Page 21
Is that jealousy I hear?
I sit back down next to Amethyst and watch Beefcake get called to the stage. He is partnered with an older woman who looks like a drill sergeant.
I struggle to stay focused on his scene and find myself constantly glancing at Lord Murray. He has such an intense stare as he watches their scene unfold, while periodically glancing down to take notes.
Not only is Lord Murray’s size intimidating, but I’m a little shaken by how easily he was able to control my body. It’s like he drew the orgasm out of me.
In the span of just one evening, several of my long-held biases have been challenged, as well as my belief that I could never orgasm with a man.
I find all of it disconcerting…
While watching the trainers, my heart skips a beat when Headmaster Wallace catches me staring. I quickly turn my attention back to Beefcake and his Domme, determined not to get distracted again.
I watch as each of the submissives faces their own biases, and I am stunned when another one chooses to quit the course and walk away.
Once the last scene has been successfully concluded, Headmaster Wallace stands up to address the remaining ten of us.
“As I stated before this night began, we intend to make it clear to you if you are ready to face the six weeks ahead.”
I hear Pixie Girl make a frightened squeak on the other side of the aisle.
“Tomorrow, we will continue to expand your knowledge and challenge you further.” He then adds solemnly, “You are dismissed.”
As we file out of the auditorium, the others in the group start chattering about their experiences. I fall behind them, preferring to listen rather than to participate in their discourse.
But Beefcake slows down to walk beside me. “I find it strange that you were the only one to scene with a trainer tonight.”
I shrug. “I don’t think it’s that surprising since he checked off four of my five dislikes.”
He narrows his eyes. “Well, I suspect there’s something more going on.”
I speed up to get away from the man’s negative energy. Grabbing my coat from the hook, I snatch up all my things and hurry down the hall, wanting to avoid any further contact with the guy.
Before I reach the elevator, Headmaster Wallace stops me in the hallway. “I noticed you weren’t focused during the second practicum.”
I silently groan, hating to be called out like this. “You’re right, Headmaster. But all of this is new to me.”
“I understand that, but if I were to name each scene, would you be able to describe what happened?”
I shake my head miserably.
“Everything we do has a purpose, Miss Lane. Watching your fellow classmates will advance your journey. Do not squander that opportunity.”
“I won’t,” I promise him.
He nods curtly before walking toward Mr. Onassis’s classroom.
Beekcake brushes against my shoulder and gets onto the elevator ahead of me. “I got my eyes on you, little lapdog.”
I step back, unwilling to join him in the elevator. I watch everyone else pile in with him before the doors close. I press the button after the elevator heads down, and patiently wait for it to return.
I turn when I hear Headmaster Wallace’s voice and spot him speaking to Miss Diaz. When I hear her sob, he puts an arm around her. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable to be witnessing their private exchange, I stare straight ahead and blush a deep shade of red when the elevator dings loudly, announcing its arrival.
I nod to the attendant as I rush inside.
I get the distinct impression that Miss Diaz won’t be returning tomorrow, and it makes me sad. It’s crazy that in one night, we’re already down to nine people.
While I understand the importance of weeding out anyone who is not ready for the commitment of a course like this, I sincerely hope the next dropout doesn’t end up being me.
Exhausted by the time I arrive at my apartment, I don’t bother glancing at the clock as I slip into my jammies and head straight to bed. With my eyelids drooping heavily, I check my phone to see if Gwen has left me a meme.
She has!
The title of it reads “Discovering Your Fetishes,” and the picture has a series of cartoon panels of someone looking at a computer screen. In the first speech bubble, it says, “That’s disgusting! How could anyone be into that?” and by the last panel, they’re staring at the screen, looking dazed. “Shit! I’m into it.”
I text her a quick reply.
Pretty much describes what I experienced tonight. Dead tired. Update you later.
Setting my phone on the nightstand, I end up falling asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.
The next day, I find I have an extra spring in my step. It seems that facing my fear has been emotionally liberating for me. Even though Tuesdays are my longest workday of the week, it seems to race by.
I even have a breakthrough with one of my toughest students, and her father stops me after the lesson as I’m leaving. “Was that you playing upstairs, Miss Lane?”
“No, that was your daughter,” I answer proudly.
He sounds mildly astonished when he says, “I never thought she’d actually learn to play.”
“Then why did you hire me to teach her?”
He snorts. “To get an hour of peace once a week.”
“Well, Clara has a natural talent for the piano. With discipline, she could even become an exceptional pianist.”
Looking amused, he chuckles, “My daughter has always struggled with the concept of discipline, thanks to my ex-wife.”
Feeling bad for the child after hearing him talk that way, I offer him advice I hope he’ll take seriously. “I’ve found a little encouragement goes a long way, Mr. Branson.”
He seems taken aback that I’m not agreeing with his assessment of her and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
Normally, I would correct myself and console my client out of a fear of losing my job. But not today!
