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  DISCOVERY

  A PHAZE FETISH HEATSHEET BY

  ROB GRAHAM

  Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-904-1

  Discovery © 2006 by Rob Graham

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2006 by Kathryn Lively

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  This story is dedicated to the memory of Colleen Thomas, a wonderful woman who was taken from us far too soon. She was a lovely lady, a brilliant mind, a good friend and superb writer. This one is for you, beautiful. I wouldn't have made it this far without your support and friendship. "I've invited someone here for you," says Marie in a voice that

  won't carry. Closing the fridge I've just placed my beer in, I look at her with a raised eyebrow then turn to scan her apartment. It is small and thus crowded with partiers. * * * * I had known Marie for just over a year. We first met online when I started to explore the lifestyle. When we found out we lived in the same city, we met face-to-face. The two of us became rather good friends in a short time.

  She was lesbian, and a domme, so there was no sexual tension between us. I started to pick her brains about the BDSM scene, and she helped me examine why I was so interested in her world.

  I grew up being dominated, not in the sexual sense but in all other aspects and unpleasantly so. Always there was the threat of pain and humiliation. It had nothing to do with discipline and everything to do with power. The people dominating me could have cared less how I turned out just so long as I didn't break their rules.

  Given my strong personality, this was a difficult thing to do. Sometimes I was perverse, disobeying for no reason other than to get up the nose of my owners. By inviting their punishment I could prove to myself that I had the grit to take it and smile.

  When I became an adult, my unhappy upbringing and my anger made relationships of all kinds difficult. My distrust and dislike of those with power made working and socialising a distasteful thing.

  And that attitude extended to myself. Being a strong man, I had a great deal of power of my own, which I kept well hidden and under tight control. I was always afraid that I would be as irresponsible as those who raised and taught me. I adopted a facade of the quiet, polite person: someone soft, with no interest of or use for power.

  It didn't work well. I was always uncomfortable with the role. The disguise didn't fit me. It was a clumsy, inappropriate thing that held me back.

  My graceless ineptitude extended to my relationships with women. Since I was unsure of myself, they were unsure of me. I would generally chase strong women, telling myself I was weak and needed their strength. It never worked. If the women were controlling, I would push them away. If their strength was a mask to cover weakness, my guise as less than what I was would be unsatisfying to them. And if they really were strong, we would end up in conflict over who was strongest. All my couplings with women had been short and unhappy. It had been many years since I had even bothered to try.

  In spite of my ambivalence towards power and control, I had always found D/s fascinating. I was, it took me long to realise, by nature a dominant person. The idea of a relationship where I could be the one in command was a very exciting one for me. I consistently pushed those desires aside, though. I couldn't help but think that such a joining was based on power and control. As arousing as I found it, I felt a connection revolving around those traits alone would make me resemble the people I grew up hating.

  Over many long and often alcohol sodden nights, Marie and I had discussed all this. Like all good friends, she never judged, merely asked questions and made observations. Sometimes she used her own relationships and those of others she knew to illustrate falsehoods I had about the lifestyle. Certainly, there were people in the life whose only interest was power, but for many there was a deeper bond with the discipline and playing merely a facet of that link. What they did together was emotionally satisfying and fulfilling, not a display of weakness at all.

  With that revelation, my mind began to change. I came to the conclusion that maybe here was a place I could truly be myself. In the life, there would be less conflict within me, and I could approach something resembling contentment. I decided it was time for me to do more than talk about it. When I shared this discovery with Marie, she had invited me to her party. And now she had let me know that she had also invited someone with whom I could explore my new interest. * * * * "You're not going to tell me who though, are you?" I query. "Of course not," Marie replies. "Part of being a successful dominant is being able to spot the people who want what you have to offer." She smirks, letting me know I had better choose properly. I remember that Marie had told me there was always subtle competition between doms. I am now receiving my first taste of it. If I fail there will be a slight change in our relationship, the balance of power moving in her favour.

