The Novelist

Author's note: This story contains themes of incest, BDSM and Dominant-submissive relationships. If these themes offend you, please stop reading now!

All characters are fictional. Any similarities to actual people are purely coincidental.

I encourage all readers to comment and vote. There is no better way to hone your writing skills than feedback—good or bad.

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The Novelist: Part 1

The alarm clock blared on the deep mahogany nightstand. Tom Bolden reached up a weary arm and turned it off with a clumsy motion. It was 7am and the morning daylight was already sneaking in around the blinds. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, adjusted to consciousness, and then, in a swift movement hopped off the bed trudging toward the bathroom.

Tom twisted the handles on the shower and waited for the water to warm up. He stood in front of the large framed mirror and stared at himself contemplatively. Not bad, he thought to himself. Tom was thirty years old, and while not a sculpted model, he looked pretty good. His short brown hair was matted down from a restful sleep. He cupped his hands under the faucet, bent down and brought up a handful of cool water splashing his face. He stood up again taking a second look at himself and then flashed that wry smile of his, as if he liked what he saw. He slipped into the shower and doused himself under the stream of water and began lathering himself up.

"I've gotta to hammer out another few pages before lunch." He muttered to himself.

It was a reasonable goal. Tom had published a few books, and the recent one had finally earned him a sizable sum. Tom loved his life. He had never intended on being a writer. It just happened. He had been futzing around with the idea of writing an opus after college, and instead wrote what turned out to be a sexual thriller. He always thought it was amateurish bordering on erotica, and never intended on pursuing it. It wasn't until a friend of his submitted it to the literary agency where she worked using a pseudonym, instead of his real name, that Tom fell haphazardly into his new career. He often chuckled thinking about the overly slick agent hailing him as "fresh, dangerous and terminally talented". What did that even mean? He learned not to ask too many questions after it sold in a six-figure deal. He kept all his work under his pseudonym and few people knew any details of his career.

After a relaxing twenty-minute shower, Tom dried himself off and stepped into the large walk-in closet. He had good taste in clothing, but he preferred comfort most of the time. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, slipped into a loose-fitting pair of jeans and grabbed his vintage Stones t-shirt. These were his work clothes when he planned on writing. He checked himself out one more time in the mirror, and then headed down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

This new book had been giving him some real problems. After the success of his first few books, Tom felt the uncomfortable looming pressure of needing to meet the expectations of his publisher. In an effort to stay edgy, Tom had also stumbled down an entirely separate path in life. It was a few years back when he was researching his second book that he happened into the world of bondage and submission. Initially he told himself that it was only for the book, but he soon found himself returning to dark recesses of the city where these fantasies were lived out. He met repeatedly with the professional Dominants, and asked them endless questions. He sat in on training sessions, and learned the ins and outs of the lifestyle. The book was a resounding success. He remembered the reviews.

"Dark. Sexual. Brilliant"

"... intoxicating journey into the taboo world that will leave you wanting..."

"...his second novel has proven him a powerhouse making the reader confront their most base desires..."

Blah. Blah. Blah. Tom always thought that book reviews were horseshit. Who were these people anyway? The only thing Tom knew was that once the book was completed he missed the world of dominance and submission. His biggest problem was the very nature of the lifestyle. He wanted to discover it for himself, but there seemed no easy way in. Did one just have to jump in with both feet? Did one just proposition a woman? Was there no way for him to just dip in a toe and test the water? It seemed so unattainable. How was it, he wondered, that women entered into the lifestyle? Surely there must be women out there that wanted to explore their submissive nature that were too timid.

Tom pressed the button on the top of his Jura coffee maker. He had afforded himself a very nice home with the money from his second novel. It was by no means ostentatious, but it was expansive and tasteful on a generously sized piece of property nestled at the base Hollywood Hills. He took the pleasure of having it completely updated and wired to accommodate his technological obsession. His coffee maker, though, was perhaps his most prized possession -- the source of his motivation during periods of writer's block. Tom sipped his coffee and flipped through the news headlines on his iPad. This is how he started most days. He had an ease about him despite his obsessive tendencies. He was one of those rare people that seemed to fall into success quite by accident in almost anything he tried to do.

