PENELOPE GIVES WILLIAM HER PANTIES...
“Penelope,” William says firmly when I don’t reply or move.
His tone isn’t threatening, but it’s firm. Confident. Comforting?
I blink a couple times and find myself gazing into those beautiful blue orbs again, the air crackling between the two of us. He leans further forward, his cheek brushing against mine and whispers in my ear, his lips just millimeters away, his warm breath on my neck, “Your panties. Please.”
I can’t breathe. I can barely think. His proximity. His scent. The three glasses of wine I’ve had since I got here…
William settles back in his seat and he pins me with his stare.
‘You don’t want to look back and regret the chances you didn’t take… You never know what you’re made of unless you try…’ Laura whispers in my head.
William doesn’t flinch and the way he’s looking at me is decidedly certain and self-assured. And somehow… it relaxes me. That he alone will carry all the responsibility and I don’t have to worry about a dang thing.
As if I’m under some sort of spell or trance, I take a slow breath in… out… then with a tiny, confident nod, determined to find out what I’m made of, I agree. “Okay.”
I get up to go to the ladies room when William stops me with a single word. “Here.”
I look at my date, a man I haven’t even kissed yet, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Here?” I confirm with a whisper, to which he answers with a single nod.
I glance at the other patrons in the restaurant. Did anyone just hear what he’d ask for? No one is looking at the table. It doesn’t seem like anyone has an ear trained our way.
Could I do this? Here at the table? Sure, there’s a floor length table cloth, and we’re in a corner of the restaurant, but…
“It’s just the two of us,” William says, his voice thick and sultry. And ridiculously proper sounding with his British accent.
Locking eyes with him, my breath hitches. He looks entranced while watching me. He looks both powerful and powerless at the same time. The gaze draws in our surroundings, as if no one is around us. Just the two of us in this little world.
And, somehow, it’s like he said. He doesn’t have the power.
I do.
I could say no. I could get up and walk away, and yet, I find that I want to do what he asked of me.
Slowly I inch up my skirt, grateful for the long table cloths.
‘Have I been drugged?’ I ask myself, but I don’t stop complying with Williams request.
His crystal blues don’t falter from my eyes. He doesn’t look down at what I’m doing. His breathing doesn’t change. He just keeps me steady with his unwavering stare, which I find oddly comforting.
I don’t stop looking at William even though I want to look at our table neighbors. Did they hear what William asked for? Are they watching?
Ignoring the chaotic butterflies in my gut, I hook my thumbs over the waistband of my panties and shimmy them lower, lifting my hips as discretely as possible and peeling them down my thighs.
As I slide the garment down my legs, I feel so naughty. Emboldened, even.
My breathing is rapid and William’s eyes are burning. I lean forward and lift my feet, one at a time, to free the skimpy article over my kitten heels.
I ball the fabric up in my hand making it as tiny as possible, and slide my hand under the table to his side.
He doesn’t reach under to accept it though. No. He holds his hand over the table, palm up. As if he’s going to show the entire restaurant what I’d just done.
He wouldn’t do that? Would he?
I recall his words from earlier. Trust. Respect.
My hand trembling, I raise it up to meet his and place the tiny ball there without removing my hand. His fingers close around mine and slowly, carefully, discretely the cream-colored lace is transferred to his hand, which he doesn’t show the room full of dining couples and tables of business men. No. His fingers quickly close over his prize letting no one catch a glimpse.
And instantly, I consider what I’ve done.
Have I gone mad? Why did I do that? I’m now panty-less! In The Stanton! I’ve never been that kind of girl. I mildly muse that Laura would be very proud of me.
“Good girl,” he says simply, and an odd sense of pride swells in my chest.
To his credit, William doesn’t look at or visually examine the garment. He simply takes possession of it with a smile. He closes his eyes and brings the fisted ball of lace to his nose. He inhales softly and grins. He reaches into his coat and tucks them into the inside pocket. I’m shocked yet aroused at the same time. I almost feel like I may pass out. This guy is too much!
The server chooses that moment to come by and I’m panicking that she saw me take off my underwear… that she’s going to say something or kick us out. My cheeks are burning, my head is spinning, my heart pounding.
“Can I get you two some dessert? Perhaps our famous cheesecake? Or our award-winning chocolate lava cake?” she offers, still barely minding me and practically flirting with William, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him. Then again, who wouldn’t flirt with William? He’s gorgeous. Hell, I just gave him my underwear!
“Sounds delicious,” William says, acting as if nothing unusual has happened, and barely even glancing in her direction. He’s still watching me. “We’ll have one of each. And two cappuccinos.”
“Perfect,” the server says and is gone.
“I hope you’re not allergic to chocolate,” he says.
“N—no. I don’t have any allergies,” I admit, stunned that he’s talking about what I might be allergic to when only moments ago he tucked my panties into his pocket.
“Good,” he replies with a heart-stopping smile and then he says, “Thank you.”
“For?” I ask, my voice tight.
“For trusting me. For making me the proudest man in the room. I’ll bet all the men in this establishment would feel the same way. And yet, you’re here with me. You listened to me. Did what I asked. Respected me. You’ve made me so happy.”
Hearing his words floods me with happiness. I don’t think my ex had ever, ever been so complimentary. And I feel so… strong.
After a moment, William asks, “How do you feel?”
The first word that pop into my thoughts is: Naked. But that’s not what he’s asking. So I give it some honest thought and tell him what I come up with. “Excited. Powerful.”
