Chapter 3

Kitty

I shuffled back into the kitchen

“Sooooo?” Andy shut his book with a thud, “How did the fair Katherine fare?”

“We’re going to see each other again.”

“Outstanding!” he boomed, then squinted, “You seem to be in shock about this?”

“Um… no, I mean, yes. Not really. I don’t know,” I babbled, “I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“My, you are an eager beaver.”

I scowled. 

“Whaaaat?” Andy mocked innocence as he stood and stepped to the kitchen counter.

“... all I’m asking is you clean the grease off before…” Jane complained to Tara as they walked into the kitchen, “Oh. Hello you two. What’s going on?”

“Miss Baxter managed to pick up the phone and has achieved a second date with her lady friend,” Andy pulled a bottle of red out the cupboard, “Cause for celebration, I wager.”

“Oooooh, yes indeed!” Jane clapped her hands together in glee, “And ta, I’ll have a glass, thanks for asking.” 

Andy pulled out four glasses as Jane plonked herself in a chair, expectantly. I sat down next to her as Tara shook her head and went to the fridge for a beer.

“So,” Jane leaned in close to me, “What am I lending you to wear?”

That’s how I ended up sitting in my bedroom staring at a blue ’dinner dress’ hung on the back of my door. Jane had dragged me into her and Tara’s room to perform an extensive search of her wardrobe on my behalf. The perfect outfit was ‘not too immodest,’ she insisted, but also not too frumpy. This resulted in the knee-length affair before me, with it’s V-neck and half-length sleeves looming. I’d managed to fend off a string of pearls but not matching shoes. It had been like a hostage negotiation. I resisted the imposition of tights but in return had to acquiesce to Tara’s make-up assistance before I left for Astrid’s the next day.

I sighed. This would be the second dress I had worn in three days. I argued a t-shirt and jeans would be just fine and more comfortable, but was informed in no uncertain terms that Sunday at 7 was dinner time, and I must make a good impression. 

And I did want to make a good impression. 

I liked Astrid. 

As much as someone could like someone so quickly. 

And maybe I liked her more than that. 

There was a tug when I thought of her and I very much wanted her to like me back. But I had no idea how to present myself in a way that would make that happen. ‘Being myself’ around other people wasn’t really something I was good at. I wanted to know what was expected of me in a given situation and just do that. In the places I frequented, that strategy was broadly successful, despite a constant terror I might say or do the wrong thing anyway.

But going to Astrid’s, I had no idea what to expect, nor what was expected. 

I was still worrying about that as I rode the bus to her place the next day. Tara had indeed made me up in the afternoon, but thankfully had kept it relatively sedate; a light pink rouge on my cheeks, a dusting of eyeshadow, mascara, and glossed lips. 

I felt like a painted doll regardless. 

It occurred that if I was going to keep this up, I might have to figure out the make-up thing for myself. If I didn't want to put Tara on some sort of retainer.

It had always been that way. Even as a teenager going to the few parties I was allowed to attend, I always needed someone to help me get appropriately dressed and made-up.

I shifted uncomfortably in the seat, trying to figure out how to sit without flashing my crotch. 

I used to wear a skirt every day for school, I thought, I can’t have forgotten how. 

I settled on legs crossed, though I would have rather lifted my feet onto the seat under my bottom to be certain. 

My thighs ached by the time I got off the bus. I looked up and down the street, uncertain where to go at first. I had never been this far north of the river before. I really didn’t know anything about Dalston, other than by reputation. I held tightly to the bottle of wine Andy had insisted I get from the off-licence. 

“You’re going to dinner, you uncultured swine,” Andy chastised, “You must bring something delectable for your host, it’s only proper.”

And so I carried the reasonably expensive Chardonney in a neat little box tied with ribbons up a street beset by intermittent pieces of broken furniture abandoned on the edge of the pavement. 

The address Astrid had given me led to a small townhouse on a road lined with them; narrow little identical buildings, wall-to-wall, all of about two or three stories each. They looked old and well worn with time. But that was to be expected with these Victorian buildings, I supposed. 

Astrid’s was a basement flat, so instead of ascending stairs to the house’s more obvious entrance, I descended several stone steps beside them and knocked on the sturdy wooden door I found at the bottom. 

I scuffed the ground with my feet, trying to get used to the pinch of the light blue courts, until I heard the muffled click of heels approaching. A lock bolt shifted, and then another, before the door swung outwards. I was relieved to see Astrid wearing a not dissimilar dress to my own, hers red with short, cuffed-sleeves. It gave her an even more old-fashioned look, especially with the ornate waves styled into her hair. I felt like curtseying, as if we were in some kind of period-drama. 

“Hi,” I ventured instead and held out the box, “I bought wine.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Astrid smiled and I was relieved to have been coached into the correct social etiquette. 

