Lila's Locale

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor (see snarky comment from my editor in this post), so read at your own risk.

To read the previous entries click “Red Ribbon” under the categories heading on the right.

This is the last of what I have written on this story. Right about now is when I clue in and figure out that there isn’t really anything original going on in this story, and that a lot of other people are doing it better than I would. I will let YOU decide what happens next. Click to the end of the of the (very short) post to view your options.

—

Mark leaned back took a sip of his wine, enjoying both the view out the window and the sight of his lovely companion, he could already imagine her chained to a wall in his bedroom, her hair tangled around her as she fought him at him at the same time her pussy dripped for his cock.
Since he had put the list together and had done this before it would not take him long to fill it out. Though as he looked at her he decided he would hold nothing back. Usually he toned down his desires and wants, making sure that he would not scare his partners when they went over the list. But this woman, he chuckled to himself, he wanted to do everything to her.

—

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

a) no one responds and we let this bad boy die a quiet death

b) I continue writing it as is, reveling in wall banging-ness

c) I just skip to the f-ing sex scenes already.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor (see snarky comment from my editor in this post), so read at your own risk.

To read the previous entries click “Red Ribbon” under the categories heading on the right.

Red Ribbon is BACK! This one’s for Rosemary! In this isntallment I will pull on every bad BDSM cliche there is.

The horrible part is that this one is actually better than the one I have going on my newsletter…

—

She looked like sex on a stick, expensive sex on a stick.
Mark barely noticed when the hostess drifted away. As he had in the parking lot he gave her a once over, a slow appraisal. He tried to start at her feet and work his way up but he got distracted by her breasts, those things looked edible in that dress. He heard the hiss of air as she took a deep breath and then had to do a little deep breathing of his own as those fantastic breasts rose and fell. The seemed to call out to him, ‘come Mark, pet us love us, play with us.’
Manfully ignoring the fact that he had just had an imaginary conversation with her tits he started again with her feet. She had on strappy things, looked painful but they did amazing things to her calves. The skirt of the dress hugged her thighs and hips just so, the material pulled taught by her one-hip-cocked stance.

On the way to her face he once again was drawn in by her breasts, ‘love us Mark! Play with us.’ After a quick eye caress and mentally promising to have a nice long conversation with those babies at a later date he made it to her face. That perfect blond mane framed her face which said girl-next-door after she moved to the city and learned a few things. There was no uncertainty in her eyes, she knew exactly what she looked like, knew she was ravishing, but there was challenge, almost as if she dared him to disapprove. She had a long wait coming if that is what she was waiting for.
“Lizabeth,” he took her hand a raised it to his lips placing an open mouthed kiss on the back, “it is a pleasure.”

* * *

“Marcus, thank you the pleasure is mine.”
He looked great in a dark grey suit with a white shirt and navy tie. Not exactly the most GQ outfit but it was a classic look that would never stop working for the gentlemen, and considering his size Liz shuddered to think of the cost of having suits tailored. His hair had been brushed so that it fell back from his face without being tucked behind his ears. Liz had to stop herself from reaching over and pulling on lock forward just to recreate the rakish look from last night.
He eased her onto the booth opposite where he had been sitting with a hand at her back. As he slid in across from her she took stock of the table eyeing two black leather portfolios. Seeing her look at them he slid them down onto the seat with a teasing smile her way. As the waiter glided up they settled easily into the routine of two urbanites enjoying a high quality meal out on the town. After the waiter had listed that nights meal options they chose the fish, Mark seamlessly selecting an appropriate white wine. Liz mentally lifted and eyebrow. While she had never taken him for a dumb jock that level of wine knowledge was a bit above the norm.
After the waiter had glided away she asked about it “So where is it that you acquired such extensive wine knowledge?”
Mark settled back into the booth and smiled. “I wish I could say that I was a true connoisseur but alas a buddy of mine from my pro days bought a vineyard as an investment and then got really into it. For years I got cases of different wines for holidays until he finally dragged me up to his vineyard for week. I learned more than any man could ever want to know about wine and grapes. For example do you know why they plant rosebushes…”
The conversation continued as the three course meal was served, moving easily from one topic to another. Liz was once more stuck by how easy it was to fall back into a friendship with him. They each talked about their jobs, Liz’s venture capitalist company, Mark’s post-pro career as a sport writer and commentator.
When the entrée was gone Mark asked the server to hold off on dessert. When he reached down next to him and then carefully placed the portfolios on the table Liz sat up a bit straighter, a shiver running down her spine.
Mark carefully took one of the portfolios and placed it in front of her. She let her hand rest on it but kept her eyes on Mark.
“I’m going to be honest with you Lizzy. I am having a lot of fun tonight, and you look fucking amazing in that dress. Right now I am worried about the catch. No matter what now that I found you again I don’t want to loose you and I hope you feel the same.”
Liz inclined her head, “I do.”
“Good. Then lets get down to business, let me know if we aren’t seeing eye to eye on anything I am saying.” Mark took a small sip of his white wine before continuing. “You are looking for a Dom, a Master. I am looking for a sub. I have had some experience, and pretty much know what I like, and know that what I want is not the ‘standard.’ From what you said last night I think you might be the same, but we need to be sure. So, in each pad there is a checklist. Not only the classic BDSM checklist everyone is supposed to fill out but a couple other pages, supplemental you could say. There are two copies of each, just mark your answer on both so that then we can swap and go over it, sound good?”
Liz smiled, this was even better than what she could have hoped for, she was a logical soul and the idea of a checklist was very appealing, the fact that he had thought of it and successfully implement it made her relax. He knew what he was doing.
As the city slowly rotated past the glass Liz open her portfolio and began to read.

