Archive for January 31, 2014

The plan

“Kidnap me,” she said, with a little laugh.

He looked surprised, unbelieving.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard me,” she said. “Kidnap me. I want you to. I dare you to.”

“You’re insane,” he laughed, lifting his beer and rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m not,” she said coolly, lifting her glass. “Send me out for an errand. Have me pick up your dry cleaning or run to the store for milk. Whatever,” she crossed her legs in his direction, pressing her knee against the edge of the bar.

He smirked, then drank more beer.

She continued, “I don’t want to know when it’s coming, so you’ll have to send me out on lots of errands before you make your move.”

“Great,” he laughed. “You’ll be picking up all of my dry cleaning for a while. Works for me.”

“Jerk,” she said with a thin smile. “Now, you don’t get off that easy. You have to do your part. Eventually.”

“Yeah?” he asked, gulping more beer.

“Yeah,” she shifted in her seat, leaning in a little closer. “See, I want you to snatch me. Cover my face, pretend to have a gun. Be creative,” she laughed wryly. “Push me into an alley or into a car, whatever.” She sipped her drink. “I want you to scare me.”

He widened his eyes.

“What you do after that is up to you,” she said with a smile. “You can rip my clothes off. You can be as rough or gentle as you want. You can bite me, lick my pussy, whatever. Fuck me. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you scaring me. I want to be scared. Got it?” she laughed and emptied her glass.

He wiped his forehead, looking scared, then signaled the barkeeper for another round.

The class

Have I ever told you what a good student I am? I love to be taught. Why should sex be any different? Our marriage counselor mentioned a few places, so I looked into them. One place holds workshops. What do you do at a sex workshop? I decided to find out. I signed up for Overdue: An Intro to Submission.

I went by myself the first time because, well, like anything sexy I needed to see it for myself first. I literally had no idea what to expect. I wore black – black jeans, a tank, bra, and panties. Nothing but black, because what the hell do you wear to a sex workshop? It’s winter, so I wore a sweater over top. It was drapey and black. Black boots.

Just in case, I brought a notebook and pen. The class description hadn’t mentioned to bring anything, but I did anyway. I took the train. It was a mid-afternoon class and it was still light outside when I arrived. The workshops are held in a loft on the top floor of a three-story walk-up. Dirty photos lined the stairs. At the top, I found the instructor, good-looking, medium height, ripped, energetic. All right.

“Hi there,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” I answered but didn’t smile.

“Here for the workshop?” he asked as if he was just curious. He was soft spoken and seemed friendly. Not exactly what I expected.

“Yeah,” I said, looking directly at him. He was cool.

“Grab a seat. There’s coffee and water in the lounge down the hall.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I walked down the hall to the loft, which was set up theater-style. At the front of the room was a large old-fashioned desk and behind it hung a chalkboard, an actual chalkboard probably circa 1975. Armchairs and wooden dining chairs were arranged in rows facing the desk. A few people had already taken their seats – two girls, both pretty, both long-haired, one blond and one brunette. One punk-looking guy in a knit hat and biker jacket sat in an armchair messing with his phone. A couple sat near the back. They looked older, maybe in their 50s. Nobody was drinking coffee.

“Hi,” I said to no one in particular. I took off my coat and sank down into an armchair near the punk, the most interesting of the classmates. I pulled out my notebook and tossed my bag aside.

After a few minutes, the instructor came into the room. “I guess this is it today,” he said cheerfully. He walked to the front. “I’m Bob,” he said.

Yes, I thought. Just right. Not Robert, Bob. I wrote it down in my notebook at the top of the first page.

“Let’s introduce ourselves, and if you’d like to, you can say why you are here today,” he said with a little smile.

He sounded very professional and I wondered for a quick second if I was in the right place.

The punk guy went first. “I’m Javier,” he said. “I’m a writer and I’m researching for a novel I’m working on,” he said.

“Mmhmm…” Bob responded. He sat on the desk, leaning forward attentively, legs spread, hands pressing down on the desk. It was an inviting yet slightly intimidating pose.

I went next. “I’m Jenna,” I said. “I’m trying something new,” I said, trying to sound interesting.

The rest of the group introduced themselves—the girls were there together, for work, presumably as escorts or something. The couple was there to spice things up, they said. Then Bob ran his hands over his thighs. “Let’s get started,” he said with a little grin. “First of all, you all should get comfy. You can wear anything you like for this class, as long as it makes you feel sexy. Go ahead and change if you want to.” He managed to sound only faintly like a perverted doctor about to give an exam.

