Birthday Present

“You did what?” There’s a hint of hysteria lingering in the heightened octaves of my voice as I squeak out the question, choking on soda in my rush to get the words out. The fizzing drink bubbles behind my nose like stinging static as the rest of the frothy mess not currently clogging my lungs dribbles out of the corners of my mouth. Heat is steadily scratching up my neck and nipping at the tips of my ears, a glaring flush that obnoxiously telegraphs my embarrassment. It seems to draw eyes like a neon sign flashing advertisements for my despair, though, in truth, it’s probably near impossible to see me tucked up in the far corner of a booth. The tall potted plant that stands adjacent to where I’ve wedged myself as far from prying eyes as possible acts as a green curtain to shield me from the curious eyes that have surely been drawn by my outburst. I take in a deep breath that rattles in my lungs singed by flavored seltzer before opening my watering eyes to regard Camilla. She’s still sitting beneath her crown of corkscrew curls with that same self-satisfied smirk on her bright red lips. Next to her, Mimi is a bit more sympathetic to my plight. She passes me a napkin to clean my face and I try not to cringe at the thin layer of foundation that comes away on the crinkled paper.

“You did what?” I ask again, more mindful of my volume this time.

“Oh, don’t look like that, Elana. You’re the one that told us you wanted to try out being a sub. We have simply fulfilled your wish.”

“Keep your voice down.” I groan, sinking further into the corner, desperately wishing the wall’s wooden planks would open up and swallow me whole. A gift card or book would have sufficed as a present; I’m not a very high maintenance person when it comes to these things. But no, these two had decided to dust off that tidbit of information I’d leaked during a drunken tirade months ago. While my throat was burning and my mind clouded from straight shots I’d drunkenly confessed that I’d been having this recurring dream of being completely dominated by some lady in leather and a masquerade mask or whatever it is dominatrixes wear. It was meant to be nothing more than a loose lipped remark following Mimi’s story about having dreams of her husband railing her in front of her boss. Two dumb fantasies and nothing more. So why had they collectively decided to invest–because I’ve heard the rates for hiring a dominatrix even just for a night were steep–in fulfilling it for me?

Neither Camilla nor Mimi seem to share in my fear. Understandable for Camilla who was the designated advice giver when it comes to sex. She has more notches in her bedpost that she can remember and has dipped her toes into enough kinks that this is hardly something to bat her eye at. And Mimi is the self-proclaimed dom in her marriage. Making her dream about her husband railing her more comical than sexually fulfilling. I, on the other hand, have had very little experience when it comes to sex. A few messy tryst late in high school; a couple hookup throughout college; and the only real relationship I’d ever been in that resulted in an amicable breakup. I can count the number of people I’ve slept with on my hands and how many of them actually gave me good orgasms on one. And in none of those friends-with-benefits situations or that one actual relationship did anything stray outside the lines of strictly vanilla sex. Camilla had reasoned that that was the reason for my dreams; a tiny, unfulfilled part of me that longed for something out of the ordinary. But still! Dreams don’t equate to being prepared to take on a professional dominatrix in real life. Seriously, out of the hairbrained schemes I’ve been dragged into by the two of them this has to be the most anxiety inducing one yet.

“Thank us later.” Mimi hums over her martini glass. I pout like a toddler being told they can’t have ice cream before dinner and stab a piece of meat with a bit too much vigor. It tastes fine but I’m sure my expression conveys nothing but distaste. The more I mull over it the more anxious I get. Unconsciously, my hand slowly rises to my face, fingers resting against my lower lip, before they part and begin tapping at my teeth. The sharp click, click, clicking makes Camilla look up from her phone with a frown.

“Hey, brace face, cool it with the clicking.”

“Huh?” I ask dumbly, nails still scratching at my lower teeth.

“You’re doing your tapping thing again.” Mimi confirms. I pull my hand away from my mouth, shoveling more food in to compensate for the switch. Mimi catches me just as I click the fork against my teeth and rolls her eyes. I set down the silverware and clasps my hands in front of me to keep them still.