—

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor (see snarky comment from my editor in this post), so read at your own risk.

To read the previous entries click “Red Ribbon” under the categories heading on the right.

After a brief break, Red Ribbon is BACK! Woot! Watch as I make the tragic mistake of over-describing my heroine appearance and attire.

—-

Chapter 2

The next night Liz met Marcus at a rotating restaurant atop of one of the cities most expensive hotels. Considering the planned discussion for the evening it might have been better to meet at either his condo or her house, but this particular restaurant boasted large enclosed booths withs walls that touched the ceiling.
After trading a valet her car keys for a ticket, Liz strode slowly to one of the black glass elevators. Stepping in she positioned herself so she could use the reflective dark glass for a last minute check of her appearance. As the small glass cage began its quiet ascent to the fortieth floor Liz gave the hem of her little black dress a quick twitch. Made of a thick silk the strapless dress hugged her curves in a way that spoke of tailoring not spandex. Rather than a straight bodice this dress had a molded top, the fabric rising over each breast with a deep dip between them. Clipped to a hanger it looked like the top of a heart, but once on, it was nothing but sex appeal in black silk. Tonight she’d dress it up with a gold and black antique shawl. Black strapy Coup Detats with burnished gold detailing and black chandelier earrings completed the ensemble.
Liz knew what she probably should be wearing. A loose skirt, button up shirt, no underwear and hooker make-up is what most girls in BDSM stories wore. One of the classes had covered the topic of attire. When she had questioned it, asking why a Dom would want his sub to look sloppy, the instructor for the evening had told her that ‘sloppy’ was her opinion and the only person whose opinion mattered was that of her Dom. As much as Liz was trying to understand submission as the world told her it was, she just couldn’t make herself agree.
She didn’t want to look like a sidewalk hooker, she wanted to look like sin and sex in leather and velvet, a courtesan, not a whore. While the idea of not being allowed to wear underwear was sexy as hell, Liz had boobs, real boobs, the kind that liked to rest closer to her navel than her chin if she didn’t give them assistance. This dress would be a tragic fashion mistake without the half corset she had on underneath lifting her breasts so they mounded soft and tempting above the neckline.

As the light in the elevator panel moved from floor 29 to 30 Liz checked her hair. While normally it was straight she had used hot rollers to give it a soft wave. The curl brought her hair up till it was just below her shoulders. She had pulled back just one side. With the soft wave she looked like a sultry femme fatal from Hollywood’s bygone era.