I lowered my eyes and shrugged, feeling like I might blush already. 

“Come in,” Astrid stepped aside. 

“Thank you,” I walked into a narrow hallway leading to a small living room. 

I was struck by how tidy and perfectly put together everything was. I didn’t know what I had expected. Perhaps a giant dungeon, with cages, stocks, and whips hung on all the walls. Not that I knew Astrid was into any of that but my imagination had been running wild of late.

Rather, it was a cramped basement flat whose pale beige walls reflected the light from small windows which provided only a glimpse of the streets above. The rest of the light in the room came from a stained-glass lampshade covering a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. From the entrance, I could see short plants on the sills, a greying rug splayed over the faux-wood floor and a worn brown sofa featuring two big plush pillows. In front of the sofa stood a chipped coffee table and near the wall opposite, a TV on a stand but no DVD player or anything else attached underneath. Flanking that were two bookcases neatly filled with the occasional decorative figure and a few hardback books whose titles I couldn’t see but was quite curious about. It all made for a muted old-fashioned aesthetic, but also a deeply cosy one, despite the sparse tidiness. 

On reflection, I was ashamed of how wrecked my place must have looked to Astrid.

“You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Astrid smiled softly, “Can I take your coat?”

“Oh, yes please,” I answered shyly and turned my back to her so she could hold it. I juggled the wine as I slipped out of the sleeves.

“Go on in,” Astrid gestured as she hung my coat next to a couple of others by to the door, “Make yourself comfortable.”

I strolled into the living room to see a half-open door preceding a small kitchen and another door closed with an ornate golden handle. A delicious scent wafted from the former.

“I hope curry is alright?” Astrid walked past me.

“Oh… yes,” I tried to shake my shyness as I followed her into the kitchen, which consisted of an old gas stove occupied by two pots, a short counter featuring chopping board and knife, a fridge/freezer, and a wall of cupboards. All of which was somehow crammed into the tiny space and still left room for a square breakfast table and a couple of mismatched wooden chairs. I was surprised, however, that the flooring seemed to be an ageing plastic, curling back at the walls.

“Take a seat,” Astrid smiled.

“Thanks,” I sat on a hard-backed chair at the small table, once again trying to figure out what to do with my legs. I tried to focus instead on the table setting before me. The cutlery and plates all looked well-used but they were also very neatly laid out for the meal. 

“Um… it’s nice to see you again,” I tried to make conversation.

“And so soon,” Astrid ran water in the sink, causing pipes to rattle somewhere in the walls. 

Was she unhappy about seeing me so soon?

I couldn’t read her tone with her back to me, but was reassured when she turned to lean against the counter with an easy smile. 

“It’s nice to see you again too. And what a lovely dress.”

“Ah…” I looked down at myself, “It’s Jane’s… She kind of… dressed me for the occasion.”

“She did, did she?” Astrid laughed melodiously and my nerves eased. 

“Uh, yeah,” I scratched the back of my head, “She said I needed to look respectable for dinner.”

“Respectable, you say?”

“I suppose so,” I laughed nervously, before trying to move the focus off me, “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she smiled softly, not taking her eyes off of me. 

I felt like I was being measured again. 

Astrid turned her attention to the stove and I exhaled. 

She proceeded to make up a tray with a pot of curry and a bowl of rice and brought it to table. Having laid the food between the place settings, she sat with a satisfied sigh. 

“Shall I dish up?”

“Oh, no, I can,” I offered quickly and reached forward for the ladles. As stiff as I was, it felt better to have something to do. 

“Is that enough?” I asked as I filled her plate with rice and what looked like vegetable korma. 

“Yes, thank you,” she sat back in her chair, serene. 

I nodded and served myself. Once done, I sat back in my chair and looked at Astrid. She hadn’t moved. 

I had the impulse to cough in that British way that means ‘I’m uncomfortable, I wish something would happen.’

“Thank you, Kitty,” she dispelled the tension and reached for her fork. 

I did the same. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered etiquette lessons about how the guest was generally supposed to start a meal, unless the Queen was present or something like that. 

“I guess it’s a bit strange to meet the day after the morning after?” Astrid put words to my thoughts, “I’m not sure what the protocol is for that.”

I swallowed my mouthful of korma, “Me neither.”

“Perhaps we should have made an agenda,” she smiled softly. 

“What would have been on it?”

Astrid seemed to consider it.

“It could start with some more small talk perhaps. I liked our chat at the club.”

I smiled, feeling warm.

“Or we could talk politics,” she continued, “To suss each other out a bit. Make sure neither of us is dealing with some awful arsehole.”

“Sounds wise,” I offered.

“We could then move onto something more intimate,” she looked at her plate, and I couldn’t tell if she was pausing for effect or was conflicted about something. 

“So… where to start?”

“Whatever you want,” I said without thinking, to which Astrid gave a strange look. 