“Okay, I can see that you’re clearly worked up about this.” Camilla says. Yes, clearly. My braces were taken off years ago but when I had them I managed to develop a nervous tick of tapping on the wires and brackets when my anxiety spiked particularly high. Something about the monotonous sound of nails of metal echoing inside my skull was akin to white noise and worked as a sort of self-soothing. Now I usually tap my nails against a table or something, but the prickling feeling snaking up the nape of my neck was so visceral that it seemed to revert me back to my prudish teenaged self for a moment. Mimi reaches across the table to rub her thumb over my clasped hands.

“Don’t worry,” she hums even though that’s clearly all I’m doing at the moment, “she won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Hell, she’s getting paid! I’m sure if you said you just wanted to hold her hand for an hour she’d indulge you. You’ll have a safe word and you can withdraw consent whenever you want. We picked her because she has the best reviews of anyone in the city.” The “her” in question being one Blake DiMartino.

She’s well known as the pornstar that was born and raised in the cookie cutter suburbia that we all grew up in. Camilla, being the oldest of the three of us, had even gone to high school with her before she graduated. Though she’d been a freshman and sophomore while Blake was a junior and senior. Still she’d met her and apparently her reputation had preceded her even in high school.

“This was my dream when I was a cheerleader with her, you’re lucky to be living it.” She says, elbow deep in her purse as she roots around for something. When she finds it–an unmarked Manila folder–she hands it to me.

“You could live it yourself,” I squeak, accepting the folder with uncertain hands.

Camilla snorts. “It’s not gonna bite you.”

I roll my eyes to hide my hesitation before opening the folder. Inside are papers that give a basic rundown of all the services Blake offers; the kinks she’s most well-versed in, what equipment she has readily available at her studio, links to her profiles on various porn sites, and her rates.

“Printed that off my work computer before I left earlier. I used incognito mode but I doubt that will do much to cover my footprints, so be grateful.” That would explain the folder. And I am grateful to have a more in-depth description of what’s to come. The last page of the thin stack is a very professional consent form which is likely just for my benefit as one line is already signed by Blake DiMartino which Camilla previously explained was not her real name. It must just be a formality but Camilla hands you a pen anyway, manicured finger pointed to a dotted line in the block of text.

“Write your safeword here and sign the bottom. Give this paper to her or whoever when you get there.”

“And don’t try to be creative with it. Just pick something simple that you know you’ll remember.” Mimi interjects, voice sour as she stares into her dwindling martini. It reminds you that she, too, is a female dom and must’ve gone through some trouble in the past with her subs forgetting their safeword. I can only imagine it’s probably traumatizing for both parties. On one hand, the sub isn’t comfortable but can’t remember their word to stop, and on the other, the dom knows they’ve unintentionally upset their sub by continuing when they wanted to stop. I ponder on that thought for a while before writing “Bleach” on the dotted line. Camilla reads it then let’s out another one of her snorting giggles.

“Nerd.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t forget it now will I?” I sass, scribbling my messy signature next to Blake’s. The rest of my birthday dinner–because that’s what this whole dinner and eccentric present was meant to be celebrating–goes on without any more hiccups and Camilla ferries Mimi and I home. She follows me up to my apartment with the promise to wait on my couch while I get ready for the strangest date of my life. Before I even make it to my bedroom she’s already clicking through channels to amuse herself while I primp for what’s to come. The papers had given clear instructions on how I was meant to prepare myself right down to the desired color and length of my dress and it finally gives reason to the dress Mimi had gifted me last week as an early birthday present. Sneaky bitch.

By the time Camilla is herding me out of the car and into the line outside of the swanky, uptown club I hadn’t known Blake owned.

“She films here, too,” Camilla says to fill my nervous silence. “The club is on the lower level. All the fun stuff happens on the top two floors.” She shimmies like the thought excites her, which it probably does. The jiggling motion is enough to make the sweetheart neckline of her dress reconsider if it can withstand the size of her ample chest. She hooks her thumbs into the top and hefts it up, though it looks like it hasn’t moved when she pulls her hands away. It’s hardly a bother to her. The dress she’s wearing is one she’d had riding around in her trunk for emergency situations like escorting me to my birthday rendezvous with a dominatrix so I wouldn’t get a chance to chicken out. It’s a hair too small but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does anyone else. The line is moving at a snail’s pace on a Friday night, even as some people are sent away without admittance. Some look like teenagers as they teeter in their high heels and tight dresses and I wonder if that’s how Camilla looked when she was younger. She has plenty of stories about sneaking into clubs with fake IDs or crashing parties of her parents’ friends. She’s always been adventurous and she did have a crush on Blake in high school, so why did she book this meeting for me rather than herself?

