8th Avenue became my refuge from life, my entire existence focused on getting through the next day and night until it was time to meet him again. After that first night, I'd enter the apartment and he would be waiting for me instead of me waiting for him as I once imagined. It just seemed to work out that he was already there waiting for me when I arrived.

I'd open the door and breathe in deeply, his cologne, the scent of leather and old wood coming to symbolize Drake to me, arousing me before I'd even make it through the door. He'd have a shot of Anisovaya waiting for me in Yelena Kuznetsova's crystal glasses and we'd drink a toast to each other before falling into our respective roles. He'd take the glass from my hand and place them both on the sideboard. Then, he'd come to me, wrapping me in his arms, his chin on the top of my head for a moment and that was a sign I had to shift into submissive mode.

It became easier and easier, the word Master less awkward on my lips.

The week that my period was due again, I tried to bow out of seeing him. The last time I had my period, we were separated out of necessity when I broke it off because Dawn found the contract. This time, there was no excuse. He was standing at the doorway on Sunday morning before I left, examining a wall calendar.

"I'm free Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday this week," he said. "I hope you can make all four nights."

I shook my head and stood beside him, examining the calendar. "I'm due on Tuesday," I said, touching the date. "It will last until Friday. I can't make Saturday night because this person doesn't work that night. I guess we have to take a week's break."

He shook his head. "I don't like that, Kate," he said, frowning. "Just because you have your period doesn't mean you can't come to me."

"I don't think so," I said, holding my hands up, stepping away from him and his frowning expression. "I have bad cramps and on the day before and first day, I'm what my father calls a hellcat."

"No, I still want you here. You said you had every Tuesday and Thursday for sure and one day on the weekend that you'd always be free so I want you here then if I can't have you on Saturday. Monday as well. I have many techniques guaranteed to tame beasts, hellcats included."

"Drake…"

"Katherine," he said and pulled me against him, but my body was rigid. "You forget, I was married for five years to a woman who had periods. I'm also a doctor, unless you also forgot that fact. I even did an OB/GYN rotation and delivered babies, did C-Sections, cut out uteruses. Why, I even had my whole hand and part of my arm inside a woman delivering a breech twin…"

I made a face and right away, thought about that clause in his contract about vaginal fisting.

"There's no reason to be together if we can't do things," I said, trying to wrestle free from him, but he held me tight, nibbling my neck playfully.

"What do you mean, we can't do things? We can always do things. Besides, a good orgasm will help your PMS and cramps."

"I could never," I said, making a face. "I'm way too uncomfortable. I can't imagine it."

"You can and you will," he said. "Submission, Katherine. It's what I want. I don’t want to be away from you for so long."

"But it's disgusting! Haven't you heard about masturbation?"

"Why should I masturbate when I can have you? You are such a good Catholic girl despite being a socialist…" He reached down to my waist and tickled me.

"I'm not a socialist!" I said, laughing despite myself, squirming in his arms. "I'm not a good Catholic girl. If I was, I’d still be a virgin and wouldn't let you tie me up and fuck me."

"And I'm so glad you're a bad Catholic girl, Kate. If you weren't, I'd die of blue balls."

He chased me around the apartment, and I almost fell on one of his small carpets that slipped beneath my feet when he almost cornered me. He caught me from behind and held me firmly.

"Now, no more arguments about it. I want you here on Tuesday and Thursday. I won't fuck you if you really don't want me to, if it really upsets you that much, but I will make you come and you will make me come. No more arguments."

Finally, I gave in.

 

I didn't know what to expect when I arrived at the apartment on 8th Avenue that Tuesday night, but it certainly wasn't what I found waiting just inside Drake's door. He was there, dressed in football equipment, elbow and knee pads, shoulder pads, a helmet on and a cup over top of his jeans. In one hand was a bottle of wine.

"Oh, my God," I said, covering my mouth with a hand, laughing at him. He grinned from ear to ear under the helmet's faceguard grill. He even had a mouthpiece in.

"I thought I'd be prepared for a hellcat," he said, mumbling around the mouthpiece. Then he spit it out. "You don't look too hard to handle."

"You are so bad," I said, laughing as I removed my coat and boots.

He came to me and embraced me, the equipment hard and bumpy against my body.  He was laughing so hard, trying to kiss me, but unable because of the helmet. Finally, he just held me, his body still shaking with mirth.

"You’re not going to keep that on, are you?"

"I don't know," he said, still chuckling. "Kinda feels a bit kinky. You could get some pompoms. Shake your booty a bit…" He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in that way. "Maybe I'll keep them on just until I see how hellish you are."

