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  With this, I imagine returning the paddle to his ass. I settle into a gentle, but intense rhythm. Enough to mark him with impressions from the studded surface. He’s gotten hard under my punishment. Straight, tall and shiny. On the other side of my fantasy, my toes curl. My breathing becomes quicker though shallow.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress!” In my head, I can see the beautiful pink his ass has become under my attentions. Under the delicious sting of the paddle.

  Like his ass, his face is flushed with excitement. With the massive erection he still has, and that I haven’t allowed him to touch. “I’m sorry!” He says as I imagine bringing the paddle back down for one more swat. “I’m sorry!”

  My submissive’s moans become my own as I grip the handlebars in the shower. The one typically over the soap holder. I increase my stroking, loving the feel of my milky pussy juice slide around on my fingers, even in the middle of my hot waterfall.

  “Are you going to be a good boy from now on?” I imagine asking him, as I get him away from the wall, and away from his punishment corner. His butt is warm from my loving, committed attention.

  My submissive nods. “Your best boy,” he murmurs. As he speaks, his dick bobs.

  Inside and outside of my fantasy, the sight drives me wild. Makes me want to release him, but I can’t. Not until he’s finished with me.

  “Good,” I imagine saying, as I bring him gently but resolutely to his knees. I guide his face and mouth to my thick, natural muff. The silky petals underneath, hungering for the mouth and lips of a good boy. A man with manners, and proper respect for me. “If you do a good job serving me. If you follow my directions to the letter, I’ll let you come.”

  With that, I slump over in the shower. Bend toward the climbing circles of pleasure. I grab the soap from where I remember setting it and rub it over my fingers. I then rub those fingers over myself again, imagining my fingertips have turned into my boy-toy’s diligent, obedient tongue.

  As he tastes me deeply, I imagine I hear him say “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.” Around these words, he licks and sucks my clit. My folds. With the kind of abandon only a man who truly appreciates my goddess qualities would. “For you, I will be the best boy in the world.”

  Under his words, a second stream of water splashes onto the shower floor. In one single moment of pleasure, I’ve ejaculated. Shot my cum into the already-flowing water, like a liquid-clear bullet from a pistol.

  I shudder under the release, feeling both weakened and invigorated by the waves of pleasure still coursing through me. I’m shaking under it, like I’ve put my hand in an electric socket.

  I pull away slowly, enjoying the beads of fluid clinging to me. They cling desperately there, even in hot water. As I straighten my posture, and get back to getting clean, I bid goodbye to my fantasy. I hold onto bits of it though, giving my subby a backwards baseball cap. A few gold or silver chains on his baby-soft chest.

  “God,” I whisper, letting him linger with me in the steam, “if only a guy like you actually existed.”

  Chapter 2

  Jordan

  After a busy day at my dispensaries, and some private deliveries of herbs and edibles (Valentine’s Day week is one of my busiest periods outside of Christmas), I finally make it to Aspen.

  To escape the swirling snow,I push in through the main doors of the lodge and I immediately see my friend Alex, his brother Paul, and their respective girlfriends Jane and Mariah.

  Girlfriends they met at The Exchange Club during Christmas. I raise a hand in greeting.

  Alex saunters over and gives his customary, “‘Sup, Jordan?”

  “I’m freezing, that’s what’s up.”

  I try my best to smile even though my face has gone numb from the cold. I manage to grin, but it’s uneasy. Half-baked.

  Jane waves and smiles hello. Her ring twinkles and flashes everywhere. It’s like a handheld ten-carat strobe, constantly reminding me of what I don’t have. The way the diamond twinkles, it’s like it’s laughing at me. Laughing because I'm unable to find happiness for myself.

  Mariah’s ring is big too, but she’s past the point of needing to show it off to everyone, everywhere, and at every angle. Jane isn’t past that phase yet. She’s not likely to be for the next year, and probably not even after she gets married.

  “Come sit by the fire,” Alex says.