I want to ask but when I turn to look at her she grabs my shoulders and shoves me forward as the line begins moving faster. I keep taking babies steps forward and when the bouncer asks I show him my ID before being ushered inside by an excited Camilla. Her elation is almost infectious and I feel my anxiety beginning to simmer off. I’m in full control of this situation, I remind myself, I can leave whenever I want.

Even after seeing the sophisticated all white exterior the interior design of the club still comes as a surprise. The atmosphere is muted and sensual, imperceptibly more mature than the average club that I usually frequent on weekend outings. The glaring neon lights and booming bass have been replaced by muted gold light and hypnotic RNB.

“Will you stay?” I asked Camilla before she sets me free to go to my designated waiting area on the second story.

“Of course,” she promises, “someone’s gonna have to drive you home.” She winks before letting go of my arm and disappearing into the crowd of grinding bodies. The dimmed lights mean that everything is cast in shadows but without the disorienting strobe lights it’s much easier to wind my way through the maze of grinding bodies until I reach the stairs. There aren’t a lot of people in the open lounge area so it’s easy to find a place to perch myself while I wait for Blake to come fetch me. Before she does, a girl in a black dress saunters up to me.

“Elana?” She asks expectantly.

“Yes?” For a moment, I wonder how she knows my name until I realize she probably works for Blake and was expecting my arrival. I hand her the consent form when she asks for it, trying to smooth out the creases that accumulated while it was folded in my clutch.

“She’ll be out shortly.” It’s like striking a match. Anxiety flashed forward like a spark through a dry bush to singe at my nerves. I tap the heel of my shoe against the tiled floor, hoping that the excess adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin will burn out before Blake comes to fetch me. Because if not I’m afraid I might bolt and run all the way home before Camilla can stop me.

“God, I wish they’d just gotten me a book.” I mumble to myself, teeth nipping at my bottom lip. To fill the idle time with things other than the thoughts of my impending doom I turn my attention to the dance floor spread out beneath the balcony. Foolishly I try to find Camilla’s head of dark waves amongst the crowd of swaying bodies but the warm light turns everything into a wash of bronze and gold and all I can see is vantablack brunettes with fluorescent halos or sunlit blondes whose hair glows like candlelight in the golden lights. For a moment a girl tosses her head to the beat and I think I catch a flash of ruby red even in the dark but she’s lost in the crowd a second later. Still restless I fiddle with my own hair, probably loosening the carefully coiffed curls with my restless fingers only to have a voice startle me to stillness.

“Can I get you a drink?” I make an unflattering noise in the back of my throat, jumping in my stilettos and nearly toppling over on the landing. Blake catches me around the waist, saving me the embarrassment of falling face first into the floor upon our first meeting. It wouldn’t make a good impression. Although the startled noise I’d made a moment ago probably wasn’t the most attractive either. To her credit, Blake doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered by my flighty behavior. It’s probably what she’s come to expect from first time customers and I suddenly wish I had fallen over. That at least would set me apart from the sea of faces she surely sees every day. Although Mimi had said something about her only taking customers once a week. Either way, I’m no different than them and I pout at the thought, unreasonably upset about not being able to make a good first impression on a woman I’ll probably only be sleeping with once.

“No need to pout, honey.” Her thumb catches on my jutted lip, tracing for a moment before lifting my chin to look into my eyes. “I once had a girl faint from nerves before I got her to bed. You’re doing better than most for a first timer.” It’s meant as a compliment but it brings my frown back in full force. The fainting girl in question had left such an impression that Blake brought her up to calm me down. The floor looks more and more appealing by the second, but Blake doesn’t give me much time to glower at the tiles. This time when she lifts my chin she doesn’t let go. She’s prettier than the black and white picture Camillia had printed off. Her eyes are a blazing shade of blue framed by a dark set of lashes to match the tumbling curtain of black hair that trails down to her waist. My fingers twitch at my side with innocent curiosity. It looks soft. The rest of her looks soft, too, I note after a few more moments of gawking. Her dress is vantablack and so tight that it looks to be painted on over her olive skin. She’s shaped like a model. Tall but buxom, and her hips are charmingly indented beneath her dress, almost like the shape of a violin. To her credit, Blake allows my ogling, moving gracefully from foot to foot almost like she’s presenting the different angles of her body to me. The urge to touch is tempting but I decide to keep my hands to myself. Instead curling them under the hem of my dress. She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow before laughing away whatever question had been on the tip of her tongue.

