Copyright (c) Lila Dubois 2007. This is unedited, and I am an infamously bad self editor, so read at your own risk.
About this story: I am writing this story for an anthology with the lovely and talented Roxy Harte. This is a story about a fetish-loving girl who is looking for love in all the wrong places and has the worst blind-date luck in the world. ***
This guy was Quasimodo ugly.
I would never again respond to a personal ad that didn’t include a description.
Less than attractive physical appearance I can actually over-look, after all, we don’t choose what we look like. But if you’re ugly and can’t dress or groom yourself, and are a total JERK, we have a problem.
“You’re not eating, girl.”
“As I told you when you ordered for me, I’m celiac, I can’t eat pasta.”
“Well, it won’t hurt you to skip a meal.”
I sucked in my belly on instinct. I wasn’t fat! Size 10 is perfectly respectable.
I bit my tongue and mutilated a ravioli, taking vicious satisfaction when it’s green guts came squishing out. What I wanted to do was stab his thin twitchy little hand with my fork.
“Good, I see you have self control, and know when to stay shut up.”
Okay, that’s it. I’m going to stab him.
My fingers curled around the handle of my fork in a fist, when his hand dropped beneath the table, grabbing my right knee and jerking it wide.
I gasped and looked up at him.He had bright blue eyes, pretty really.“Keep your other knees spread,” his voice, normally a little nasal for my tastes, dropped to a murmur.
I shuddered and kept my legs wide. Quick as a flash I’d gone from wanting to maim this guy to being totally turned on by the simplest of orders.
I’m such a mess…
“Stay like that.”
My voice dropped to match his, my breath evening out.
“Good, now, we will go over a few of your duties if I were to take you on as my slave.”
My arousal level dropped abruptly at the word ‘slave.’ I don’t think ‘slave’ is what I wanted, I wanted to be a ‘sub’ someone who willingly gave up control, and that control was treasured by the one I gave it too. I wanted a relationship, not to be treated like a ‘thing.’
“First, I will put you in cooking classes, and you will learn to cook only things I will like. Second you will clean.”
My knees snapped together faster than a preacher’s daughter in
“I’m sorry, I’m just not interested in being domestic staff.”
“You’ll be interested in what I tell you to be interested in.”
He grabbed my chin, hard enough to bruise.
“Watch your, tone, girl, and address me as Sir.”
“No, I won’t.”I
jerked my chin out of his hand and rose from the table, wending my way through the other diners and out the door. A breath I didn’t know I was holding wooshed from my lungs as I stepped onto the side walk.
I curled my hands into fists and marched off down the street. I was working on being mad instead of scared or depressed. That guy was a jerk, that was the problem. The problem wasn’t me and my freakish desires. A little BDSM never hurt anyone right? Okay that was stupid it probably hurts a lot of people, but in a good way!
Maybe I should go back to vanilla blind dates, at least those were less scary. Usually boring, but less scary. There was that guy who’d given me his number at a bar last weekend. I didn’t really remember him, but he’d been very polite when he gave me his number.
Trying to be decisive, and yes it’s decisive not impulsive and irrational as some of my less charitable friends have said, I whipped out my phone and dashed off a text message inviting the guy (saved as Random Guy 5-14) out for drinks tomorrow night.
Smiling in satisfaction I snapped my phone closed and started walking. The hand that grabbed my arm threw me off balance. My jerk-off date spun me against the wall.
“I see what you’re doing, you’re challenging me.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“You want me to prove that I have what it takes to master you.”
“That is definitely not it.”
I was pressed back against a scummy wall, my cute dress was probably getting all gross, and his weird spidery fingers felt like mummy bones on my arms.
He stepped wide, pressing my legs together with his.
“I like your defiance; you will look good in my chains.”
Sad little perv that I am I actually paused, momentarily swept away on a wave of arousal at his words.
No, focus, get away from the bad man.
He must really be used to submissive girls who wouldn’t stand up for themselves, otherwise he would have known not to stand like that.
I left him writing on the ground, holding his nuts.As I walked towards my apartment, depression settled over me once more, the euphoria from having kneed that guys in the balls not even lasting a full block.
What was wrong with me that I only attracted freaks?
Stay tuned for Part Three next week, and check in with my dueling partner ROXY HARTE for her story.