Restraint (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (2 page)

Monica is the type of woman who
looks well put together in their designer blouses and pencil skirts. There is never a hair out of place on their head. But she is completely miserable and down on herself. She is aggressive and bitchy. She doesn’t know that from the moment I met her I could see through to her soul. She’s dying for approval. I’m not mean to her and I don’t kiss her ass. I try to keep a professional distance from her because she is fighting tooth and nail for my job.

“I
’m the boss. I’ll tell him. I’m sure Abernathy is a nice guy,” I hopefully say. Authors are a fickle bunch, especially when you have to inform them that you won’t publish their book without some major changes.

Kayla giggles into her hand and Monica snorts.
I don’t know what’s so amusing, and Alec joins me in mutual confusion.

“I have to be
there,” Monica excitedly says. Anticipation is thick in her voice. “Please, God, let me be there.” 

“Ms. Waters, I have a few contrac
ts you need to sign,” Kayla bashfully says. Her skin pinks deliciously and my mouth waters. My assistant spends most of her time blushing around me, and I have no idea why.

“Kayla’
s inappropriate.” Monica points at my assistant, whose blouse is losing the good fight against the strain of her breasts. Lately her clothing has been skimpier than usual. “How you ogle her is inappropriate.”

“I won’t lie.
She’s gorgeous to look at. She wants me to look, so I do. If you have a problem with that, then don’t watch me watch her.” I smugly say. “You’re just jealous that you’re not her,” I taunt. I can’t outwardly fire Monica, but I can push her to quit. She’s not a team player and she disrupts our daily lives. I try to goad her into quitting… and it’s not working. 

“
I am not,” Monica yells in frustration. “She’s fat!” Her fist pounds my table. “You’re… You’re a lesbian,” she spits out the word lesbian like it’s synonymous with the Devil, and she manages to insult everyone in the room with her shit-fit.

Alec
’s head whips back from the verbal bitch-slap. The gay man gets up from the table and leaves my office, thoroughly offended.

“First of all, I’m not a lesbian, and secondly, I’m sending your ass to HR for some sensitivity training.
You’re the one who is being inappropriate, not me! Get out of my office, do your job, and forget about my sexuality.” Her skinny ass storms from my office in a huff.

“M
s. Waters,” Kayla bashfully says. The girl blushes if I’m in the room with her, when she talks to me, and when I look at her. It’s as unnerving as it is sweet.

“Kat,” I tell her for the billionth time. She
indulgently smiles at me, but I know I’ll never get her to say my first name. Why can’t people just do as I ask? It would make life so much easier. But we can’t have that, now can we? I patiently wait for my assistant to speak, when what I want to do is exhaustedly sigh and put my head on the table.

“Don’t mind Monica. She and Mr. Abernathy date.” Date suspiciously sounds like
the word cheat, since he is a married man. Maybe Abernathy’s book sucks because he’s preoccupied with Monica.

“Huh,” I h
uff out. I want to ask why, but that would be rude.

Kayla leans over me to reach
for a pen, and lightly brushes her chest over my arms. The pillowy softness of her breasts envelopes my hand. I fly out of my chair as if she electrocuted me. I’m a hairsbreadth away from bending Kayla over my desk and seeing if her ass will turn that lovely shade of pink when I smack it. She blushes for me again, the pink creeping up her cheeks, and I know damn well it was on purpose.

“I’ve got somewhere I need to be
,” I hastily say, voice quivering with nervousness. “Tell HR about Monica, and you and Alec can take the rest of the day off.”

I breathe through the intense need that overcomes me while Kayla piles up her paperwork and leaves my office. Every day has been an uphill battle to maintain control. I need to blow off some steam before I do something I’ll regret
… or something that Kayla will undoubtedly regret.

I hurry around
my office like a mini-tornado- heart pounding in my ears, deafening me. I’m losing it. I quickly grab my purse, briefcase, and laptop, and make a break for it. I’m cutting out two hours early, which I never do. Usually, I’m the last one here at the end of the day, not leaving until it’s dark. It’s not like I have a life to run home to anyway.

