Ella Dominguez - Becoming Sir

With a light shove, Dylan pushed Sawyer through the door and into the club. He was immediately hit with the smell of rich fragrant oil and leather. He had been in the club before when securing it for Dylan and Isabel, but never past the main entrance.

As they entered the large, dimly lit social area, he took in his surroundings; white Christmas lights adorning the bar, painted red brick walls, and an assortment of kinky memorabilia like whips and canes hanging everywhere in addition to vintage photos of scantily clad women in leather and lingerie. The smell was sensual and pleasant, the ambiance warm and inviting. He even spotted a few of Isabel’s erotic paintings hanging proudly near where the manager and owner were seated.

The usual sounds of sexy activity were absent and only the lull of music to the tune of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, Moonlight, could be heard.  Between the muted lighting that was casting murky shadows across the walls and floor and the sounds of Beethoven, the atmosphere took on a somber feel. Sawyer’s eyes scanned the room as he counted the number of people mingling and made a mental note of the location of all exits. It was innate for him to always be on high-alert and his former CIA training was always running in the background.

A few people were seated at the bar, one of them being the club owner, Kerian. Luckily, he was engrossed in a lively conversation and completely ignored both him and Dylan. The last thing he needed or wanted was fanfare and a welcoming party. Dylan motioned for a tall woman who was seated at a table and she promptly approached them, carrying herself confidently.

“Mr. Young, Mr. Morrison,” she bowed her head. “It’s my pleasure to meet you,” she offered her small hand to Sawyer.

He took her hand into his and gently squeezed it. When the woman didn’t make direct eye contact, Sawyer grasped harder, trying to prompt her to look at him, but she kept her eyes to the floor. Slowly and gracefully, she lowered herself to her knees, making for an awkward situation. He stood immobile and addressed Dylan.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with a woman on her knees in front of me,” he spoke unconvincingly, his eyes never leaving the woman.

When she timidly peered up at him, he was stunned by her beauty. She had long, straight, hazelnut-colored hair that hung around her face and shoulders and flowed down her back. She was wearing a sheer lace halter dress that accentuated her curves and large breasts. She wasn’t thin. In fact, most might consider her on the heavy side, but it made no difference, he was instantly attracted to her and found it difficult to take his eyes off of her. The woman’s bright eyes, light skin and cream-colored frock were a stark contrast to the darkened room, and the way they glowed from the overhead lighting reminded him of a bright winter day.

“Are you sure about that?” Dylan asked.

True to form, Dylan was reading Sawyer’s body language and it was maddening.  Sawyer hesitantly looked away from the gorgeous submissive to eye his friend.  He had an eyebrow lifted and an easy questioning smile played on the corners of his mouth. Sawyer managed to shrug, doubting the believability of his own statement.

Directing his gaze back to the enthralling femme fatale in front of him, he leaned down slightly, pressing his index finger under the curve of her chin. “I want to see your eyes.”

When he spoke, he was surprised to hear his own authority resonate through. His statement left no room for concession and she slowly raised her head. When her ultra-marine eyes met his, she wet her crimson lips nervously. Sweet Christ… those eyes and ridiculously long lashes. Even in the darkened room they glowed. Like something otherworldly or paranormal.  Perhaps she wasn’t really human. Maybe she was a Goddess or demi-God… or…

“You’re beautiful,” he inadvertently whispered. He shook his head at his lusty remark and forced himself to pull it together. “Tell me your name, Snowflake.”

“Sarah,” she smiled radiantly, her eyes scanning his face.

“Are you here to teach me how to be a good Dominant?” he asked, squatting in front of her as he swept a strand of hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. He hoped she would teach him. He wanted to learn from her.

Sarah dropped her chin to her chest and let out a sigh of pleasure. “Yes, Sir. If you find me worthy, I would like very much to help you.”

There was a gentle softness in Sarah’s voice and Sawyer was struck by the sheer sincerity of her joy. The idea of her eagerness inexplicably energized him and he was unable to deny the spark of excitement at the prospect of having a willing woman under his command. Any previous hesitation he had melted when she leaned into his touch and purred.

“So tell me, Morrison, what kind of Dominant do you want to be?” Dylan asked from above.

“The kind that I was born to be. The absolute fucking best.”

“That’s the Sawyer I know,” Dylan nodded with poise.

Sawyer stood, helping Sarah off her knees, unable to look anywhere but at her. There was something about her that spoke to him; her softness, delicateness and, most undeniably, her submissiveness. Even though he had been drawn to submissive women, he had always attracted headstrong females, like Sonya, and had never been confronted with this type of female; one who craved a man’s domination.

Sonya. Guilt pierced his heart at the thought of her. He missed her touch, her raspy voice, and poignant grey eyes looking back at him. He blinked long and hard and hesitated as the trio walked to a private room, dropping Sarah’s hand in the process.

Sarah turned to face him, a look of confusion settling on her full, round face.

“If you would be more comfortable with someone else, I won’t take offense,” she remarked softly.

Sawyer couldn’t resist smiling at her. He felt more than comfortable with her. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to caress her nude body and to feel her soft skin pressed against him. Her meekness stirred something primal within him, and he wanted to find out what it truly felt like to control a woman simply with his touch or command.

“No, you aren’t the issue,” he tried to put her at ease.

Dylan guided Sawyer aside and gave him an inquiring look.

“I have someone else on my mind,” he answered before the question was asked.

“Sonya?”

He nodded and looked over Dylan’s shoulder to see the most exquisite incandescent eyes watching him.

Dylan spoke in soft tones. “I know you miss her, but you’re doing the right thing. If it’s meant to be, she’ll wait for you.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Sawyer’s voice was barely a whisper and he hated how desperate he sounded.  He detested what Sonya had done to him – to make him feel again; to love again. When Serena had died, so did all of his feelings. That is, until Sonya.

Dylan gave a firm squeeze to his shoulder, but said nothing. There was nothing he could say and Sawyer knew it. It was now or never and he knew that, too. He wanted this, truly wanted this. Having done his homework, he knew what the lifestyle meant and what pleasures it could hold. But all the books and Google searches in the world could only go so far. He needed to experience BDSM to understand it.

He was tired of sitting in the shadows and watching Dylan and Isabel, desiring what they had. He wanted his own life; his own experiences; maybe even his own submissive some day. He had hoped Sonya would be that woman for him. Hell, she seemed passive enough in the bedroom.  But life had a cruel way of dealing shitty cards to Sawyer. Just when he had gotten comfortable with Sonya and told her of his wants, she had backed away, leaving him to journey down this path on his own.