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the wine. I was less tense due to the laughter, but still, I felt a certain amount of trepidation about the evening's events.

"A nice Pinot Noir," he said, a bit more in control. "Red wine is good for menstrual cramps. Helps stop the prostaglandins that cause your cramping." He leaned down and whispered, but he couldn’t get close because of the face guard. "I'm going to get you good and drunk and then fuck you."

I stepped backwards, trying to escape his arms. "You said you wouldn't, Drake. I'm holding you to that."

He let me go and started to peel equipment off so that he was left in his white button down shirt opened at the neck, untucked over a pair of faded jeans.

"I said I wouldn’t if you really didn't want me to, but," he said, pulling me into his arms, putting on a fake German accent, "Ve have vays to make you vant me to…"

"You are a dirty conniving bastard," I said and sidled away from him when he tried to prevent my escape. "I have a headache and can't drink wine."

"Just had a shower so not dirty. My father was definitely married to my mother when I was conceived, so not a bastard. I am not conniving. I am calculating. I plan. I analyze a problem, breaking it down into its component parts, then I solve each problem so I can have the outcome that I want."

I escaped and ran away but he chased me, lunging at me, smiling as he grabbed me.

"I want to fuck you. As to your headache, an orgasm will help you with that."

"Drake!" I said, trying to avoid his grasp.

"Kate," he said, his tone chiding. "I said I want to fuck you. You're resistant because of outdated sense of bodily modesty that is entirely inappropriate in a D/s relationship. I must break down your resistance. How better to do so than to get you good and drunk?"

"Why are you doing this?" I said, trying to keep him away, slapping his hands away only half-playfully. "Why are you pushing me?"

"That's what I do, Kate. You know this. You signed the agreement. There wasn't any clause that said you wouldn’t fuck me when you had your period."

"I didn’t think there had to be." I just stood there, my eyes closed, my hands fisted. I was close to tears, despite his playful tone.

"Kate," he said and put his arms around me, enveloping me in his warm embrace. "Just trust me…"

"You can't even go one week without sex?"

"There's no reason to," he said, his voice soft, his lips at my ear. "I don't want to go a week without fucking you. You wait. It will be so good for you. You'll have a nice orgasm and you'll feel so much better. I promise…"

"I won't be able to enjoy it."

"Let's have a bet," he said and pulled back, touching my bottom lip with his thumb. "You don't enjoy it, and I have to fuck you twice in your favorite position next time. You enjoy it and I get to fuck you twice any position I want."

"That sounds like a win-win for you," I said. "No bets."

He laughed and pulled me into the living room and made me sit on the couch while he poured us each a glass of wine.

"That's because you know you'll lose. How are you feeling? I mean your cramps?"

"I took some Tylenol. It doesn't do much."

"You need something different – Ibuprophen's best." Then he motioned to my glass. "Drink that all down. You need the alcohol to dull your cramps."

I took a big gulp, wishing we'd keep talking about nothing instead of him preparing me for sex that I didn't want to have.

"So you prefer old music," I said, hoping to distract him.

"Yes, there's more than enough great music from the sixties and early seventies. My dad was a collector and has thousands of albums."

"What's your absolute favorite piece of all time?"

"Drink it all down." He motioned to the glass again. "I want you silly drunk and giggling."

"You must have a favorite," I said, wanting to keep him talking.

He shook his head. "Drink up. No more delaying, Kate."

I exhaled in frustration, and drank down the rest of the glass of wine, a warmth building in my limbs and stomach from the alcohol.

"I'm a really cheap drunk," I said, smiling a bit. "I get drunk very quickly. No tolerance to alcohol."

"Good." He poured more wine into my empty glass. "Drink that down as well."

I took a gulp. "You aren't drinking."

"This is just for show." He held the glass up. "I have to stay sober so I can have my way with you." He wagged his eyebrows.

"I don’t want to do this," I said, pouting. "Why are you making me?"

"When we're in scene, it's not about what you want, Katherine. It's about what I want. I want you. Tonight. I've been hard all day waiting for you." He took my hand and placed it on his erection. I closed my eyes. Just the feel of him in my hand made me respond, a thrill going through me.

"How can you stand to have sex with a woman when she's bleeding?"

"I'm a surgeon, Kate. A little blood doesn't scare me."

"It's gross."

"Oh, Ms. Bennet," he said, smiling, pressing me down so that my wine almost spilled. "You don't know what gross is. You could never be gross. You are an entirely delicious morsel of womanflesh and I can't wait to partake of your delights."

"You’re going to make me spill," I said, trying to be mad at him.

