Chapter Text
After 3 years of working together — of stolen glances and stolen time, fleeting touches that carried too much longing to be deemed accidental, excuses to be constantly in each other's company, and an awareness that seemed to come from everyone but them, Frank kissed her on New Year’s Eve for the first time.
He told her later on that he had been frantically looking for her that night; she had been on the stairs, wrapping up a call with Becca and getting ready to make her way upstairs to enjoy the fireworks with everyone else when he found her. His voice had boomed on the empty, echoing stairwells as he held the door half-open with his body and called out, “Mel?”
“Right here!” She had said.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He admonished halfheartedly, but relief colored his voice, and he had a smile on his face.
Frank could never be mad at her; he had told her so once at the breakroom while they had a very cherished lunch together — it wasn’t always that they could steal time on the clock, spending it in each other’s company under a pretense that wasn’t work, so whenever it did, they both relished the opportunity of being together. He had said it was like another superpower she had. Her being immune to his frustration because she was different, and she hadn’t known what that meant, and he hadn’t known how to elaborate, but when she asked him, "Is that a good thing?" he had snorted as if it were yet another question with an obvious answer.
His laughter never carried malice; it always bore endearment instead, and she knew the difference because the skin around his eyes would crinkle and they would gleam with amusement as he nodded his head in silence. She could hear the reassurance even in his quietness.
“Come on, we need to get to the roof, we’re gonna miss the fireworks.” He rushed her, and something about him taking the time to find her while risking missing the show himself made her heart skip a beat.
His eyes were expectant and hurried, his entire body language urging her to just follow him, not that she would ever not. She smiled at him, excited to do anything in his company.
“Becca okay?” He inquired while she climbed the stairs quickly, her feet moving fast as she rushed in his direction so they could catch the elevator as soon as possible.
“Yeah, she…”But then she was interrupted by a cheerful countdown that reverberated faintly on the stairs. She locked eyes with Frank, their eyebrows shooting up mischievously; it was clear they weren’t going anywhere, their New Year’s Eve fated to be celebrated in the sterile PTMC stairwell. Not even a tiny window that would allow them to peek outside and watch the colorful fireworks lighting up the sky. Instead, they would be surrounded by nothing but white walls and each other.
“We won’t make it.” He told her, lips pressed together as he entered the stairway and softly closed the door behind him. The fluorescent lights above them illuminated him in a way that wasn’t supposed to be flattering at all, in his black scrubs with his hair perfectly sculpted, but Mel couldn’t imagine thinking anyone was more handsome than he looked at that moment.
“I’m sorry.” She apologized. He would miss the fireworks because he had been looking for her, and something selfishly pleasant curled in her stomach because that must have meant he wanted her company more than he wanted to watch them. Mel before fireworks.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head as if she were being ridiculous for even thinking of uttering an apology.
“As if the fireworks would have been any fun without you. C’mere.” He opened his arms and waited for her to settle into them. His arms tightened around her when she did, his head fitting on top of her head as if they were puzzle pieces waiting to find each other. Whenever they hugged, he enveloped her wholly, all her senses overwhelmed with Frank as his long hands settled on her back.
The countdown continued outside, and they kept holding each other. Her ear listening to his heartbeat, the constant humming of his heart dictating how fast hers thumped. She wanted to bury her face in his chest, filling her lungs with a scent that was so uniquely his: tobacco and cocoa and home. Which, though he might not know it, he was to Mel.
He kissed the top of her hair and inhaled deeply, “I love how your hair smells.” Her heart palpitating as she allowed herself to breathe in him as well, his smell sending all of her senses into overdrive. His scrubs smelled like her own fabric softener, his excuse for copying her choice being that he wanted to smell like her.
Lowering his head, Frank pressed a kiss to her left shoulder, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks as her skin warmed at the tenderness in his voice. His lips left their ghost behind, even through 2 layers of clothing. And then he turned his nose to her neck, and she could feel his breath on her skin, his even breaths the farthest thing from the way she was starting to hyperventilate. Her own breathing was loud to her ears.