In my haste to evacuate my circumstances
, I charge headlong into a solid, masculine chest. My breath is forced out of me in a ghastly sound. All of my stuff falls to the floor, forgotten before it lands. I slowly look up- up to my boss. Not the boss directly ahead of me- oh no, that wouldn’t be as embarrassing as this. Before me is the owner and president of my company, Mr. Zeitler.

A flush creeps up my face, burni
ng and prickling at my skin. I’m pale, but I do not turn that gorgeous color Kayla does as she blushes. I look ruddy. I flush harder from embarrassment. I want to kick myself in the ass. Who the hell gets embarrassed because of the color of their blush? I’m a bumbling idiot!

Dark gunmetal-gray
eyes captivate me. They hold me in check as a predator holds its prey. My breath seizes and turns to little pants. Adrenaline floods my veins, a sensation that is coveted by my kind: the thrill-seeker, the danger-eater, the edge-walker. I’ve lived through an event that changed me at a cellular level. Now, in order to feel anything but numb, I need the extreme… and this is the first time I’ve felt it since that life-altering afternoon. The sensation of feeling something… anything… leaves me breathless.

“Katya Waters
, I presume,” a deep voice whispers across my flesh. Big eyes blink and break my capture. I feel a weight on my shoulder as my bags settle into place. I hadn’t even seen him move to pick up my dropped bags. Enchanted by the sensations swirling inside me, I have to shake my head to clear my foggy mind. I’m losing time… and looking like a complete and total dolt.

“Thank you, Sir,” I
shyly whisper to Mr. Zeitler. A dimple appears in his cheek and a sly smile spreads across his full lips. Tall and handsome, with shortly cropped white-blond hair, my boss is delectable. His masculine jawline and Roman nose entice me.  

“Anytime,
” he murmurs in invitation. “You need to get your frustrations out before you explode. Are you going to take care of that? Or do I need to help you out?” He tilts his head to the side examining me. He salaciously grins and it knocks me stupid.

I blink repeatedly and shake my head to and fro trying to grasp what he means
by helping me out. I hear a masculine chuckle and glance up to see Zeitler’s back moving away from me as he strides down the hall.

I stand for a
while trying to get my mind to function properly. I’ve only seen Zeitler from afar, never had I engaged him until today. No one has ever held me in check as he did. I have looked far and wide for a man to ignite me. A shudder rolls through my entire body as I think of the possibilities.

He’s stronger tha
n me. Sweet Jesus, I want him. Disappointment courses through my veins as I think about how wrong that statement is. One: he is my boss. Two: he most likely isn’t in the lifestyle. Three: if he is in the scene, he’d want someone pliant and pretty. Four: I heard through the office grapevine that he is engaged.

Katya, be a good
, logical girl and go take care of business…

Chapter Two

In anticipation of moving to a strange, large city for my new job, I looked up places of interest. No, I’m not attracted to the touristy places that everyone visits when on vacation. I’ve been there numerous times with my family when we did daytrips. I want unique places that fascinate me, that aren’t the norm. Off the beaten path and away from the mainstream is what I crave. Being a researcher, I created a binder full of restaurants, used bookstores, thrift shops, parks… and one particular type of club that trills in my blood.

I was the
most excited about the club. I’m a complete novice when it comes to this scene, but it’s always intrigued me. I’m from a very rural area where the only attractions are in nature: lakes, trails, hiking, camping, and fishing. If you want some excitement, you have to travel far and wide. In order to enjoy the kind of club I needed, I would’ve had to go over a hundred miles. I have as many friends back home as I do here, zilch. It wasn’t safe to go that far all by myself. My past has taught me all about the perils of being a lone woman in a dangerous place.

I no longer want to be the hunted… I hunger to be the hunter.