"Drink up." He took the glass and moved my hand closer to my mouth. "Drink it all."

I did, squinting a bit, unused to guzzling wine. "You are so bossy."

"I am," he said and grinned, nuzzling my neck. "You love it."

I did. Most of the time. Not this time. My sense of propriety prevented it. I was mortified at the thought he wanted to fuck me now.

"It'll be so messy," I said, closing my eyes as he moved my sweater off my shoulder and bit the muscle. "I'll be horrified."

"Kate," he said and took my chin in his hand. "Have you ever fucked during your period?"

I shook my head, my face heating.

"No? Don't tell me how you'll feel. I'll tell you. You'll be orgasmic and won't notice the blood. In fact, think of the blood, what little there will be of it, as extra lube. I'm big. You're deliciously small and tight. I can use all the help I can get."

I sighed, the alcohol starting to make my mouth feel a bit rubbery. "It really doesn't bother you?"

He grabbed my hand and held it against his erection once more. "Does this feel as if it bothers me? Believe me, Kate. It really doesn't bother me."

"Is this a kink of yours?"

"No, it’s not a kink. It's just not a deterrent."

He poured even more wine into my glass. I took another big gulp, wanting to get drunk so I wouldn't notice.

"Oh, fuck it," I said, leaning back. "Whatever."

"Don't you whatever me, Ms. Bennet, or I'll have to smack your round little ass."

I closed my eyes and smiled. "Promises promises…"

 

In the end, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I'd drunk enough wine so that my head spun a bit and he tied a blindfold around my eyes so I couldn’t see anything. I laughed as he ran a bath and tried to maneuver me into it without me falling and cracking my head. Then he washed me carefully, his hands lingering on my clit, and I knew he was trying to arouse me. I had no idea how much blood there was anyway.

I did have a very intense orgasm as he fucked me from behind, his fingers on my clit. I did feel better afterwards. He didn't remove the blindfold until I was completely cleaned off. When he did, he kissed me.

"See?" he said, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "That was good, wasn't it?"

I nodded. "I didn’t call you Master once," I said, smiling, my mouth feeling a bit cottony from the wine.

"You're drunk. I made allowances."

I went to the bathroom and inserted a new tampon, then I slipped into my black lace nightie.

Ordeal over.

He dragged me to the living room and he put some music on the sound system – something folksy, from the sixties. He said it was The Turtles, You Showed Me, the music dreamy, about falling in love. We sat together on the couch, me on his lap, my arms around his neck. I rested my head in the crook of his neck. I did enjoy what he did to me. I did have an intense orgasm. I felt better, just like he said I would.

"I should go home now," I said, yawning. "I'll call a taxi."

"You're not going home drunk," Drake said, shaking his head. "You'll stay here with me."

"I really shouldn't," I said, frowning. "What if…" and I almost said Dawn's name. "What if this person tries to come by my place and I'm not there?"

"Shh," he said and squeezed me. "No arguments. I bought some eggs and spinach and some nice feta cheese. We'll have what my dad called a 'hangover omelet' in the morning, to fight the one I know you're going to have."

I sighed and gave in. He'd have his way with me one way or the other. He got up and put another album on the old turntable.

"Who is this?" I asked, the music very different from the other songs.

"Nick Drake," he said. "This one's called River Man. I like it because the guitar's in 5/4 time and in standard tuning. I play it with the band. My dad named me after him."

I listened for a moment. The lyrics were hard to decipher.

"What's it about?"

"Can't say for sure," he said, examining the album cover. "He's dead and didn't say. From what I read, it's supposedly about Wordsworth's poem, 'The Idiot Boy' about a mother with a mentally disabled son, but I think it's about Hesse's book, Siddhartha. It's really just the feel of the piece and the guitar I like."

"There are scratches," I said, noticing the occasional hiss. "You don’t mind? Don't they have re-mastered versions?"

"Sure," he said but shook his head. "Real vinyl enthusiasts like the sound better. It has a certain quality that can't be caught in digital. I don’t mind a few scratches to hear the original. This is a really rare album. I paid a lot for it."

"You don’t like any modern music?"

He sat beside me, one arm going around my shoulders.

"I like some," he said. "But you’re one to talk about liking old music. How old's Gorecki's piece?"

"Seventies."

"Touché,' he said and smiled. "What do you like? Anything modern?"

I shrugged, taking a small sip of my wine. "Some. Mostly classical. Don't ask me why."

"Your absolute favorite piece of music ever? Besides Gorecki?"

I took in a deep breath. "Barber's Adagio."

"That sounds familiar. Where have I heard that?"