He slowly blinks and smiles.
The cappuccinos and desserts are delivered and before the waitress can leave, William asks her, “Can we get the check please?” He finally looks up at her and winks. She swoons a bit, and promises to be right back.
William takes a fork and collects a bite of the cheesecake then feeds it to me. With my heart pounding, I take the morsel from the fork, unable to look away from his heated eyes. “Any good?” he asks, his voice still low and sexy—or maybe it’s the heavenly cheesecake. Or that I haven’t any skivvies on.
“M-hmm. Delicious,” I answer when I’ve swallowed the bite, then I wash it down with a sip of cappuccino which I notice has a leaf swirled into the foam.
William takes a bite and raises his brow appreciatively. After his sip of the milky java, he serves me a bite of the chocolate lava cake and when he asks, I tell him, “I think it’s the best I’ve ever had.”
He takes a bite and agrees.
He settles in and studies my face and licks his lower lip. “So, you’re an interior designer and run your own company, which is very impressive, by the way. You’re from Iowa. You were married, and your ex is obviously a fool. You enjoy cooking, hate working out, wish you knew how to knit, used to ride horses and want to do it again. You know good desserts, follow rules and don’t have any allergies. What else should I know about Penelope Pierce?”
“Um,” I say, trying to clear my mind and find something to say other than what’s on my mind which is, ‘That I don’t give my underwear to strangers and I have no idea why I just gave mine to you.’
Instead, I address the other, the bigger thought tugging at my thoughts? “I want to know more.”
“More about…?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
I can tell he’s really going to make me work for this. I take a deep breath and put my single word into a more complete question. I still shoot a glance at the neighboring tables to make sure they are still embroiled in the matters at their own tables. Feeling assured that they are, I ask, as quietly as I can so I don’t actually draw any attention, “Why do you do this? Why do you… dominate?”
He’s thoughtful for a moment, while looking right at me. “It’s kind of like how you’re left handed,” he says and I’m a little taken aback that he actually noticed I’m a lefty. “Have you tried using your right hand to write with? To eat with? How did it feel?”
I nod. I had to use my right hand for a week when I’d badly burned my left hand taking out a roasting pan from a 450° oven with a wet pot holder. Several blisters had developed rending my left hand useless and I was forced to be a righty. “It was awful. Awkward. The worst handwriting. I could barely feed myself. I felt helpless. It felt… unnatural.”
He raises one eyebrow and nods. “It’s just like that. I’ve had vanilla--traditional relationships. They’ve never worked out. I always felt like both hands were tied behind my back. I didn’t know where to move. How to move. It made me frustrated and often angry. At the world, not the woman. I like to lead. I need to lead. I crave knowing that the degree of pleasure a woman can feel is directly attributed to everything I do. The anticipation. The touch. The tease. I also need the control, which doesn’t always mean directing things, although it often does. With a good submissive—the one who truly holds the power—I’m forced to control myself. I need that.”
My head is swirling with all of what William has said. With how he’s so certain of who he is.
Then he leans in and with his piercing blue eyes boring into mine, he quietly continues, his tone lulling and confident and reassuring. “And I have a feeling that you are a submissive. A natural born submissive. A rule follower. A people pleaser. And someone who can easily hold the power. You just need someone to support you and give you the boundaries to do so. Your ex was not a dominant. Something you need.”
I gasp that he’s been so bold to declare such a thing. Could he be right? Am I a submissive kind of person? Maybe. I did just do as he asked… give him my most intimate piece of lingerie. I could ration that I did so because it has been months since I’ve had sex. Even though Peter and I only divorced five months ago, we’d not been intimate for much longer. Or maybe I’m trying too hard, trying to do things that I wouldn’t have done in my marriage. The marriage I somehow ruined because I wasn’t sexy enough for my husband.
But William’s confidence and this unexplained trust I feel for him…a trust I never felt for Peter. A trust and a respect. Does that make me a submissive?
I’m curious. I need to know more. “I’d like to try. This being a submissive thing.”
William’s lips curl on the right side, making his dimple pop, and his eyes take on a warm, soft, and even hungry glow. “I would love nothing more than to take you home and show you. Right now. But I can’t.”
Ouch. I’m surprised at the sting his words have. I drop my eyes and consider said sting. I had just given him my panties. Now he’s turning me away?
With a crooked finger, he nudges my chin up to meet his eyes again. They’re warm, and open. Soft, even.
“I can’t now. You’re not ready. I want you to be sure. I suggest you think about things. I want you to know what you’re getting into. Eyes wide open. I will warn you there are many junk websites out there for dominant wannabes and are frankly dangerous, but there are also some very good resources. There’s also a broad range of what a dominant and submissive relationship can look like. I can recommend some trustworthy sites, sites that lean toward the way I interpret the lifestyle, if you like. And feel free to ask me any questions whatsoever. You can text me your questions or call me. Like I said earlier, Penelope. I don’t enter into relationships lightly. And I don’t think you ought to, either.”
I didn’t expect that. His demonstration of respect, patience, control, trust… I see it. He exudes it. He lives it. He’s so open and honest. Everything about William…
While I can’t explain it, it just… feels right. But yes.
Of course he’s right. I should learn more.
Before I can agree, he adds, “In fact, take twenty-four hours. More if you need. Learn. Think. Then you can reach out.”
A day? Or more?