“Whatever I want?” 

“Um… yes,” I replied, unsure of what exactly I had just offered.

“I want to fuck you.”

I spluttered my rice and almost soaked the front of my dress. 

“I’m sorry? Um… I mean…” I coughed, “Okay.”

She tilted her head. I sat silent. 

“Would you like that?” she asked, deadpan.

I stared at her, still in shock. 

“The thing is,” she continued when it was clear I hadn’t managed to form a reply, “I kind of need to hear you say it.” 

“Say what?” I was confused. 

“That you want it,” she said, still with no measurable inflection, “The other night, you seemed to have trouble with that.”

I looked away.

“Can you look at me and say it?” 

“Yes,” I surprised myself by looking back at her.

“Good,” she said, and the word ‘girl’ popped into my head, “Say it again.”

“I want it,” I repeated, my heart in my mouth.

She nodded and stood.

“Consent is important Kitty.”

“I understand.” 

Something calmed in my chest. 

“Then come with me,” she turned and walked out of the kitchen, casting a glance back to our nearly finished meal still steaming on the table. 

I followed quickly behind. A distant voice in the back of my mind asked what the bloody hell was going on. This was not how I imagined our evening going at all. 

To be fair, I wasn’t sure how I imagined the evening going. But it wasn’t this. 

Astrid led me through the living room to the door with the gold handle. She opened it and stepped aside for me. Like at Loose Lips, I had the sense I was being led through the wardrobe into a wicked Narnia. 

Still not finding a garden of devilish delights however, I instead entered a dimly lit bedroom, the curtains drawn over a small window on the back wall. A shaggy purple rug covered the part of the floor that didn’t contain the bed. The bed itself was spacious and held by a cast-iron frame, its headboard made of filigreed metal loops. 

An art deco vanity stood proudly to the other side of the bed, which was perhaps the only messy part of Astrid’s home I’d seen. It featured a triptych of mirrors and a plethora of make-up, jewellery, and other accessories scattered about it. I spied a small open chest of tangled treasure and eclectic photos wedged into the mirror frame. It reminded me of the kind of ‘Hollywood make-up table’ you might see in an old film. A heavy-looking wardrobe occupied the far corner of the room along with a full-length mirror.

Two large pictures in mismatched frames dominated opposing walls. One, a charcoal sketch of a lady wearing a fifties-style dress and barrel-curled hair, lounging in a seat and staring at the viewer. The other, an oil painting, was much more modern and depicted a nude woman reclining on a lush red velvet chaise with a butch laid on the floor in front of her, paintbrush in hand. It was quite arresting and reminded me of the art I’d seen hanging in the tattoo parlour. 

Astrid walked in behind me and I turned to ask her what was next but was interrupted by her arms wrapping around me tightly and the passionate kiss that swiftly followed. 

I might have tripped from the onslaught, if I hadn’t felt so sure in her grip.

Withdrawing her lips, Astrid maintained her hold as she walked me backwards to the bed. Once there, she released me, placed her hands on my shoulders and pushed me gently, but firmly, down to sit. 

Without shifting her eyes off me, she picked up the hem of her dress and straddled my thighs, pinning me under her weight to the bed. Astrid ran her hands over the tops of my arms and I sighed at her caress, until she pushed me to lie back onto the bed, leaning down with me. From there, her hands were quickly into the top of my dress, kneading and squeezing, never breaking eye contact. Astrid’s grip tightened, drawing a low groan from me.

“Do you like that?” she breathed.

I nodded.

“What did I say?” Astrid admonished, “I need to hear it.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, “I love it. Please.”

My begging ignited something in her. She released my nipples and quickly slid off the bed to stand in front of me. Reaching under my skirt, she found the waistband of my panties and rolled them down my legs to my ankles. 

Paralysed, I watched her toss my underwear aside, her mouth open and hungry. I thought she might snarl.

She leaned over me instead and ran her hands up my trembling thighs, pushing up the skirt of my dress with her forearms as she did, goosebumps on my skin rising under her touch. Having exposed me, she shifted her hands to my arms and nudged my legs apart with her knees. 

Astrid mounted the bed and knelt between my spread legs, continuing to caress the length of my arms until arriving at my wrists. Gripping each one, she raised them above my head, and held me there.

My heart pounded in my ears as she lay her weight onto my hips and lowered her head until her mouth was inches from my own. Just out of my reach, her warm breath played across my face. 

I craned up to kiss her, but she leaned further forward and dropped her forearms on my shoulders, immobilising me completely. 

Lowering her face to the side of mine, Astrid inhaled deeply, before kissing and nipping down the side of my neck. I ached to lift my hips into hers, but was held fast there too. I groaned my frustration as Astrid’s bite became more intense. Finally, Astrid’s hips connected, her body hot against mine, both of us slick with sweat.