It was, in fact, almost by accident, or at least with little effort, that he fell into the second obsession of his life outside writing. Tom had decided that, with the windfall of success from his second novel, his third novel would be a prequel. That's how he had sold it to his agent and publisher. The truth, of course, was that he needed a reason to delve back into the world of bondage, dominance and submission.

So, it was a little over two years ago that he found himself meeting again with self-proclaimed BDSM Dominants, Masters and Owners -- however they chose to refer to themselves. He asked as many questions as he could. He wanted to know every nuance of how it worked. Tom sat quietly in the corner of one dingy room, and watched an attractive brunette submit herself to punishment. He was mesmerized by her strength. This, Tom finally realized, was the source of his excitement. It's not that she was obedient; it was her willingness to be obedient. He had cocked his head slightly as her owner rained down relentless blows with his paddle. She took each one with grace despite the obvious pain it must have caused her. Tom could feel his cock hardening. He had locked eyes with this woman as she took the punishment. Her face was a mix of pain and pleasure. Her glare never wavered. It was, he thought, as if she looked into his very soul.

He was haunted by her face for the next week. He had dreamt of her. He had daydreamed about her. At this point he had seen a variety of these interactions. He kept missing a certain perspective. It was in that shared look with the brunette that he soon realized his mistake. He had been learning from the men when he needed to understand the women.

He found himself voraciously reading every book he could find on the subject. He opened himself up to the lifestyle, and discovered that there was an etiquette to the whole arrangement. It was, he imagined, as if the Dominant and his submissive were engaged in a complicated dance -- a ballet of emotions. He found every aspect to be so rich with meaning -- kneeling, posing, performing. He craved the excitement it stirred inside him. He wanted to be a teacher unlocking the potential of his pupil. He wondered how many misguided men there were with a false impression of the nature of being Dominant. He wondered how many women there were that must secretly have the desire to submit. He felt somewhere deep inside him that he had discovered the deeper meaning. He was sure that he connected with it in a way that even the people that made the lifestyle their profession didn't fully understand.

Tom was only twenty-eight at the time. His success had allowed him plenty of flings with attractive women. He was by no means a slouch in bed. He had just never been able to sustain a long-term relationship. Lately he found himself sexually charged all the time. He had taken to masturbating a few times a day. It had become a distraction, but a distraction he most definitely enjoyed.

It was one afternoon while he was stroking his powerful erection that he decided to put out an ad online. It was for research purposes of course, although he even had trouble convincing himself that this was true anymore. If he could understand the female perspective then maybe he could discover the emotional hook to bring his character a dynamic and realistic arc. He kept it simple. It read as follows:

Successful novelist researching next book would like to meet with women involved in, or interested in sexually submissive relationships or BDSM. This is a purely research oriented, anonymous interview. Willing to compensate for your time.

He had quickly realized his mistake in offering compensation. He was flooded with e-mails from women willing to say whatever was necessary for a quick buck. He had spent a few days filtering through the multitude of responses. He had been dealing with an almost perpetual hard-on while his obsession grew. With some simple back and forth correspondence, he had narrowed himself down to about twenty-five people who seemed to be genuinely intrigued by the lifestyle.

The guest house in the back yard was where Tom did all his writing. It gave him the notion of going to work every day, so he kept it purely for this purpose. The second floor had been converted into a loft with built-in dark maple bookshelves and a commanding desk. It was complete with plush leather chairs and end tables that created a very mature, professional, if not slightly bookish environment. There were large windows on two of the walls that bathed the area with natural light and offered a beautiful view of the lush foliage outside. The upper floor looked down on the lower one. It meant that almost half of the guest house had a vaulted ceiling. It felt open and airy, and Tom liked the sensation of the open space. The lower level was meant to be a living room of sorts, but he had rarely spent any time there. If he wasn't working he preferred the comforts of the main house.