Her makeup was done in the darker shades appropriate for an evening look. Blue and grey perfectly shaded on the eyes gave her a dark sultry look while highlighting the color, careful blush application gave her cheekbones a boost and her lips were the perfect shade of deep rose with a high gloss finish. She looked like a high society girlfriend, too pretty to be a stock broker herself, too voluptuous, too sexual, to be a stock broker’s wife.
Liz was proud that she could look like this, that she could hang up her Anne Taylor business suit for a Spiga cocktail dress and not only look good in both, but like who she was in both.
When the elevator door slid open with a slow hiss she was standing dead center of the car, one hip cocked, the shawl drapped over her arms and framing her black silk encased waist. Stepping carefully from the elevator she savored the moment. She was moments from taking her first real step towards making her fantasies flesh. No matter what happened she could savor these moments, the anticipation. She rolled her hips as she walked, boom, tisss, boom tisss, the heavy thump of a floor drum followed by a single tap of a cymbal.
The hostess didn’t even ask her name, simply rose and with a murmured “will you follow me Madam?” lead her back behind the teak paneled entryway. While the entry was stationary just behind it the rotating floor began. Situated in one of the hotel round glass towers the restaurant took one hour to go all the way around, the only interruption in the view came when a booth rotated past the entryway.

Liz stepped onto the slowly rotating floor and followed the hostess. The booths were on her left the floor to ceiling windows to her right. The restaurant was so large it was hard to tell how far around the circle she was from the entryway once it passed out of sight. Just ahead of them a man slid out of one of the booths, Marcus.

Red Ribbon, part 7

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

Mark stared at the crumpled red ribbon in her palm. For a minute he simply gazed at her hand in confusion, and then the implications of what he was seeing hit him. A picture of slender necks circled with red ribbon popped up in his mind’s eye.

Startled he looked up into her eyes. Did this really mean what he thought it did? He read defiance and power in her eyes, both a thin mask to her fear of rejection and uncertainty.

He glanced back down at the ribbon curled on her palm. In one motion he swung his legs off the bench to sit up straight. Reaching out one hand he slowly lifted the ribbon from her palm letting the tips of his fingers caress the soft pad of her hand.

He lifted the ribbon, draping it over his index finger. Drawing out the moment he studied the ribbon. Raising his eyes to hers he smiled and in a swift movement he clenched the ribbon in his fist.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this an interesting development?”

***

Liz felt a stabbing pain in her chest. Realizing it was because she had been holding her breath Liz released the air in her lungs. The site of the ribbon clenched in his big fist entranced her.

“Liz, do you mean to tell me you were wearing this ribbon?”

Retreating behind her pride she lifted her chin, “Yes, I was.”

His grin widened, “You’re a submissive?”

Her chin notched up another degree, “Yes, I am.”

“Well isn’t that interesting?”

“Drop the smug attitude.”

“Are you getting fresh with me? That seems like a risky thing to do.”

Liz gritted her teeth. “Do not think that just because I am a submissive you can treat me like a toy.”

Abruptly Mark’s expression became serious. “I did not mean to do that, and that is not what I think. I am just surprised-”

“I see. You think that because I am a woman who has her own life, who can stand up for herself and make her own decisions I can’t look for something different in the bedroom? I am so tired of men’s inability to see a woman as being a complex person. Why can’t I be submissive in the bedroom and nowhere else? And why is it that a man just assumes that if I am submissive I will fall to my knees and beg to suck him off? As far as I am concerned he had better be willing to FIGHT for it, to EARN it.”

Liz realized that her hands were fisted on the tabletop and she was leaning forward, anger had her shoulders pulled tight.

Mark, rather than pulling away, was leaning towards her, absorbing her anger and drawing in the emotions in her words.

“Liz, Liz, let me finish my thought. I would never treat you like a toy, you are a person and I know that. I do not mean to be arrogant or condescending, I was simply surprised. You are an amazing woman, and I know that about you. I can only imagine that you would be an incredible submissive.”

“Thanks, Mark. I’m sorry to jump on you like that; it’s just that after all the bullshit I had to see tonight at the community center…”

Mark imagined some of the losers he had seen at the community center with their hands on her.

Reminding himself of his dentist’s warning about grinding his teeth he unclenched his jaw.

“Those boys at the community center were not fit to lick the bottom of your shoes. For God’s sake Liz you have to be careful, I can’t imagine any of those boys being competent enough to handle you.”

“Are you implying that you are competent enough to handle me?”

He met her eyes squarely, “Yes, I think I am.”

Returning his stare she took a chance, both on him and on her fantasies, “I think you are too.”

Red Ribbon, part 6

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

“So what about you?”

Liz looked up with a start, “Me?”

“Yea, how did you get invited?”

“Oh, I took the BDSM 101 class. I got tired of only having my fantasies and it seemed like the safest way to get into it in real life.”