I nod. “Okay.”
He takes a cleansing breath, like he’s bracing himself, and I’m rewarded with a full smile and two words that warm me. “Good girl.”
His two simple words, growing more familiar, wash over me.
And I feel…centered.
After William and I exchange contact info and we say our goodbyes, I drive home with my thoughts all over the place. Well, actually just in one place. Sex. Possibly because my lady bits are all, for the most part, exposed.
I barely notice driving home in a thunderstorm.
Who asks for a woman’s panties? On a first date? And who gives up their panties?
Apparently I do!
But for the first time in years, I’m incredibly turned on.
It’s like William has re-awakened something in me. A sexuality I’d long lost. An excitement I hadn’t felt since I first decided to give up my virginity to Peter back in our senior year of high school.
As soon as I get home, I change into a pair comfy pajamas and help myself to another glass of wine. Curling up with my laptop and my phone, I eagerly open the email William sent me.
Good evening, Penelope,
First let me say thank you so very much for meeting me tonight. You are a wonderful woman and I look forward to getting to know you more.
Let’s just go ahead and address the so-called ‘elephant’ in the room.
What I’m looking for. Who I believe you are.
A Dominant in search of his submissive.
The tendency at the onset is to focus on all of the letters of BDSM, but BDSM is actually a compound acronym and specifies 4 tenets:
Bondage and Discipline
Domination and Submission
And Sado-Mascochism as well as a Slave/Master dynamic.
Not all practitioners of BDSM combine all three areas. Like myself. I’m what’s referred to as a sensual dominant. I’m more focused on pleasure, than pain.
I would like to point out that I have nothing against those who engage in Sadist/Masochist or Master/slave type arrangements, however that is not what I am looking for.
Below are the resources I told you I would send. And be careful what you read should you explore other sites not listed below.
Read carefully and give serious thought to whether or not you are indeed (as I suspect) a submissive. It would not do either of us any good if you are not. We would both be unhappy and that would break my heart.
Should you have questions, please do not hesitate to reach out.
But only after 24 hours.
With warm regards and incredible respect,
Yours,
William.
Below his signature, he’s put several links.
Taking a deep breath, and a healthy “sip” of wine, I dive into my research.
For the next two hours, I fall down some sort of rabbit hole. I feel well and truly like Alice in Wonderland with what I read and see. While things are completely new and strange to me, and sometimes scary, I also find things fascinating and alluring. Comforting even, at times.
I wonder about the people in these kinds of relationships of the blogs I read. I wonder if I encounter people who live these connections in my every day life. It certainly seems like I could. The authors of the blogs seem like they may have been written by my next door neighbors, or the businesses I go to regularly.
I read several blogs about about men and women in high powered jobs as CEOs and business owners who are submissives as soon as they get home, completely letting go of any decision making including what they will wear and being ordered around to do this or that. And in the bedroom (or kitchen or living room or back deck or at a sex club), used for sexual pleasures of their dominants. How liberating and empowering it is to be at someone else’s whims and desires.
I read about some dominants who are dominant in all facets of their lives from the boardroom to the bedroom. And how a submissive makes them feel…that the power the submissive holds, and the trust the submissive gives, keep dominants grounded and balanced.
The memory of what William said after I had given him my panties—him calling me a ‘Good girl’—echoes in my thoughts. On the one hand, I could have been totally insulted with his compliment. And that he’d diminished me by call me, a twenty-seven year old woman, who owns her own successful business a girl. But it didn’t. I felt like I was blooming. I recall him telling me that he was proud of me. And that every man in the room was jealous of him. I liked that I had made him feel that way.
I read about the differences between Sensual Dominants and Traditional Dominants.
Most notably, in all of the articles and explanations and blogs I read, there are the constant principles of communication, consent, respect and above all, trust. That being in these relationships brings a sense of security and caring and well-being, balance and order into the lives of those involved.
I take one of the “Submissives” questionnaires. I score a 93%. The write up for the result is that I would do very well in a D/s relationship tending toward the vanilla side of the dynamic rather than the Master/Slave end of the scale. Which is good since William has given every indication that he doesn’t bend toward those elements either.
I find it interesting that William had been able to ascertain this about me with but one evening.
But all of this that I’ve read is overwhelming. I have so many questions. I grab my phone and punch out a text to William: Do you do this 24/7? Or is it more just scenes or moments for you?
And then I remember that he said while I could ask him anything, I should take twenty-four hours to learn and consider… “things.”
It’s only been three hours.
Twenty-one hours to go.
I toss and turn all night. In part from more questions swirling in my head. And in part, due to a sexual energy that has been stirred up in other places.
When I wake at seven on Friday morning, it feels way too early, but unable to go back to sleep, I drag myself out of bed. I want to research more, but I also know I need to process. Ruminate.
And more importantly, I have work. Clients. The MacNeill project—with the ink barely dry on the proposal—we have an appointment this morning to choose some finishes. I need to check in on the Sanderson project and the massive fireplace that’s scheduled to get underway today. And I have research to do for this historical mansion project I really hope to land.
With any luck, I’ll be busy enough to keep my thoughts far from a particular lawyer, who is in possession of an article of my clothing and has filled my head with fantastically perverse notions.
Sipping my piping hot coffee, doctored just right with cream and sugar, and nibbling on some toast and berries and yogurt… I ask myself, Would this be a breakfast to William’s liking?