I looked around the room, wondering what to expect. The older couple asked where they could change. The punk removed his hat to reveal spiky-messy hair and impressively stretched earlobes. He took off his jacket and revealed a tight black t-shirt with tattoos escaping from underneath.

I stood up to take off my sweater and turned to face the pretty girls. They were each stripped down to just bras and panties, so I took a chance and took off my boots and jeans. I sat back down and scribbled some notes about what everyone was wearing. The couple returned, clad in leather – a bodysuit for her, chaps for him. They looked self-conscious but happy.

Bob wore tight jeans, boots, and a white t-shirt with a hamburger-shaped planet on the front. While we changed, he hopped down from the desk and moved to the chalkboard. “Say yes,” he wrote in large letters in the center. I copied it into my notebook.

He turned and surveyed the room. “I’m no dom,” he smiled. “Not really. I’m just a behaviorist.” I jotted that down in my notebook.

“But there’s really only one simple rule for being a good submissive,” he said and stuck his thumb over his shoulder toward the words on the board. “And this is it.”

Everybody laughed.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But it’s true. You can learn so much about yourself just by saying yes.” I wrote that down.

“Okay, let’s play a game,” he said. “Craig and Sue. You guys look ready for anything. Come up front please.” Bob opened a drawer in the desk and removed a rope, a blindfold, and a gag. “Which of the two of you is feeling submissive today?” he asked them. Sue raised her hand and gave a little wave. “Okay, Craig, get to work then,” Bob handed him the supplies. “I have a book on knots if you need it.”

Craig and Sue nodded and stepped to the side. Craig whispered something to Sue and she nodded, then he began by blindfolding her and putting the gag into her mouth. He began wrapping the rope into an elaborate pattern, constraining her breasts and wrists. Finally, Craig whispered to Sue again and she dropped to her knees. I took notes. The pretty girls whispered and giggled behind me and Javier watched, seemingly unimpressed.

“Ladies, come up front, please,” Bob said evenly, beckoning to the pretty girls. They giggled and walked to the front modeling their underwear for the class. Javier shifted in his seat as they passed him, one on each side.

When the girls got to the front, Bob took the brunette by the hand and lead her to one side of the desk. “Kneel, please,” he directed. “Face the audience,” he said. She did. Bob repeated the positioning with the blonde girl, just to the side of the brunette. The girls looked at each other and laughed. Bob knelt down in front of them and whispered something. The girls nodded and giggled. I took notes.

“Javier, sir, come up here,” Bob waved to the punk. Bob whispered into his ear. Javier smirked and nodded, then moved toward the kneeling girls. He faced them and undid his jeans.

“Okay, Jenna, your turn,” Bob smiled at me. I came up to the front. “Um, do you like standing on furniture?” he asked.

I looked past him at the note on the chalkboard. “Yes,” I said decisively.

“Great! Take off your tank top please.” Bob was a combination of friendly and dead serious. I wavered for a moment, then took off my tank top and tossed it in the direction of my seat.

He nodded in approval. “Now stand on top of the desk,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, unsure. I climbed up and looked around the room. Craig was standing in front of Sue, rubbing his hard cock on her gagged and blindfolded face. My eyes widened. The pretty girls were kneeling before Javier, licking and sucking his cock at the same time, still giggling.

“Rub your pussy, please,” Bob said to me. I looked nervously around the room, and then I slipped my hand into my panties.

Bob moved to the front row and picked up my pen. He scribbled something in my notebook, then put the pen down and moved to the second row. He climbed up on a wingback chair, sat on the top with his feet on the seat, and undid his pants. He observed the room for a few minutes, and then started rubbing his cock, hard and fast.

After he came, he climbed down from the chair and zipped his pants. “Thanks, guys, he said,” although none of us was really listening. He left.

Later, when I collected my things, I noticed that he had left me a note. “Good girl,” it said in my notebook.


This is fiction, people. Total, complete, utter fiction. If you know me, then you know that I would never stand on a desk.


Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


The first time I saw it, my eye caught the red glow at its base then rose with the clean straight lines of its gray walls. You saw it too.

“Want to go in?”

“Kind of,” I said.


Thirty-three words beginning with “the first time I…” By the way, I like how the first time implies that there will be a second time.