It was in the lower level that he decided to host the interviews with the women he met through his ad. He set them up over the course of the week. The routine remained the same. He welcomed each one at the front door, gave them a quick tour of the house to be courteous, and then took them out to the guest house to show them his office, eventually beginning the conversation in the lower level. By the time they were seated, the initial awkwardness and nerves had settled, and the legitimacy of his writing as the nature of the meeting had been established.

Tom prided himself on his preparation. He had put together a list of questions and topics to broach over the course of the interview. Throughout the week he asked numerous women what they knew about the lifestyle, what they thought about it, what turned them on or turned them off. He asked for their opinions on spanking, paddling, kneeling, collaring, the emotional ballet, and on and on. He had come to multiple conclusions. For one, most of these women were unaware of the true nature of lifestyle. Secondly, there seemed to be a genuine intrigue as if living out this type of arrangement was a secret fantasy that they kept in the recesses of their minds.

The most interesting conclusion he reached was the rapt attention they gave him when he explained his own views. Tom could never see that his sudden obsession had become a passion, and that his passion made him speak of submission as the most erotic and intimate expression of lust and love. He finally had a chance to voice his opinions out loud and the resulting flow of words sounded more like an ode to all things sexual.

Tom hadn't even been aware of the affect he was having on them. The resulting comments were all quite similar. "The way you describe it is so sexy" or "My God, it makes me wet to hear you describe it" or "Why has no one ever explained it like this before". It turned him on to hear these things and he did his best to conceal the erection he got while talking to them. He kept convincing himself that this was professional; that they were just being honest. Their comments were about the submission, not about him.

The information he gathered was invaluable. A man can never truly write a female character with the depth and complexity it deserved. He had always struggled with this issue in his writing. Despite being assuaged by his publisher and reviewers, he never believed the women in his books were complete. Now though, he felt as if he had moved one step closer. He had met nineteen of the twenty-five women he had chosen. A few of them had dabbled in BDSM. Some of them had encounters with men that thought they were Dominants, but ultimately were misguided assholes. Many of the women just fantasized about it. It was an endless wealth of information for Tom, and he absorbed every bit of it.

It was the twentieth woman that shattered his perception that this was still about research at all. She simply listened to him go on and on about lifestyle and what it meant according to things he had read and seen. His passion clearly evident in every word he uttered. She could tell that, although he had been a perfect gentleman, there was a clear outline of a massive erection in his pants. His words were like vibrations through her core. She wished he would just stop talking. Her panties had soaked through already. When she could not hold back any longer she inched forward on her seat, slowly slipped onto her knees, and looked up at him out of unsure eyes and asked, "Would you train me? I mean you know so much... and... I... would you?"

Tom took in her form. It wasn't even a question as much as a plea. She had surrendered herself to him. She had only given him her first name, Alexis, and he guessed she was in her early thirties. She knelt expectantly in front of him. Her white blouse held in an impressive bust, and was tucked neatly into a smart black skirt that fell below her knees. Her blonde hair was perfectly situated framing her soft features. He was speechless, although he shouldn't have been. Somewhere deep inside he knew that he fantasized about having a submissive of his own. It was the source of the passion that flowed through his words. He had been so consumed with his research that he hadn't been with a woman in almost two months. Seeing her kneel stirred something inside him. His erection pulsated against the length of his inner thigh.

He couldn't form the words that he wanted. His confident voice had been silenced by her prone posture. He reached down, undid the buttons on his jeans, grabbed his erection and pulled it out letting it tower aimlessly in the air. With an audible gasp she crawled forward and took it in her small hands. They both knew that his actions were an invitation, and in return, her action was an acceptance. Tom had always been well endowed at just over ten inches with a thickness that she couldn't wrap her fingers around. He sat back with lustful eyes and watched the slim blonde devour him to completion.