After a shower, I peruse my closet. As I pull out a pair of smart camel-colored slacks and an ivory-colored, silk blouse, I find myself wondering, Would William be choosing my wardrobe for the day as I’d read in some of the blogs? And, moreover, Would I let him? Would I really be okay with someone making such decisions? The sexual side of a Dominant/submissive relationship aside, would I want someone to be in charge, more or less, of every decision pertaining to my life?
My head buzzing with questions, I do my best to quiet them and dive into work things, like email, knowing full well it’s going to be a very challenging day.
The mundane tasks of cleaning out my inbox is good. It’s easy, and gets my head into my normal routine. And then I see an email from a past client. It’s a reminder about the restaurant preview night of his restaurant and the dining room I designed. The event is Monday and I’d RSVP’d to go with two others, Shannon and Laura. I pick up my phone and open our group text message to send them a quick note.
8:50am
Just reminding you 2
about the preview event at
ALT on Monday. Want me
to drive?
I return to my emails, clearing out a few newsletters and replying to one email from a supplier looking to schedule a delivery, and my Messages app pings with an incoming message.
It’s from Shannon.
8:52am
Oh sweetie - sorry but I have to
bail!!! N and I are flying to CA
tonight to see his parents and share
the baby news. We’re flying back late
on Monday. (Taking the day off)
I’m so sorry!!! :(
I message back that I understand and it’s not a problem. And as soon as I’ve sent that message, I get an incoming from Laura.
8:53am
And please don’t hate ME. I
was planning on it until
I got the call of a lifetime last
night! I was literally just
messaging you about it now.
Long story short:
I’m meeting with SCOTT
WESTON AND HAILEY
JAMES! FOR A WEDDING
CAKE ON MONDAY NIGHT!!!
A bunch of stuff about production
schedule and camera crews! 🤩
They said to prepare for a
long night.
Wow!! Scott Weston and Hailey James were the final couple from that dating reality show where there’s one bachelor and like twenty bachelorettes vying for his attention with the hopes of a Happily Ever After. I’d never watched the show, but when their season first aired a year ago, everyone in town was beyond excited because Hailey lives in town, and of course every one was rooting for her. They’re not the most famous people in the area, but they are the newest famous people. But best of all, this is a BIG thing for Laura’s shop, and for that, I’m happy for her.
Both Shannon and I message her back with our congratulations, however, I’m sadly resigned that I’m now a party of one for this restaurant preview thing. But then I think about William.
Maybe he’d like to go with me? My heart beats wildly as I wonder if he’d ask for my panties again. Or tell me what I’m going to wear. Maybe he’d tell me to show up not wearing any panties at all.
I jump when my phone lights up with an incoming call from Shannon.
I know what’s coming and I almost just let the call go to voicemail, but I had just been texting, so I’m clearly available. And if I don’t take this call, she’ll just keep trying.
“Hi, Shannon,” I say, answering the call.
“Sooooo…?” she says without even saying hello. “How did things go with William last night? Tell me everything! Isn’t he perfect? When are you getting together again? We should double date!”
I’m not about to tell her all the details, but she’s entitled to know some.
“It went well. Drinks turned to dinner…”
Shannon squeals with delight. “And are you going to see each other again?”
“Probably,” I say and this time she squeals so loudly that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“I knew it! I knew you were perfect for each other! We totally need to double date!! It’ll be so much fun!”
Again, I can’t help the curious question if Shannon knows that William is a dominant. I can’t help but wonder if Shannon is Nate’s submissive or something, and they’re all part of some secret society.
She rattles off some innocent sounding suggestions for things the four of us could do until I hear a shrill school bell in the background and Shannon says, “Ugh! That was first bell. I gotta go. Starting the soccer unit today. Wish me luck! Again, so sorry about bailing on you and the restaurant thing Monday. You should ask William!” After a final, “Bye!” the phone goes quiet.
With my first appointment, my day starts rolling with client meetings, research at town hall and at the historical center, and I’m so blissfully busy and don’t spend time dwelling on the other thoughts I’d woken up with.
Yeah, right. Fine, I try to keep the thoughts out of my head, and am moderately successful. But once I’m on my way home at the end of the day, grabbing takeout from my favorite Italian restaurant, William and this whole dominant-submissive thing is all I can think about.
There are three hours to go until I’m ‘allowed’ to reach out to William. I almost message him, rationalizing that while it’s only been twenty-one hours since we said goodbye at the restaurant last night, it’s been twenty-four since we’d met at the bar.
Opening my messenger app, I punch in my first question. However, before I hit send, I ask myself what I’m doing?
I pour myself a glass of wine and while I munch on my Grilled Chicken Pasta Primavera, I have a good chat with myself about what I’m considering here.
While I’m curious about this world, this ‘lifestyle’ as the blogs call it, I don’t know that I could actually do it. Be a part of it. The kink and taboo. What does it matter if William is a dom all day and night? Could I be a submissive for even an hour a day?
I do like the idea of the rules and the structure and the communication. It’s a comforting concept. That William doesn’t lean into the S and M aspects of the lifestyle is also reassuring. And then… there’s also that inexplicable pull I felt with William. That natural trust I felt when I was with him last night. That he doesn’t hide from things. He’s proud of who he is, comfortable in his skin, and honest.
But really? Is that enough?
Like Laura said the other day, ‘You don’t know what you’re made of until you try.’
His tone isn’t threatening, but it’s firm. Confident. Comforting?
