Page 17 of His Turn

I smile sweetly as I lean up on my tiptoes, cup his face in both my hands, and kiss him chastely on the lips. “You can try.” I turn away then, calling out over my shoulder, “See you tonight. And thank you for the flowers.”

“Be ready for us at seven fifteen,” he calls back.

I don’t even bother replying.

I feel powerful today.

Here’s the thing about men who like to dominate women. They think we’re weak. That we enjoy submitting. And I’m sure there are weak ones out there. Just like I’m sure some of them like to submit. But I’m not submissive. Not at all. And no one who knows me would ever describe me as weak.

I play this game with Jordan because I’m practicing. I’m learning how to be more dominant from an unequal starting point. I’m teaching myself to think outside the box when it comes to controlling men.

I’m still in control. He has to know that. We’ve been playing for weeks now and the first two, at least, I must’ve slapped his face in public a couple dozen times.

I’m testing him. Seeing how far I can push before he loses his cool.

He’s doing well, so far. But I’m just getting started. And even though I didn’t anticipate him inviting his friend into our little arrangement, I’m all for it.

Two clueless bastards to play with?

Why, yes, sir, I’d like that very much.

I smile all the way through my afternoon. All the way home to my apartment. And the whole time I’m soaking my aching feet and my aching body in my nightly bubble bath.

I choose my favorite dress from the closet. It’s a charcoal-gray A-line, wool coat dress with a cut-out back and a tailored waist. The silk lining feels so soft when I slip it on. A nice contrast to the wool exterior.

The zipper goes both directions. Down from the top and up from the above-the-knee hem. So you can button yourself up or let some skin show.

I choose the skin. A push-up bra hikes my tits up to my chin and the stiletto heels make me five inches taller. I want to be as close to eye-to-eye with these men tonight as I can manage.

The entire ensemble is professional in a very alluring way. We are equals, this dress says. In all ways but one. The only one that matters.

I’m the one who owns a pussy in this little relationship.

I chuckle at my reflection in the mirror and… stop.

Am I happy?

Hmm. I have to think about that for a moment.

I’m not a sullen person. At least on the outside. I’m not bubbly. I’m neither dark nor light. But I’m not one of those boring in-between women either.

I’m just careful. And I like to have a plan. So I don’t show happiness much because I think happiness is a weakness. I don’t like to laugh, but I don’t hate it. I don’t make myself unhappy on purpose. In fact, I’m not an unhappy person at all.

I’m mostly quite… satisfied.

“Yes,” I say, straighten my skirt and then plane my hand flat down the front of my breasts to smooth out a wrinkle. “I’m satisfied.”

And it’s not a lie, either. I am pretty damn satisfied right now. My life is going better than expected. I love the job. I can’t wait for Christmas camp to be over at the school so I can get back to seven AM rehearsals and days filled with nothing but straining muscles and self-inflicted, internal mind games as I bend my body into an instrument that needs to be played… just so.

“I’m ready,” I tell the reflection of me in the mirror, just as the doorbell rings. She nods back to me just before I turn away and walk to the front door.

I open it wide to a straight-faced Jordan. He looks me up and down—approves, I can tell these things—and says, “You look very nice tonight, Nadia.”

“Thank you,” I reply, turning so he can grab my coat from the closet near the door and help me into it. It was an automatic gesture and it occurs to me—we know each other now.

He knows where my coats are. He knows I will answer the door and turn. And he will open the closet, get a coat, and help me into it.

No words necessary.