Just as quickly, Astrid pulled away and sat up. 

I must have looked shocked. 

“Don’t worry girl, I just don’t want to soil my clothes.” 

She crossed her arms over herself, picked up the hem of her dress and drew it over and off in one swift movement. 

Taking her cue, I tried to reach down to pull off my own dress. 

“Lie still,” Astrid ordered. 

I let go and raised my arms up above my head again. She picked up the hem of my dress and navigated it slowly up my chest and over my face and arms. Having bared me, Astrid slid off again to stand by the bed in her black bra and panties. The cold air on my wet body made me feel even more nude. 

“Roll onto your stomach.”

I immediately did as I was told and Astrid was on me again. Her knees slid between my thighs from behind and her hands gripped either side of my hips to pull my bottom up into the air. I gasped when one hand left my side to cup my cunt from underneath. 

“You really are wet.” 

I burned bright red, glad she couldn’t see my face, pressed as it was into the mattress. 

Two of her fingers reached around either side of my clit and I gulped for air. 

“Tell me, Kitty.”

“Yes,” I burst, “please.”

Astrid tugged her hand back-and-forth and I quickly matched her rhythm with my hips. I let out a low rumble of a moan, so close to coming. 

“Not so fast, little Kitty,” Astrid reached an arm over and gripped my hip from the other side and neatly flipped me onto my back. 

I yelped my surprise as she shuffled between my legs again, her hands on my thighs firmly, pushing them even wider apart. 

She looked fit to devour me as she leaned forward to regard my cunt. I turned my head, unable to bear her gaze. 

”Don’t look away.”

I turned back to her. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

My cheeks burned bright red yet again, this time in full view of Astrid. 

She lifted a hand off my thigh, laid it on my cunt, and spread my labia with two gentle fingertips. I held my breath, as Astrid leaned closer to blow on my burning clit.

I tossed my head back and bucked my legs.

Astrid shifted forward, pushed her shoulders under my thighs to spread my legs further and brought her face closer to my cunt. I ached to explode when she pushed her fingers inside me and I thrust my hips up to meet her. 

“You really need to get fucked, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” I gasped, “Yes, fucking, yes, please.”

Squeezing, back-and-forth, inside and out, my chest heaved and my hips rocked, building momentum with her. 

As we moved faster and harder, I growled a low rumble that rolled from my chest all the way to my core.

“Do you want to come?” Astrid asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” I blazed.

“Tell me, girl.” 

“Yes!” I cried, “Fuck, yes please may I come?!”

A third finger entered me, and I let out a shriek of release. 

And I gushed. 

“Fuck… fuck… fuck, I’m.. I’m so… sorry,” I apologised between panicked gasps. 

Astrid placed a sticky finger to my lips and looked at me kindly from between my legs.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Astrid shuffled backwards off the bed and walked to the vanity to retrieve her handbag. Confused and still in a daze of cum and shame, I watched her pull out a small plastic bottle from her bag. 

Dropping the bag, she popped the stopper and walked back to me. As she returned to her spot between my thighs, I saw it was lube she was squirting out into her hand. 

Kneeling above me, Astrid leaned forward to massage my already sodden cunt with her slick hand and rub my raw clit with the other.

I groaned. 

Holding my gaze, and continuing to work my clit, Astrid pushed four fingers into me easily and I gasped at the tightness, my mind swimming in sensation. 

I reached my hands down, searching for her wrist, aching to pull her further in. 

She withdrew her hand ever so slightly, just out of my reach. 

“Please,” I begged, “Yes.”

She looked at me askance but then wordlessly slipped in the tip of her thumb.

I swallowed, unable to pull my eyes away from hers. She looked so certain and calm. Stern even. Waiting for me.

“Please,” I begged again.

Astrid nodded and took the hand that had been massaging my clit away to retrieve the bottle of lube she had tossed to one side on the bed. She unstopped it single-handed, brought it down between my legs, and pressed yet more of the cold gel around the rim of my stretched cunt. I swallowed hard, my brain a mess of colour and sound. 

Astrid slid her knuckles into me and I exploded in howling orgasm. 

I had no idea how long I screamed and came and clamped my thighs around her fist. 

It could have been hours. It felt like days.

When I finally stopped spasming, Astrid withdrew her hand gently. 

I was spent, cold, and ready to bawl. 

I hadn’t noticed Astrid stepping away until she returned with a glass of water. She leaned me up to drink, before laying down a towel over the wet patch I had made and wrapped me tightly in the blanket. 

I wanted to weep. 

Or laugh with joy. 

Or both.

I curled into Astrid’s arms and she began to caress my shoulders and whisper soothingly in my ear. 

I shivered for a while, lying like that, before falling into a profound sense of calm and then into 

the deepest most peaceful sleep, held tightly in Astrid’s embrace.

