Power Exchange…Becoming Part I

I was thinking about the next little flash series I wanted to do for a couple of days. I think of stories and ideas all day long but right now, my flash fiction works are being driven by a fire burning deep within me. And this raging and very sultry situation is entirely sparked by John Patrick. He’s not just a driving force, his quiet demeanor and gentle yet commanding nature are quite frankly powerful. Yep. There’s that word again. He and I use the word quite often. Very few others define the blissful events we share adequately. What continues to fascinate me is how1Power Exchange much both he and I learn along their incredible journey. No day is the same. No concept of how we feel or what we need stays constant. The aspect of growing in our D/s relationship is exciting. Yes, we’re new to the lifestyle. Yes, we both know the highs and lows will become less extreme – or so we think.

Whether you practice BDSM, D/s or DD, the concept involves around a power exchange between at least two people. One is dominant and one submissive. The understanding is pretty clear in the beginning. There will be one person who – for the lack of a better phrase – rules. He or she will be the one to take command and control, whether you’re living the lifestyle 24/7 or only when time allots. What you share together is set in a certain pattern of dynamics. When John Patrick and I started this journey, I was using the term ‘rules’ often. We talked about rules, him imposing them and me following what has turned out to be amazing guidance. (Who knew I could follow directions from a man?) All kidding aside, his words and thoughts of wisdom I listen to and what I find so amazing is that he truly gets me. Our discussions have been frank. He’s described exactly what’s going to happen if I do break his few but pointed rules. I know. I screw up. I learn – usually LOL.

During our conversations John Patrick was very honest saying he wasn’t the kind of Dom who has a list of rules planted in his head. In fact, he had maybe one or two – um and yes, I’ve broken them. That’s okay. I deserve the punishment he IS going to inflict (40 lashes worth whew). What I’ve fully embraced as of late is that he’s right – I’m not the kind of woman who could follow certain rules. You can’t wear this. You must do that. You have to text me every fifteen minutes. Right. My life is too on the edge to follow certain instructions – just a fact of living a vanilla life. What is particularly amazing is that he realized I need more structure. Yes, the term is much more fitting for both of us. In gathering our assorted requirements of expectations – what I think is the very beginning stage of imposing even a moment of rules – is that I have some for me, he has a list for himself, then there are expectations for us as a couple.

Both expectations as well as developing a basic structure to follow is all about a power exchange. Very basically put – I am giving him enough trust about me, my needs, my worries and fears, and my safety. I am allowing him to take control of certain aspects of my life. I’ve given him the reins and in my actions and words I’m showing him a heightened level of devotion. This will grow and ebb with time, but when I really stood back and truly embraced our myriad of conversations, the way he’s treated me, the emotions and needs changing inside the woman, I finally realized something very…well…powerful. John Patrick knows me inside and out. He wants nothing but the best for me. He will stop at nothing to provide what I need and crave, A little appe for youand guess what? Sometimes he does indeed know best. Will I follow him without question at this point in my life? No – this takes a lot of time.

But…with every passing day, with every new emotion or story shared, I am learning. I am trusting more. I am becoming. I am his submissive.

I hope this story will convey the way I feel about him and about what we’re sharing, while bringing into light we’re all very human.

Christopher Patterson sat drumming his fingers on the table, unable to concentrate on the business meeting. He was lost in a moment of soul-searching, something he’d been doing a hell of a lot of lately. As he gazed out the window his thoughts reverted to her, always to her. She’d become his obsession, a woman he didn’t simply want to taste. No, he wanted to posses her very soul – own her. The thought alone left him in an emotional wave of near frenzy, a heightened state of a raw emotions he simply wasn’t used to. He was a planner, a man with full control over every action, every word emitted from his mouth. His organizational skills were unquestionable. His ability to size up a situation correctly was well known. He took no bullshit from anyone, either in business or pleasure. Both men and women regaled his power, succumbing to his prowess.

Brushing the tip of his index finger back and forth across his mouth, he had to accept the fact he was ruthless in and out of the bedroom. Few could tolerate his brand of kink, what some said behavior bordering on sadism. He had other thoughts but no one to share them with. That is until Genevieve Tallen had come into his life. He chuckled at the memory of their meeting, one that had left not only a wretched taste in his mouth, but also an aching cock. From that very day he’d made a promise to himself. She’s thwarted his advances, pushed him so hard he felt like some damn teenager. The moment they’d embraced magic had happened. Now, something seemed amiss, something he refused to tolerate.