I blink a couple times and find myself gazing into those beautiful blue orbs again, the air crackling between the two of us. He leans further forward, his cheek brushing against mine and whispers in my ear, his lips just millimeters away, his warm breath on my neck, “Your panties. Please.”
I can’t breathe. I can barely think. His proximity. His scent. The three glasses of wine I’ve had since I got here…
William settles back in his seat and he pins me with his stare.
‘You don’t want to look back and regret the chances you didn’t take… You never know what you’re made of unless you try…’ Laura whispers in my head.
William doesn’t flinch and the way he’s looking at me is decidedly certain and self-assured. And somehow… it relaxes me. That he alone will carry all the responsibility and I don’t have to worry about a dang thing.
As if I’m under some sort of spell or trance, I take a slow breath in… out… then with a tiny, confident nod, determined to find out what I’m made of, I agree. “Okay.”
I get up to go to the ladies room when William stops me with a single word. “Here.”
I look at my date, a man I haven’t even kissed yet, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Here?” I confirm with a whisper, to which he answers with a single nod.
I glance at the other patrons in the restaurant. Did anyone just hear what he’d ask for? No one is looking at the table. It doesn’t seem like anyone has an ear trained our way.
Could I do this? Here at the table? Sure, there’s a floor length table cloth, and we’re in a corner of the restaurant, but…
“It’s just the two of us,” William says, his voice thick and sultry. And ridiculously proper sounding with his British accent.
Locking eyes with him, my breath hitches. He looks entranced while watching me. He looks both powerful and powerless at the same time. The gaze draws in our surroundings, as if no one is around us. Just the two of us in this little world.
And, somehow, it’s like he said. He doesn’t have the power.
I do.
I could say no. I could get up and walk away, and yet, I find that I want to do what he asked of me.
Slowly I inch up my skirt, grateful for the long table cloths.
‘Have I been drugged?’ I ask myself, but I don’t stop complying with Williams request.
His crystal blues don’t falter from my eyes. He doesn’t look down at what I’m doing. His breathing doesn’t change. He just keeps me steady with his unwavering stare, which I find oddly comforting.
I don’t stop looking at William even though I want to look at our table neighbors. Did they hear what William asked for? Are they watching?
Ignoring the chaotic butterflies in my gut, I hook my thumbs over the waistband of my panties and shimmy them lower, lifting my hips as discretely as possible and peeling them down my thighs.
As I slide the garment down my legs, I feel so naughty. Emboldened, even.
My breathing is rapid and William’s eyes are burning. I lean forward and lift my feet, one at a time, to free the skimpy article over my kitten heels.
I ball the fabric up in my hand making it as tiny as possible, and slide my hand under the table to his side.
He doesn’t reach under to accept it though. No. He holds his hand over the table, palm up. As if he’s going to show the entire restaurant what I’d just done.
He wouldn’t do that? Would he?
I recall his words from earlier. Trust. Respect.
My hand trembling, I raise it up to meet his and place the tiny ball there without removing my hand. His fingers close around mine and slowly, carefully, discretely the cream-colored lace is transferred to his hand, which he doesn’t show the room full of dining couples and tables of business men. No. His fingers quickly close over his prize letting no one catch a glimpse.
And instantly, I consider what I’ve done.
Have I gone mad? Why did I do that? I’m now panty-less! In The Stanton! I’ve never been that kind of girl. I mildly muse that Laura would be very proud of me.
“Good girl,” he says simply, and an odd sense of pride swells in my chest.
To his credit, William doesn’t look at or visually examine the garment. He simply takes possession of it with a smile. He closes his eyes and brings the fisted ball of lace to his nose. He inhales softly and grins. He reaches into his coat and tucks them into the inside pocket. I’m shocked yet aroused at the same time. I almost feel like I may pass out. This guy is too much!
The server chooses that moment to come by and I’m panicking that she saw me take off my underwear… that she’s going to say something or kick us out. My cheeks are burning, my head is spinning, my heart pounding.
“Can I get you two some dessert? Perhaps our famous cheesecake? Or our award-winning chocolate lava cake?” she offers, still barely minding me and practically flirting with William, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him. Then again, who wouldn’t flirt with William? He’s gorgeous. Hell, I just gave him my underwear!
“Sounds delicious,” William says, acting as if nothing unusual has happened, and barely even glancing in her direction. He’s still watching me. “We’ll have one of each. And two cappuccinos.”
“Perfect,” the server says and is gone.
“I hope you’re not allergic to chocolate,” he says.
“N—no. I don’t have any allergies,” I admit, stunned that he’s talking about what I might be allergic to when only moments ago he tucked my panties into his pocket.
“Good,” he replies with a heart-stopping smile and then he says, “Thank you.”
“For?” I ask, my voice tight.
“For trusting me. For making me the proudest man in the room. I’ll bet all the men in this establishment would feel the same way. And yet, you’re here with me. You listened to me. Did what I asked. Respected me. You’ve made me so happy.”
Hearing his words floods me with happiness. I don’t think my ex had ever, ever been so complimentary. And I feel so… strong.
After a moment, William asks, “How do you feel?”
The first word that pop into my thoughts is: Naked. But that’s not what he’s asking. So I give it some honest thought and tell him what I come up with. “Excited. Powerful.”
He slowly blinks and smiles.
The cappuccinos and desserts are delivered and before the waitress can leave, William asks her, “Can we get the check please?” He finally looks up at her and winks. She swoons a bit, and promises to be right back.
