Later that week, I sat at a tiny table in the corner of the patio at a small café in the upper West Side of Manhattan. I was waiting to meet Mistress Lara to talk about meeting the Dominant she'd promised I could interview for my research project. Although late October, the weather was perfect. I didn't want to miss the chance to sit outside one last time before winter set in. There were few patrons outside despite the warm weather and so we could talk in relative privacy.

The sunshine and the nice weather did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

I could have chosen a safe topic for my paper – something uncomplicated and straight-forward, familiar ground for me. Like the war in the Congo or rendition to Guantanamo Bay.  I could have met with someone from the military – a veteran with combat experience or a military strategist – and used them as an informant. But I'd changed focus from politics to pop-culture, no longer able to handle the darkness of my previous areas.

Instead, I decided to write about sexual politics and the world of BDSM, which had become quite a topical subject since those books were published a few years earlier. I created a profile at FetLife.com and spent some time reviewing profiles and reading message boards, fending off a few Doms who expressed an interest in spanking me.

One of the Dommes on the board took me under her wing, offering to help me. I set up a meeting with Mistress Lara, as she called herself, a Domme who happened to be a lawyer in real life. She contacted me after I indicated I was a student interested in learning about the lifestyle for a paper I was writing. She was hesitant to meet with me in person, interrogating me about why I needed to be anonymous. I had to confess my identity to her, and when she heard my last name, she made the connection and agreed to meet with me.

"Just invite me to one of your father's fundraisers," she said over the phone. "When you're a defense lawyer, it never hurts career-wise to have friends in high places, especially judges."

While I waited for her, I read over the excerpt she sent me of a Dom's letter to his sub. She said if I wanted to read more, she'd give me the password to the website where it was posted.

I glanced down at my iPhone and read the excerpt for the fifteenth time.

A letter to my sub.

You trust me completely to know what you need.

And I do know what you need. I know what to whisper in your ear to make you need me even more. I know how to touch, where to touch, when to touch.

I know you.

I've known every part of you – every naked inch, inside and out.

 You can relax completely with me. You can feel everything possible with me. You can respond with total abandon with me.

It is what I most desire.

I can't wait to bind you with my soft leather restraints and make you cry out my name as you come, again and again. Then I will kiss you, smothering your moans with my mouth...

When Lara walked up to my table, I tore my attention away from the email. She looked so normal compared to her profile photo on FetLife, dressed in a sober blue pinstripe suit fitting to her occupation as a defense lawyer, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, makeup impeccable, her lawyer's briefcase on rollers towed behind her. I didn't know what to expect, but in my mind's eye, I pictured her wearing a mask and black leather dress with impossibly high-heeled-thigh-high leather boots.

"Kate?"

I put my phone away and smiled.

"You must be Lara."

"The very one."

She ordered an espresso from the waitress, and then sat down. After she adjusted her suit and removed her sunglasses, she turned her focus on me.

"You look so different from what I expected," I said, my cheeks heating.

"We're ordinary people, Kate. Just like you." She looked me up and down. "You're a pretty little thing. Petite. Sweet looking. I love those huge green eyes. I won't have any problems finding you a proper Dom, if that's what you really want."

"I need someone to interview," I said, my cheeks hot. "I'm not here to find a Dom for myself."

"Of course." She smiled, her eyes narrowing. "So, tell me why you really want to write about the lifestyle, of all things." The waitress brought her espresso, and she sipped it, eyeing me over the rim. "It's quite a stretch from the article you wrote on famine in West Africa. Aren't you more of a political writer? This is sub-culture."

I took in a deep breath and went over my rehearsed response, having expected this question. I practiced my answer in my mind all morning, wondering exactly how to phrase my reasons so she would agree to be my contact in this quasi-secret world.

"This is topical, given the popularity of recent books and films. I made the switch from politics to popular culture after my trip to Mangaize."

"There has to be more than that. Something personal."

There was, but I didn't really want to admit it. It wasn't a particularly stellar moment in my personal life. I sighed and decided to be honest. If I wanted her to be, I figured I should be as well.

"To be honest, my last real boyfriend and I parted company over his interest in kink and my fear of it. Ever since we split, I've been thinking about how I responded. It scared me, but the truth is," I said, stirring sugar into my cappuccino, "I regret my over-reaction."

She smiled knowingly. "And now you're curious. Did you read the excerpt from the letters I sent you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much it aroused me. "He's a good writer."

"That's it? Nothing else?" She leaned forward. "It didn’t make you want someone like him?"