  I follow him toward some cushy, leather seating by the crackling log-filled fire. A woody scent of Cedar and Oak wafts from the smoking flames.

  “What took you so long?” he asks.

  Jane follows behind us, saying, “Yeah, Jordan.” I catch her big eyes briefly, just as Alex sits me down on an overstuffed leather chair closest to the fire.

  As Jane and Alex sit down on a couch across from me (the same couch Paul and Mariah are cuddled up on) she adds, “we were worried sick about you. You weren't answering our calls. Thought maybe you got in an accident.”

  “Or pulled over by the fashion police,” Paul says, gesturing towards my big fur coat. “What’s up with that, anyway? You look like a discount-store pimp.” Paul laughs, cracking himself up, and doesn't stop until Mariah swats his arm. “Yet another reason you can’t get a girl,” he continues. You dress in more frills than they do.”

  I blush deeply. Angrily. Sure, the coat’s a tad ostentatious. Over the top with all the fur and the huge neckline. But I don’t look or feel like a discount pimp. This coat is fucking cool. Definitely worth the ten-plus grand I spent on it. I deserved it especially after I spent so much money on everyone else during Christmas.

  I glare at Paul, who now seems to be on the receiving end of a lecture from Mariah. First, he wants to bust my balls about wearing my baseball cap. Now it’s my coat. I sniff loudly. To get his attention, and to present him with body language that says, “I don’t give two fucks about you.”

  I clear my throat, and say, “Whatever, man. Discount pimp or not, you’re just fucking jealous, that’s what you are.” I pause, flapping the edges of the coat luxuriously. Showing off just how fuzzy they are. How plush. “You wish you had money to spend on this kind of shit, and you know it.”

  Paul bats my accusation away, and I let it go.

  My attention’s been brought back to Jane and Mariah. How happy they look cuddled into the arms of their chosen ones. And how happy my friend’s look to have their one true loves completing them. Filling what was once empty.

  Not gonna lie. It’d be great to have what they have, I think, stifling any hint of a sigh.

  If Alex or Paul suspect a hint of yearning from me, it’ll be yet another thing to tease me about.

  I would love to have someone in my life who looks at me the way the Mariah and Jane look at my friends, but all the women I’ve ever been with aren’t really women. They’re girls. Pillow princesses looking at me to give and give and give, without once being willing to ever take charge. To not just demand things from me, but to let me serve them, to spoil them.

  My mind wanders to the type of women I get easily. The ones who fall into my bed with a snap of my fingers are airheads. Silly. Shallow. Their breast implants have more personality than they do.

  None of those “women” have done anything special for me. Nothing unique or different. Just release. A place to put my tensions until they want more weed or another gift. I suppress another sigh.

  My eyes wander to Jane, who’s now absorbed in saying something to Alex. Leaning forward to nuzzle him. I’m afraid I’ll never experience what Alex has. A woman who’s willing to be a place for him to put his stresses. His fears. Someone he can be himself with. I let my mind touch the edge of something I haven’t wanted to admit to myself. My need for control and obedience.

  Alex’s eyes catch me looking lost. Deep in thought. He must think I have more depression than brains, because he says, “Don’t look so down, Jordan. We promised this weekend was gonna be your weekend to have a bit of fun, but you can’t have any fun if you just sit there l
ike that.” He mimics what I must look like. Sitting with my shoulders slumped, and my face set in a serious expression.

  I pop out of my thoughts, slipping my mask of sarcasm and untouchability on. “Is that so, asshole?”

  Paul smirks in my direction. Even as he cuddles Mariah to him, I see that look in his eyes again: the look that says he’s about to enjoy another moment of roasting me. "You need a woman to beat some sense into your scrawny ass."

  “So this weekend is supposed to be about me? I couldn’t tell. What, with all the busting you guys are doing.”

  Mariah gives me a soft, meaningful smile. “Don’t mind them. I’m sure you’ll find someone this time around, Jordan,” she says. “I thought I was going to be single forever too, but I found him.” She plays lovingly with the tufts of Paul’s hair.

