Page 9 of Delicious Surrender
Patricia stopped typing and paused before answering. “In my experience, when that happens, there are two probable reasons. One, the sub doesn’t have respect for the Dom and is withholding the gift of their obedience. The other possibility is that he or she wants to push their buttons to instigate harsher punishment or moreattention.” Patricia waited for her to finish writing and asked what she thought.
She nibbled on the end of her pen. “I am not sure why, but my personality has always been a bit, um, oppositional. As a kid, I got attention by being bad. In this situation it’s hard to judge whether to test the boundaries when I don’t know how harsh the punishment will be.”
“You will likely know right away. Pain is not always a deterrent; for some, it’s highly enjoyable.”
“To be honest, I have fantasies like lots of women,” Brynne said, “but they’re more about being forced to comply, not submitting willingly.”
“I appreciate your openness, dear. But you should know most Doms demand obedience. For some, it is the most essential element, because it shows a commitment and devotion to pleasing them. It is also irrefutable proof that everything is by choice and not done under threat.”
Brynne wrote everything down, then looked up to see Patricia was waiting for her full attention.
“The number-one rule is that your submission is voluntary.It must never be forced, or even coerced.” Her expression softened. It was almost nostalgic. “Personally, I view it as a gift.”
“I see. A Dominant cannot have what they need unless the sub is willing to give it.”
“Exactly. It is a delicate balance of power that requires full trust. One could argue the submissive wields more power because they can always stop a scene. The skilled Dom can push the boundaries when they know exactly how far their sub likes to go. It’s up to you to make them aware of what you will and won’t do. For example, if you decide a hard limit is no ass play, your Dom must respect that.”
Brynne swallowed. Patricia peered over her glasses and said, “Sweetie, you are wound so tight, one tap with a crop, and I think you could come undone.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She winked. “Only to the discerning eye.”
Patricia rose from her desk and suggested they sit on the couch to talk through the next set of questions. She glided over to the wall unit and accessed a well-stocked bar. Brynne admired the way her pencil skirt showed off her hourglass shape and toned legs. She poured two glasses of a deep plum-colored liquid and handed one to Brynne.
“This is my favorite sweet sherry. It will help calm your nerves.” She took a seat on the sofa. “It’s highly unusual for me to take on someone I know nothing about. Since this is for Dominus, I need to bethorough.”
Brynne sank onto the sofa and took a tentative sip. The rich sweet wine warmed her, and for the first time in a week, sherelaxed.
Patricia raised her glass. “To discovering the submissive in you, Brynne.”
They clinked glasses, and Brynne smiled tentatively. “May I ask, how did you get into this line of work?”
“When I was twenty-eight, I started my own headhunting business with a bank loan and a dream. A lot of psychology is involved in coaching candidates to change companies. I had a knack for reading personalities and could spot the ones who needed to be pushed harder to reach their potential. Some needed to be strong-armed, while others needed coddling.”
Patricia’s eyes lit with excitement. “As I built my business, I found that I really enjoyed using those skills to help people take risks. One day, a gorgeous software executive of about thirty asked me if I would punish him if he didn’t take the lucrative job I’d sourced for him.” She laughed. “I told him I would beat him black and blue. He came to my office the next day and begged me to do it.”
“Wow.” Brynne couldn’t hide her admiration.
Patricia returned to peeling the onion. “Tell me a little about your childhood, parents, and where you grew up?”
Brynne wrestled with where to begin. “I was born in Scotland, but when I was eight, we moved to Canada. Not long after, my mother left. She packed up, told my dad she didn’t want to be a wife or mother anymore, and left to find a more exciting life.”
Brynne kept her face devoid of emotion. “I should have been devastated, but I wasn’t. She rarely took notice of me,dressed me in ugly clothes, and chopped my hair like a boy. It took me a few years to realize that she wanted to minimize the attention people gave me. She wasn’t happy unless the spotlight was on her.”
“Is she still alive?” Patricia asked.
Brynne tensed. “I have no idea and couldn’t care less.”
“How did your father cope with her leaving?”
Jesus, she is dredging up some old memories.“He was a mess. Depressed, drank too much…so I took care of him. I became the lady of the house.” Taking another sip of liquid courage, she continued, “I really didn’t mind. He eventually pulled himself together.”
Patricia continued with the questions and Brynne let it all tumble out of her. It was cathartic. They drank and nibbled on crackers, grapes, and a rich creamy brie that Patricia pulled out of her mini fridge. She asked about her high school experiences and Brynne explained she was “a late bloomer” who only had one so-called boyfriend.
“In grade thirteen a boy I had a crush on asked me out for an actual date. Ryan Woodberry was his name. He picked me up in his dad’s posh Mercedes and I was overjoyed. Halfway through the drive-in movie and a bottle of wine, he begged me for a blow job.” Brynne giggled. “I eventually caved. That night I learned I had a talent, and that power was far more intoxicating than the wine.”
“What happened?” Patricia leaned forward, eagerly.