William takes a fork and collects a bite of the cheesecake then feeds it to me. With my heart pounding, I take the morsel from the fork, unable to look away from his heated eyes. “Any good?” he asks, his voice still low and sexy—or maybe it’s the heavenly cheesecake. Or that I haven’t any skivvies on.
“M-hmm. Delicious,” I answer when I’ve swallowed the bite, then I wash it down with a sip of cappuccino which I notice has a leaf swirled into the foam.
William takes a bite and raises his brow appreciatively. After his sip of the milky java, he serves me a bite of the chocolate lava cake and when he asks, I tell him, “I think it’s the best I’ve ever had.”
He takes a bite and agrees.
He settles in and studies my face and licks his lower lip. “So, you’re an interior designer and run your own company, which is very impressive, by the way. You’re from Iowa. You were married, and your ex is obviously a fool. You enjoy cooking, hate working out, wish you knew how to knit, used to ride horses and want to do it again. You know good desserts, follow rules and don’t have any allergies. What else should I know about Penelope Pierce?”
“Um,” I say, trying to clear my mind and find something to say other than what’s on my mind which is, ‘That I don’t give my underwear to strangers and I have no idea why I just gave mine to you.’
Instead, I address the other, the bigger thought tugging at my thoughts? “I want to know more.”
“More about…?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
I can tell he’s really going to make me work for this. I take a deep breath and put my single word into a more complete question. I still shoot a glance at the neighboring tables to make sure they are still embroiled in the matters at their own tables. Feeling assured that they are, I ask, as quietly as I can so I don’t actually draw any attention, “Why do you do this? Why do you… dominate?”
He’s thoughtful for a moment, while looking right at me. “It’s kind of like how you’re left handed,” he says and I’m a little taken aback that he actually noticed I’m a lefty. “Have you tried using your right hand to write with? To eat with? How did it feel?”
I nod. I had to use my right hand for a week when I’d badly burned my left hand taking out a roasting pan from a 450° oven with a wet pot holder. Several blisters had developed rending my left hand useless and I was forced to be a righty. “It was awful. Awkward. The worst handwriting. I could barely feed myself. I felt helpless. It felt… unnatural.”
He raises one eyebrow and nods. “It’s just like that. I’ve had vanilla--traditional relationships. They’ve never worked out. I always felt like both hands were tied behind my back. I didn’t know where to move. How to move. It made me frustrated and often angry. At the world, not the woman. I like to lead. I need to lead. I crave knowing that the degree of pleasure a woman can feel is directly attributed to everything I do. The anticipation. The touch. The tease. I also need the control, which doesn’t always mean directing things, although it often does. With a good submissive—the one who truly holds the power—I’m forced to control myself. I need that.”
My head is swirling with all of what William has said. With how he’s so certain of who he is.
Then he leans in and with his piercing blue eyes boring into mine, he quietly continues, his tone lulling and confident and reassuring. “And I have a feeling that you are a submissive. A natural born submissive. A rule follower. A people pleaser. And someone who can easily hold the power. You just need someone to support you and give you the boundaries to do so. Your ex was not a dominant. Something you need.”
I gasp that he’s been so bold to declare such a thing. Could he be right? Am I a submissive kind of person? Maybe. I did just do as he asked… give him my most intimate piece of lingerie. I could ration that I did so because it has been months since I’ve had sex. Even though Peter and I only divorced five months ago, we’d not been intimate for much longer. Or maybe I’m trying too hard, trying to do things that I wouldn’t have done in my marriage. The marriage I somehow ruined because I wasn’t sexy enough for my husband.
But William’s confidence and this unexplained trust I feel for him…a trust I never felt for Peter. A trust and a respect. Does that make me a submissive?
I’m curious. I need to know more. “I’d like to try. This being a submissive thing.”
William’s lips curl on the right side, making his dimple pop, and his eyes take on a warm, soft, and even hungry glow. “I would love nothing more than to take you home and show you. Right now. But I can’t.”
Ouch. I’m surprised at the sting his words have. I drop my eyes and consider said sting. I had just given him my panties. Now he’s turning me away?
With a crooked finger, he nudges my chin up to meet his eyes again. They’re warm, and open. Soft, even.
“I can’t now. You’re not ready. I want you to be sure. I suggest you think about things. I want you to know what you’re getting into. Eyes wide open. I will warn you there are many junk websites out there for dominant wannabes and are frankly dangerous, but there are also some very good resources. There’s also a broad range of what a dominant and submissive relationship can look like. I can recommend some trustworthy sites, sites that lean toward the way I interpret the lifestyle, if you like. And feel free to ask me any questions whatsoever. You can text me your questions or call me. Like I said earlier, Penelope. I don’t enter into relationships lightly. And I don’t think you ought to, either.”
I didn’t expect that. His demonstration of respect, patience, control, trust… I see it. He exudes it. He lives it. He’s so open and honest. Everything about William…
While I can’t explain it, it just… feels right. But yes.
Of course he’s right. I should learn more.
Before I can agree, he adds, “In fact, take twenty-four hours. More if you need. Learn. Think. Then you can reach out.”
A day? Or more?
I nod. “Okay.”
He takes a cleansing breath, like he’s bracing himself, and I’m rewarded with a full smile and two words that warm me. “Good girl.”
His two simple words, growing more familiar, wash over me.