I wanted to go immediately when I hit the city. Instead I got settled into my apartment, my work, and the rhythm of my life. It’s been just over a month and the need is choking me, restricting my thoughts. I can’t keep on a mental path without it infringing upon my thoughts and it’s interfering with my everyday life. This craving has overpowered my survival instincts. I said I wouldn’t go anywhere without a friend, but the need is too strong. Like a drug, it lures me in.

I’ve done a lot of research on this topic. I excel at research, especially for my job. I was shocked to
find a hundred plus clubs in my area. The one that meets all my needs is conveniently four blocks from my building. It’s so close that I’ve suffered through its siren call for the past month. It’s too close, I can feel the throb calling me- summoning me towards its hedonistic delights.

A block fro
m my destination, the line of clubbers looms ahead. Insecurity slams into my gut. A block of people patiently waiting for entrance, why am I arrogant enough to think I should enter out of all them? I’m not any more special than the next person. I may not even get into the club tonight. What if when I get up to the door I’m turned away? I smother my self-doubt and shield myself with confidence. I might be a stew of insecurity, but no one else needs to know that. If you project confidence, those around you usually believe it. I think positively.

Kat, you’re getting into that club tonight! You need it! You’ve earned it by blood and by violence and by survival.

I scan the crowd that flows like a cliché. The majority of the clubbers are dressed in Goth fetish-wear. Black studded leather from head to toe. Their hair is oddly cut and colored and their bodies are adorned with collars and cuffs. Tattoos, piercings, and sneers, they desire to look criminal. 

I can
easily pick out the tourists from the enthusiasts. The tourists gaze out of large, glassy eyes as they take everything in for the first or tenth time. Their clothing runs the gamut from Mary Sue to Manson- Marilyn, not Chuck.

The tourist
s are easy to distinguish because they remind me of children playing dress-up in their momma’s clothes. There is no aura of power or submission radiating off them, but there is plenty of excitement.

It is an intoxicating mix- the jaded innocence mixed with exhilaration
and anticipation.

The thrum of the club calls me, filling me with the same excitement that every single person in the line is experiencing. Danger. Fear. Lust. Power. Hunger. It flows in the air, luring you into its lair. The beckoning is so tangible that I expect to be able to taste it on back my tongue. Bitter and sweet, and it tastes like power and sex. Greedily, I swallow.

The enthusiasts all wear similar bored expression, as if they don’t
need
to be here intermingled with the poseurs. Unlike the wannabes, the Dominants wear understated clothing. The submissives stand calmly by their Dominants’ side knowing they are safe and secure.

I don’t
dress like the tourists. I have never been here before, or any club for that matter. But a poseur, I am not. The cliché would demand that I wear leather and a scary facial expression. And unlike the tourists, I do exhibit an aura of power. A power wrought and honed from the miseries of my past. I could wear a feed sack and people would stumble from my path, not from disgust, but power. No black leather pants, crimson bustier with my tits overflowing, or black Elvira hair for me. This kink is about trust, and I come as myself.

Charcoal-
gray tailored pants encase my curvy legs, a turquoise bra flashes color beneath my snug fitting, black vest. And yes, the vest creates ample overflow of my assets. An auburn curly mass is piled high on my head, revealing the curve of my neck and beneath the nape is a tattoo of the word
Chrysalis.
A set of caps are clicked into place on my teeth creating dainty fangs. The only hint that if you get too close, I may bite.

As I wait in line
, I concentrate on the other occupants as they fidget and their eyes dart around with anxiety. I am surprisingly calm- on the outside. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I know I have a right to be here, that I earned my right. I calmly wait on the outside, while an inner-conflict rages inside my mind. I refuse to be suffocated by my fears. I take a deep breath and center myself.

A
male in a business suit calmly waits. He is at odds with the rest of the line. I smile faintly at him. We are comrades, holding the deep-seated knowledge of self-recognition among all those here that still don’t know their path in life. I’ve had a lot of years to find my way.