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Except this wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for her.

Kathleen doesn’t know she’s doing it. Or at least I don’t think she knows that she’s seducing me. Women with that kind of power are so dangerous that I often don’t deal with them for more than a night. I prefer women who need or want me to seduce them. I’m a lot more likely to get what I want from those types of women.

See, I keep imagining impossible scenarios with Kathleen. When she reaches back in her chair and stretches, I imagine popping open those buttons and burying myself in her breasts. When she sucks on the straw of her water bottle, I see her puckering up, waiting for me to kiss her. When she yawns in the morning and early in the evening, I see a woman who is about to get into bed with me and tear my cunt apart.

I bet she’s great at that. Most Dommes are. We love to give out happy little rewards.

I want to lick the shoulders she reveals when shaking off her jacket. I want to stick my hand down her trousers and feel my fingers choke in her folds, in the seam of those tight pants. And dear God do I want to spread her out on the table and drive into her until we both come.

Me, inside her, surrounded by her warmth and reaching deep, deep into her until I’m so buried that she’s screaming about how wonderful I am.

I want to see her writhe beneath me, that beautiful blond hair circling her face like a halo. I want to hear her gasp my name…and call me a term of endearing respect.

She said it the other day. On the phone with one of her father’s investors. “Yes, sir. That won’t be a problem, sir.” Holy fuck, she said it quickly without a second thought, but I was so enthralled with the way those sounds rolled off her tongue that I proceeded to fantasize about the most impossible thing ever.

Dominating Kathleen Allen.

Bend her over. Spank her. Gag her with a ball and smother her with my body. Sweat on her and admire how filthy she is. Filthy for me.

I dominate, not to control and hurt, but because I want to completely own the person I’m with. Even if it’s a one-night stand, I’m a lot happier hearing her at least pretend to give herself to me, body and soul. Subs are so powerful. They trust you with their bodies, their hearts, the scars they already have on them. They want you to make them feel safe. And dirty. Safe to be dirty.

To fulfill their fantasies. And yours.

Kathleen understands this well. It’s why this fantasy of mine will never come true. Very few Dommes switch. Women like Kathleen, who have to psych themselves up to be the go-getters the world tells them they’re not? They’re even less likely to give up control. I’ve had sex with a couple of other Dommes. Just regular sex, no role-play. Even when I was on top of them, thrusting into them, bending them over, pressing them against headboards… they were very much in control of the situation, even if they were careful to not threaten my power. Those hookups only work when we’re both too horny to care but can’t find other people to fuck. Sometimes you just want a hot pussy, and sometimes they just want a hard fuck.

It’s too different with Kathleen. This isn’t shrugging and deciding to go for it. This is much deeper.

And I’m losing my mind.

Right now I’m at my big desk at home, trying to finish up the work I couldn’t get done with Kathleen around. It’s Wednesday night and I’m tired. So tired that twice now I’ve thought my cat Saoirse was my mind playing tricks on me. She’s a dainty little calico cat, a master of knocking shit over and chewing on power cords until she gets a nasty taste of bitter apple spray. (And to the point her owner had to anti-cat every power cord in the condo.) Normally at this time of night, she’s snoozing away on her pillow in the living room, but tonight she’s got the crazies and keeps jumping up and down my desk at the most distracting intervals.

Normally, I love sitting here to work at all hours of the day. I live on the nineteenth floor of this high-rise and have a fantastic view of downtown, especially at night when the lights twinkle and the darkness turns my condo into a cave of creativity. But not tonight. Tonight? I’m staring at my reflection in the tinted windows, willing myself to get my shit together.

I’m not perfect. Like anyone, I lose my ability to contain my bearings once in a while.

I left Stephanie a message yesterday. I haven’t heard back from her. I don’t think I will.

Plans are already being made to go out and find someone this weekend. I am going to purposely avoid a blonde. They are too dangerous now. They all make me think of Kathleen.

Do you know how good she would look in my condo? Her sophistication would class this place up. I can see her, wearing one of those designer suits at my kitchen counter, earbud in her ear and stiletto heel dangling from her foot. I want her here, though. I want her with me at my desk, asking me what I want.

“What can I do for you, ma’am? What can I do to relieve some of this… tension?”

I’d tell her to show me her breasts. After I have my fill of them, I’ll have her crawl beneath my desk and take my prosthetic out of my pants. She could do whatever she wanted to it.

Fuck, I’m aroused. That’s what I get for daydreaming about Kathleen Allen playing with my prosthetic or my pussy when I should be working. I haven’t even touched myself since I screwed up with Stephanie. That, unfortunately, was my last orgasm. Now, I’m not saying that I’m someone who has to get off once a day, but five days is cutting it a bit close for me.

I haven’t done anything because I’m afraid I’ll fantasize about Kathleen.

It’s inevitable. My thoughts are so full of her that she’s consuming me. I’m not even sure I like the woman outside of what’s acceptable. I try to forget about that time we were teenagers. It feels like a lifetime ago, anyway. I try to think of her as a woman I recently met. Someone I have no history with, because then I don’t feel so weird thinking about her running her tongue up and down my slit, her lips sucking on my clit while her fingers get frisky with my folds.

Not every woman gets to penetrate me like that. But Kathleen? No damn question. Not only would she be god-tier at fingering me, but it would be a damn honor to have her inside of me once in a while. Ah, god damnit. It’s all I can think about now!

By the time I slide my hand down my underwear, I’m so wet that I let out a groan of shameful relief. Because how dare I? How dare I want that woman so badly?

I close my eyes and imagine that everything I do to myself is coming from Kathleen. All I have to think about is how I want to finish. Should I lose myself all over her beautiful face and make her ride the wave? Holy hell, I would love to see that. Watch her hold her breath while she tells me how good I taste.

I groan. Everything is tender beneath my touch.