And I feel…centered.
After William and I exchange contact info and we say our goodbyes, I drive home with my thoughts all over the place. Well, actually just in one place. Sex. Possibly because my lady bits are all, for the most part, exposed.
I barely notice driving home in a thunderstorm.
Who asks for a woman’s panties? On a first date? And who gives up their panties?
Apparently I do!
But for the first time in years, I’m incredibly turned on.
It’s like William has re-awakened something in me. A sexuality I’d long lost. An excitement I hadn’t felt since I first decided to give up my virginity to Peter back in our senior year of high school.
As soon as I get home, I change into a pair comfy pajamas and help myself to another glass of wine. Curling up with my laptop and my phone, I eagerly open the email William sent me.
Good evening, Penelope,
First let me say thank you so very much for meeting me tonight. You are a wonderful woman and I look forward to getting to know you more.
Let’s just go ahead and address the so-called ‘elephant’ in the room.
What I’m looking for. Who I believe you are.
A Dominant in search of his submissive.
The tendency at the onset is to focus on all of the letters of BDSM, but BDSM is actually a compound acronym and specifies 4 tenets:
Bondage and Discipline
Domination and Submission
And Sado-Mascochism as well as a Slave/Master dynamic.
Not all practitioners of BDSM combine all three areas. Like myself. I’m what’s referred to as a sensual dominant. I’m more focused on pleasure, than pain.
I would like to point out that I have nothing against those who engage in Sadist/Masochist or Master/slave type arrangements, however that is not what I am looking for.
Below are the resources I told you I would send. And be careful what you read should you explore other sites not listed below.
Read carefully and give serious thought to whether or not you are indeed (as I suspect) a submissive. It would not do either of us any good if you are not. We would both be unhappy and that would break my heart.
Should you have questions, please do not hesitate to reach out.
But only after 24 hours.
With warm regards and incredible respect,
Yours,
William.
Below his signature, he’s put several links.
Taking a deep breath, and a healthy “sip” of wine, I dive into my research.
For the next two hours, I fall down some sort of rabbit hole. I feel well and truly like Alice in Wonderland with what I read and see. While things are completely new and strange to me, and sometimes scary, I also find things fascinating and alluring. Comforting even, at times.
I wonder about the people in these kinds of relationships of the blogs I read. I wonder if I encounter people who live these connections in my every day life. It certainly seems like I could. The authors of the blogs seem like they may have been written by my next door neighbors, or the businesses I go to regularly.
I read several blogs about about men and women in high powered jobs as CEOs and business owners who are submissives as soon as they get home, completely letting go of any decision making including what they will wear and being ordered around to do this or that. And in the bedroom (or kitchen or living room or back deck or at a sex club), used for sexual pleasures of their dominants. How liberating and empowering it is to be at someone else’s whims and desires.
I read about some dominants who are dominant in all facets of their lives from the boardroom to the bedroom. And how a submissive makes them feel…that the power the submissive holds, and the trust the submissive gives, keep dominants grounded and balanced.
The memory of what William said after I had given him my panties—him calling me a ‘Good girl’—echoes in my thoughts. On the one hand, I could have been totally insulted with his compliment. And that he’d diminished me by call me, a twenty-seven year old woman, who owns her own successful business a girl. But it didn’t. I felt like I was blooming. I recall him telling me that he was proud of me. And that every man in the room was jealous of him. I liked that I had made him feel that way.
I read about the differences between Sensual Dominants and Traditional Dominants.
Most notably, in all of the articles and explanations and blogs I read, there are the constant principles of communication, consent, respect and above all, trust. That being in these relationships brings a sense of security and caring and well-being, balance and order into the lives of those involved.
I take one of the “Submissives” questionnaires. I score a 93%. The write up for the result is that I would do very well in a D/s relationship tending toward the vanilla side of the dynamic rather than the Master/Slave end of the scale. Which is good since William has given every indication that he doesn’t bend toward those elements either.
I find it interesting that William had been able to ascertain this about me with but one evening.
But all of this that I’ve read is overwhelming. I have so many questions. I grab my phone and punch out a text to William: Do you do this 24/7? Or is it more just scenes or moments for you?
And then I remember that he said while I could ask him anything, I should take twenty-four hours to learn and consider… “things.”
It’s only been three hours.
Twenty-one hours to go.
I toss and turn all night. In part from more questions swirling in my head. And in part, due to a sexual energy that has been stirred up in other places.
When I wake at seven on Friday morning, it feels way too early, but unable to go back to sleep, I drag myself out of bed. I want to research more, but I also know I need to process. Ruminate.
And more importantly, I have work. Clients. The MacNeill project—with the ink barely dry on the proposal—we have an appointment this morning to choose some finishes. I need to check in on the Sanderson project and the massive fireplace that’s scheduled to get underway today. And I have research to do for this historical mansion project I really hope to land.
With any luck, I’ll be busy enough to keep my thoughts far from a particular lawyer, who is in possession of an article of my clothing and has filled my head with fantastically perverse notions.
Sipping my piping hot coffee, doctored just right with cream and sugar, and nibbling on some toast and berries and yogurt… I ask myself, Would this be a breakfast to William’s liking?
After a shower, I peruse my closet. As I pull out a pair of smart camel-colored slacks and an ivory-colored, silk blouse, I find myself wondering, Would William be choosing my wardrobe for the day as I’d read in some of the blogs? And, moreover, Would I let him? Would I really be okay with someone making such decisions? The sexual side of a Dominant/submissive relationship aside, would I want someone to be in charge, more or less, of every decision pertaining to my life?