"It was in the movie Platoon. I saw it with my dad and it upset him so much. One of the few times I saw him with tears in his eyes."

"Oh, yes." He frowned for a moment. "I remember that movie. My father wouldn’t go. Said the Hollywood capitalists were glorifying war or something." He said nothing for a moment, running his hand over my hair.

"What else? What's next?"

"After Barber?" I said and frowned. "Not much better, I'm afraid. Music from Master and Commander. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis by Vaughn Williams."

"I saw that. What piece?"

"The one that played during the scene when they have to cut the young man loose and let him drown."

He nodded. "I remember that." He said nothing for a moment. "Gorecki, Barber. Williams. Awfully depressing music you like."

"It makes me actually feel something."

"Yes, but incredible sadness…"

"It's better to feel sadness than nothing at all."

He turned to me. "You don't feel anything unless it's sad?"

"Not for a long time. Not after my mother died."

He just stared at me, and then I hated myself for mentioning her.

"You were ill after you returned from Africa."

I nodded, not wanting to talk about it.

"Tell me."

I shook my head, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "I didn't cry when she died," I said. "I felt nothing. It was like everything just shut off and I couldn't feel anything. My doctor said everyone grieves differently, but how could I not cry? I just went through the motions, day in and day out."

He squeezed my hand.

"Then you went to Africa?"

I took a sip of wine. "Yes," I said, remembering. "I tried to keep busy. I think I was in denial. So I went to Africa even though I probably shouldn’t have. I didn't cry until Mangaize. Then it was like I couldn't stop." I turned to him. " Why could I cry for complete strangers and not my mother?"

"You were crying for yourself."

I nodded. "I was. I didn't think I deserved to feel sorry for myself. But those people in the camps? They deserved it."

We sat in silence for a while and I felt so bad, talking about my depression. "Sorry to be such a downer."

He shook his head quickly. "No," he said and smiled softly. "Don't be. I asked."

I snuggled into his arms. There seemed to be no barrier at all between us anymore. I couldn’t imagine being any closer to a man than I felt at that moment with him.

 

That Thursday night, as we lay in bed afterwards and Drake was wiping me off with a warm wet cloth, I asked him about going to a fetish night.

"You want to go?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, watching him, enjoying his aftercare, not as drunk as I was on Tuesday night. "When I read about them, I always wanted to go."

"Voyeuristic are you?"

"Maybe. I don't really know yet. I don’t think I'm an exhibitionist. The thought of people watching me makes me a bit queasy."

"I'll keep that in mind but you have to know that people who host these events sometimes host play only parties where you have to do something."

"Like what? I don't want to have sex in front of people."

"We'd have to do something. I might tie you up, blindfold you, demonstrate some bondage, that kind of thing just so no one complained."

I cringed a bit. "I don't know…"

"Let's play it by ear. There's a very private and exclusive pre-Christmas dungeon party in Yonkers I thought we could go to. Would you like to go? It's the Saturday before Christmas."

The idea of going with him to a dungeon party thrilled me. The idea of him tying me up thrilled me. The idea of people watching? It gave me little butterflies in my stomach.

"OK," I said. I didn't want to deny him.

He kissed me. "Thank you. I want to take you. I have something special in mind for that night."

"What?"

He just smiled and shook his head. He finished wiping me off and after I inserted a new tampon, I came back to the bed and he pulled the covers over us, snuggling down against me from behind.

"What about you?" I asked, feeling so relaxed that I forgot to use the proper term. "Do you like to watch other people or have other people to watch you?"

"I like to watch, yes. I can go either way when it comes to exhibitionism. I have done some tutorials and demonstrations of bondage and I can perform if I have to. I tend to like my sex private. I'll expect you to be dressed appropriately and I'll have to put a collar on you and we can do whatever you feel comfortable with."

"A collar?" I felt my neck and imagined how a thick leather collar would feel. I turned around in his arms so that I was facing him, the contours of his cheek and jaw highlighted by the light from the window.

"Would you like that?" he said, brushing hair from my face. "I'd have to make sure no one else tried to touch you or even approached you. I'm very possessive like that. I don't share my subs."

"I wouldn't want to have sex in front of people, though," I said, my hands on his chest, his arms wrapped around me. "I'm not into the whole poly scene. I'd like to watch what other people do, but I'm too shy to have people watch me fuck or have an orgasm. And I can't easily just fuck anyone."

"I know," he said and nuzzled my neck, playfully biting my shoulder. "I like that."

"You do? I thought you saw it as a failing in me."

