Prologue

 

Melissa was a tiny thing. Her hair was a lustrous, Stygian black that fell nearly to her waist. She was busty for her size; muscular but curvy in a sort of Marilyn Monroe kind of way. When she smiled her full lips parted to reveal the most perfect set of teeth. I was immediately attracted to her.

It was at a friend's house over dinner that we met. I had no idea at the time, and neither did she, that it was a setup. My friends, Marla and Tom, knew her from a club called 'Lock, Stock and Over the Barrel' that was nestled in the heart of the San Fernando Valley. According to Marla and Tom it was time for us both to meet someone, and they thought we would get on quite well; about the latter, at least, they were right.

After dinner, Melissa and I took a slow walk to her car where we stood and talked for nearly an hour. Before she pulled away, I was the proud owner of a new phone number and a rather friendly peck on the cheek. When I returned to my own car I was greeted by two wide grins and a rather stretched out "So?" from both of my friends.

"I like her," I said, grinning back.

"Ya got her number, didn't you?" Tom reached out and grasped my shoulder and pulled me close. "She's a good girl, Bill, but she likes to be treated like a bad girl."

"Tom!" Marla nearly shouted, smacking his shoulder lightly and feigning anger. They laughed and shared a knowing glance.

"You'll pay for that, wench!" he threatened, and then winked.

"Counting on it, Sir," she replied in a voice that was overly serious. She turned to me and put her hands on my shoulders, then got up and tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "She is a good girl, Bill; the kind of girl you need. So don't be stubborn and not call her."

I nodded. "Don't worry," I said. "I'll call."

I did call the next evening. It was during that conversation I learned all about her; and she about me. There was not much in the way of sexual discussion, though we did gloss over a few things. Mostly though, I learned that I liked the girl. Over the next few weeks we spoke frequently over the phone, getting to know each other fairly well. Eventually, I decided to take a more formal approach and began courting her.

It was a Friday night and we had been on the phone for hours. We couldn't get enough of each other, it seemed. As the morning light began creeping into my bedroom, I grew quiet. When she followed suit I said, "I want you to know that I have come to care about you." She remained silent so I continued. "I would like to be more than friends. I do hope you feel the same."

For a long moment nothing was said. I could hear her breathing and little more save the sounds of morning birds. I heard her shift and then take a deep breath. "I'd like that," she said at last.

I grinned into the phone, rather more excited than I had expected to be at this answer, and rather more relieved she had answered as she had. "Good," I said. Then I lowered my voice so it was at a barely audible level. "You must know that I am different than the men you have been with. The men you knew were far more into physical domination than I. My enjoyment is more emotional sadism. From what I know of you, my brand of BDSM will fit well with yours. But you must know that if we are together I will torture you emotionally and mentally. So if you think it's not something you can deal with say so now."

"Damn, you don't mince words much," she whispered. "Are you always this way?"

I laughed. "That is no way to talk to someone with my tastes, Mel," I told her. "I can make you pay for it dearly."

I heard her shudder. She laughed suddenly. "I know. So what are you going to do about it?"

"Torture you," I said in the most ominous voice I could conjure.

"I would like to be with you." Her voice was breathy and it sounded as if she were shivering. "I think...for whatever reason, I can trust you," she told me. "Torture me all you want."

Unlike most men who share my interests in BDSM my pace is rather slow. I never jump into bed with anyone, nor do I immediately dive into any sort of activities without truly having control. This tends to be rather frustrating to the women I choose to be with. Just the same, it tends to work in my favor and, if I do say so myself, to my partners favor. The end result is a solid working knowledge of what makes her tick. So, when I told her there would be dates but no sex of any sort in the near future she was quite surprised.

"I need to get to know you," I told her. "My particular interests lie in control; emotional and mental control. Jumping into the physical side of our relationship too soon could muck that up. So, for now, we will enjoy chaste dates and interesting conversations."

Thus began our strange, lifelong romance.

Chapter 1

 

One Friday night, after a very pleasant dinner and night on the town, I walked her to her door and briefly stepped inside. We talked for a few minutes before I excused myself and made to leave.

"I know you said you wanted to get to know me before we got physical, but it's been two weeks and all you've done is give me a few rather pleasant kisses. You aren't one of those religious extremists are you?" she asked. Her tone was mocking and a bit over the top so it was obvious she was just busting my chops. "You know; the kind that insists on sex only after marriage?"

I grinned and shook my head. "No. Far from it," I said. "I've had plenty of sex and never been married. I would say the best description for me would be that I am controlled and controlling." I twitched my right eyebrow then winked.

Melissa smiled then leaned in to give me a peck on the lips before sending me off but I took her in my arms and pulled her to me; kissing her deeply. Smiling, I released her, and enjoying the slight glaze that suddenly appeared in her eyes, I turned and departed. As the door clicked shut I heard a dreamily voiced "Call me so I know you got home safely."

I had only just started my car when my phone rang. It was Melissa. I took my time in hooking up my headset and then answered my cell.

"I feel kind of stupid telling you to call me when you get home," she said. That dreamy quality was still in her voice. "We usually talk on your way home."

"Don't worry it," I told her, trying hard to mask the sudden surge in confidence I felt.

 

The trick about my particular style of romance is to seem as if I want my 'subject' (for lack of a better word) to be calm and relaxed. The truth of the matter is that I want them to feel on edge and nervous. I want them to be unsure and frightened, while knowing full well that I offer no danger.

 

She breathed heavily into the phone, and then asked, "Are you messing with me...with my mind?"

"I will tell you this," I began, "I am and will continue to mess with your mind. But I am not messing with you. Everything I do, all my actions, the things I say and how I say them as they pertain to our intimacy, are with intention." I lowered my voice as I came to a stoplight. "But that isn't the question you really wanted to ask. So I will answer the real question," I told her. "I am not using you. You are not a fling. I hope to have a lasting and loving relationship with you."

The light turned green and I continued on, waiting for her to speak. There was a long silence before she spoke. "I...I know. And I trust you. Tom and Marla told me about you...warned me, even."

I chuckled. "Warned you, eh?"

Melissa giggled. "Yeah, they warned me; said you were funny, smart, and laid back; but almost too intense when it came to relationships."

"I wonder what gave them the idea I was intense," I told her.

"They said they met one of the girls you used to date at one of those BDSM get-togethers. I don't remember the girl's name. But she told them you got into her head...that you sort of owned her mind and she had trouble thinking."

"That would be Elyse," I said. "She is more of a bottom than a submissive. I knew it from the start but she insisted that wasn't the case. I kind of cleared that up for her, I think." I laughed, adding, "She hooked up with a guy named Cosmo right after me. Got the living hell beat out of her on their second date and fell in love. I think they got married and moved to Pittsburg."

"So you were right, huh?"

"I usually am," I responded before dramatically adding, "It's my curse."

"You aren't full of yourself at all, are you?" she laughed.

"Utterly!"

She laughed again.

Several minutes later, and after some more light conversation, I arrived home, got undressed and crawled into bed, talking with Melissa all the while. As I reached over to turn out the lamp at my bedside, I decided to get down to more interesting topics. "Melissa," I started, "it's time to get down to some things I want to know about you; personal things."