Astrid

“I want to fuck you.”

I hadn’t planned to say it so bluntly. I hadn’t planned to say it at all. But it slipped out.

I didn’t know why I met her again so soon. I’d agreed to it before really thinking and then realising what I’d done, suggested she come to me so I could feel some measure of control over the space, if not myself. 

I had fretted it though. The second we hung up to the moment she knocked on the door. I kept thinking I should call and cancel. Feign illness perhaps. Or death. 

And then she was sitting in my kitchen. In that delicious blue dress. Her hair swept to one side, her cheeks pink, her lips shining in a way that made me just want to… I couldn’t even think what.

I tried to come up with any kind of neutral topic of conversation. 

Did you find the place alright? How’s the family? What did you eat for lunch? What’s your favourite dinosaur? 

But I came up with nothing.

What I wanted to say was, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?!’ 

So, I tried to steady myself with the food.

I let my frustration slip though. My barb about it being so soon was unfair. So, I tried to cover by setting the table. 

But then she leapt to serve me and my brain just fucking tilted. 

Watching her ladle the curry made me want to bite my lip, or more preferably hers. 

Just that morning I convinced myself we could have a calm little dinner and that I would probably find Kitty was lovely, but we didn’t have all that much in common after all, and we would bid a fond farewell after dessert. 

Instead, I sat opposite her, twitching in my seat, unable to think or say anything. 

Until I realised she was waiting for me. 

Waiting to pick up her fork. 

She was waiting for me to take mine.

If there is such a thing as Domme-catnip for me, that might be it. 

Perhaps that explains my frankness.

Perhaps it also explains the way I fucked her. 

Despite how much my mind had been blown by her offering me ‘whatever I wanted,’ I sought proper verbal consent. 

It was something I lived by. Always get active consent.

But the second she gave it, I could hardly contain myself. We were barely in the bedroom before I was on top of her. 

And fuck, she just melted in my hands. Everything I did. Anything I did. 

And every time she surrendered, every time she said yes, I felt myself becoming more myself.

Shit, there was no way to deny it. I had been so emboldened by her. And fuck how I wanted it, and wanted her. 

I gave into every impulse. 

I called her ’girl!’

I ordered her around!

And she obeyed.

Immediately.

That thought made my blood run cold as I lay with her curled and dozing in the crook of my arm. 

I made her beg to come.

I made her beg. And she begged.

And then she spurted gloriously all over my bed.

She had started to apologise, not knowing it was like a red rag to a bull. I lubed up and fisted her. 

I fucking fisted her.

And she liked it.

No, she loved it.

And when we were done, all she could do was coo in her post-orgasmic haze!

I had gone into auto-pilot. Slowly caressing and easing out of her, getting her water to rehydrate, and wrapping her up so she didn’t chill.

Kitty quietly snored in my arms. I shifted her as gently as I could, so she could breathe easier and didn’t wake. 

I laid back again, getting more and more spun up about what just happened. I wasn’t conscious I was stroking her shoulder and making soothing noises, until it occurred that I was doing fucking aftercare. 

I’m giving her fucking aftercare?!

I wanted to jump out of bed in panic.

But I couldn’t because Kitty was there and I didn’t want to disturb her as she recovered because… 

I WAS GIVING HER FUCKING AFTERCARE!

And why was I doing that?! I screamed internally. Because you just fucking topped her!

No, it was worse. I didn’t just top her. I dominated her.

I had just dominated her. 

It had been automatic. It had come so easily. 

Too fucking easily!

Panic rose in my chest again as I worried I might have completely overstepped her consent. 

No. She agreed to everything. 

Enthusiastically. 

Even begged me for it. 

Fuck! That’s no excuse!

I had dominated her. I hadn’t meant to. But I had. And she had let me. 

But what did that mean? 

I wanted to scream. 

It was torture. To lie completely still, desperate to get up and pace furiously. Or perhaps chew my nails. Or generally wail. 

I couldn’t even reach my phone to call Jen. 

Shit, I needed her just then. 

I needed to talk. 

I needed to confess. 

But I couldn’t. 

How could I let this happen?

I needed to put a stop to this. I needed to sort through it all. 

I had enough self-awareness to know I wasn’t going to be able to do any of that in the middle of the night with Kitty wrapped in my arms. The exhaustion of the evening, the sex, the panic, all started to weigh on me. I needed to sleep. 

Maybe it would be better in the morning.

***

It was not better in the morning. 

I had passed out and was rudely awoken by my alarm clock in what felt like mere moments later. 

At first, I was too groggy to remember the night before and I tried to reach out and slam the offending racket. 

My arm was stopped by the sleeping Kitty lying in it. 

Confusion turned to understanding and I groaned. 

“Hnmmaggph?” Kitty murmured in response. 

“Shit, sorry,” I apologised, “Are you alright, darling?”