“I love how you smell.” He told her reverently, voice above a whisper as if he was confessing a secret, as if he hadn’t already told her a million times before how much he liked her scent.
He then kissed her forehead, her nose, and both of her very pink cheeks, his adoration evident in the lingering touch of his lips every time they met her skin again and again. She felt paralyzed, waiting for his next move as she held onto his scrubs to just keep herself upright, her knees threatening to buckle under her weight. A hammering behind her ribcage that threatened to shatter her from the inside out.
When he locked his eyes with her, she realized how close he was, his breath warm on her face, and devotion coloring his expression. His eyes were soft, the blue so intense that she wanted to swim in it. His nose nuzzled hers, goosebumps forming on her nape at the thrilling anticipation she felt. Nothing other than Frank mattered at that moment, nothing but his skin touching hers and her body glued to his. Their otherwise silent capsule was soundtracked by her loud heart and breathing and she knew he could hear both because he chuckled. Forehead against hers as his arms started to lower, hands fitting on her waist. Tightening his grip in a way she couldn’t describe as anything other than possessive, as if he wanted to tell her that there was no other place where his hands belonged.
“Happy New Year.” He whispered against her mouth and finally, finally, pressed his lips to hers, and they were so soft, so pillowy and gentle against hers. Her hands immediately flew to his hair and if to hold him in place, and he chuckled softly, lips still glued to hers.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’ll give you however many kisses you want,” and proceeded to peck her lips once, twice, three times. Each time taking longer than before, until his breath got caught and he kissed her like it was the last thing he would do.
****
The first time she brought it up, she could tell he was surprised. His thick eyebrows shooting up, and his mouth slightly ajar. His beautiful blue eyes widened, and he searched her face for something; she could see it in the way they moved wildly across her face.
“I’m sorry, darling. What?” He asked her dumbly, and it wasn’t his fault that her face was already burning, her cheeks warm, and her heart hammering against her ribcage.
They were sitting next to each other on her beige sofa, her legs criss-crossed; she was facing him expectantly, him with his legs straight in front of him and an arm draped over the backrest, an empty space where she had been mere moments ago.
Mel chewed on the side of her lips nervously and felt like she was about to faint. It had taken so much for her just to ask him the first time; she couldn’t believe she would have to repeat herself. Shame washed over her like a crashing wave as if it was about to flood her apartment and swallow both of them.
Looking everywhere but his face, she stretched her neck to the side, closed her eyes once more, and refused to open them until the words had left her mouth again.
“I was wondering… No.” She shook her head as if the motion would help make it clearer. “I want to ask you if you’d like to be more in charge… of me… during sex.” It was more a statement than a question, but there. She had said it.
She knew the worst possible outcome was him saying No, sweetheart, I wouldn’t like that, his face apologetic and his big hand soft on hers. She was ready for that outcome; would never resent him for wanting different things. But at that moment, it felt like her entire life rested on his answer.
And it’s not that Mel wasn’t satisfied with their sex life, because she was more than satisfied. Sex with him was truly a delight, life-changing even, if she wanted to use figure of speech.
It was amazing how attentive and attuned to her pleasure he seemed to be, always worried about what she had liked, eyes keen and observant of her every reaction. Asking softly, voice roughened by his own desire, Yeah? Do you like that, baby? every time he coaxed a particularly loud moan out of her or made her legs quiver in a different way. His long, skilled fingers touching her as if he were an experienced pianist and she were the keys he had memorized and worshipped.
She wanted more, though. More of him. More of his hoarse voice in her ear, overcome with want, telling her what to do. A little devilish creature parked on her shoulder, constantly nudging her, pushing her to wonder how it’d feel to have Frank commanding her — her letting go and him ready to catch her, as he always did. The tempting idea to completely relinquish control and put it in his skilled hands made her light-headed with desire every time she dared to dream about it.
Everything about sex was fairly new to Mel — apart from the concept of it, that is. She had been a virgin when they first met. Untouched until his large hands were parsing the milky thighs of her legs and going up, up, up, pinching her nipples lightly just to come down again to touch her core like he had known her forever, like he had peeked into her skull and learned and memorized all the ways she would like to be touched without him even having to ask her about it.
