Love and History

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Electronic Release: January 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Even when you wanted men to dominate you, they ruined everything!

Bridget Stanger slammed her apartment door and locked it behind her. Chain, deadbolt and doorknob were all secure. After three weeks of chatting online with a potential boyfriend who was a Dom, she’d caught him in a lie on their first time out.

Every time! She stalked to her bedroom and kicked off her pumps. Shrugging out of the casual green dress that showed her form but not too much for the dinner date, she cursed him under her breath. He was just another one who’d thought he could work her up to what he wanted.

The dungeons are only social, right! She wasn’t a virgin or new sub. At thirty-two, she knew what she wanted and had been very clear about her limits before they’d met. No reason to waste their time.

Some men were players, even in the BDSM community. Unfortunately, in the small New England college town where she taught, there wasn’t a huge pool of Doms from which to choose.

She carefully removed her nice lingerie and thigh-high stockings and put them away. Her fury wouldn’t cause her to snag the stuff she loved wearing!

Tugging on a terrycloth robe against the winter chill, she headed to her small desk nestled in her living room. Opening her laptop, she used an email address no one would match up with her and created a blog.

“I’m done! No more wasting time,” she said aloud to no one. Up for tenure this year, she had a paper to finish up for publication. The right Dom would encourage her and help her, but the wrong ones only infuriated her. Maybe there wasn’t someone for her. Maybe all the good ones were taken, and new Doms believed they could make the sub do anything. Amateurs!

Her fingers flew across the keys. It wasn’t the great English Literature she taught, but damn it, she was right. The title spoke for itself, but she reread every word. There was nothing worse than an English teacher with typos or bad grammar. Even though no one would ever know this blog came from her she wanted it to be insightful.

Masters Wanted!

Open post from an experienced submissive to the Doms of New England!

Are there no bedroom Doms left in the world? I don’t want the extremes. I don’t need to belong to a club. All I need is one man who has the patience, intelligence and creativity to make me his. Perhaps this is a single girl rant, but having found my niche sexually, it should be easier to link up with sexual Doms.

However, all I seem to get are those who want to test or exceed my hard limits. I don’t play or give in on those things. I safe word out and break off things immediately. There is no second chance with me. Only one Dom has ever caused me a small physical injury. I’m not a doormat. Maybe I’m just a bitchy sub? It no longer matters because I’m now mourning the life I envisioned as part of a Dom/sub couple. Equal in every way except sexually. My partner may not exist.

So I will share my thoughts here for those who might be interested. Some subs may benefit from my experience. The publicity of our subculture, thanks to books and internet sharing and other online outlets, could be a good thing. Finding others discreetly or finding a place to meet others in safety is a huge benefit for a newbie. That doesn’t mean one needs to belong to a dungeon or have orgy parties in their basement to be in the lifestyle. There are subs, like myself, who don’t want to be shared, paraded or caged. It’s perfectly acceptable and no more or less gratifying to be private about your Dom/sub play.

For the Masters, that title is an honor. A privilege earned by those who understand the experience and have the skills to lead the play properly. The limits are not yours to make, but yours to respect. Pushing a sub doesn’t mean breaking her hard lines under the lie of a lesson or punishment. That is a brutal break of trust! Please do not represent yourself as okay with certain limits and then demand to cross them. It makes us all look like sex crazed maniacs.

A true Master doesn’t need an audience or even a single prop to drive his sub to beg for more. He needs only words and will. Of course, I’m not speaking to the 24/7 lifers who take things to their own level. I can’t even comprehend that. Nor am I referring to the plenty of men who’d love to order women around generally. That isn’t being a sexual Dom. But maybe those men have invaded our ranks as society becomes more equal elsewhere?

Bedroom Doms, please don’t feel the need to show off in a dungeon or attempt any extreme play without a genuine desire on both sides. There are plenty of eager subs who want the intimacy of private play as much as you do!

The post wasn’t laid out as clearly as the thoughts in her head, but it made her point. She posted it then sent the link to her BDSM fetish group online. The support and friendships were wonderful, but she didn’t need to attend a house party or visit a club on kink night. She’d met people through the group and knew others shared her frustration!