“Excuse me, but I have an important engagement tonight and can’t afford to be late,” I tell him, hurrying out the door before he has an opportunity to respond.
My last student is on the other side of the city. So, as soon as I finish for the day, I swing by Gwen’s apartment to change into my uniform so I can get to class on time.
Ever since opening night, Gwen has continued to kill it on stage. But the leading actress has finally recovered enough to take back her role on Friday.
Gwen has mentioned rumors are circulating that the actress is upset over the numerous accolades Gwen received for her performance. And my bestie worries that there may be backstage retaliation once the famous actress returns.
I would be livid if that happened, since Gwen saved the entire production by taking on the difficult role with no time to prepare for it.
I’m struck by the silence the moment I enter my best friend’s empty apartment, using the key she gave me when she moved in. I don’t normally visit her apartment when she’s not home.
Although her parents refuse to support her choice of career, her father has stated he will never allow his only child to “live in squalor”—his exact words when Gwen brought her parents over to my apartment.
Instead of a humble apartment like mine, Gwen lives on the top floor of a high-rise in Tribeca. The spacious apartment not only has an open layout, but it’s fully furnished with modern décor and has state-of-the-art appliances.
Heading straight to her bathroom to change, I chuckle when I turn on the lights. The spacious room is as big as my whole living room and kitchen combined!
With a lighted, full-length mirror and a cushioned bench to sit on, I feel like a Hollywood star as I change into my uniform. But I smirk as I struggle to pull on the black tights, wondering how any woman could make the act of putting them on look sexy.
Slipping into my high heels before cinching up the corset, I stare at my uniform in the soft glow of Gwen’s mirror. I don’t feel shy about looking sexy tonight.
Of course, the fact that everyone saw me naked during the practicum may account for my newfound confidence. Still, with literally nothing left to hide, there’s a freedom I haven’t experienced before.
Buttoning up my princess coat, I thrust my work clothes into the duffle bag. I’m sad that my crazy schedule means that I’m not going to see much of Gwen for the next six weeks.
Knowing that, I write her a quick note and set a pack of her favorite candy, Skittles, next to it before I head out to face my second day at the Training Center.
This time, I’m a full fifteen minutes early when I enter the classroom. Thinking I’ll be one of the first, I’m shocked to see that everyone is already here except for Pixie Girl.
I sit down next to Michelle, who is alone at the same table we sat at yesterday. I wanted to sit with Amethyst in the back, but Michelle looked excited to see me, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Glancing back at Amethyst, I’m both surprised and pleased to see that Miss Diaz is still among us. Mr. Onassis stands at the front of the class, tapping his pen against his palm impatiently while he stares at the clock.
“While we wait, I suggest you look over your notes from yesterday. I also advise that you add any relevant details concerning the practicums from last night. The objective of those two practicums was to open your eyes to opportunities you may have been blind to in the past. Trust me, you’ll find your notes invaluable as the course progresses.”
I appreciate his suggestion and write down my impressions of each experience while I wait for class to begin. I’m fully aware of the empty seat beside me when I finish and glance up to see that it is 7:59.
I’m certain Pixie Girl isn’t going to make it, but she surprises us all when she waltzes in at the last second and gives a cute little curtsey to everyone seated. Acting as if she has all the time in the world, she heads to the back to sit with Amethyst just as the bell sounds.
Mr. Onassis is not amused by her antics. “I will speak to you after class, Ms. Foster.”
She gives him a cute little pout. “But I kept my promise not to be late.”
“We will speak about this later.”
Turning his attention to the rest of us, he begins, “There are many misconceptions in the world when it comes to the topic of boundaries as a submissive. It’s important to understand that a submissive volunteers to surrender their control to the Dominant, but they are still allowed to voice their preferences and set personal limits.”
He writes on his whiteboard as he explains, “Within those parameters, there are different levels of submission. With Light Submission, the submissive maintains a high level of control during short scenes. Then there is Moderate Submission, where the submissive gives the Dominant more significant control over longer periods of time.”
“What about slaves?” one of the guys asks.
Mr. Onassis looks at the man and frowns. “Mr. Russo, raise your hand and wait to be called on before you speak.”
When the guy meekly raises his hand, Mr. Onassis states, “Thank you, Mr. Russo. I was actually about to address that.”
Speaking to the whole class, he explains, “Heavy Submission is limited to submissives who choose to set very few limits on their full-time Dominant. While the submissive still has control, they choose not to use it. A slave, on the other hand, voluntarily gives up those rights.”
I’m relieved to learn that submission isn’t an all-or-nothing commitment.
It reminds me of my conversation with Brianna. She mentioned she was a full-time submissive, so that must mean she’s into heavy submission. I admire her for being willing to give that kind of control over to another person, but that’s not something I would ever be willing to do.
Mr. Onassis glances at the clock. “Before you head off to the first practicum tonight, we need to cover a few basic commands and rules of etiquette.”
He then throws us a huge curveball when he adds, “After tonight’s class, you will be expected to follow all of them.”