“Now how about that drink?” I nod woodenly, allowing her to lead me through the crowds of people teeming about the loft until we end up at a door. She pulls a keycard from the pocket of her dress–her dress has pockets–and swipes us past the door with ease. It’s quieter back here. If I hadn’t just seen it I wouldn’t know that this was a night club. The hallway is lined with more doors marked with either a red or green plaque and I almost ask why until we pass a slightly ajar door. The sounds coming from behind it are unmistakably salacious, all soft moans and heaving breaths. Blake stops by the door, poking her head in and inadvertently giving me a view of what’s going on inside. The room is made up to look like a kitchen but there are two people midcoitus, sprawled across the counter. A bespectacled girl glances up from behind the camera, nodding at Blake then winking at me as Blake softly closes the door. Red obviously means occupied.

“Sorry about that.” Blake sounds a bit embarrassed herself, though I doubt it’s from catching two people in the act. It almost sounds the same as someone apologizing for a messy house when you come for a visit. I shake my head to dismiss the thought despite the heat licking at my cheeks and dampness gathering between my legs. Had I not been in the mood before I surely am now. I follow Blake with a new pep in my step, previous anxieties gone. This is what I came here for and damn if I’m not going to enjoy the hell out of this birthday present. Blake finally comes to the door at the end of the hall, switching the plaque from green to red. Inside everything is all black and chrome, elegant and mature beneath the muted lights.

“What do you want?” Blake asks, already on her way to the bar in the corner. Part of me wants to request sex on the beach or sex in the driveway or any other of the lewdly named drinks just to prove that I’m not as prudish as my first impression made me seem but instead I ask for a simple margarita. I’ve made myself comfortable on the couch by the time she brings it to me, sipping on her own drink. The liquid courage burns down my throat as a citrusy request to begin tingles on my lips. Blake regards me over the rim of her glass. Downing her drink and setting the glass aside before addressing me.

“Stand up.” There’s less fluidity in my movement than I would’ve liked as I scramble to stand. It’s finally begun and I plan on being on my best behavior.

“What’s your safeword, Elana?”

“Bleach.” I say suddenly wishing I hadn’t picked such a telling word, but then again she might not even notice. But as soon as I say it she chuckles and I desperately wish I’d written literally any other word. Or at least picked a more mature show.

“Starting now you are my submissive. You will do as I say and I will do as I please with you, understand?” I nod. “Good. If at any time you want me to stop for whatever reason what do you say?”

“Bleach.”

“Good girl,” she purrs. Oh, it really has begun. “Why don’t you come here and take that silly little dress off for me?” She phrases it like a question but I know it isn’t a request. I move to stand between her spread legs, reaching behind me to find the zipper beneath my hair. The low back is forgiving, allowing me to unzip myself without any unflattering contorting. The dress falls away like water, flowing down my body until it pools around my feet. Blake hums appreciatively. Blue eyes raking over my exposed body before settling on the lace of my panties. They’re already soaked in my anticipation, sticking to my lower lips like a second skin. Blake catches her lower lip in her teeth before commanding me into her lap. I go happily, stepping out of the circle of my dress to straddle her thigh. Her hands settle on my waist at first, caressing my flushed skin before dropping to my hips. The weight of her hands aren’t forceful but I follow them as she pulls me until the apex of my legs is pressed flush against her thigh. The flimsy fabric of my underwear does little to buffer the feeling of her skin on mine. The pressure is light but it’s something and after this long game of drawn out foreplay it’s enough to make me want to buck my hips, but Blake hasn’t told me to do it yet and I have to be a good girl. I’m nearly shaking in her hold as I repress the urge to rut against her leg like a horny teenager.

