Tymber Dalton - The Denim Dom

“Not all the time,” she said with a grin.

He glanced at her but picked up his thought. “Impact play is only one part of our BDSM dynamic, a small part, and not everyone is into impact play.”

Shayla tried to wrap her head around that. “Huh?”

He nudged his wife. “Use the diving metaphor.”

Loren nodded. “Are you familiar with scuba diving?”

“Um, not really. A little. I’ve never done it. I’m originally from Minnesota, and went to college and lived in Ohio the past several years.”

“Okay,” Loren said. “In scuba diving there is one common thing that unifies everyone in the sport, regardless of how or where or why they do what they do. Do you know what that one thing is?”

“Not drowning?”

Ross laughed again. “I like her.”

Loren smiled. “Besides that.”

Shayla shrugged. “Not really.”

Loren tapped the table with her finger. “The sport of scuba diving is going under water while breathing from an external air source. Got it?”

Shayla frowned, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Just go with me on this and you’ll see my point,” Loren assured her. “Some divers are basic sport divers, clear-weather and clear-water divers who do nothing but go out in the Gulf in the middle of summer when the water is warmest and when it’s clear and when it’s not rough. Okay?”

Shayla nodded.

“Then there are divers who are into spearfishing. Some of them are on the mild end of the scale and will only go out in summer, yadda-yadda. Some of them are avid spearfishers and will go out even in the middle of winter in five-foot seas.”

“She used to teach scuba,” Ross interjected.

“Hush,” Loren said to him. “Some divers are into underwater photography. Some divers are into wreck diving. Some divers are into cave and cavern diving. Some divers are into deep diving for whatever reason and use mixed gases like Heliox, Nitrox, Trimix, or something similar. Some divers are commercial divers. Some shallower commercial divers don’t even carry a tank, they have a line that runs from the surface. Some divers only do shallow dives in water they can stand up in. But what do they all have in common?”

“They have to breathe underwater,” Shayla volunteered.

“Exactly.” She gestured, making a circle with her hands before bringing them together again. “That’s the ‘umbrella’ that encompasses scuba diving. Divers breathe something underwater, regardless of the reason they’re underwater. You with me?”

Shayla nodded. “Okay.”

“So swap that out for BDSM. It’s an umbrella term that doesn’t even fully describe what it is that we do. The unifying idea is that the people participating in it are kinky. Or, not-vanilla. The term stands for bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. So just like ‘scuba diving’ is a generic term, so is BDSM.”

Loren made the circle gesture again. “BDSM is just a term with a unifying theme. But if I say ‘scuba diving’ with no other context to people who know nothing about scuba diving, a lot of people, depending on their age, they’ll either think Sea Hunt, or Jacques Cousteau, or Navy SEALS, or whatever their frame of reference is. Okay?”

Shayla nodded. “Fair enough.”

Loren clasped her hands together in front of her again. “There are people who, at least when writing it, use an acronym to better describe this lifestyle—WIITWD. It stands for ‘what it is that we do.’ Because you might have people who are kinky but who don’t consider themselves into BDSM. There are some people who’ve known all their lives that they were ‘different’ in some way, but it took seeing something related to BDSM for them to put their finger on what that something was. There are people who stumbled into it and discovered they liked it and they decided not to turn back. There are people who maybe like being tied up in bed, and that’s the extent of what they do. And there are people who spend their lives as dedicated service-oriented slaves, who never get tied up or beaten at all.”

Loren made the circle gesture one more time. “Umbrella of kink. Anything not vanilla when it comes to sex could in some way fit under the kinky umbrella.”

“Okay, now I’m confused. Earlier you said sex isn’t a part of it for some people.”

“Right. Let me clarify. Not just not-vanilla sex, but you could substitute ‘relationship dynamic’ for ‘sex.’ Does that help?”

“Maybe.”

Loren smiled and sat back as the waitress approached with their tray of food. “Don’t worry. It’ll start making sense soon.”

They sat and talked for over three hours. By the time they parted ways in the parking lot, Shayla was both enlightened and more confused than ever. Not because she didn’t understand what the couple was saying, but because of the huge amount of information she’d attempted to digest in such a short amount of time.

One thing was for certain, she knew she couldn’t just slough off and write something based on the talk she’d just had.

She needed to go on-site to the club Ross and Loren were members of, and she needed to attend classes and talk to other people in the lifestyle.

* * *

Loren settled into the passenger seat. “I like her,” she said.

Ross nodded. “She seems very nice.”

She glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye. “I think we should set Tilly up to talk with her. And Leah.” A thought struck her. “Ooh!”

“No,” Ross said.

“What?”

“I know that sound. You want to hand her off to Leah to fix her up with Tony. No. Talk, yes. Matchmaking, no.”

Loren fought the urge to pout, knowing if she did that it would earn her at least five swats when they got home. “Just to talk, Sir.”

They stopped at a red light. He looked at her, eyebrow arched.

“Hey,” she said. “I just said I want to see if Leah and Seth want to talk to her.”