"Well…" I said, embarrassed that I responded so strongly to it. "It was… thought provoking."

"I bet you can't stop thinking about him."

My face grew hot, and it wasn't the warmth of the sun. "Yes, but because of who I am, who my father is, I can't risk doing anything that might get me in trouble. I might get away with writing an investigative piece, but to really explore it as a woman?" I shook my head. "Can't go there."

"That's a shame," she said and eyed me from under a frown. "People like you can't ever really be satisfied without doing it for real. I read your profile on FetLife."

"What do you mean, people like me?"

"You're a sub."

I frowned. "What was in my profile that made you think that?"

"Things." She smiled. "Besides, if you weren't a sub at heart, if submission didn't appeal to at least some part of you, you wouldn't have gone beyond reading a few books, fantasizing a bit. To actually contact someone in the lifestyle?" She shook her head. "That's the next step and that means this is really you, somewhere deep inside underneath all that self-judgment. You're pretty vanilla but there were a few hints in your list of fetishes that suggest you could be a secret sub."

I frowned at that. "Like what?"

"Bondage, bare handed spanking, hair pulling, leather corsets, kneeling…"

"I just put those in so I didn't appear like a poser."

She just grinned. "Sure."

"So you don't think I can just be interested as a student writing a paper?"

"It must appeal to you on a human level, sexual level, or else you'd write about something else. Either you're totally against it and want to criticize it or you're totally fascinated and can't stop thinking about it. I can help you. In fact, I enjoy teaching. But here's my warning to you. I won't go along with any kind of shocking exposé," she said, making air quotes, "so if that's what you thought you'd do, forget it. I will help you understand how things work and introduce you to some people I know. No names, though. As you can imagine, we're quite…" She paused and shrugged a shoulder. "Protective of our lifestyle. Puritans and moralists would love to try to discredit us. If people found out who really frequents our dungeons and fetish parties." She grinned at that. "Even people like your father."

"Not my father?"

"Not that I know of, but people of his status. All kinds of men and women enjoy kink, Kate. The public has the wrong idea. Some of us just get off on a bit of bondage, a bit of power exchange. Enhanced sensual experience."

"You mean pain. I'm not into pain."

"The pain and pleasure responses in the brain are very similar. It's all sensation."

"My boyfriend wanted to spank me," I said, remembering our very brief and upsetting foray into kinky sex. "He wanted to do mock rape scenes, and it was too much. I was afraid I was with some kind of serial killer in the making."

"He sounds like he had no idea what he was doing. Don't use him as an example of what most Doms are like."

"Since I did some reading," I said and took in a deep breath. "I can't stop thinking about this. Not S&M, but bondage and dominance. Some of the descriptions by the Dominants – the way they talk about their subs. The way the Dom spoke to his sub in the letter you sent me." I shook my head. "It did something to me and I realized that I've always had this secret fantasy..."

"But you always denied it, right? Because it was upsetting."

I nodded. "I'm a feminist."

"So am I." Lara smiled quickly. "You're attracted to a strong man who wants to take control over you in the bedroom, but that conflicts with your feminist sensibilities outside of it. It's a very common fantasy, Kate. Probably one of the most common fantasies for women. It’s harmless as long as you're safe and it's all done consensually." She looked out over the street and then her gaze returned to me. "That's our motto – safe, sane, consensual. Sex is sex. Pleasure is pleasure. Don't judge yourself – I always add unless it's illegal, of course. No animals or children."

I sighed. "Of course. But it's hard as a modern woman to admit that I even consider it. My mother was a big feminist. How can I want this?" I shook my head. "I'm embarrassed by it."

"You shouldn't be. Human relations are all about power exchange, finding some kind of balance that benefits those who interact together. Sexual relations are about pleasure and sensation, but power exchange still plays a role even in sex. Some people need equality in sex. Some people love to give up power to their partner during sex, some like to hold it. Some people prefer vanilla ice cream, some like Rocky Road with chocolate, marshmallow and nuts. That's all, sweetie." She raised her eyebrows. "Nothing moral about it."

I took another sip of my cappuccino and studied her over the rim. "You make it sound so… normal. Logical. You teach?"

She nodded. "I teach Dominants how to do D/s and S&M, how to be safe when using toys and restraints. I can tell you about my experiences as a Domme with male subs, but if you want a male Dominant's perspective, you need a man."

"And you have someone for me?

She nodded. "A friend. An actual professor. He's a great teacher and totally discrete."