“You probably just felt safe taking a class, you always were a school nerd.”

Liz threw a napkin at him that he caught with hands well accustomed to accepting a thrown item.

“Ok maybe you’re right, I know how to take classes, and it is something I was good at.”

“So I guess you didn’t find what you were looking for eh?”

Liz moan in exaggerated despair, “Not even close, that’s why I left early, but what about you? When I first saw you standing there I thought you were waiting for someone.”

“Naw, it was just such I nice night I decided to drink it in before I had to go home to my lonely ass bed.”
Liz laughed at his dejected tone. “So you didn’t find any subs?”

“Naw, I met a bunch of girls who were nice and quiet and submissive. They probably would have done exactly what I told them every moment of the day.”

“And that was a problem why…?”

He shifted on the bench, uncrossing his legs and then re-crossing them with the opposite leg on top. “I don’t want a girl who can’t think for herself. I want someone with more strength…” he ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Sometimes I don’t know if what I want is really a submissive girl, because the girls who were there tonight…” He trailed off and shrugged as if he were unable to find the words he wanted.

Liz felt her heart leapt into a fast tempo, she had felt totally different from the girls who were there. She wanted –no- craved the domination of a strong man but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, simply drop to her knees, she needed a man strong enough to take her.

He could not be more perfect.

The Dominant of her dreams was sitting on the other side of the table from her, and he seemed completely unaware of her as anything other than an old friend. At a loss for what to say Liz let his last comment stand, having no response to give him. She wanted to jump across the table and say, “Look! What about me!”

It was fear that stopped her. He knew the girl she had been, and probably knew of the ball busting venture capitalist she had become since college. Maybe if they didn’t have a past, if he had no idea who she was…

“I wonder if you and I might not have the same problem Lizzy. I glanced in the male subs room for a minute and they all looked like a bunch of pansies. I bet you would chew them up and spit them out in a heartbeat.”

Liz stared at him in astonishment. What had he just said? Did he think…?

“You looked in the male-subs room and…?”

“Well I didn’t see you. Then again I wasn’t really looking very hard at anyone in there.”

“You didn’t see me in the room for female Dominants and male submissives?”

“Er… no.”

Liz took a deep breath and reached one hand into her pocket, curling her fingers into a fist.

“Well Mark there was a reason you didn’t see me there.”

Liz laid her closed fist on the table top with the back of her hand resting on the cool formica. Mark looked first to her hand then to her face, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. With her eyes locked on his Liz slowly uncurled her fingers.

Red Ribbon, part 5

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

“So, how did you get an invitation to The Gathering?” Liz winced when she said it, the name seeming melodramatic in the cheery warmth of the dinner.

Mark saw her wince. “It is a stupid name isn’t it?”

Liz smiled, “Yea it really is.”

Mark returned her sunny smile with his own darker one. “I got the invitation because I have been to a couple of parties hosted by the group that runs the class.”

“How did you get involved in that?”

This time Mark’s smile was purposefully wicked. “A few years ago I saw a notice in the paper about a conference and demonstration they were holding at the Convention Center. It was all about D/s stuff. You had to go through a bunch of hoops to get tickets but I had been real curious for a long time so I managed to snag one. Let’s just say that going opened my eyes. I realized that all my life I had been treating the girls I slept with like submissives, except I always felt like an abuser. Every time I ordered a woman to spread her legs I felt like I was raping her. I realized that I had a name for what I wanted, a name that came with a certain set of expectations. I picked up a bunch of flyers and stuff hoping to find a way to meet submissive women, women who wouldn’t freak out if they ended up tied to the bed. I started sending emails to people, meeting some people for coffee. Eventually someone recognized me from my pro years and like magic I was invited to the inner circle.”

Liz stared at him in amazement. She had never considered how hard it would have been for a guy like him, so physically imposing, to treat a woman like a submissive without scaring the crap out of her.

“So why were you there tonight, just looking for a play date?”

“Naw, I had plenty of those. There were always unattached girls at the parties who had been brought by other guys, or girls who had…er…Masters, but who weren’t in a committed relationship with them and whose Master’s were willing to share. That was fine for a while but I’ve discovered that it is the guys who have just one sub, who know their girl like the back of their hand, are the ones who really know what they are doing. I went tonight looking for a girl I could train myself, and then keep for myself. No offense to Lucien and his pals but I’m starting to get really bored with their girls.”