  To my surprise, I give a wide grin to her. I'm not a competitive person, but neither am I going to back down. Marie's mild sneer changes to an honest smile.

  I open the beer I hold and move into the mass of people in the main living area. Naturally, most of them are in the life. The more ostentatious are outfitted in leather and PVC. Many dominants bear their instruments of correction; just as many subs are underdressed and sporting marks of one sort or another. Some are a bit more subtle. Like me, the doms are done up in severe dark clothes while the submissives are clothed in softer outfits. There are a few people who aren't obvious. Whether they're lurking or simply not in the scene can't be determined at first glance.

  I begin looking for the woman Marie has picked for me. Some can be eliminated immediately. They are obviously part of a couple, or more than a couple. This thins out prospects immensely.

  Of the apparently single women, I can't be sure. None especially catch my attention. The vibe just isn't there. I circulate, join or start conversations, all the time searching.

  I begin to find the main party a little stifling. Too many people, too close together for me. I need some air and head to the balcony. As I step out into the evening I see her.

  She has tucked herself into the far corner and is looking out over the city, her back to the doorway in which I stand. Her shoulder length, straight hair is not quite platinum in colour. She is tiny and slim, torso covered in a white, long sleeved blouse that reveals her midriff and wearing a short denim skirt almost too small to hide her lovely ass. Her legs are splendid, and she has sexy flat sandals on her feet.

  My gaze locks on her. There is something about her that instantly draws me. Something magical. She seems a sylph, a nymph of the air. I walk towards her, entranced.

  As I come up next to her I announce my presence with a simple, "Hello." She jumps a little, gives a quiet gasp and turns towards me.

  Her front matches her rear. She is hardly large breasted, but there is no doubt she has breasts. Her stomach is bare and her navel displays a small array of rhinestones. Coral coloured lips enhance a thin, fair skinned face. But I only notice these things peripherally. My gaze is locked on her wide and sky blue eyes. They look at me with a touch of fear.

  This makes the warmth I feel rise. It changes to lust. That must show on my face, for her eyes widen a bi
t more and a blush appears on her cheeks. "And you are?" I ask her then. "Ah. Ariel," she stammers in response. She lowers her gaze, looking

  at my chest. "How perfect," I remark, "I was thinking how much you looked like

  a nymph as I approached." She looks up at me again at that. A smile forms and her blush

  deepens. "I'm John," I tell her. "After the saint?" she asks, moving her eyes down once again. "That was probably what my parents hoped. But I'm no saint, not at

  all." She raises her eyes once more. A slight film is drawn over them. I

  can sense a tremor run through her. I feel even more attracted to her now. She is so utterly beautiful. Her quick and intense sexuality is clear. The certainty grows in me that this is the woman set as my prey for tonight.

  I become anxious at the realization. I wonder if I will be able to respond properly; if I will be able to command her, push her, please her. I've taught myself not to be a pushy person. My standard personality is laid back, even tentative.

  With an internal stiffening of my spine I decide it's time to test myself—and her. Raising the empty bottle in my hand I direct her, "Get me another beer."

  Her body repeats that minuscule tremor. But she doesn't move, just fidgets her hands and rocks slightly on her feet.

  Much to my surprise, I let my unhappiness show. For years I have always tried to hide any displeasure with other people's behaviour, but I am put out that she didn't jump to obey. I know she should have, and the fact that she didn't annoys me.

  That gets Ariel moving. She almost runs off the balcony and is back within a minute. I nod my acceptance of her action. She beams at me.

  There's a plastic chair against the wall next to us. I seat myself in it and place my beer on the floor. Patting my knee, I tell her, "Sit."

  Again she hesitates for a moment. I can feel my face frown in reaction. As before, this sets her in motion, and she follows my directive. Her right thigh presses against my erection. I place my left hand around her waist and my right hand on her upper leg. I softly stroke the smooth skin there, and I feel a delicate shudder pass through her body. "Tell me about yourself, Ariel," I say. "Why?" she asks. My face hardens again for a moment. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, and I feel her tremble again. I relent and soften my expression. It isn't just power that draws me to her.