“Chris. Are you with us?”

The voice was agitated.
Snapping his head to the right, he glared at the room full of stuffed suits, something he’d begun to loathe over the past two years. He was damn good at his job, his chosen career, but he longed for something less conventional. Who the hell was he kidding? His father had ceremoniously pushed him into this position, countering Christopher’s need to weasel away from his responsibilities. These, his father’s very words, Christopher had allowed himself to take over the dying business, assuring his father he’d take the reins with a heavy dose of contemplation. He certainly had. Bulldozing the competitors in rather dubious methods he’d gotten very good at. His reputation was something magazine articles were made of and as his wealth had increased, so had his time alone. No one wanted to play in his ball field any longer. Not that he gave a shit.

A cold chill swept the room.

“Why John, I think you know where I stand.” Rising to his feet he allowed the soft but pointed words to sink in. There wasn’t a single person in the room who wasn’t sweating, the smell of fear and testosterone ripe in the dense space. “We’re done with this. All we need is for Mr. Marshall to sign on the dotted line.” Very slowly he cocked his head in the pompous jerk’s direction. “And I’m certain Mr. Marshall is ready to get on with retirement, trifling in the sand and surf. Aren’t you Bob?”

The sound of silence was tense, everyone holding his breath. No one came up against Christopher. No one.

A full minute ticked by.

Bob fidgeted with the papers in front of him, his eyes locked on the gold pen, one presented during the second he and his attorney had walked into the room. There was no denying the terror in his eyes, nor the knowledge Bob would have a cushy retirement package. Yet the crumbling of what had once been an empire remained the single issue left on the table.

Christopher had no need to say anything else. He refused to give a single additional perk. The deal was done in his mind and if Bob Marshall was stupid enough to risk Confidencegoing against him, then the man would go down in a firestorm, one already prepared.

John cleared his throat. “Bob?”

Bob shifted in his seat, stole a glance at his attorney and huffed. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll sign the deal.”

“Excellent.” Christopher walked to the expansive bar, one he’d insisted on having in the battle room, as he preferred calling the expansive conference room. Every move deliberate, he opened the crystal decanter, pouring a half glass of his prized Jameson’s, the beverage he consumed after each conquest. He wasn’t going to offer refreshment for anyone else in the room. This was his moment basking in glory. In the early days he’d been giddy, thrilled at his accomplishment. Now he simply felt loneliness, an emotion akin to weakness. Sniffing, he held up the glass, studying the amber colored liquid. The moment was defining. Patterson Consulting had ceremoniously taken down every company waging war against his firm. There was no one left to volley against.

Shame. He was hungrier than ever. You know what you need, what you’re desperately craving. You realize what you want and the single thing you can’t have. The ugly little voice was driving him to the brink of madness. He shifted so that no one was able to see his face, what he knew were haunted eyes. As he gazed out the window, studying the massive array of commercial buildings, he could swear he could see her reflection in the glint of the sun.

The early morning call he’d made to her had been frustrating to say the least. Voice mail. He’d gotten her voice mail more often than not and he was beginning to get the picture. She no longer gave a shit about the kinky romance they’d shared over the last four months. Could this be true? Shit, now he was second guessing her, them. He sighed. As he took a swig of his drink, he realized he’d never spent any longer than six weeks tops with any female. None. He was too busy, too uncaring, too much in need to obtaining the next big goal in life – a life filled with nothing and no one. A shiver trickled down his back.

“Mr. Patterson.”

Bob’s voice was right behind him. Christopher turned and seeing Bob’s serene face, his outstretched hand, was almost surprising. He was used to his competition going down kicking and screaming. “Mr. Marshall. I think you’ve made a very wise decision.” He grasped Bob’s hand. The grip was firm, Bob’s handshake solid.

Bob nodded as a smile crept across his mouth. His eyes never left Christopher’s as he leaned forward. “I don’t think I ever told you that I knew your father very well.”

“No, you didn’t,” Christopher snorted. Not that it mattered.

“Frank was a good man, a little rough around the edges, but he knew his clientele, cared for the people who worked with him. Did he ever tell you he never considered anyone in his employee or the people he came into contact with inferior? Never.”

Christopher glanced at the other men in the room, all craning to catch Bob’s soft voice, the words being said with conviction. “I didn’t work with my father for long.”

“Yes, I can tell. You’re nothing like Frank.” Bob’s smile grew wider. “He was selfless. I admired that in him very much.” The grip tightened.