Liz shifted on the bench, sliding her foot from beneath her so she could press her legs together. His casual talk of dominating a woman, tying her up, ordering her to spread her legs had made Liz incredibly wet.

He was much more the physical ideal of what she wanted in a Dom that the slim and elegant Mr. Lucien.
She could hardly believe that her ideal partner seemed to be sitting across the booth from her. The problem was that now she didn’t know how to broach the subject, she wasn’t prepared to do it while sitting in a dinner; she had been prepared to deal with this back at the community center, but not here. If she were to start a sexual relationship with Mark it would take away some of the danger, she already knew who he was and was fairly sure he was not a serial killer.

Then a horrible thought occurred to her, he may be just what she was looking for, but what if she was not what HE was looking for?

Liz figured it would be just her luck to find the Dom of her dreams and then find out he had an Asian fetish.

Red Ribbon, Part4

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

An hour later Mark and Liz were sitting comfortably in a both at a 24/7 dinner that served all you could eat waffles and coffee between midnight and five am which made it a favorite venue for a late night carbohydrate fix among the students at the university.

With a nod to nostalgia Liz had skipped the coffee and ordered a diet coke. She was slouched comfortable in the seat, one leg tucked up under her, the other swinging free, her heel making a rhythmic thump against the booth with every swing. Her pumps lay discarded under the table. Mark had assumed a familiar pose, his back against the window his long legs stretched out along the bench with his ankles crossed.

He was so tall that every time the waitress came by she had to dodge his feet because they stuck out so far. One thickly muscled arm rested along the back of the booth, the other along the table top. His big rough hands with their broad fingers were relaxed, occasionally he would lift the arm that rested on the back of the booth and use it for emphasis when making a point.

They had been sitting here for over forty minutes, reminiscing. They had done rounds of ‘how is so-and-so doing’ and ‘remember when.’ Their were tears of laughter in Liz’s eyes as Mark retold the story of Liz going toe to toe with the evil TA for their class. His colorful retelling, with Liz as a warrior of Arthurian proportions crusading for the repressed members of BUAD 428, was wildly inaccurate and hysterically funny.

When he wound down Liz went to wipe her eyes with her sleeve, an old habit from the time when sweatshirts made up most of her wardrobe. She stopped herself just in time and plucked a napkin from the dispenser.

Liz looked into Mark’s face, different now than it had been. Maturity had slimmed it down, refined it, but that wolfish grin was still the same. Though humor sparkled in his eyes and his posture was relaxed his wide grin was vaguely threatening, as if you weren’t sure if he were smiling or baring his teeth.

As the echo of her laughter faded they fell into a companionable silence. It was amazing how easy it had been to fall back into her old friendship with him. It had always been a friendship that had included simply the two of them. They had had only acquaintances in common, not friends, so when they were together there had been no one there to expect them to act like the star football player or the student leader.

Bending her head Liz took a long drink from her coke, letting the bubbles fill her mouth. She glanced up from beneath her lashes to see that Mark was studying her with cool appraisal. With a sigh she lifted her head, flicking her tongue across the tip of her straw to catch any stray drops.  Leaning back against the creaky vinyl Liz prepared herself for what would undoubtedly be an embarrassing conversation, though oddly she didn’t feel as embarrassed as she should.

“So, how did you get an invitation to The Gathering?”

Red Ribbon, Part 3

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

“Lizabeth? Lizabeth Brown?”

The deep rumbling voice triggered the memory for her. “Marcus Palmer?”

With a few long strides the big bruiser was at her side, his arms coming around her in a rib crunching hug. On instinct Liz’s arms went up around his shoulders returning the fierce hug. It was not the greeting a mature woman would give to an old acquaintance but the hug of a twenty year old college student to a good friend. With a final squeeze Marcus held her at arms length, his big hands spanning and cupping her waist.

“Lizzy, wow, how are you?”

“Mark, it’s been so long. I’m fine, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good, thanks.”

Mark held her back from him and his eyes made a slow easy sweep over her, from the crown of her glossy straight blond hair over her torso hugged by the ribbed sweater and down the lean length of her leg emphasized by the tailored slacks she wore. With a smile Liz returned the favor. His dark hair was worn longer than she remembered, curling against the nape of his neck, the sides pulled back behind his ears. It should have looked boyish but instead he looked like a warrior of old. The breadth of his shoulders tapering to a nice waist, not too lean, emphasized the impression. His pants were tight around his thighs showing the barest outline of the muscles and hard flesh.