"He'll have to be really trustworthy. He'll have to show complete discretion and he'll have to agree that I remain anonymous."

"I understand. I'm meeting with him later this week. In the meantime, I have this." She reached into her huge briefcase filled with files. "It's a template I use to get subs thinking about what they want. Fill in the blanks, cross things out, as if you were really interested and get it back to me. I'll give it to him and he can think about how he'd train you if you really were his new sub, and then you can meet and discuss it."

"He knows this is all just theoretical."

"Of course, sweetie," she said, but there was this tone in her voice that said otherwise.

I took the contract and flipped through it. The first paragraph said it all:

SUBMISSION CONTRACT BETWEEN _____________________ hereinafter referred to as "Master", AND _______________________, hereinafter referred to as "slave" in this Submission Contract. Said Contract refers to total dominance and control of Master in his relationship with said slave.

A total novice to this world, I had only my very upsetting experience with Kurt. Sure, I read a few novels and non-fiction books since we broke up, spent some time on the website reading, but I was still new to this. Lara knew the ropes. She'd done this dozens of times and had connections.

"What's this Dom like?"

"He's a god, Kate. He's absolutely gorgeous. Experienced. Buff. Hung," she said and wagged her eyebrows.

"How do you know?"

"I trained him myself. He's healthy. Safe. Smart. Wealthy. He's everything a submissive like you could want."

"I'm not a submissive."

"Not experienced, no. But I suspect there's one buried deep inside of you."

I shrugged, not wanting to argue with her. "He's not into pain, is he?"

"He isn't a sadist, if that's what you mean, although he would probably spank you for punishment. He's just a plain old sexual dominant, into a bit of bondage, especially leather, but mostly D/s and mindfucks."

"Mindfucks?"

"You know, getting right into your mind, knowing exactly how to get you off so you experience the most pleasure. He's studied psychology. Wanted to be a psychoanalyst. He's not into pain."

"How old is he?"

"Mid-thirties."

"He isn't married?"

"Divorced."

"What does he do? You said he's a professor. What does he teach?"

"Uh, uh," she said and shook her head. "I've given you as much as I can at this point. Just know that he's a friend and a real professional. Top in his field. Seriously, if you needed his services, you'd want him. Just hope you never need his services."

"That's cryptic. Is he an undertaker or something?"

She grinned. "No. Far from it. No more, Kate. You want anonymity. So does he. Maybe one day, you'll sign that for real." She pointed to the contract, "Then you two can know each other, but now? No. He needs anonymity as much as you."

"All right." I read over a few more pages. "I'm just so curious." I thought of the excerpt she sent. "Who wrote that piece you emailed me?"

"Not telling." She shook her head. "That's just something that some of us use to explain to new subs how Doms see sexual domination."

I felt a bit saddened to think I wasn't meeting the writer and I wondered what he was like, this man who liked to control a woman's sexual pleasure. After reading that excerpt, I couldn't get the idea of sexual submission out of my mind. I told myself this was just to gather research for an investigative reporting piece for Geist. But I was really just so damn titillated…

"Look, you know my situation," I said, anxious that I remain completely anonymous. "Can you imagine if it ever got out that the Ethan McDermott's daughter is interested in this, even if it's only academic?"

"Academic…" She rolled her eyes at me. Then, she waved her hand. "Don't worry. Your Dom is pretty well known in his own profession, so there's no way he wants this public either. The two of you will be fine. He can tell you things from his side, maybe introduce you to some of his former submissives, if they're interested in being interviewed, take you to a few functions."

I was apprehensive but still, a thrill went through me at the thought of meeting a real-life Dominant. The truth was that I couldn't stop thinking about this world. I wanted to understand why so many women were attracted to this lifestyle and why I was as well. What did it say about women and the feminist movement that so many women wanted to be sexually dominated?

But as the daughter of a prominent judge with aspirations for the House, this was just research. It had to stay that way. I was just a student looking for material for a paper, not a curious might-be-submissive looking for a Dominant. This was just research.

"What have you told him about me? Did you tell him I'm just a researcher like I asked?"

"I did, but Kate, be honest with yourself," Lara said, shaking her head. "You're really interested. Seriously. He'll see right through you. He's really really smart. Besides, if you like him and if he likes you, things could work out…"

"No way," I replied. "Tell him I'm seriously freaked about him knowing who I am. Tell him," I said and held up my cup, "that I'm just doing research."