And it felt endless, the pleasure he brought her; Mel muffling her screams with her hands while Frank coaxed a sixth orgasm out of her in a single night. Getting her drunk on lust before he was pushing his cock into her and giving her a seventh so intense she felt like she would black out.
Frank would get up and bring her a glass of water, which he would feed to her with a straw, his hand caressing her hair and pushing the sweaty blonde strands away from her damp forehead as he held the cup to her face. Praising her with assurances that she was so good to him, that she looked so pretty while coming on his cock, that if he could, he would keep her legs spread and his mouth on her cunt forever. He would ask her if she was okay, if she wanted him to give her a bath — him getting up to fill her bathtub and sitting by her side, scrubbing her back, her body limp, and his hands nothing but gentle and careful on her skin —, if she wanted to take a nap, if she wanted a pause so they could eat and if the answer was ever yes, every wish she had would be promptly filled.
And there was nothing Mel craved more than to please Frank as much as he pleased her. All his whims and wants satisfied because that’s what he did for her. To surrender complete control to the person she trusted the most in the world.
It wasn’t until she had been perusing Reddit on a hot summer evening, glass of wine beside her and warm lights overhead as she sat between her couch’s cushions, that her curiosity propelled her into learning more about it, or at least that’s what she had brushed it off as. Her fingers dancing across her keyboard and her pointer thumping on her laptop’s touchpad were the only sounds in her living room besides her breathing.
Mel was curious to learn more about her sexuality, about the things she wanted to try, and how else she could possibly serve Frank, the need to please him blooming deep in her chest and threatening to claw out each and every time they had sex, which meant that it was time to become more informed. To rationalize and strategize how to be able to meet her cravings as well as explore his. To ask for more because she now knew what she wanted.
After very little time, Mel found herself tentatively clicking on r/BDSM, the uppercase acronym enough to scare her but not enough to deter the interest she had been nurturing. Heart hammering behind her ribcage while she scrolled through dozens of images hidden behind NSFW warnings, and each time she revealed one of them, she could feel something warm curling in her belly. People with their behinds bruised, being tied and flogged. Breasts bound. On their knees with pleading eyes filled with tears, moans that couldn’t escape their mouths because they were gagged. Exposed and drooling and being praised, their bodies shaking as they took whatever was given to them.
And as she took in everything her laptop screen was supplying her with, Mel began to become aware of her own physical reactions. Her nipples became hard under Frank’s soft cotton t-shirt, and there was now an overwhelming wetness and ache between her legs. Her, alone in her living room, biting her bottom lip viciously, breath rushed while adrenaline pumped through her body, and she had half a mind to sneak her hand under the soft fabric of her panties while she uttered Frank’s name like a prayer over and over to the empty room.
Mel hurriedly closed her laptop and pushed it off her lap. She downed her wine all at once, getting up to take a shower that would hopefully wash away everything she was feeling at that moment.
But her little devilish companion wouldn’t leave her alone, and as the weeks passed, she couldn’t help but keep opening Reddit whenever she was alone, visiting a myriad of subreddits that all traced back to the same four letters she had been avoiding investigating inside her head.
Mel knew that, at that point, it was as if she were trying futilely to sit on top of Pandora’s box. Stubbornly keeping it half-shut with the little amount of body weight she had — it was bound to open and unleash everything she was trying to keep repressed. She knew that it was just a matter of time.
So she eventually did give in, little by little. Mel rationalized that if she looked for it in small amounts, it would quench her thirst for more, as if it were a quota that just needed to be filled for it to go away. A curiosity that once sated wouldn’t bother her anymore — no longer something she would find her mind drifting towards during a date night with Frank, a slow day at work, an outing with Samira, a lunch with Becca, as she read a book or listened to music. She needed to get rid of the uncomfortable nudge she didn’t know how to deal with.