“That’s not exactly what you said. And it wasn’t the tone in which you said it. You guys need to leave poor Tony alone. He’s going to quit coming around if all of you don’t stop trying to fix him up.”

“Well, is he not someone who usually helps mentor newbies? He teaches. He’s a DM. Are you saying we can’t put her in contact with him at all?”

Ross let out an aggravated grunt she knew meant he was trying to figure out a way to admit she was right without admitting she was right.

She let the subject drop and sat back in her seat while hoping he didn’t spot the smug smile on her face.

Back home, Shayla grabbed a shower, a cup of hot herbal tea, and her notebook and pen. With her headphones plugged into the voice recorder, she played back their dinner conversation while jotting down information and making notes on points she wanted to hit for both further research and including in the article.

Despite what she’d hoped, she wouldn’t be able to get away with only writing two or three articles on the topic. No way could she do it justice without shortchanging either the subject or the people kind enough to speak to her about it.

Already she spotted several different potential topics. The dynamics and differences between Dominants and submissives, or submissives versus slaves versus bottoms, Tops and sadists and masochists and rope bunnies and…

She hit pause on the recorder, pulled off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. Just those topics alone could easily take up a couple of articles each to truly do them justice.

Then there were the different types of play. No way that could be covered in one article without glossing over everything and basically regurgitating what showed up on Wikipedia.

She thought for a moment. Profile a person or couple and discuss salient topics? was added to her growing list of bullet points.

Still, nothing she’d discovered gave her an answer to her own burning question.

Maybe I’ll never really know why.

Hell, when she’d angrily confronted him the second time, even James couldn’t give her a satisfactory answer. He’d begged for forgiveness, begged her not to leave him.

She’d waited to confront him until after she’d spent the afternoon alternating between throwing up in the bathroom, following his online trail through the different websites, and on the phone with various credit card companies after pulling an online credit report on herself and discovering the full extent of his treachery.

Until after she’d been armed with the truth.

Until after there was no way he could gaslight or sweet-talk his way out of it.

Okay, yes, so mailing copies of everything to his parents had been a tad on the over-the-line side of crazy, but after the shit James put her through, he should count himself lucky she hadn’t mailed copies, along with a report of the criminal fraud he perpetrated, to his boss as well.

It would have cost him his job. Had she decided to press charges, he’d be looking at jail time.

She’d been able to reclaim most of the deposits for the wedding, which gave her nearly three thousand dollars she applied to paying for her move. James promised to one day reimburse her in full.

Not that she would hold her breath. Although before she departed for Florida, he had left her a check for five hundred at the apartment.

No note enclosed.

Asshat.

With a sigh, she hit play and resumed listening.

* * *

Thursday morning didn’t start well. Shayla startled awake on the couch at six o’clock, with a crick in her neck and the headphones still on after having fallen asleep listening to the interview.

“Shoot.” She sat up and tried to ease the pain in her neck. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch.

After briefly considering going to bed to sleep for another hour, she opted to put coffee on and head out for an early walk. Her uneasy dreams still swirled along the perimeters of her brain, images of naked women kneeling at the feet of hunky guys, bullwhips coiled in the men’s hands. Of darkly lit dungeons and screams of pain and pleasure.

What the hell was I thinking taking this assignment?

She pulled on shorts and sneakers and with the sun beginning to lighten the eastern horizon, she left her apartment for the humid, cool Sarasota morning.

Part of her wondered what else she’d discover on this journey.

What if I never find the answers I’m looking for?

Everything Loren and Ross talked about the night before came full circle to the fact that the people involved with each other in healthy dynamics had trust and communication as a foundation. Different levels of trust, sure, depending on what activities they were engaged in.

How do I ever learn to trust anyone again?

She’d trusted James. Loved him. Had been ready to spend the rest of her life with him.

It was nearly seven by the time she returned to her apartment, sweating and breathing heavily after jogging all the way home.

It had been the only way to get the nagging, unanswered questions out of her brain for a little while.

* * *

“You’re still looking a tad vexated,” Bill observed upon her walking into the break room to refill her coffee.

Shayla ducked around him. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

They were alone in the break room. It surprised her when she heard the door close. Turning, she saw he stood against it. “If this assignment is too much for you,” he softly said, “I don’t have a problem reassigning it.”

She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms in front of her. “No. I want to do it.” She reached up and nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

His arched eyebrow spoke his disbelief.

“Seriously,” she said as she turned to fill her mug. “I…” She took a deep breath to buy herself a second or two. “I’m just trying to digest everything is all. I’ll be fine.”

When she turned back to him, he slowly nodded. “Okay. But if you find it isn’t, I want to know about it. I’d rather you hand it off than cause yourself distress.”

“Understood.”

With a nod he opened the door and left. A moment later she returned to her desk and checked her e-mail, where she found a note from Loren.

Hope we didn’t scare you off last night. If you’d like, I can come to the Submission 101 class with you. We’ll be there on Saturday anyway for the dungeon play following the class. Ross said he’d be happy to sponsor you so you can attend the night play session, and we can introduce you around. That way, we can answer any questions you might have about what you see there.