  “Third time’s the charm,” Alex agrees, bending in to kiss Jane on the cheek, and then her little button nose.

  “But only because my brother and I have already been taken,” Paul chimes in, “so the ladies aren’t going to be distracted by us any longer.”

  I shrug off part of my coat from my shoulders. Though this is “typical” joking for Paul, I’m not stomaching it well right now. I’m not able to take it any other way other than seriously.

  “Oh, yeah, because anything else other than your macho, virile self is second best, is that it?” The venom I hear in my voice is not surprising to me, but it is surprising to Alex. To Mariah. To Jane.

  Both girls give Paul a warning glance. They disconnect from their better halves for a moment, sitting forward to comfort me.

  “You have a lot of good qualities,” Mariah says earnestly.

  “Totally cute and adorable qualities,” Jane adds, “ones I know will be number one on some lucky lady’s list, Jordan.” Unlike with most girls who look like Jane — full figured and fit — she’s amazingly genuine. Sincere, despite her “sex kitten” vibe at times.

  “For sure,” Mariah echoes.

  I look away and down, rubbing the back of my head nervously. I’m not comfortable with girls complimenting me like this. Especially not girls who are now my friend’s fiancées.

  “Yeah,” I say, though it probably sounds more like a grunt to them.

  “I’m serious.” That’s Jane. I look up, just in time to see her give Alex a meaningful look that says, help me out here, would you?

  “Don’t worry, Jordan,” Alex pipes up. “There are plenty of girls with different appetites at the Exchange Club where were planning to take you.”

  I sigh, pretty sure that third time at the Club will equal a strikeout, not a charm.

  “A girl is definitely going to like what you have to offer, Jordan,” Jane says, pouring her heart into it now.

  Paul raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so you like punks now?”

  Jane doesn’t give him the satisfaction. “Yes,” she snaps back, as if she’s as tired of her fiancé’s brother as I am.

  Paul crosses one leg over the other, then crosses his arms over his chest. Mariah remains seated apart from him though still within arm’s reach.

  “Just so everyone knows right now,” Paul says, “I was joking when I said he should find a woman to beat some sense into him.” He glances at Mariah, then Jane. “With how serious everybody is suddenly, it begs to be said.”

  Jane catches Paul’s fleeting gaze. “I still don’t think that’s a bad idea,” she says. Meaningfully, she grabs Alex’s hand. Intertwines her fingers in his. “Well, maybe not with whips. But plenty of women like to be in charge, you know.”

  Paul grimaces.

  Jane rolls her eyes at him before looking at me. She gives me a small, encouraging smile before she showers Alex with more kisses. More caresses.

  As I’m left to sit there by the fire watching my friends’ lovefest, I become aware of something stirring in me. Curiosity. Intrigue at the idea Jane keeps throwing around and Paul keeps wanting to not take seriously.

  Being under someone’s control. Though I didn’t want to go there moments before, now my mind can’t stop exploring the possibility. Imagining what it would be like to give myself over completely to a woman. A real one. A woman with depth. Age. Experience. Hair in all the right places, who isn’t afraid to tell me not only what she wants from me, but what I can do for her.

  I shift in my seat. I might do just that. I might let a woman have her way with me. I glance at Paul, feeling a little resentful. Manliness doesn’t always mean ordering around. Sometimes it means submitting totally and completely to a woman who deserves it.

  Chapter 3

  Bianca

  After a deliciously decadent meal of mac & cheese and chocolate cake in my room, I decide on a whim to go for a soak in the hot tub. Not always the best thing to do after eating, but I could use a massage on my shoulders, back, and neck.

  Since I'm without an obedient, service-minded man to help me out, I’m left to rely on jet streams and water.

  Which is fine since I’ll probably have the hot tub and surrounding spa to myself for the most part. It’s close to eleven, and that means most people are probably already up in their rooms or schmoozing with each other elsewhere.