My head buzzing with questions, I do my best to quiet them and dive into work things, like email, knowing full well it’s going to be a very challenging day.
The mundane tasks of cleaning out my inbox is good. It’s easy, and gets my head into my normal routine. And then I see an email from a past client. It’s a reminder about the restaurant preview night of his restaurant and the dining room I designed. The event is Monday and I’d RSVP’d to go with two others, Shannon and Laura. I pick up my phone and open our group text message to send them a quick note.
8:50am
Just reminding you 2
about the preview event at
ALT on Monday. Want me
to drive?
I return to my emails, clearing out a few newsletters and replying to one email from a supplier looking to schedule a delivery, and my Messages app pings with an incoming message.
It’s from Shannon.
8:52am
Oh sweetie - sorry but I have to
bail!!! N and I are flying to CA
tonight to see his parents and share
the baby news. We’re flying back late
on Monday. (Taking the day off)
I’m so sorry!!! :(
I message back that I understand and it’s not a problem. And as soon as I’ve sent that message, I get an incoming from Laura.
8:53am
And please don’t hate ME. I
was planning on it until
I got the call of a lifetime last
night! I was literally just
messaging you about it now.
Long story short:
I’m meeting with SCOTT
WESTON AND HAILEY
JAMES! FOR A WEDDING
CAKE ON MONDAY NIGHT!!!
A bunch of stuff about production
schedule and camera crews! 🤩
They said to prepare for a
long night.
Wow!! Scott Weston and Hailey James were the final couple from that dating reality show where there’s one bachelor and like twenty bachelorettes vying for his attention with the hopes of a Happily Ever After. I’d never watched the show, but when their season first aired a year ago, everyone in town was beyond excited because Hailey lives in town, and of course every one was rooting for her. They’re not the most famous people in the area, but they are the newest famous people. But best of all, this is a BIG thing for Laura’s shop, and for that, I’m happy for her.
Both Shannon and I message her back with our congratulations, however, I’m sadly resigned that I’m now a party of one for this restaurant preview thing. But then I think about William.
Maybe he’d like to go with me? My heart beats wildly as I wonder if he’d ask for my panties again. Or tell me what I’m going to wear. Maybe he’d tell me to show up not wearing any panties at all.
I jump when my phone lights up with an incoming call from Shannon.
I know what’s coming and I almost just let the call go to voicemail, but I had just been texting, so I’m clearly available. And if I don’t take this call, she’ll just keep trying.
“Hi, Shannon,” I say, answering the call.
“Sooooo…?” she says without even saying hello. “How did things go with William last night? Tell me everything! Isn’t he perfect? When are you getting together again? We should double date!”
I’m not about to tell her all the details, but she’s entitled to know some.
“It went well. Drinks turned to dinner…”
Shannon squeals with delight. “And are you going to see each other again?”
“Probably,” I say and this time she squeals so loudly that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“I knew it! I knew you were perfect for each other! We totally need to double date!! It’ll be so much fun!”
Again, I can’t help the curious question if Shannon knows that William is a dominant. I can’t help but wonder if Shannon is Nate’s submissive or something, and they’re all part of some secret society.
She rattles off some innocent sounding suggestions for things the four of us could do until I hear a shrill school bell in the background and Shannon says, “Ugh! That was first bell. I gotta go. Starting the soccer unit today. Wish me luck! Again, so sorry about bailing on you and the restaurant thing Monday. You should ask William!” After a final, “Bye!” the phone goes quiet.
With my first appointment, my day starts rolling with client meetings, research at town hall and at the historical center, and I’m so blissfully busy and don’t spend time dwelling on the other thoughts I’d woken up with.
Yeah, right. Fine, I try to keep the thoughts out of my head, and am moderately successful. But once I’m on my way home at the end of the day, grabbing takeout from my favorite Italian restaurant, William and this whole dominant-submissive thing is all I can think about.
There are three hours to go until I’m ‘allowed’ to reach out to William. I almost message him, rationalizing that while it’s only been twenty-one hours since we said goodbye at the restaurant last night, it’s been twenty-four since we’d met at the bar.
Opening my messenger app, I punch in my first question. However, before I hit send, I ask myself what I’m doing?
I pour myself a glass of wine and while I munch on my Grilled Chicken Pasta Primavera, I have a good chat with myself about what I’m considering here.
While I’m curious about this world, this ‘lifestyle’ as the blogs call it, I don’t know that I could actually do it. Be a part of it. The kink and taboo. What does it matter if William is a dom all day and night? Could I be a submissive for even an hour a day?
I do like the idea of the rules and the structure and the communication. It’s a comforting concept. That William doesn’t lean into the S and M aspects of the lifestyle is also reassuring. And then… there’s also that inexplicable pull I felt with William. That natural trust I felt when I was with him last night. That he doesn’t hide from things. He’s proud of who he is, comfortable in his skin, and honest.
But really? Is that enough?
Like Laura said the other day, ‘You don’t know what you’re made of until you try.’
Hmmm...
Should Penelope ask William all of her questions? Learn more? Give things try?
or
It’s just too much. Penelope’s not kinky.
Should Penelope ask William all of her questions? Learn more? Give things try?
or
It’s just too much. Penelope’s not kinky.