A Domme Called Pet (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Dario
stared and something tickled the recesses of his mind. Then he began to laugh. “Oh
well, now then that is interesting. Very, very interesting. This is going to be
fun.”

He
recognized the guy.

“Let’s
hope you still think so afterward,” Tula said with a sigh, “when all this goes
ballistic. I can see at least two members of the fourth estate with their notebooks
and recorders at the ready.”

 
“Oh good. I’ll make sure I get a bit about my
new job into it.”

 
“How do you mean you,” Tula said suspiciously.
“When?”

 
“If I get asked anything, I’ll answer,” Dario
said stubbornly. “That is non-negotiable whatever you say. Not to stand up for
us
is red. You know you’ll say who you
are and who I am, so fuck ’em all. If what I think might happen, does happen, at
the least I’ll be asked some questions, and by someone not best pleased with
you.”

 
Tula glared, and then her expression relaxed.
“Well let’s be honest, I didn’t expect anything less. But why are you so sure
you’ll be questioned?”

 
“See Master Bullshittery, Asshole, Caramel? I
know him, and if he starts on, which I reckon he will, I know who will come out
best, and it won’t be him. Plus if anyone dares to say there is no such thing
as a macho male sub, I’ll show ’em. Do not diss my Domme.”

“God
almighty.” Tula threw her hands up in the air in defeat. “This gets more and
more complicated by the minute. Ah well, okay. Edan take me away and get me
ready.”

 
“I thought that my job,” Dario called after
her. She turned, grinned, and he stuck his tongue out.

Tula
drew a very large stroke to indicate that was ‘one’.

Dario
took a deep breath, sat down rested his crutches on the seat to one side of him
as Athol took the one on the other side.

“Who
is the Asshole Dom then?” Athol asked under his breath.

“Shh,
wait and see,” Dario told him. “This could get more than nosiness into our
dynamic. Interesting.” He could hardly wait. Dario swiveled around to see every
seat taken and people standing in the gallery. “Full house,” he murmured to Athol.
“Bet some of the other lecturers wish they could do even half as well.”

 
“Yeah, I used to copy most of my notes from
someone a lot more conscientious than me,” Athol replied. “I bet they don’t get
this sort of turnout very often. Mind you, your Lady has titled her lecture
brilliantly. ‘As many kinks as people’. It’s sure to catch a person’s
attention.”

Tula
took the stage and an expectant hush fell over the hall.

“Hello.”
Her voice was clear, her stance confident and she looked relaxed and at home on
the stage. “As some of you know, my name is Petula Talbot. What most of you do
not know is I am a Domme.” She paused and grinned at Dario. Obviously she’d
decided to stick word for word to their script. “And before anyone who knows a
little bit about BDSM, and has heard of some of the titles and names we use, says
it, I’ve heard the ‘A Domme called Pet’, ad nauseum.” She paused while a ripple
of laughter went around the room. “I’m married to Dario Talbot, who, I guess
most of you know as a footballer, albeit one out of the game at the moment with
a serious injury, and who is about to take up a job coaching talented teens.
What I’m sure none of you know is, as I am a Domme and a Mistress, Dario is not
only my husband, he is my sub.”

Someone
gasped, but apart from that you could have heard a pin drop. Tula nodded. “Yeah,
I seemed to have stunned you all to silence. But why? Would you have been so
surprised if I’d said I was his sub? That he was my Dom? I guess not. You’d nod
your head and say that was okay. Think about it for a moment. Why should it
always be a man in charge? Why shouldn’t he need time to breathe without worry
and let someone else think what to do? Why does he always have to be the one to
decide what’s needed? Why
can’t
he
take that step back, put himself in my hands and let me, the person who loves
him, give him what he needs?”

 
She very deliberately looked around the room.
Athol nudged Dario. “She’s got most of them by the short and curlies.”

“Most
if not all.”

“Shh.”
Athol turned his attention back to the stage and Dario followed him, but not before
he saw the angry face of the previous week’s speaker whose name he now remembered—and
where he knew him from.
Got you, you
bastard. You dare to diss my Domme and you’ll regret it.
Although deep down
a bit of him hoped the guy did stand up and make a contentious statement. Dario
would take great pleasure in helping the bloke make a fool of himself.
Thank god I told Tula everything about my past.
Otherwise there would have been some interesting cats let out of bags, and
not all the other bloke’s.

“You
see, I believe in the saying one size does
not
fit all,” Tula continued. “That each of us has our own needs and wants.
Sometimes we’re lucky enough to find someone whose ideas mesh with ours. Sometimes,
not. I guess Dario and I are amongst the lucky ones. We love and trust each
other, and I’m happy and honored to be his Domme, his Mistress, or as he so
lovingly calls me, His Lady. Even so, we have safe words, rules, and
regulations. Everything we do is safe, sane, and consensual. SSC is the
lodestone and cornerstone of what we do.”

There
was a murmur of agreement and from the back of the hall someone added their
opinion. “Hear, hear, way to go.”

 
“That’s a load of rubbish.” The guy who called
himself Rollo surged to his feet. “There is only one way to be a true disciple
of BDSM. I spoke about it last week. You’re deliberately trying to undermine my
authority, girl. Just because you know I’m correct. Ignore anyone who says any
other way is the only way. I know I’m right. I’ve studied for years and now I
know this is what to do. A man is always in charge. A man tells the woman what
to do and how. She does it with no argument. He is the Dom, the Master. Nothing
else is correct.”