Did I just call her ’darling’?!

“Hmggh… yes, thank you,” Kitty smiled sleepily, shifted around, and freed my arm.

I reached over her, turned off the alarm, and leaned back again, getting distance between us. 

“Umm…” I tried to think of something to say, “About last night…”

“Yes,” she smiled with tired eyes, “It was wonderful.”

I relaxed and then panicked again in a whole new way. 

“Wonderful?”

“Oh yes,” she snuggled up to me, “It really was… I mean… Wow.”

I looked down at her, looking up at me. 

She smiled again, unabashed. 

I was struck by how pretty she was. 

She was glowing and not shyly shifting her eyes away from me. 

“I’m… glad,” I said honestly. 

She withdrew and yawned before stiffly sitting up. 

I stared at her, like she was an alien landed in my bed. 

She scratched the shaved side of her head. 

What the fuck was I supposed to do with her?!

“Um… I need to… uh,” I struggled to find the words, “That is, I need to get up and… get ready for work.”

It was true. I did need to get going. Hence, the alarm.

But I always set it early so I could get dressed properly, do my make-up, and slowly get out the door. 

“Oh,” she replied, a little surprised. Or disappointed maybe? 

“Yeah… sorry about that,” I tried to think of a way to politely run screaming from her. 

“Of course,” she straightened up, “I suppose I should get into university as well.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “Um… I just need to get dressed. You know… Put my face on. So to speak.”

I scolded myself for sounding so weird.

“Of course,” she repeated, “I can get dressed and out of your hair.”

I sighed quietly in relief. 

“Unless, of course, you would appreciate me making you some tea whilst you get ready.”

Fuck.

Yes.

Yes I would like that very much, I thought, But I can’t…

“That would be lovely,” I answered, with a forced smile, aghast at the very real possibility I was getting turned on by the idea of her making me tea as I got ready. 

“Great,” she smiled broadly and got out of bed with a little groan. 

“It’s alright, just a bit sore,” she offered cheerily, before quickly adding, “But in a good way, I promise.”

I was going to just fucking die. 

“I’ll get the tea,” she smiled again, picked up her dress from the floor and motioned to the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” was all I could get out, and I watched her naked buttocks sway out of the bedroom.

I sank my head into my hands. 

What the living, actual, Jesus-fuck, hell, am I going to do?

I dragged myself out of the bed and plodded into the bathroom. Still with no idea as to how to handle the situation, I washed up before going back into the bedroom to put on my riding habit and make-up. 

Kitty, now dressed, knocked gently and walked back in with two steaming mugs of tea. 

“Thank you,” I tried to think of anything else to say as she put the mug down on the vanity next to me.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled and stepped back to look at me expectantly in the mirror. 

I felt even more awkward. 

Or irresponsible. 

Or guilty.  

Or all three. 

“I had a really good time,” she said suddenly, “I mean, last night was wonderful… I mean, I said that already. Wonderful, I mean.”

A wave of empathy struck me as she stumbled with her words. Something straightened in my spine. 

“For me too,” I said earnestly, realising that it actually had been. 

Despite all the worry and stress. 

But that didn’t mean the worry and stress was gone. 

“But, um… listen…”  

“Oh, I won’t keep you,” she predicted, raising her hand. She sipped her tea quickly, winced and gasped, “Too hot.”

“You don’t have to rush,” I felt bad I was hurrying her. As much as I was a total disaster, I didn’t want to be rude. 

“No, it’s okay. I really should probably get going,” she reassured, “I have a ton to catch up on and I should at least show my face to my supervisor.”

I nodded, not understanding anything about Kitty’s work. 

“Okay,” I agreed and turned to face her, “It’s… um… I’ll call you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” I echoed, “Oh, uh, but I’ll see you out.”

I stood and looked around the room, smiled at her stiffly, and nodded. 

“Yes,” she repeated and we moved into the living room.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” she continued as she put on her heels and coat.

“Absolutely,” I said, “I’ll call you, and we can… you know…”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is… if you want…” I stammered. 

“I do,” she insisted.  

“Yes,” I swallowed and tried to stand straighter, “In a couple days, maybe. I’m really busy at the moment but I'll call and we can arrange it.”

Kitty looked at me oddly, and I felt ridiculous. I wanted to run away screaming again. Instead I was stood there promising to arrange another date. 

“Great,” she nodded, and then raised her arms but paused, “Uh… Should we… I don’t really…”

“Oh,” I suddenly understood she meant to kiss or hug or something, “Yes… um, of course.”

I stepped to her unsure of what I should actually do, but before I could attempt a decision, Kitty reached forward, cupped my cheeks, and kissed me deeply.

“Yes,” she said again as she stepped back, “So… you’ll call soon?”

“Uh huh,” I was stunned. 