Was Bob trying to make him sweat? The jerk had another thing coming. “My father was a weak man. He had no clue how to run a business. If left up to him, Patterson Consulting would have closed its doors twenty-five years ago.”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right.” Bob broke the hold, the smile remaining. “My attorney will have the final paperwork in your office Monday morning.”

“Good enough.” After gulping the remainder of his drink, Christopher set the glass down with a hard thud.

Bob exhaled slowly. “Son, I feel sorry for you. I really do.”

Sorry? What the hell for? He had everything money could buy. He also had other business to attend to. Striding past the long table toward the door, he knew all eyes were on him. They usually were. When he reached the door, for some unknown reason he felt compelled to turn around. When he did, he captured Bob’s look almost immediately. He usually noticed resignation, a beaten man. Today he witnessed what could only be described as empathy. “Answer me one question. Why did you tell me about my father?”

Bob walked back to the table, gathering his things. He remained quiet until the various things were nestled in his arms. After nodding to his attorney he lifted his head, sadness filling his eyes. “Your father was well loved, enjoyed the company of friends and family. My guess is that mask you wear so firmly entrenched on your face Come when I sayis one built of loneliness and one that’s going to strangle you when you least expect. I wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors, especially ones of the heart.”

Christopher was able to make it to his office before he had a coughing fit. Slamming the door he rushed to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water from the door. The ice-cold liquid couldn’t seem to sate him, let alone control his anger. He was enraged the man had gotten under his skin. Snarling, he held the bottle out, gripping the plastic tightly, his fingers white from the force of his hold. Control. You have to get control. He held the bottle to his head and closed his eyes.

The lilting sound of his phone, a special tone signifying Genevieve was on the phone put him completely at peace. Nearly tumbling over the corner of his desk he was able to grab it on the third ring. “Hello, my submissive.”

“Hello, my Sir.” Her voice was sultry, laced with a husky tone, the one indicating she was hungry. “How’s your day going? Conquer any lost souls yet?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “A few, my dearest. A few. Are you still wet for me, baby?”

“I stay wet when I think about you, my studly Sir.”

Her playfulness was beguiling, her seductive nature only one attribute he loved about her. From her wild blond hair and mischievous demeanor to her ballsy attitude and take no shit talk, the woman could eat men for breakfast without breaking a sweat. Perhaps that’s why her submission to him was so powerful. They’d begun the journey almost immediately after realizing how intense their connection was. Unfortunately they’d hit a wall, a tension he wasn’t certain they could move past. “My wicked girl.”

“A naughty girl you adore the last I heard.” Her laugh was clipped short. “Sir.”

“Hmmm… I think we’re going to have to work on your behavior. Tonight.” The last word was said as an afterthought. For various reasons he was certain she’d have an excuse for not seeing him. Lately, she’d had several. When she said nothing for a few seconds he realized he was holding his breath.

“Yes sir. I understand. I’ve disobeyed you and must be punished.” The tone of her voice had changed, her inflection almost docile.

Relief swept through him. “Good girl. Seven sharp I’ll arrive. You know exactly what the requirements are for my arrival. Don’t disappoint me. Tonight is special.”

“Special sir?”

“Yes.” Christopher clucked his jaw as he walked toward the duffle bag he’d brought with him, one he carried with him every day. As he smiled he jerked the bag on top of his desk, fingering the smooth leather, the stainless steel zipper before opening the flaps. He gazed at the contents, drinking in the essence of his collection. Every one of the toys was hand picked with her in mind, a woman who’d allowed Pandora’s box to completely open, revealing the tender side of him as well as the growing sadist. Some might say he was a monster. For Genevieve, he was her Dom. Perhaps one day he’s become her Master.

Her voice quavered, a muffled laugh pushing through the phone. “I’ll be ready my Sir for anything and everything you desire. You can do what you want with my body.”

“Good, my sweet sub. I look forward to taking you up on your offer.” The words thrilled him to the point his cock was aching. He pulled out the bound rope, admiring the thick strands. After hanging up the phone he laid the rope on his desk and eased out the blindfold, running the silk through his fingers. Tonight he was going to take both of them to a new level, one of pain as well as pleasure. For tonight he was going to begin to own her – the ultimate power exchange.

Mmmm… Powerful words, don’t you think? Can you imagine what she’s thinking? I can because I know and I’m shivering.

Kisses and spanks…


The latest Submitting to a Spanking – notice I like the theme…


About Cassandre Dayne

Cassandre Dayne is the pseudo for the best selling author of romantic suspense and thrillers
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