  "I could tell the instant I saw you that you were special. I want to know what makes you so."

  She looks at me with an honest smile. That expression fades as her face slackens and her eyes go out of focus. I move my hand to the inside of her thigh and am now petting just below the hem of her skirt. Her buttocks fidget against my leg and a quiet gasp comes from her mouth.

  "Sit still," I order her. "You're an adult, not a child. Don't make me treat you like one."

  She stops moving. Her blue eyes dilate, and a thin sheen of sweat forms on her forehead. The ruddiness of her face intensifies.

  I give her an impatient look. "Go on," I prompt. "You haven't answered my question."

  "I'm…" she starts, then groans quietly. My hand is still teasing, and it's obvious the feelings are distracting her. I can sense how tightly she's holding herself to follow my order. "I'm a graphic designer," she releases in a burst. "Is there any work of yours I might have seen?" Ariel opens her mouth then closes it with a click of her teeth, as I

  run my hand a little higher on her leg. "That antilittering campaign," she manages to get out. "The one on the bus shelters. That's my work." She ends her statement with a soft hiss.

  "Ah," I say, "I've seen that. An excellent piece of work. That's one of the things that makes you special. You're quite intelligent." I move my hand under her skirt, teasing at the very edge of her heat. "And I'm discovering another thing that makes you special."

  Her eyelids flutter as I push her a bit harder, and she swallows in reaction.

  It's time for another test, I decide. I remove my hand from under her skirt and cease stroking her. After a moment she looks at me. Her face contains a puzzled frown and want gleams from her eyes. "Show me," I charge her. My tone is casual, as if I am asking for the

  time. She bites her lower lip, and her blue irises dilate. Her back stiffens under my arm. I can feel her ass clench against my leg. However, she doesn't do as she's told. Almost snarling, I repeat, "Show me!" Ariel reaches for her skirt's hem. My gaze follows her trembling fingers. Slowly she pulls the denim up until the front edge is at her hips. This reveals the lacy, white panties she's wearing. There is an obvious wet spot on them. As a result the fabric is nearly transparent, and I can see the shadow of her slit.

  "Those are lovely," I tell her. "As ethereal and beautiful as the woman wearing them." I raise my eyes. She manages to smile back although it is weak, almost buried under her blush.

  "But not entirely appropriate," I continue. Ariel's face forms a perplexed frown at that.

  "Go to the washroom. Take off your underwear. Come back and give them to me."

  Her face flushes a deeper red and her eyes grow teary. She doesn't move, though.

  "Now," I tell her in a voice that brooks no denial. At once, she's rising from my lap, off the balcony, and into the apartment.

  I take a deep breath. It wasn't only her limits I was pushing, but my own as well. Before tonight I would have been polite, soft and kind. Now I'm allowing who I really am decide my actions. It's unfamiliar territory and rather intimidating. But the hardness of my cock in my jeans tells me howexcited I am.

  Taking a moment I look around. I find Marie at the other end of the balcony, smiling at me. She raises one hand in a thumbs up. I assume she has seen most of what happened and approves. I pick up my beer and raise the bottle in salute to acknowledge her commendation.

  My lovely quarry comes back on the balcony. She's trying to keep a normal expression on her face and not succeeding very well. Her face is red. Her eyes are still weepy. I can see her chest rise and fall in shallow breaths. Her right hand is clenched, concealing something in it.

  As she stands next to me, I ignore her, make it appear as if I'm staring at the night sky. I do so until I can see her start to fidget in my peripheral vision. Once she does, I turn and replace my beer on the floor. I look up at her, extending my right hand. Ariel reaches out to place her damp undergarment on my palm. I smile at her, telling her my pleasure. She beams in reply.

