domme of your
life, okay?”

“
Chances are slim she’s
that,
Grace,”
Aaron said, “most likely she loves to torture male subs by stuffing
objects where they don’t want it. Not really, that is.”

“
Yeah, maybe,” Grace chirped
cheerfully, “and maybe she has waited all her life for the one sub
who takes it with a blissed-out shudder and says ‘Thank you, Ma’am’
as if he truly means it.”

Aaron chuckled.

“
Meh,” he shrugged, “I certainly
can manage the blissed-out shudder; piece of cake.”

Tara pushed her hands through her long
dark hair and stared at the screen in utter frustration.

How in hell was she supposed to write
a good sex scene when she entertained the love life of a shriveled
spinster? What she’d written so far was so terribly bad she wanted
to cringe with shame.

Just when she was about to scream in
desperation, the telephone started to ring. Great. At least it gave
her an excuse for taking her mind from Abel and Hanna trying to get
it on.

“
Hello?” she said, attempting a
cheerful chirp and failing miserably.

“
Tara?
It’s Jack. Guess what? I have a sub
for the Fisting public scene. According to my good old friend Sam,
he’s the best!”

“In taking pain?” Tara asked warily.
Honestly, she wasn’t that great with dishing out pain. She’d rather
make the subs knees wobble with white-hot pleasure.

“
No
, no, no!” Jack exclaimed, and she
imagined him rubbing his hands in glee, “he loves taking it in the
backdoor! And from what Sam’s been telling me, your tiny hand won’t
be a problem for him. He’s perfect, Tara! The public scene is a
reality, my dear!”

Tara grunted. She was almost sure
there had to be a catch somewhere in this great deal, but she was
too tired to look for it at the moment. She would just fist this
nameless sub, and that was that.

“Okay,” she groaned, “when and where
do I meet Mr. X?”

“
He’s flying in this afternoon.
Can
you come
to the club tonight?”

“Sure, I’ll be there. Bye,
Jack.”

She put the phone down and buried her face
in her crossed arms. Damn, she didn’t want to do this. She would
spend the whole week training the sub; not that the holidays meant
all that much to her, but she’d been so looking forward to
wallowing in self-pity for a while. Okay, when she actually voiced
it that way, it sounded pretty pathetic.

She got up with a groan and
opened the little cabinet where she stashed her toys. She had
s
ome nice
gems stowed away; strap-ons fitted perfectly to her tiny frame,
giving her the perfect angle for thrusting deep and hard. She was
much stronger than she looked and if this guy truly enjoyed anal
games, she could give him a good time. She put what she needed in
her bag; she wouldn’t get anywhere near that sub’s butt tonight,
but since she would need all the toys in the next days, she could
leave them at the club. She pocketed some lube, too - the thicker,
more jelly-like stuff that would stay on her fist no matter what
she did with it. Some condoms, though she wouldn’t need them; she
sure as hell wouldn’t have sex with this guy.

She went into the bathroom and trimmed her
fingernails; extremely short and groomed to perfection. No sharp
edges, smooth and soft, skin intact everywhere. She took the carton
with the black latex gloves from the cupboard; there were some at
the club, but they were much too large for her relatively small
hands. She preferred her own, which were snug and thin enough to
give her full control over her movements.

She looked at herself in the
mirror. She hoped everything would work out, and she
coul
d be done
with it fast. But while she did it, she might just as well try to
enjoy it. If she got it right, both of them could have some
innocent fun. She was willing to give her best.

But if this guy was in any way
unclean, she would kill Jack. She hadn’t high expectations when it
came to beauty
; the pretty ones weren’t always the best subs, and the
ordinary looking ones often had their hidden qualities that made
them special. Don’t judge a book by its cover that was what her
mother had taught her. And good ol’ mom had always been right so
far. But when it came to personal hygiene, Tara didn’t
compromise.

She swallowed drily.

Why
was her heart still so broken? Why
was there a spot inside her that hurt whenever she looked at it?
She couldn’t be a good Domme when she constantly doubted herself.
But somehow, everything had lost its color. She hadn’t been truly
alive in quite a while. It was never a good idea to play at the
club when she felt like a drone, an unfeeling robot that couldn’t
relate to the people surrounding her. She couldn’t read a sub’s
needs when she wasn’t on top of her game.

She knew many subs were afraid of her
because she came over as cold and unfeeling.

And fisting, of all games, was about
trust. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

Enough of the teary stuff. She
would take responsibility and do what she did best: top a man who
hopefully was a good bottom and reacted to a soft-spoken Domme who
really, really didn’t want to hurt him.
She chuckled without humor. She felt
like a miserable excuse for a dominant sometimes. But things had
changed. The youthful vigor was gone, and she didn’t have hopes of
getting it back.

She turned
and approached her walk-in
closet. Time to decide what to wear tonight.

It was dark when Aaron arrived
at his home for the next
week, and damn, it was cold in this freaking city!
He would never, ever complain about Californian weather
again.