“Great,” she repeated, looked around her once more before adding, “Okay, till then… then.”

“Yes,” I managed and she nodded again and walked out the front door. 

I stood in the hall, dazed. The feeling lingered as I continued to get ready and headed to work. 

I managed to be on time at least, and didn’t encounter Lee, so was spared her questions. 

As I rode, I continued to be troubled by everything that had happened. And so quickly. 

I had dominated Kitty. 

I hadn’t done that since Anne. 

I felt the wound of my former girl stretch before me like a maw.

It had all ended so horribly. 

I'd been destroyed. 

Of course, in my head, I could accept that someday I should think about having another girl.

But that wasn’t the case here. 

Kitty wasn’t my girl. 

Two days ago I hadn’t been sure I should have even slept with her. And now I was considering…

No, I wouldn’t.

We hadn’t negotiated.

That was the point.

But what if we did?

The phone rang suddenly in my ears and, distracted, I clicked the button on my headphone wire to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Astrid?” Kitty’s voice crackled.

“Kitty?” I asked, shocked, almost turning down the wrong street.

“Yes, um, hi.

“What’s up?” I asked, worried something had happened, “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” came her enthusiastic reply.

I pulled over, frightened I would crash if I carried on the conversation while riding. 

“Okay,” I was confused, “But, then?”

“Oh, I just wanted to call and say I had a really good time, and well, I wondered if maybe we could make that date again sometime soon?”

“I said I’d call.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Kitty sounded embarrassed, “I mean, sorry… It’s just we didn’t have so much time this morning…”

A wave of conflicting emotions rolled over me. I was unhappy she would call when I told her I would. 

But perhaps that was just me overstepping my authority?

I mean, I don’t have any authority over her.

But also, she stepped over a boundary surely?

Yes, she absolutely did do that.

On the other hand, I was feeling extraordinarily light and happy as well. 

That she had called. 

What the fuck was that?!

And then what she said about not having much time this morning?

Perhaps she needed more aftercare?

Fuck, what aftercare!? We didn’t negotiate!

But still, I fretted. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? After last night… I mean… I got a little…”

“Oh, yes,” came her cheery reply, “I really am. I just would like to see you again.”

“Um… I could tomorrow?” I staggered myself as the words came tumbling out, “After work?”

“Oh yes!” she answered enthusiastically. 

“But… um…” I tried to claw back, “Perhaps we could go on a date… out?”

“Where do you want to go?”

Again, that passive voice.

“A walk in Richmond Park,” I reacted immediately to it, “at 4.”

“Wonderful,” she answered happily.

“I’ll meet you at the station and we can walk in together.”

“Certainly,” she agreed. 

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

We hung up.

“What am I doing?!” I accused myself, this time out loud, confusing a woman pushing a pram along the pavement.

Coming home in the late afternoon, I walked in, and collapsed on the sofa. A moment later I was standing up. And then pacing. And then sitting again. 

Fuck, this wasn’t going to do at all.

I rustled in my handbag, found my phone, and tapped on one of my ‘saved numbers.’ It rang a few times before a pinched voice answered.

“Good afternoon, caller. You have reached the office of Jennifer Avery, counsellor and spankologist, her secretary Annabelle speaking, how may I direct your call and/or what heinous misdemeanour have you perpetrated in need of correction?”

“Jen…”

“Oh, Astrid,” Jen’s normal voice rang with fake surprise, “It’s you! How are you, darling?”

“I know you can see my number come up.”

“Of course,” she admitted, “Don’t begrudge me my amusement.”

“Fine,” I conceded.

“So, what’s happened?” Jen said more soberly, “You normally text before you call. What couldn’t wait?”

“Domme consultancy emergency."

“Oooooo,” Jen cooed gleefully, “My specialty. Now is this a phone consultation or will you be needing a house-call with complimentary bottle of wine?”

“I’m sorry I rang,” I raised a hand to my forehead.

“Now, now,” she chided, “Don’t be like that. I’m coming over, so stay put and try to be decent when I get there.”

“I’m always…” I tried to reply but the line went dead. 

Jen was... one of kind. 

I put the kettle on while I waited. 

Soon enough, I heard a knock on the door. I sighed, but gratefully opened it to Jen, who was clearly just from work in her approximation of a business suit, a short pinstripe pencil skirt, black jacket closed with a single button barely covering a low cut skintight top. Her usual make-up flattered her pale-pink face, but was day-worn. Her luscious long brown-hair however shone as usual. 

She held out a packet of chocolate Hobnobs and a bottle of red wine. 

“I came prepared for all eventualities,” she said as I stepped aside to let her in, “So, tell your therapist everything.”

“You’re not my therapist,” I huffed with no real malice, as she strode across the room, “and you aren’t a therapist.”

“Fine… counsellor,” she conceded, “But only because the conservative vagaries of the British legal system won’t allow me the title of my true calling.”

