In The Garden of Lust

Chapter One-2

“A pot of tea, Earl Grey and some shortbread. The lemon ones, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Adrianne is a pretty girl with a mop of yellow blonde curls, dimples and a sweet grin she’s learned to tame when speaking to her mistress. Otherwise, she’d be bubbling over with infectious enthusiasm—too much for a haughty mistress, even though I’ve always thought that Miriam was amused by the young woman’s cheery disposition. They must like each other since they’re still together after five years. The girl slips out and we’re alone again.

“So, you need a man,” she starts in, not missing a beat. “I assume a dominant one, since with that ridiculously perfect figure of yours and that gorgeous face, you could probably bag a vanilla man in any bar on any given night.” She gives me the once over, her eyes narrowing with concern. “What is this? You running marathons again?”

I pull back. “No. Not really, there was a half-marathon last fall…” my voice peters out as I blush again. “I suppose I’ve been a little compulsive lately about exercise… takes the edge off.”

“Well, if it takes the ‘edge off’ why are you here?” Typically blunt, of course. I need that now and it’s one trait of Miriam’s personality that I particularly like.

“There’s more of an edge these days than usual,” I say.

“Any particular reason?”

“No. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that my fantasies are never going to go away, and it’s about time I addressed them head on.”

Her dry smile is expected, although I sense some affection behind it. Once, when we were much younger, she made a pass at me, which so totally freaked me out that I didn’t see her for months. We laughed about it when I finally broke the ice again, but I knew she wouldn’t make another such attempt at intimacy. She was too proud to be rejected again. But I also believe that she still harbors some feelings for me, and that there’s more behind the affectionate glance than simple friendship. The way I’m feeling now, I could probably submit to her sexually if I allowed myself, but that would still be avoiding what’s most important. It’s a man I need, not a female.

“Address the issue head on. What a novel idea,” she muses.

I take her sardonic comment as typical Miriam. She would have had me divorce Tony a long time before he died. In her world, relationships come and go with ease, but that’s not so easy for me.

“However, you’re in luck today,” she moves on. “I have a special on one-night stands and weekend rendezvous. I’ll pluck a few from my files and let you look.”

I shake my head. “No, no, not a one night stand, not a weekend or even a week. The entire summer. I want to be a slave for the entire summer—” I see her wary look and stop. “What? Am I asking the impossible?”

“You might be,” she says cautiously.

“But you’re still in the match-making business, aren’t you?”

“Heavens yes. But for you—” She stops abruptly.

“What do you mean, for me?” My gut begins to grind, as if I’ve just consumed a liter of Vodka and a dozen stuffed jalapenos. Yet, there’s something else, too: an unmistakable tickle in my crotch that rises far above the noxious churning in my belly. The reality of my mission hits home with the thought that Miriam might not be able to provide me what I’m looking for. Still, I need this badly, and I need Miriam to come through as she has before.

“What I mean, Marlena, is that matching submissive females with dominant males for long term contracts is not easy. Especially when it’s a friend I’m placing. Not all arrangements are successful—everyone understands that from the start. Frankly, I’m surprised that after all this time, you’re ready to go to such extremes. To put yourself into an arrangement for three months?” She sighs and shakes her head. “An entire summer is a long time—especially if you were to end up stuck in a bad situation. You can’t just walk away if things get too rough, or you lose interest, or the guy smells like garlic every time he demands a kiss.”

“You’re trying to talk me out of this?” I expected her to be a bit surprised, maybe, but not this.

“I’m giving you a reality check.”

“I’ve already done that sufficiently.” I’m pretty irritated. “I’ve run this by every ‘reality check’ I can think of and nothing so far is bad enough to stop me. Besides, I thought you were the matchmaker with the sixth sense about what your clients need—doms and subs.” I even heard her say that once. “Don’t you weed out the unsavory sort? I thought that was your job.”

She glowers darkly for a moment, unused to criticism coming from me, even if that criticism remains rather veiled. “Yes, I weed out the unsavory ones. And yes, I have an uncanny ability to put the right people together for their personal needs. But this is not a simple process. And the length of time you’re asking for, three months?” She shakes her head warily. “The kind of feelings you have right now, that stirring intensity of desire thrives on quick fixes, savage weekends, perhaps a week or two of playing slave. But three months? That would be an unusual relationship even for me to arrange. Few of my clients are looking for anything more than a month. Just think about what you’re asking—realistically. Every man has bad habits; they are full of them. Every damn one of them can be a bore from time to time. And I simply can’t be in their dungeon for every session with the whip, or in the bedroom when you’re being fucked.”

“And why would you think I need that kind of surveillance?”

“You’re still such a novice, Marlena.” She’s obviously exasperated. “You’ve had so little experience. Have you considered what happens once the thrill has run its course? When that first flush dies off and you look at this man, seeing not just the crusty dominance you love, or the cold chill of desire that shakes you from time to time, but the warts, and bad breath, and the flaws that are soon flying in your face every second. Think of the strain of following rules you’ll suddenly find silly and superfluous.” She’s surprising emotional as she rattles on with.