"I did when I wanted you to fuck me that first time, but now, I see it as a definite plus. I don’t want to think of you with anyone else…"

I smiled and kissed him, amused by the contradiction.

"But when we do go," he said, his voice chiding. "I'd expect you to remember to use the proper form of address…" I saw his grin start despite the darkness. "If you don't in front of other Doms, I'd have no choice but to punish you."

Then I realized we were still in scene, as he called it, and scrunched my face up. "Oh, sorry, Master. I've been very bad."

"That's all right," he said, trying not to smile. "I'll let it go tonight but I won't always be so tolerant."

"What would you do, Master? If you had to punish me?"

"I'd bend you over my lap and spank you with my bare hand. And then I would have to fuck you, but it would be in private."

He still hadn't administered one of his spankings I'd been so eager to experience. I wanted to suggest it, but of course, that would be topping from the bottom and I wasn't going to do that.

"I want to go, Master," I said, whispering. "I want you to have to spank me."

He pulled me against him, nuzzling my neck. "You are such a bad girl to tempt me like that, Katherine. You've been very good. Except for the occasional lapse in your use of terminology, I've found no good reason to spank you. I like it that way. We have so little time together, I don’t want to have to punish you, no matter how you might enjoy it."

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him. It would happen eventually – maybe at the dungeon party. Until then, I was still far more enamored with exploring bondage with Drake. Exploring Drake period. I knew I wasn't supposed to concern myself with what made him tick. That was his job. My job was just to submit and let him take me where he wanted me to go, but I couldn’t help it. I was so curious about him and what made him want to control me so carefully during sex, why he had to compartmentalize his life. I was curious about his wife and why they broke up.

"You never told me much about the restraining order."

"For a reason, Kate. I don't like to talk about it. It was a mess."

I nodded, not wanting to push him, but still curious. I turned away, trying to hide my disappointment.

He took in a deep breath. "Have I once hurt you in any way, intentionally, that scared you or made you upset?"

"No," I said, having to admit it.

"Then please, trust me that it had nothing to do with any kind of abuse."

I sighed. He had been biting me a bit, on the shoulder, on my nipples, my labia, but it never was a real hurt, just the good kind. At least, what I thought of as the good kind – the tiniest bit of hurt that reminded me that his mouth had been there, pleasuring me. Still, he had worked a small bit of pleasure/pain into our sexual experiences. It was more than I thought I would ever want or like, and so he was right. If he didn't push me a bit, I would never have suggested it on my own, too afraid of what it might mean about me.

"You're not a painslut," he said after one night where he bit my labia after licking me and I was a bit upset, thinking there was something wrong with me that I liked it. "You never will be, Kate, so get that crazy idea out of your sweet little head. Think about the pain you get after a good workout. Your muscles ache because they've been over-worked. You get lactic acid buildup in them that causes the pain and muscle tissue is actually broken down, then rebuilt. You welcome that pain because it means you're building new muscle. The tiny bit of pain you feel when I bite you just makes the pleasure all the more welcome and intense. Think of it as providing contrast which enhances the real purpose of the act – pleasure."

It made sense to me in a neurological way, but psychologically, it still made me feel uncomfortable. I was now getting used to being totally restrained, hand and foot, my eyes covered with a blindfold while he played with me, eliciting more and more response from my body and mind. In fact, I might have been too eager for Drake, for he seemed to want to proceed more slowly than I did. He told me I had to learn patience.

That he knew how fast and how far to go.

If there was one negative to our relationship, it was just that it was so constrained by his desire to keep things so compartmentalized. I had one role in his life – being his submissive. It was also difficult being unable to be open about what limited relationship we did have, to sneak around, not seeing each other outside of 8th Avenue. It made the old apartment all the more special, but at the same time, a sense of grief often filled me when I left. I knew that this relationship was probably doomed to die a natural death once we'd explored everything and reached whatever limits we both had. I also felt sad that I couldn't share the rest of my life with him. Christmas was coming and I'd be alone at the very time when I wished I had someone with me to celebrate. Drake had no family left, except a long-lost mother who he never saw.

I had to shut that thought off, push it into the back of my mind. For the present at least, I was in a state of near bliss, going through my day on the days I would meet him aroused, breathless, butterflies in my stomach thinking of his strong warm body and hands claiming me once I was completely under his control.

I trained myself not to think of ever seeing him outside of the apartment and relating to him as anything other than his play partner and submissive. I just shut that part of me off as best I could. But the sadness lingered, a tiny part of me watching myself from the outside as I walked up the steps to the old brownstone, sad for myself. Pitying myself that I'd found such a wonderful man but couldn't be his completely, couldn't have him completely as my own.