"Just you wait and see." She winked at me. "You'll be signing a contract for real in no time."

I made a face. "Lara," I said, defensive. "No contracts. This is just an agreement so I can do research. I don't want him getting any ideas."

Lara smiled again. "It's you who will probably get ideas. This is quite a stretch from the article you sent me, but whatever you say. Oh, and if you want the password to that website? It's leather4you."

Leather4you. I wouldn't forget it.

Lara packed up her files and shot back the remnants of her espresso.

"Just as long as this is all anonymous, Lara." I read over the contract one more time. "Scandal is the last thing my father needs."

"This man is a professional. I know him personally, and I trained him. He has to keep his two lives separate. Just like you." Then, Lara walked away, her lawyer-sized briefcase on wheels pulled behind her. 

Later that night, I used the password Lara gave me to the website where the Dom's letters to his sub were archived. I eagerly entered and opened the first letter.

A letter to my sub.

I come to you, my little one, where you sit naked in wait for me in the darkness, a blindfold covering your pretty wide eyes. You've been waiting for almost half an hour as I commanded, and your senses are all primed. The noises of your apartment that you never noticed before are so much clearer now that you're vision has been blocked – the hum of the refrigerator in your tiny kitchen, the sweet strains of classical music on the music system in the apartment above you, street noises outside your building, cars starting, a horn blaring in the distance. Even the sounds of your own body are clearer now that your eyes are covered. The rush of blood through your veins, the pounding of your heart in your chest, the air flowing in and out through your open mouth – all these sounds are enhanced.

The scents around you are more intense – the vanilla of the candles on your bedside table, the floral of your own perfume on your pillows, the ozone from rush hour traffic filtering in from under your open window, your own arousal from the warmth between your legs.

Your naked skin is sensitive now, exposed to the ambient temperature change. The silk of your pillow is cool against your calves as you sit waiting. A cool breeze wafts in from your open window, and your nipples pucker. You think of my mouth on them, my tongue wet and warm, and a stab of lust flows through you.

My key clicks in the lock, the door creaking open, my footsteps loud on the hardwood floor, the thunk thunk as I remove my boots.

I open the refrigerator and remove the bottle of vodka you keep just for me, pour the liquid in a shot glass, and then my lips smack in satisfaction. It's my favorite Russian vodka infused with anise, called Anisovaya. I have only one shot, for I must keep my mind clear so I am in total control of everything – you, the scene, and most of all, myself.

Then, the zhrrr of a zipper and the swish of fabric sounds so loud. Your body tenses for a moment as you anticipate my next move.

I stand in the doorway and watch you.  You picture me there, my eyes on you, my body naked, my thick cock already hard. You're breathless, your body ready for me. Your heart is beating so fast, imagining what I will do to you after I use my leather restraints to bind you.

What I will make you do to me.

You're so ready, your body aching with need, wet, swollen, throbbing with desire. I stand beside you and you turn your head at the sound of my breathing. My clean skin and the hint of my male musk arouses you, sending a jab of lust through your chest to your clit.

I lean down to you and my hair brushes your cheek, the whiskers on my chin tickle your skin, my tongue is wet on your neck where I lick you, my mouth soft at the base of your throat where one day I'll place my collar.

I kiss you very briefly and you taste the anise on my tongue.

I whisper your name and just the sound of my voice makes your body clench. My cologne and a hint of anise on my breath fills your nose. By now, the scent arouses you because I have a shot of the vodka when I come by and have my way with you. You associate the scent of anise with pleasure and your body warms even further, your flesh swelling, your pussy becoming wet.

Leather slides against leather as I uncoil the bindings, which I will use to tie your hands to the headboard and your feet to the base. You'll be open to me, vulnerable.

I've known every part of you – every naked inch, inside and out.

I can't wait to bind you with my leather restraints and make you cry out my name as you come, again and again. Then, I will really kiss you, smothering your moans with my mouth...

I would have loved to read those letters all night but I had an early class in the morning. I couldn't sleep, and since I couldn’t run because of my ankle, I got up once more and made a pot of tea, reading the pages of my book until I felt asleep long after midnight.

* * *

I spent the next few days going through my daily routine, getting up, going to classes, working on my article, coming home, rinse, repeat. Dawn and I didn’t see much of each other because she was busy with her own coursework. Still, as busy as I was, I thought often of Drake Morgan, wondering why he'd warned me off, regretting that he did.