  The next instant she pales again for my countenance has hardened. "I said 'underwear'," is my explanation to her. "This is only your panties." "I'm...I'm not wearing a bra," she manages to get out. My eyebrow quirks in curiosity and delight. I transfer her lingerie to my left hand and reach up with my right to verify her excuse. She's told the truth. I can feel her soft firmness through the nylon. I squeeze her, not gently. Ariel gulps as I do. Moving my fingers to her nipple, I pinch it as hard as I can. A breathy, lustful "Oh" seeps past her lips.

  "Very nice," I tell her. I pat my knee with the hand holding her panties, directing her to sit once more. This time she doesn't balk. I nod my approval to her and pick up my beer. "Show me," I repeat to her. There's no indecision. Ariel grabs her hem and yanks it up. Her

  sweet pussy is revealed to me. It's my turn to gulp. She's beautiful. Hairless except for a tiny blond patch, her mound is engorged and has a tenuous shine of moisture on it. Her lips quiver ever so slightly. Raising my face to hers, I can feel my eyes slit and a wicked grin forms on my mouth, her beauty sharpening the arousal I feel. Ariel shines for a moment, happy once more that I'm pleased.

  I place the chill wetness of my beer bottle against the warm wetness of her cunt. Pumping the cool glass up and down slightly, I tease her soft flesh. As I do, Ariel bites her lip and shivers. But not from the cold. Her eyes roll back, and she makes a strangled noise.

  The raw passion that runs through me at her response makes my cock twitch against her thigh. Ariel looks down at it and licks her lips. That fearful, childish mask slips for a second and a lust filled, passionate wanton shows.

  I growl with exci
tement. I've never driven a woman so high so fast before. I grow more certain in my actions at that and decide it's time to take the next step.

  I upend my beer and pour the rest down my throat. Turning to Ariel, I give her another command. "Take me home."

  Yet again she vacillates, and I put the stern expression on my face in reaction. It's becoming comfortable. She gasps and stands. I follow and with a nod of my chin, I signal her to lead the way. She leaves the balcony with me trailing a step behind her. As I do, I stuff her panties in a back pocket of my jeans.

  Marie is still standing at the other end of the balcony. I stop in front of her and bid good night.

  "Well done," she tells me with a look of respect. "She is the one I invited for you. You've handled her well, so far. But it's not over. I'll call tomorrow and see if you can continue this level of skill."

  I smirk back at her as if to say, 'Oh, please.' That gesture surprises Marie, and her look of respect grows just a little.

  I enter Marie's apartment and head for the front door. My lovely little submissive is waiting for me. Her head is down, and she is very still. "Lead the way," I order when I arrive.

  Ariel opens the door, and we proceed down the stairs. "Over here," she informs me when we reach the sidewalk. She guides me to a metallic green Beetle a short way up the street.

  "Unlock it," I direct her. She does, I walk to the passenger side and seat myself. Wisely she waits for me. "Get in," I tell her once I'm seated. Ariel enters and places her key in the ignition.

  "One moment," I interrupt. She turns to look at me, her mouth thin with apprehension. "Pull your skirt up to your waist," I direct her.

  Ariel's eyes water at that, and the sweat on her brow grows thicker. "But, but," she stammers, "people will see!"

  "Yes, they will," I agree. "Now, lift up your skirt." I enunciate each word clearly to drive my command home.

  This time she obeys and very quickly. She blushes furiously as her entire lower body is revealed to me.

  I reach over with my left hand and lightly run my longest finger up her slit. I bring it to my mouth and suck her delicately flavoured liquids off it. Once again, her mask slips and burning desire shows itself to me. "Now drive." Enough teasing, for the moment. The trip isn't long, maybe twenty minutes. At lights, I play with her, tweaking nipples, petting her wetness. The third time I do this, she doesn't respond when the green signal comes. "Drive," I order her. Ariel comes back with a blink and steps on the gas. I have to tweak her in this manner twice more before our journey is finished.