Liz could see appreciation reflected in his eyes. She found nothing offensive in his examination, indeed it was merely an acknowledgement of her beauty and she had returned the favor. They had given each other similar perusals while in college. They had met in class, each from very different parts of their university community; she an involved student leader and crusader, he the star wide receiver of their national championship football team.

When they had known each other back then they had both been in other relationships. Only with their frank appraisal of one another had they acknowledged that if the situation were different they might have been able to be with one another. It was because they had both been committed to other people that their friendship had grown so strong without the overlying need to posture and pose. It had been a strange friendship but a good one.

Mark let his gaze sweep over the stunning woman before him one more time. She had changed from the sweatshirt and jeans clad co-ed he had known into a polished and professional woman. They had parted ways after college, both knowing when they said goodbye the last time that theirs was a friendship that would not survive their adult lives. She had gone on to corporate America and he to the boy’s club of professional football. There had been some regret for the friendship lost but both had appreciated the time spent together enough to celebrate it for having existed rather than morn its passing.

Suddenly Mark remembered where he was, and more importantly he remembered what was going on in the community center. A slow grin curled the corners of his mouth revealing his strong white teeth. For a moment Liz looked uncomfortable. She turned her head slightly to one side as if embarrassed, her feet shifting against the pavement of the parking lot, but as Mark watched she straightened her shoulders and turned to look at him with the fire of defiance in her eyes. Her look said that she would not be afraid or ashamed for having been found here. Indeed, Liz raised one eyebrow and tilted her head giving him a questioning look, her posture inquire as to what he was doing here. Then it was his turn to feel slightly uncomfortable at having been caught out.

“Well this is certainly an interesting situation,” Liz said.

“Yea well, I guess you could say that. But I would have said fucking embarrassing instead of interesting.”

Liz laughed, her head falling back, exposing the long smooth line of her throat. The slow burn that had started in Mark’s belly when he first saw the stunning woman walking towards him burned a little bit hotter.

“So, I figure there are three things we can do,” Liz chuckled. “One –we can walk away and pretend this never happened. Two –we can exchange business cards, renew our friendship by e-mail and just pretend that we didn’t meet each other here. Three –we can go and get a cup of coffee and catch up.”

“I say number three, there’s a good place down the street or we can head back into downtown.”

“Let’s go to that place on the corner of third and Fairfax. You remember it?”

“Yeah, I remember; we used to go there to study. You always drank diet cokes, when did you grow up and start drinking coffee?”

“As soon as I realized how much more caffeine there was in a cup of coffee than a diet Coke, however there are times at night when I crave that sweet fake sugar taste.”

Mark chuckled appreciatively. Lifting his hands from where they still gripped her waist he looked around for her car. “Do you want to follow me or do you want to drive with me?”

“I’ll follow you.”

Liz headed towards her black SLR, hips swaying. Mark watched her walk away, his eyes tracing the outline of her tight ass through her pants.
Now that was one fine looking sassy woman, he though. Too damn bad she’s a Dom.

Red Ribbon, Part 2

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad, it’s entertaining.

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self-editor, so read at your own risk.

***

Well that’s done it, Liz though, I’ve truly had enough.

Reaching up Liz yanked at the red ribbon around her neck, jerking it free. Some of the men glanced up at her, frowning, but none approached her. That more than anything solidified Liz’s belief that these men were nothing but posers, playing Dominant when in reality they were users and losers. Setting her cup down on the nearest table with a loud snap Elizabeth strode proudly from the room. Some eyes were on her, watching the sway of her hips and breasts, as if focusing on the parts of her that they could understand, and control. These oh-so-powerful men shied away from her as a whole: the sexy, sexual, powerful woman, who did not need losers like them to give meaning to her life.

Liz made her way into the long hallway of the community center. The organization which was hosting the event had rented out the small one story building for the evening. The event, called The Gathering, was an invitation only affair held four times a year. Liz had received her invitation upon her competition of a BDSM 101 class.