Blake seems amused by my valiant effort, a dom proud of her subs obedience. I haven’t taken what she hasn’t given me but fuck if I don’t want to. There’s no way she can’t feel how wet I am against her. She tilts her head and moves a hand from my hips to my navel, slowly trailing lower until her thumb presses between our two bodies. She searches for a moment, watching me and when my breath hitches and hips twitch against my efforts to keep them still she smirks.

“Right there, Princess?” It’s hard to tell if she’s asking to keep up her role or is genuinely checking to be sure I’m feeling good but I nod anyway. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes.” Her other hand is quick to reprimand me and I squeal upon impact, hips stuttering.

“Yes, what?” She asks, hand soothing the place she just spanked.

“Yes, Miss.” I try. She seems satisfied with that and I wonder if she would’ve accepted anything aside from her name.

“Good girl.” She coos, thumb circling my clit. “Does my good girl want to come?” Her caresses are speeding up, pushing me closer to the edge before I can choke out an answer. It takes a few seconds before I can find my tongue amidst my wanton moaning.

“Yes, please, Miss.”

“Then I’ll give you ’til the count of ten.” She’s already counting before I can fully process what she said. Pausing between each number to encourage me and it takes me a moment to realize she’s edging me. She’s still rubbing quick circles into my clit and it sings through my body like electricity. I’m so close to the edge, teetering on the precipice, but she hasn’t said “one” yet. She’s close to it, three more seconds to go, but my thighs shake with the prospect of holding back for even one more second.

“Not yet, baby.” She coos when I wail desperately, falling against her as my legs refuse to hold me up any longer. It only serves to put more pressure on my clit and my hips buck closer without my permission.

“One. Come for me, Princess.” My entire body vibrates in her arms as I come hard on her hand, rutting against her with reckless abandon. Blake groans appreciatively, whispering gruff encouragements into my ear as she pushes me past my limits. The rest of her hand finds its way into my ruined underwear, thumb still drawing tight circuits against my clit as she works two fingers inside. Her fingers hook against that spot inside me that sets my whole body aflame. I can hardly control the pitiful sounds coming out of my mouth, let alone the rest of my body but Blake doesn’t seem to mind. As my head falls back hers falls forward, lips latching on to my craning neck to bite at my fluttering pulse as she pushes me headfirst into another orgasm.

“That’s it, Princess. Come on, I know you’re close. Give it to me. Gimme another one.” She doesn’t give me a choice as her fingers pick up inside me, pounding into me with reckless abandon. My voice cracks as I scream empty pleas and promises into the quiet air. Blake all but cackles against my throat, biting down hard as I clench around her fingers.

“One more, baby, one more. Gimme one more.” She growls, teeth scraping across the marks she’s left on my skin.

“I can’t!” I wail, already feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“Just one more, Princess.” It almost sounds like she’s begging now as her hand traces up my chest, pinching at my straining nipples before locking around my throat. She doesn’t squeeze, but the threat is there and it sets my blood ablaze. Her hand doesn’t stop moving inside me, instead a third finger joins the other two as her thumb drags across my clit with reckless abandon. I feel like a rope being stretched taut and all it takes is a few more strokes of her fingers to make me snap. I fall backwards, folding in on myself but to her credit Blake is quick to catch me, slick fingers dragging across my waist as she tries to gather me into her arms before I can fall off the couch completely. It takes a moment for me to regain my bearings, to realize I’m crying and twitching as Blake lays me across the cushions. The aftercare is spotty as I float in and out of consciousness, thoroughly exhausted but blissfully sated, but I know it happens because the mess between my thighs is wiped away. Blake is careful as she wipes away the mess she’s made of me and helps me back into my dress.

“You with me, Princess?” I try to form words but all that comes out is a short groan. “Elana, are you okay?” This time I nod. “Good girl. Sit up for me.” She does most of the moving for me, helping me move my loose muscles enough to sit upright. My arms feel rubbery as I reach out to accept the water bottle she hands me and my ears are filled with white noise as she caresses my hair and talks to me in sweet tones. I’m not sure what she’s saying, I’m hardly aware of my own body, but eventually she leads me out of the room and out a back entrance. Camillia is waiting for me, easily taking me from Blake as I stumble along like I’m drunk. She grins knowingly at my wobbly legs.

“So how was it?”