If it costs me a few million a year to keep her off my case, so be it. I can afford it. The real damage is a hell of a lot less tangible.
My play room has been closed ever since. I hid the key in the false bottom of a potted plant in my bedroom and left it in my past. All of it. I’ve been with women since, but I can’t take them the way I crave. Sex has become nothing but a release for me. The pleasure just isn’t there anymore. Lately though? My old desires have emerged stronger than ever. My body pulses with a desperate, pounding need to dominate. It might be the lack of fulfillment I’ve been getting from work lately. It might just be that it has been too long. I don’t claim to know why, but I do know it’s time. I’m ready to move on.
I need to find the perfect submissive. I want to bend her to my will, to shape her, train her, and make her follow my every command.
I thought that part of me was buried in the past. Maybe not. I feel a wild flush of excitement cut through the black mood I’ve been in. I could go to Club Crave. I’m still a member. It would be simple to cancel my evening plans for tomorrow. My dick hardens just thinking about it, but I’m not sure I could actually immerse myself in a dominant and submissive relationship again. Lana may have spoiled that for me, but I won’t know unless I try. Fuck it. Why not?
20
Emmaline
I blow a loose lock of hair out of my face only to have it fall right back where it was in the first place. I sigh, feeling exhausted, but a little hopeful. The room is filled with boxes of baby onesies, headbands, little baby sized socks with decorative frills. My business started out with an Etsy account and a Cameo machine and grew to this in a few months. At first it felt like my dream was finally coming true. To keep up with the orders I had to bring my friend Scarlett on as an employee.
My head feels like it is going to spin right off my neck when I start to think about taxes, health care, business insurance, and the tangle of other complications that come with this step for my company.
I do what I always do when I start to get stressed about money though. I remember the trust fund my uncle Adam left for me. When I turn twenty-six tomorrow, it’s all mine. A hundred grand. It will be enough to cover the loans I had to take out to rent this office space, the debt I’ve already taken on from trying to finish my design classes, and all of my other bills. It will give me a fresh start, and the thought makes me giddy. It’s all going to work out, Emmaline.
Scarlett is looking down at her phone as she crosses the room and accidentally trips over a box of onsies.
She teeters to the side, stretches her arms out like a tightrope walker, and does a elegant little spin to catch her balance, all without even dropping her phone. She bows theatrically toward me with a big, cocky smirk. Scarlett has been a dancer her whole life, and she’s the clumsiest graceful person I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think the only reason she’s so good at avoiding faceplanting all the time is she has so much practice at nearly doing it.
“Smooth,” I say, grinning.
“Woah,” she says, nudging a box with her toe. “When did you finish heat transfering the vinyl onto all these?”
“Last night,” I say.
She plants a fist on her hip, eyeing me. Scarlett has the red hair to match her name. I’m always jealous of how she can make something as simple as the grungy t-shirt and jeans she’s wearing look sexy. She’s not even wearing shoes and she still looks like she just walked off a fashion shoot. “Last night? As in after you told me you were headed home because you had already spent all day working?”
“You could say that.”
“We really need to find you a boyfriend. I think you could use a good, hard, fuck.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Scarlett has always been crude, but gosh. I’m still a little shocked by how sexually open she is. We’ve never really dived into the details, but I’ve gathered that she’s into some kind of kinky sexual stuff. My own experience with sex, outside the missionary position, is limited to when George Farmand’s finger brushed my asshole during sex one time. And I slapped his hand away like it was a snake.
Yeah, I’m a real wild one.
Another boyfriend though? I don’t think I could handle that right now. As much as I crave a relationship, I know it always leads to sex, and sex is… difficult for me. I’ve never been with a guy that could get me off. I don’t know why and it’s frustrating as hell, but it’s always the same. A few nice dates lead to unfulfilling sex. After the fruitless attempts, the disconnect between us grows and it just ends. Every time.
Just thinking about it depresses me. It’s like there’s something in me that’s supposed to work and it’s broken. For the longest time I just thought I needed to find the right guy, but I’m starting to think there’s no such thing.
“No thanks,” I say quietly.
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I know what we can do. My friend works for this super rich guy and they throw the most insane Valentine’s Day party every year for the employees. She said she could get me in, but I’m sure I could bring you too. Come on. It’ll be like a celebration for your trust fund money!”
“I don’t know… It sounds a lot like we’d be crashing the party.”
“And?” asks Scarlett, genuinely looking like she’s waiting for me to explain the problem with that.
I bite my lip. It does sound nice. I have been consumed with my business and one look in the mirror at my frazzled hair and the circles under my eyes can attest to how little time I’ve spent taking care of myself. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Scarlett claps her hands together and smiles wide. “You’re going to love it. I went last year. Just wait ‘til you see the host, Mr. Steel. He’s fucking gorgeous.”
“Mr. Steel?” I ask, feeling a tingle run across my skin.
Scarlett quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see. Anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to head out for the night.”
“Sure,” I say. “Can you be in a little early tomorrow? I was hoping to get at least half of these orders delivered.”
Her eyes scan the room littered with boxes and boxes of clothes. She looks at me skeptically, but nods. “Bright and early. You got it, boss.”
I laugh. “Would you please stop calling me that?”
“Nope,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she gracefully hops over a box only to jam her toe into a table leg nearly toppling onto her face. As usual, she manages to spin out of a near fall and get her balance. She gives me a thumbs up over her shoulder as she leaves.
I find a chair that’s not already occupied by clothes and plop down, checking my phone. I know what I’ll see but I look anyway. A text from my mom.
Mom (5:21 P.M.): me and ronnie were looking at cruises. bahamas would be nice. havnt heard from u. dont be selfish, emm. its a lot of money ur uncle would have wanted u to share.
I start to tap a reply out.
“Sorry, Mom. Right now isn’t good. I have debt and business expenses, but in a few weeks, maybe a month--”
I press and hold the delete button, setting the phone down roughly on the table beside me. Tears threaten to come, but I push them down. I won’t cry over her. Not anymore. She makes me feel like such a shitty daughter, but Uncle Adam left her just as much money as he left me when he passed away. The only difference is that she didn’t have to wait for hers. She blew it before the year was even over. Expensive dinners, clothes, jewelry, travel, and infomercial purchases. And not a dime of it went toward helping me with my college debt or living expenses.