I sighed. We had had this conversation often. The law did indeed stop Jen from calling herself a therapist, in part due to her unusual approach to the caring arts, but also because she avoided the necessary training, opting instead for degrees in sociology and social work. A clever choice, because had she taken a psychology degree, she might have been denied her particular brand of practice. 

She was shockingly well educated for one of my friends, but she never lorded it over any of us. Unless it was funny, and in that case, she was brutal about it. 

“Now, spill,” Jen commanded, unbuttoning her jacket in a flourish before flopping onto the sofa, “Also, glasses? Corkscrew?” 

“I presume girl trouble?” Jen called out as I stepped into the kitchen, “Unless of course you’ve gone to the dark side without telling me.”

“It’s not girl trouble,” I returned with the necessaries and slumped next to Jen, “It’s me trouble.”

“Oh?” Jen accepted the corkscrew and applied it to the bottle. 

“Yeah,” I conceded, placing the glasses on the table. As I did, I noticed a new scuff on one of the legs and made a note that I needed to buy paint, unless I could get away with a little nail polish.

“Do tell,” Jen prompted with a loud pop of the cork being released from its bondage. 

“I met a girl,” I started and Jen nodded enthusiastically, “She’s… vanilla…”

“Uh huh,” she looked at me sceptically as she poured a generous helping into both glasses and handed one to me, “Drink up, it’s medicinal.”

“Yes,” I insisted with a tight smile and took a slug, “We met at Lips but she was a complete newb, dragged there by her equally-newb flatmates and abandoned for the sling.”

“That will happen,” Jen nodded sagely.

“Well, long story short, we went home together.” 

A giant grin blossomed on Jen’s face. 

“Not like that! Well, sort of… We fucked, but nothing kinky.”

“Oh,” Jen deflated, but then raised a sly eyebrow, “But you wouldn’t have called in the cavalry for that.”

“No,” I exhaled, “I was getting to that. We met again yesterday…”

“Oh!” Jen leaned forward, “Second date already? My, you do move quickly. I’m proud of you.”

I glared at her, but then lowered my gaze to the glass in my hands. 

“Well, I had planned to gently call it off,” I admitted, “but then…”

“Yeeeees?” Jen was enjoying herself.

“We fucked again.”

“Good for you!” Jen cheered, and I looked up to her giant Cheshire grin, “I knew you could do it.”

I stared at her. She continued to grin back, waiting me out.

“I domme’d her,” I sighed.

“Very good for you!” Jen cheered and raised her glass to repeat, “I knew you could do it.”

“Jen!” 

“What’s the problem?” she asked more earnestly. 

“I didn’t mean to!” I moaned, “We didn’t negotiate that. I mean, she didn’t say no to anything. Actually she said, yes. And she called today to ask for another date…”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I didn’t mean to!” I repeated loudly, more as an accusation to myself, “But she was just so obedient… Fuck… Except today, when I told her I would ring later in the week and she called me instead, asking to meet again.”

“Oh I get it now,” Jen clapped her thigh, “She misbehaved by calling and you need me to spank her for you?”

“No!” I yelled to Jen’s great amusement, before I sighed again, “Uh… I agreed to meet… tomorrow.”

“So you’ll spank her yourself? Good for you. Taking charge.”

“Fucking hell, Jen,” I exasperated, “She’s vanilla, and besides, I’m not ready for that.” 

She looked at me, sceptical again.

“I’m not,” I insisted, “I haven’t gotten over… And besides, she’s vanilla. I can’t just dominate someone like that. It’s not okay. It’s not consent.”

“You said she agreed…”

“It’s not consent,” I repeated, “I just slipped…”

“You slipped into telling her what to do, and she did what you told her to do?”

“Yes.”

Jen sipped her wine meaningfully. 

“I’m going to meet her and call it off,” I decided, “Yes… I’ll apologise. Say it wasn’t okay and I’m not ready for a relationship anyway…”

“Uh huh.”

“I will.”

“You know you could just call if you’re just going to tell her that?”

“No,” I answered, for a moment unsure why I couldn’t in fact just call to tell her all that, “No… That would be really rude. We’ve slept together twice and I agreed to meet.”

Jen sipped her wine in silence. 

“It’s the right thing to do.”

Jen sipped again. 

I glared. 

“Where are you meeting her?” 

“I suggested a walk in the park.”

“You are so traditional sometimes,” she tapped my leg dramatically.

“Uh huh,” my exasperation turned into long-suffering, “I’ll meet Kitty at the station.”

“Kitty?” Jen cocked her head to one side, “I didn’t know you were into pet play?”

“That’s her name, Katherine, Kitty!”

“Ah,” Jen sipped.

“I’ll meet her, and just call it off, gently.”

“Uh huh,” Jen remained very much unconvinced.