That Friday, I dressed in my prettiest clothes – a cream cashmere sweater and black pencil skirt, black hose and heels, my black leather jacket over top. I sat at the same café where I met Lara, preparing to meet the gorgeous man-god Dom she promised me. She said it was only a few blocks from her law firm's office and so I went once more and waited, sitting at the same small table with my back to the wall, having arrived fifteen minutes earlier so I could calm my nerves.  The night before, I read another of the Dom's letters to his new sub. I couldn't get it out of my mind, the words so intense, the promise of pleasure in his description of what he would do to her so enticing.

While I waited, I re-read the letter over, thinking about what I'd ask this Dom I was meeting.

To my new sub.

When we are together, I expect you to surrender control to me in all things. You do so because you trust me completely. You are able to let go of all shyness and self-doubt without fear that I will judge you or harm you. I will only draw out of you what you can give, using your body and your mind to bring us both as much pleasure as we can possibly feel together.

When we part, you are your own woman and I admire your independence. We only meet to slake our thirst for what we give each other, for the special relationship we have established that satisfies our unique needs.  For me, that means Dominance; for you, submission.

I expect you to comply with my commands without hesitation. I know your limits for we have already discussed them. You know my desires, for I have already described them. We will establish ahead of time exactly what we will do together so that you are well-prepared.

There will be little need for conversation for we will communicate using touch, eye contact, and only occasionally, a verbal command or word of encouragement, and when necessary, correction. We have discussed your safe word, but I don't expect you to need it for I will not lose control. Of that you can be certain.

Control is what I desire and it is what I am best at.

Why did the Dom's words so arouse me?

I glanced up from my iPhone when the café door opened and Lara walked in. I took in a deep cleansing breath as she made her way to the counter. I put my phone down and watched as she ordered an espresso from the barista then came to my table. She sat down, removing her coat, and glanced at what I was wearing as if to judge whether I met her standards.

"You look nice enough," she said, rubbing the cashmere of my sweater between her fingers. "Classy but not overdressed, nice skirt, hose, even heels. He'll like you. I knew that the first time I saw you."

"Why?" I asked, sipping my drink nervously.

"He likes petite women. You're exactly his type."

As we passed the time waiting for the Dom to arrive, we talked about my father.

"You must invite me to a fundraiser one of these days," she said when her coffee arrived. "Making connections is everything in my profession."

"I will," I said, a bit reluctant even though I liked her. What if it got out that she was a Domme?

Lara checked her watch.

"I wonder where he is," she said, her voice a bit impatient. "He's usually right on time."

I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. As we waited, he walked into the café – Drake Morgan, MD. Assistant Professor of Neurosurgery at the Columbia Center for Movement Disorders, Bass Player, Volunteer for Doctors Without Borders, the medical charity we both belonged to, the son of my father's oldest and best friend.

What was he doing here?

Seeing him once more, I realized that he was perhaps the most beautiful man I’d ever met with those impossibly-blue eyes fringed with thick dark lashes and a few days-worth of stubble on his very square jaw. Fresh from the OR at NY Presbyterian, he still wore blue scrubs under a white lab coat.

He stopped up short, frowning when he saw us, glancing around the deserted café as if in confusion. When Lara stood and waved him over to the table, I got a very bad feeling.

"You’re late," she said, air kissing his cheeks when he arrived as if she'd been expecting him.

It was only then I realized why he was there.

The look on Drake's face would have been hilarious if it wasn't the most awkward moment of my life.

This was a disaster.

"Oh, God," I said, glancing away for a moment. Drake was my Dom. The Dominant who was going to teach me about the lifestyle.  The one Lara thought I could like for real.

"I have to go." I pulled on my coat, gathered up my bag and put on my sunglasses. I walked away, my body stiff, mortified that Drake Morgan was the Dom I was supposed to meet.

"Kate!" Lara called out to me, but I was out the door and on the street hailing a taxi before Lara could call me back. I practically ran away from them – from Drake.

Oh, God…

The taxi drove down the street and before even a few moments passed, my cell rang. It was from Lara. I refused the call.

When it rang a second time, I answered.

"Before you say anything," I said, frustrated, not wanting to speak to her now. "I want you to remind Dr. Morgan that this was purely academic. This was research – nothing more. No matter what you think Lara, I'm not interested. This was nothing personal—"

"Kate, Kate, shhhh," Drake Morgan said, his voice soft. "Don't worry. I know. You’re a serious student. This is just research. If anything, it's me who should be embarrassed."

I hung up and threw my phone into my bag.