Hopefully, her message would help her friends and fellow subs in the group understand their worth. The new ones especially were ready to do
anything
. She understood the feeling, wanting to please and give in. The hope of that deep connection and stunning release never went away. Unfortunately, she’d been around the block too many times to believe the romantic fantasy would fall into her lap just because she got on her knees.

Changing her focus, she checked her work email. There was no way to make her perfect Master appear in her life, but she could earn tenure and have job security. A PhD didn’t mean as much these days. She needed to publish another paper in the proper place and secure tenure. While she was popular with students and faculty, colleges were downsizing, as well. Her online skills helped there. She’d been the first in her department to suggest and volunteer for online classes. Some of the old dogs didn’t want to learn, but they already had tenure.

Her closest friend in the Literature Department, Colleen Sheppard, was quietly promoting Bridget’s name for tenure and helping her. As much as Bridget wanted to call Colleen and rant about the date, Bridget kept her kink off campus and it’d be hard to explain exactly what had been wrong with a veterinarian who made good money and looked great.

Minimizing the blog, she opened her latest paper.
Much Ado About People
was a critical piece on how Shakespeare’s
Much Ado About Nothing
proved that perception and influence were powerful things. Bringing it forward to today, with instant information and rumors that could be pushed so hard they seemed true, no wonder people’s reputations meant nothing anymore. Anyone’s dirty laundry could be on display if someone dug for it. Celebrities were fodder for entertainment, much like public hangings once had been. Her piece pulled on her private life and felt highly personal even if it academically paralleled modern day to Shakespeare’s time. She loved her work and it was something she could control and succeed at all on her own.

Her career had to come first! Not that she’d ever give up working, even if the right Dom came into her life. She loved her career, the small college town and the routine she’d found. Since things hadn’t fallen into place romantically despite her best efforts, she needed to lock in the career that she loved.

One more round of editing on the paper, and she’d try to sleep. She had too much pent-up energy to relax now.

* * * *

Scott Kasten sat in his office in the history department and logged off his forum for the
Modern Wars of Europe
class. Online classes were a younger man’s game. At thirty-five, Scott didn’t mind virtual teaching at all, but he’d insisted on keeping some in-person education time. He didn’t want to be rusty in the classroom even if European History wouldn’t change.

A knock on his door made Scott sit back. Nelson Cannon from the Information and Tech department stood in the doorway. The lanky guy kept to himself and was one of the few people here Scott considered a friend. They shared some preferences Scott discussed with almost no one else. Still, Nelson rarely made it up to Scott’s office.

“G. Scott Kasten, PhD. What does the G stand for?” Nelson asked.

In the ten years Scott had worked there, five of which Nelson had been there as well, no one had asked that. Scott had taken enough crap as a child for his odd first name that the family had changed to using his middle name. “Gideon after my great grandfather.”

“Almost fits you better. Scott sounds more casual.” Nelson entered and closed the door behind him.

“Do you want something specific?” Scott and Nelson normally chatted over lunch or at the university gym. Scott knew if Nelson had made the effort to stop by it meant something was up.

“I want to help you. Did you see the new blog link go up in the local BSDM fetish group?” Nelson held out his Smartphone with the page pulled up.

Unlike some, Scott didn’t live on the BSDM fetish links. He knew what he was and what he wanted, but people rarely got what they wanted in life. Deserved or not. As he read the post, the passion of it caught him off guard, and he took in every word with sympathy for the woman. She knew her mind. Weak-willed subs had always bored Scott.

“So? You’re going after her?” Scott handed back the phone.

“Nope, she’s got almost a hundred local responses though. Some other subs in the same situation. Doms offering their assistance.” Nelson sat in the guest chair.

“You’ll beat them all out.” Scott had no doubt of Nelson’s skills. The man had been courted as a counterintelligence hacker by the government. If he could’ve passed the background check, he’d have had a cool career. But most everyone had a past.

“Not me. I tracked the blog and IP address.” Nelson grinned.

“And found her online. She’s ugly? Eighty? Married? The online world is wonderful for academics and information, if you check your facts. For dating, sorry but there is no substitute for meeting someone.” Scott ignored the draw he felt to the writer. He’d been alone too long. Over spring break, he’d line up a casual encounter and clear his head. Such things never worked for long, but he didn’t need the complications of a relationship.

“I agree. We have met her. She’s not ugly or eighty.” Nelson shrugged. “She’s hot, single and here.”

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