“You sound as if you’ve been through a ‘bad’ experience of your own.”

“I have.”

“You mean you played slave to some man?” I’m incredulous.

“I was Winston’s slave for two years,” she states evenly, though I sense the hard edge return: the physical tightening, the twitching jaw, a cruel depth to her smoldering eyes.

“Really?” When she bought the house twenty years ago, Winston, a man I found cocky and self-righteous, was her partner. I knew she’d eventually kick him out and she did after two years. “You were his submissive?” I’m totally boggled by the idea.

“I was his slave,” she emphasizes the word. “I knew I was nothing but a Domme, but he convinced me that I needed to see the b**m life through a slave’s eyes, that I could never understand the submissive mind if I didn’t give in to my own submissive inclinations, which he believed were quite strong. He was wrong and I was young and foolish enough to believe him. When I had enough, I threw him out, but then you know that.”

I knew the break up was a rough one, but I knew not to ask how much back then, and she never mentioned a word about why they abruptly went their separate ways.

“So, being a slave is utterly stupid for you. I get that. But you and I are polar opposites, Miriam. What you abhor, I crave. Don’t you see that?”

“Of course I do. But I think you’d be better off with a man who you meet on your own. Even on-line, if you play it smart, you can find decent guys. Build a relationship. Work into the kink. Do it the old-fashioned way. You’ll be much better off.”

I can barely believe what I’m hearing. “Here I thought you’d be more than willing to make an arrangement considering how you are always out to protect me.”

“I am trying to protect you, darling. My service is not perfect…”

Her hesitation is getting under my skin. The more she pushes me away, the more I dig in. I feel like I have to plead with her.

“But we could try it, couldn’t we? You do have men available, right? Somewhere in your files there has to be the right male dominant for what I need.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” she quips.

“What? All the good Masters already taken?”

“No, there are a number of available men. I still think you’re better off looking elsewhere.”

After spending weeks getting up the courage to see her, my mind is now spinning with the thought that she’ll reject my request flat out. Then what will I do? The idea of navigating the relationship waters in search of the right Dom hasn’t even crossed my mind. Probably because the entire idea is too much for me handle. Making choices has never been my strong suit and having someone else do the work seems so much simpler. Miriam herself has told me plenty of times that she knows me better than I know myself, which is exactly why I want her to do the dirty work.

“So, you won’t even try to help me?” The frustration is making my body burn, but I dig in again. “I’m not looking for romance, Miriam. This isn’t about the rest of my life. It’s about one summer and my fantasies. It’s about turning off my mind, turning everything I am into a man’s humble servant, being disciplined, punished, bound, beaten, sexually used…living the dreams in my mind that won’t go away, no matter what I do.” Damn! Just saying the words turn me on! The tickle in my crotch has turned into a ferocious furnace of lust. “Yes, I might hate it, but I also might love it. And it can’t just be a weekend or a week. I need time, a long string of days so I understand submission, so I understand myself, so I finally get a real world version of what’s been part of my soul since I can remember. You trust these men, don’t you? If you didn’t then what good is your ‘service’ to any woman?”

I can see her displeasure in the way she shifts in her chair and the biting hardness that, for a moment, appears in her smoky eyes. “Yes, I trust my gentlemen friends,” she replies deliberately, as if she’s in the process of calming her ire. “But do I trust them with you, is the question that I have to ask.”

“What? Am I in a unique category of sub? You’ve always led me to believe that embracing my submissiveness was a point of strength, not weakness. What about me would give you reason to doubt my worthiness?”

“I don’t doubt your worthiness. I just doubt that you really understand what you’re asking. Even a week can be a long frightful hell when a D/s relationship doesn’t click. An entire summer? You’ve had enough misery in your life in recent years. I have no desire to add to it by leading you into a bad decision.”

“Maybe it won’t be a bad decision. Have you considered that for even half a minute? No. Just try me out, Miriam. Allow me to show you that I have whatever it is I need to make this work.”

Again, she shifts in her chair, and we both wait as Adrienne arrives with the tea and cookies. Is this what she thinks of me? A tea and cookies sort of friend?

Adrienne pours the fragrant tea into Miriam’s fine china cups, the ones with the delicate rose trim around the edges. She serves her Mistress first with a deferential bow, then hands a cup to me with a giggling smile.

“That’ll be all, my dear,” Miriam quickly shoos her off.

As soon as the parlor door closes again, I jump back into my arguments. “I thought this was exactly what you want for me.”

“But are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“Yes!” b***h. Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? She can be so damn obtuse it drives me crazy. “I know the dangers,” I continue, while trying to stay calm. “But I also know myself. I think it would be a lot more dangerous to ignore my desires than it would be to jump in. Yes, it has to be the right man. I know that. And maybe I won’t be able to find the right man. But if you won’t even bother to open your files—” I stop there, struggling to make my point.

She’s so deep in thought I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain. The years have added lines to her very striking face, and while I think they only give her a more mature appearance, perfect for her life as a Domme, the lines seem to deepen now with her weary look.