Liz had stumbled onto an advertisement for the class buried deep in one of her favorite erotic stories websites. The class had claimed to be an introduction to living a BDSM lifestyle in the real world, the perfect bridge for people who wanted to make their fantasies a reality. Growing continually tired of living her sexual fantasies in her head Liz had signed up for the class, which was hosted at the neutral location of a community center.

As far as everyone but the members of the class knew it was an introduction to wine tasting class that met once a week for ten weeks. Liz had paid the $500 fee with her Visa and had been relieved to have the charge show up as “Vineyard Educational Services” as opposed to “BDSM 101”, which she had half feared. The ten week class had been purely informational, each session a one hour lecture with Q and A and then discussion time.

Liz had thought many of the ‘rules’ which they taught the class seemed more like common sense, most dittos had titles like: “Why it is important to have a way to say No: Safewords.” At the end of the course they had a few guest lecturers, including one real life Dom. It was the memory of this Dom that kept Liz from giving up all hope. While he wasn’t really what she would ideally want in a Dom he was much closer than any of the pricks in the community center tonight.

He had been introduced to them as Master Lucien. Tall and lean he had been impeccably dressed with a firm steady manner. With medium brown hair and hazel eyes he had the good looks of a lawyer or businessman. One look at him and you knew that he was a man who lived by rules and codes of conduct.

As far as Liz was concerned there had not been anyone there tonight who had come even close to Master Lucien in either appearance or manner. Mr. Lucien, as he had told them to call him, was living proof that there were real Dominants out there. Liz had come to The Gathering tonight hoping to find her Mr. Right. She had placed a lot of hope on this night. The months of attending the class, years of scouring erotic stores and the internet to feed her desire, and a lifetime of fantasies had brought her to this night.

And it was a disaster.

With quickening steps Liz strode down the hallway of the community center, past other rooms filled with members of the BDSM community, both seasoned players and new hopefuls.

A less determined, less sexually frustrated person would have given up, but even as she pushed through the double doors leading to the parking lot Liz was forming a new plan of action. This was only the first one of these events she had attended. There would be another one in a few months. Until then she would go through some of the contacts that they had been given in class, on-line messages boards and yahoo groups.

So intent was she on formulating a new plan of action that she almost did not see the man who stood slumped against the grill of a big SUV. He was perfectly still in the security light which illuminated the parking lot. Liz’s first impression of him was one of size. This guy was BIG. His slumped posture made it all the more apparent that when he straightened he would tower over her. Dark hair hung down to his neck, a few strands had fallen in front of his face shielding it from view. He was dressed in casual jeans and tight t-shirt which was pulled taught across his arms and shoulders.

For a minute Liz stood frozen her heart picking up speed as hoped bloomed. It was unlikely that someone not in the scene would be standing outside the community center at 9 p.m. on a Thursday night. Could he be a Dom? He was the perfect physically embodiment of what Liz wanted in her dominant: big, strong, with muscles to sink her fingers and teeth into, someone who she could trust not only emotionally, but physically.

Knowing her luck he was probably a sub waiting for one of the Dominatrixes inside. With a disgusted sigh Liz started walking again, headed towards her car, which she now realized was parked only two down from the SUV. As her heels clicked closer the dark haired dream looked up.

The way he moved, his head snapping up, eyes bright and sharp, made Liz think of a predator. Raising her own chin a notch Liz kept walking, but as she got closer her steps slowed as she studied his face. A face she knew.

Straight dark eyebrows had pulled together over his nose as he frowned as her, conflicted with the same feeling of recognition. It was he who remembered first, his features falling back into a relaxed position and his lips curled up in a devastatingly sexy closed lip smile.

“Lizabeth? Lizabeth Brown?”

Red Ribbon, Part 1

This is one of the first things I wrote, and my lack of skill is apparent. From the over-done storyline to the awkward an amateurish writing this is so bad it’s entertaining. 

Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor, so read at your own risk.

***

What the hell was she doing here?

Swirling the fruity alcohol enhanced punch in its small plastic cup Lizabeth Brown surveyed the small room despairingly. The people in the room had broken off into pairings or groups of three. For the most part the women were seated on the chairs and couches placed against the walls while the men stood over them. In another setting this might be taken for consideration, the gentlemen having kindly allowed the ladies to sit while they stood, but in this room, in this situation, that was not the case.