Upon accepting her offer to submit to training, Tom's life had officially taken a life changing turn. His fantasies became a reality, and with the help of Alexis he found his own niche in the world of dominance and submission. He fumbled at first, but Tom learned quickly, and he honed the skills to do right by the women in his life. Alexis knew that his passion meant she could never have him to herself, and she accepted only what he was willing to give. For her, though, she gave back ceaselessly and unconditionally. For the first time in her life she felt complete with a man.

His third book was a resounding success. With his new muse, he seemed to have an endless supply of creativity surging up through his fingers and pounding away at his keyboard. With the help of Alexis, he established himself as commanding Dominant well versed in the lifestyle. His reputation was whispered discreetly in beauty parlors and day spas. People knew of him, but not how to contact him. Tom's need for secrecy and modesty inadvertently made him a person that was met through reference only. He felt empowered by it, and he didn't discriminate on age or race. All women were entitled to explore their sexuality and he wasn't going to be a barrier to that self-discovery.

Tom Bolden, whether it was by chance or design, had attained an impressive life. Now, almost three years later, he stood in his kitchen sipping his fresh brewed coffee, reading the day's headlines and preparing to knock out a few pages before the afternoon. Alexis had already gone back to straighten up the guesthouse which had become his work area for both his novels and his submissive training. It was easy to understand the source of his wry smile and the confidence of his gait. He had a modicum of wealth, women and success. He thought to himself, as he walked out to enjoy the warm morning breeze on the sunlit patio, that there was nothing that could stop him now. He was content.

******

It was then that he heard the doorbell. Strange, he thought. He hadn't arranged any appointments this morning. He passed back through the kitchen toward the foyer, and opened the front door. Standing before him was perhaps the one thing that could stop him, or at least complicate everything.

"My baby boy! You don't call. You don't check your messages. As far as you're concerned your mother doesn't even exist." She blathered pushing in through the door with multiple suitcases in tow. "You know I've been trying to get in touch with you for a week. A week! What do I have to do to get a return call?"

"Shit, mom, what are you doing here? You shouldn't show up unannounced."

"Unannounced?!" She bellowed back in a maelstrom of motions and words. "Maybe you should check your messages once in a while." She huffed and dropped her bags in a pile in the foyer.

Tom knew she was right. He often went long stretches with his phone disconnected so he could work. He couldn't remember the last time he had checked his messages, and Alexis handled almost all his appointments.

"Is dad with you?" he asked desperately trying to wrap his head around this sudden intrusion. He stared quizzically as her eyes glazed over and her chipper composure cracked. The tears welled and she fell in to his arms sobbing.

"Mom? Mom, what happened?"

She sniffled and tried to compose herself. Clearing her throat, she managed to squeak it out in a low whisper. "He left me." She began to sob uncontrollably.

"He left you? When?" Tom asked, feeling bad for not having returned her calls. He wrapped his strong arms around her pulling her into a tight embrace. It was strange for him to be offering security to the woman that provided it to him for his entire life. He'd never seen her look so vulnerable and shaken.

"Six days ago... for..." She sniffled "... for some whore masseuse... I... I mean how cliché is that... a... fu-fucking masseuse!" There was ire in her voice. Under the devastation was a layer of disgust and anger that had yet to surface.

"Oh shit." Tom was shocked. He surely had not seen this coming. His parents always seemed happy. This was equally difficult for him to digest, but she needed him right now so he composed himself and took command. "Come on, mom, let's get you something to drink and some tissues." He said guiding her toward the living room.

Tom loved his parents dearly. He was always an independent kid. He had moved out at eighteen to go to college, and stayed in Los Angeles to pursue his career. His parents knew the basics. Tom was a writer. He never specified what he wrote. If nothing else, Tom Bolden had never been a boastful man a day in his life. He didn't need recognition or congratulations, and he knew that as long as he was happy and self-sufficient his parents would be pleased.