“You
think not?” Tula smiled, somewhat like a snake about to strike. “Well, that is
your prerogative. Your way. If you don’t follow SSC then I’d say it’s an
abusive relationship, but that’s my opinion. My way is different, but…” She
held her hand up to silence him and to Dario’s amazement the man didn’t speak.
“Thank you. You notice I didn’t tell you that you spoke a lot of rubbish.
You’ll discover that for yourself, I’m sure. I don’t agree with you. My lifestyle
and that of a lot of my friends would show you that.”

“Because
you know you can’t dismiss what I say. Because you know you’re wrong.” He was
almost foaming at the mouth. “You’re an imposter, woman, and an hour with me
would show you the error of your ways.”

That
was it. Dario tried to stand, got stuck and sent an agonized look at Athol who
interpreted it correctly and helped him to his feet. Dario got hold of his
crutches and moved to the end of the row to look at everyone, before he pointed
one crutch in Rollo’s direction and hope to hell he didn’t fall flat on his
face.

“You
wouldn’t know what to do with My Lady, you worm.” He stared steadily at the other
man who obviously still had no idea who Dario was. Good. That made it all the
better.

“Hello
Roland,” Dario said in a level voice. “I thought I recognized you, but you’ve
expanded width-ways a bit over the years. I think you’ve been misleading the
good people a bit, don’t you? This, My Lady, is Roland Carrick. Some of you
might recognize the name but if not, let me help you out.”

 
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Roland took a step
in Dario’s direction and stopped abruptly as three hulking twentysomething men
stood in front of him.

 
“Best not, mate,” the tallest said with more
than a touch of menace in his voice. “We’re from the first fifteen.”

“Tell
him to shut the fuck up then. He’s a jessy, a sub he says. A pussy then, cock
led by a pussy.” He folded his arms over his ample stomach and glared at anyone
and nobody.

“Why
does that worry you?” Dario asked. “If you’re saying your way is the only way,
why does what I do worry you? I wonder if it’s something in your past you’ve
tried to hide, eh? I happen to know that your way got you three years inside
for GBH not that long ago. I even saw it first-hand. Oh yes, you didn’t know
that, did you? When I was a young semi-pro footballer I was invited to a party.
There I saw your ‘only one way, your way,’ for myself. I got out in a hurry and
took a very young and innocent girl with me for safety. It should have been ten
years, not three. No safe words, no consent and abuse all the way through. It doesn’t
sound as if you changed a lot.”

 
Dario sat down with a thump, as the three
rugby players corralled Roland until he stood with his back to the stage. Dario
felt sick. It was horrible and he hated doing something so blatant but it had
to be done. The man was dangerous. The court case had been nasty, and Dario
thought the asshole had been lucky to get off with only three years inside.

Two
men left the hall at a run, both with phones to their ears. Reporters, Dario
surmised. Bang went his chance of saying what he was going to do next. Ah well,
there was plenty of time, and really this was His Lady’s day, and she had
mentioned it, bless her.

Edan
stood on the stage and cleared his throat. “Does anyone have any questions for
Mr. Carrick before he’s escorted off the premises? The uni has a zero tolerance
approach to assault.

“Why
he is such an asshole?” someone asked.

Edan
laughed. “I think we’ll ignore that.” He waited until two security men walked
up and escorted Roland Carrick away. “Shall we continue?”

****

It
was several weeks later when Tula opened the door to their house and threw her
keys into the bowl on the side table.

“Dario?
Pet?” This time she got an answer.

“Here,
My Lady.”

Tula
grinned and hurried along the corridor to the room once more designated as
their playroom.

She
dropped her briefcase and bent her head for a kiss.

“My
Lady.” Dario sat on his chair in front of her, his new cane by his side. The
long hated crutches were stored in the cupboard under the stairs. “How was your
day?”

This
chair was made especially for Dario to let him sit in comfort and still pay
homage to his Lady. Something he was adamant about. It had fast become their
new favorite position, as Mistress and sub, before they scened. “Did you see
that article in the Friday supplement?” he asked as Tula stripped off her teddy
and shucked her skirt and thong. Her blouse was already discarded, and in the
laundry basket.

“Which
one?” She stroked his shoulder with her preferred flogger. The one that he said
teased him into the right frame of mind for anything they’d decided on. “The
one in the sports section praising you for your efforts to encourage teenagers
into sport? Oh yes, I went around all day with it open on that page and your name
underlined. Proud wife time.”

 
Heat rushed through him at her simple but
heartfelt words. However, he shook his head. “Nope, the one about how to be a
male sub didn’t mean you were less of a man.” He grinned. “The one I know was
written by a certain Mrs. Petula Talbot, who happens to be the love of my life.
My Lady, My Domme My mistress and my wife, who now writes under the by-line of
A Domme called Pet.”

The End

www.ravenmcallan.com

Other Books by Raven
McAllan:

www.evernightpublishing.com/raven-mcallan

If you enjoyed this
book, you may also like:

Broken Promise by Sam Crescent

Desk Job by Lily Harlem

Viper by Moira Callahan

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com