The house where he was supposed to
stay was sparkling new and very modern, a flat, canary yellow
building big enough to house several people.

He paid the cabby and rang the bell,
huddled into his much too thin overcoat.

The door was opened, and Aaron found
himself staring at the most stunning being he had ever
encountered.

She was at least six feet two to
his five feet ten, her gorgeous body shaped like an hour glass,
white-blond hair, giant breasts…
he felt his eyes getting soft and dreamy.
Unfortunately, she didn’t radiate any Domme vibes; those usually
made him automatically lower his eyes. And despite his optic nerve
screaming that this was the woman of his dreams, his genitalia
stayed embarrassingly unaffected; no hardening of his cock, no
telltale clenching of his ass, so most likely a fellow
sub.

“Hey,” she said, “who are
you?”

He flashed her his most charming smile
and saw her face soften.

“
Hey, I’m Aaron Harte,” he
beamed, “I’m here to participate in the fisting- you know, the
public scene at the club on New Year’s Eve.”

She flinched at “fisting”. Well, he
was used to that.

“
Oh,” she exclaimed, her gaze not
unfriendly. “Come in, then. I’m Jackie. We’re all subs here, we
share the apartment. Building belongs to the club. We have a spare
room you can use.”

Aaron nodded and pulled off shoes and
socks before he put his overcoat on a hanger at the
wardrobe.

“Why don’t you keep the socks on?”
Jackie asked slowly.

“I’m a sub,” Aaron shrugged with a
smile, “I feel most comfortable with bare feet.”

She grabbed his bag and led the
way. The house was sp
acious and tastefully decorated. Aaron saw immediately that
lots of women lived here. The mix of modern and old-fashioned
furniture gave the rooms a cozy atmosphere, and somebody had a
taste for art, the walls were laden with pictures.

He was glad he would have
company in his spare time, he wasn’t the type who could cope well
with solitude. Jackie chatted comfortably about the club and the
house and the people he would meet. He noticed she carefully
avoided his fetish. It made most people uncomfortable, so he
didn’t comment on
it.

They entered some kind of living
room, decorated in different shades of green. Three people
sat on the couch and
looked up as soon as he stepped over the threshold: a thin young
man with shoulder-length black hair and a goatee, a curvaceous
redheaded woman in her late twenties, and a slim black girl in a
tight red dress, possibly early twenties.

“
Hey,” Jackie chimed, “this is
Aaron Harte. He’s here for New Year’s Eve’s public
scene.”

The young man whistled.

“
You certainly are brave, man”,
he said before he got up and shook Aaron’s hand. “I’m Phil. And I
wouldn’t let Mistress Tara anywhere near my butt.”

“
That bad?” Aaron asked, slightly
alarmed now.

“
Meh,” the redhead snorted,
“don’t listen to Phil. He’s just your average, homophobic, anally
inhibited male sub. I’m Sondra. That’s Evie. Be assured, Mistress
Tara’s hands are most certainly the smallest, most delicate ones
you’ll find at the club.”

“Yes,“ Evie agreed, “in fact,
everything about her is tiny. Why don’t you have a
seat?”

“Want a beer?” Phil shouted from the
kitchen.

“
Sure!” Aaron said and sat down
in an old wingback chair.

“So, Aaron,” Sondra asked, “why
fisting?”

Aaron smiled. So at least one of them
could actually say the word without blushing.

“
Uhm…”he said, “honestly, because
it feels amazing.”

“It’s not about the powerplay?” Phil
said.

“
Well,” Aaron said, “that’s a
bonus, actually. But most of all, it pretty much blows my mind
every time. It’s a biological thing; when my prostate is
stimulated, it starts fireworks like the Fourth of July. I don’t
know why, it’s always been that way.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Phil
winced.

“
No,” Aaron chuckled, ”not if
it’s done right. It feels perfect.”

“I could never trust a woman enough to
let her do that!” Phil shuddered.

“
That’s what most guys think, I
guess,” Aaron nodded, “and most Dommes, too. Anal penetration is
the ultimate show of trust. If you can make him consent to that,
he’s yours. But for me, it’s more; it’s the kind of sex I love
most. Can’t be changed.”

“
Why not?” Evie shrugged.
“The bullwhip makes
me come without additional stimulation. That’s not much
better.”

“
Yeah,” Sondra sighed, “we’re all
just kinky and depraved. I’m actually glad for Mistress Tara. She’s
had her share of screaming subs, and I think she enjoys the
quiet.”

“
Yeah,” Phil
nodded
,
”she’s not a punisher. She’s a different level of
creepiness.”

“
Shut up, you moron,” Evie
hissed, “she’s not creepy. She’s… awe-inspiring.”

“Well,” Aaron said, “she’s a
Domme.”

“
Precisely!” Sondra
exclaimed.

“She makes me feel like a misbehaving
five-year-old whenever she looks at me,” Phil scowled.