Liz eyed the other women with mild distaste. Everything about them was sending off waves of submission: their posture, the gentle murmur of their voices, the soft, easily removable articles of clothing they wore. Liz was the only woman in pants.

Shoulders curled forward, chins tiled down, words soft and hesitant, they were exactly what the men in the room were looking for. She was not.

Fingering the red ribbon around her neck which marked her as a submissive Liz took one more look at the partner-less men in the room, those who stood in groupings of two or more men to one woman.

Strangely she had assumed that there would be more women then men. Perhaps that view was shaped by BDSM literature she had read which always had Dominants with multiple lovely young submissives making it seem that beautiful naturally submissive women were as thick on the ground as leaves in New England during fall.

In one corner two men lounged in arrogant splendor; their eyes fixed on the large breasts of the woman sitting between them. Their body language was relaxed, confident: their posture said that if they wanted the girl they could have her.

Liz shuddered at the thought of allowing either of them to kiss her cheek let alone stick their dick in her. Both men look weak to her, in body and spirit. One had a beer gut and love handles, his clothes poorly fitted and messy looking. The other was rail thin and gangly, like a bean sprout, his hook nose and squinty eyes adding to his overall air of unattractiveness.

The conversation between the couple next to her caught her attention. Shifting in her Steve Madden pumps Liz leaned against the wall, watching them out of the corner of her eye.

The man was older –early to mid fifties- than many in the room. He wore a simple black sweater with a ‘v’ neck allowing curling white chest hairs to escape. He had an older man paunch, accentuated by the fact that his pants were belted tightly below the paunch. She couldn’t begrudge him his homely face but he had obviously let himself go.

How could the woman sitting so quietly in front of him hope to be mastered by this man who clearly could not take care to master himself? How could she expect to feel captured, captivated, by his arms when they contained no muscle, only soft flabby flesh. For a moment Liz pictured herself on her knees before the man, his –old, wrinkly- cock pressed to her lips demanding entrance, her lips parting, his cock forcing its way deeper into her mouth… That is until her forehead came up against his flabby belly, the sexy insertion of his cock into her mouth stopped by the paunch.

Repressing a gag Liz pretended to sip her revolting punch as the fantasy she had been trying to build shattered. With a shiver she went back to eavesdropping on the paunchy man’s conversation.

“You will be a good slut for me won’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Robert.” Ugh. Bob, his name was Bob.

“What if you are a bad girl, slut?”

There was a slight hesitation before, “You will punish me, Mr. Robert,” Liz heard the tremble of arousal in the girl’s voice now, the words broken by soft huffs of air as her breathing quickened.

“That is right slut” Liz caught the slight flinch on the girls face as he called her that, “I will punish you, nice and hard, just like you need it.”

“Thank you Mr…”

The idiot man cut her off, clearly not hearing her, not caring about what she had been trying to say, the obedience she had been trying to show. His eyes were fixed on the girls breasts, his words rambling as he built his fantasies around his own pleasure.

“You will always be kept naked in my presence, and always on your knees. Whenever I want you will suck my cock, and anyone else’s cock. You will become a little cum bucket. Don’t worry my pretty slut I will teach you to take my cock so deep in your throat that it feels like it is a part of you. I will train you so that you will feel like something is wrong if you don’t have a cock in your mouth.”

The girl’s features had tensed, her body drawing away from him as the arrogant prick rambled on about his toy cock sucker fantasies. Liz couldn’t blame her. Never once did the man mention pleasure for the girl, or how he would cherish the gift of her submission.

When the man’s eyes glazed over in lust at his own fantasies and he stopped talking the timid young woman gamely tried to salvage the conversation and the real-time fantasy she was trying to live.

“What would you do to punish me Sir?” There was a hopeful note in the girl’s voice. Undoubtedly she was waiting, praying, for him to describe how he would pull her firmly over his knee and paddle her ass, deny her orgasm while keeping her highly aroused or put her into tight bondage.

“Why my pretty slut, I would deny you my cock in your pretty mouth. The denial of her Master’s cock is the ultimate punishment for a slut.”

Liz watched the girl crumble, the last of her fantasy shattered. Her vision of a Dominate as a sexually powerful and knowledgeable man who would demand her obedience but treasure her in return replaced by the reality of an all too human man who only wanted to stick his dick in her mouth and thought that his prick was god’s gift to women.
Well that’s done it, Liz though, I’ve truly had enough.