  Grabbing my pair of provided flip-flops and slipping them on, I head to the door. I’m in my leopard-patterned swimsuit. I have a pair of matching leopard ears to go with it, but I’ve decided not to wear the ears now. Role-play only, really. And only if I find myself a boy to play nicely with.

  Which is probably not going to happen, I remind myself, stepping out my of door and closing it behind me. As I do, I wrap my personal towel around me more tightly. The baby soft Egyptian cotton has a pair of leopard eyes sewn into the fabric. Striking green ones, a perfect match for mine.

  All ready for my evening soak—my bubbly, nonalcoholic nightcap—I head away from my room to where the signs point me to the hot tub/spa area. The walk is easy and uneventful until I see him. Greaser Boy from the bar, and by the looks of things he’s still buzzed. Fan-fucking-tastic. His gait is uneven, but his eyes are on the lookout.

  For me, I think, deciding to stop immediately and switch directions. The last thing I want is to be bothered by him again. I quickly move into another hallway. An alternate pathway to the soaking pools.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t look like he’s seen me. It also doesn’t look like he has plans to do any soaking.

  I breathe deeply and move forward with confidence after that. There are more hotel rooms this way but that’s okay. Most of the doors are closed or have “do not disturb” signs on them. Meaning I’m not likely to have to deal with anyone else on my way.

  But, just as I turn into the hallway directly connected to the pool and spa area, I hear footsteps behind me. Before I have time to do anything more than freeze up and hope it’s not Greaser Boy, a woman appears beside me.

  “Hi there,” she says, looking somewhat out of breath and embarrassed. The woman has short gray hair. Spiky in places, like a pixie. Her makeup, as if to match her hair, is delicately bold.

  “Can I help you?” I look at her, then behind me, thinking I’ve dropped something. Nope. Nothing but luxurious carpet behind me.

  The woman lowers her head, smiling. The smile is a nervous one, but no less magnetic. Charming, in its way. “Help me? Well, no, not necessarily,” she says, blushing, “I was hoping I could help you.”

  I relax my pose. Cross my arms. Lean back on my heels, being sure to keep the towel pinned firmly around me. “Help me? With what?” Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t think I was walking around with a big sign on me that said, “In constant need of assistance and company, please come on up.”

  For the first time since she caught up with me, the woman looks me directly in the eye. “I saw your exchange with Little Elvis in the bar earlier,” she says. “And I saw you dodge him just now.” Her eyes flash with something but I’m not sure what. Knowing? Exhaustion? Whatever the case, she’s focused on me with everything she has. “I can tell you from experience the action available for
us women around here is — “ She looks furtively from side to side — “let’s be real. The real people. Men and women with real interesting desires, those can’t be found walking around here, okay?”

  I nod, understanding on some level and yet not.

  She continues, “Listen. You aren’t looking for ordinary, right?”

  Intrigued, I nod again.

  “You aren’t interested in Joe Schmo. You aren’t interested in what normal men have to offer you.” She steps closer. “I can see it. I can feel it.” She smiles again, and I’m not sure why, but my stomach and clit both react. They flinch under her intensity. Under the wildcat I can sense roving around in her. Used to hunting. “And I know how difficult it can be to get your needs met, you know?” The woman licks her lips. Not at me, but at something she’s thinking. “I know what it’s like to have different tastes. Exotic desires for things. Things not everybody is willing to give you.” She pauses, obviously hoping for a contribution from me. Some answer to everything she’s said.

  So, I give it to her. “Yeah, you’d be right. What I want is not typically what men will loudly or proudly admit they like,” I say. “Most men don’t even like the kinds of things I have to offer them or expect in return.”

  The woman chuckles, brushing a hand through her short silver-gray hair. “Definitely not sitting at a bar.” As she says this, she produces a small business card from her bra. From under the flowing fabric of her very hippie, New-Age tunic. “But lucky for you, I have just the place you can go to, to get those needs met. To find someone hungry for what you have to offer.” She hands me the card, and I look at it.

  The Exchange Club, it reads, Aspen. Basement. Dinner starts promptly at 8 PM. Underneath this is an address.