Over the course of a couple of months, Mel became a frequent visitor to r/BDSMAdvice and r/SubSanctuary and r/BDSMCommunity, albeit secretly. And whenever she had the chance to, she would voraciously consume the anecdotes supplied by strangers, tales of their own sexual explorations within domination and submission that called to her like a moth to a flame. The idea of being the one with stories to tell growing inside her head like weeds she could not prevent from blooming; they would get entwined with her and Frank in ways that made her both terrified and euphoric, and suddenly, they were taking over everything.
When she felt like she couldn’t evade it anymore — her personal Pandora’s box now wide open — Mel decided to tell Frank about it. She rehearsed under her breath and to the mirror and to her phone, recording her own voice and hearing it over and over until she sounded like a stranger to her own ears. She ruminated over it for weeks, the genuine fear that Frank would think of her as abnormal enough to scare her into hiding until the words were slipping from her tongue at an ill-timed moment.
They had been watching Rope together — it was Frank’s first time watching it, part of their bi-weekly tradition of introducing movies to each other. But Mel couldn’t focus. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting on her lap as she cracked her knuckles and bit her nails nervously. She would wait until the end of the movie, and only then would she ask him.
In the worst-case scenario, it would be late enough that he could go home without needing an excuse if he felt disgusted by her, and she would be able to move from the couch to her bed and cry herself to sleep. She was ready for that to happen, even if the unlikeness of Frank being anything but lovely to her was closer to reality than any bad scenario her mind could conjure. But she needed to ask, needed to hear the refusal coming from his lips so she could finally make peace with the impossibility of her urges.
The demon on her shoulder finally subdued, her curiosity more misplaced than it had ever been, and finally gone because Frank had told her “No.”
But then, as Jimmy Stewart’s character returned to the apartment, Mel blurted out the mortifying request. It dried her mouth as shame, hot and discomfiting, rushed through her veins. The surprise and embarrassment of expressing what she wanted, but ultimately didn’t mean to, washed over her and left her muted. She could feel the coldness of mortification crawling up her spine, settling in her damp palms, filling her eyes with fat tears that threatened to spill as she cleared her throat and repeated to Frank that she wanted him to take charge of her during sex.
The world didn’t end, the oceans didn’t dry, and nothing — not even her, for that matter — came crumbling down because the next thing that was out of Frank’s mouth was:
“What do you mean by that, sweetheart?” His eyes were kind and worried, and a tear must have escaped because his thumb reverently brushed her undereye to catch it before it rolled down her cheek.
“I’ve been looking at some stuff online…” She drifted off, finger coming to her mouth so she could bite on it before she spoke again. Frank’s eyes were expectant, curious, but he never rushed her. “I would like to submit to you… more… I think.”
“Submit how, baby?” She wished he could crack her skull open and take a look into everything inside, read her every thought, so she wouldn’t have to go through the mortification of telling him what it was that her wicked mind had come up with, but all he did was reach for her hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them tenderly while he patiently waited for her to speak again.
“Um… like… You could tell me what to do? Or what not to do even… I think I would like it if…” She was looking at anywhere but him, “You controlled my orgasms, and told me I’m good, and also told me if I’m ever bad-”
“You’re never bad,” Frank hurried to assure her, and she smiled for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She couldn’t believe she entertained for even a millisecond the idea that he would be anything but caring and interested and lovely.
“I don’t mean it like that, I mean… What if I disobeyed you? If you told me to do something and I didn’t and you had to… to punish me for it?”
“You want to be commanded,” He said it like he was trying to understand it, voice dragging over the words like he was trying not to let the bomb Mel had thrown unexpectedly in his lap blow up.
“They call it dominated, actually.” She whispered to him under her eyelashes, cringing when she realized she had corrected him without even meaning to.
“Who’s they?” Frank asked confusedly.
“People on Reddit. They have a huge community there, and there are so many subreddits that talk about it and explain it and teach people and-”
“Okay,” Frank said, voice solemn, interrupting her as if he needed no further explanation besides what she had already offered. Her wanting to try it seemed to be enough of a reason for him to agree to anything she might have requested.
“Okay?” Mel asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
“I need time to learn. And you can teach me, and we can learn more together? The word submit is a little scary, I’m not gonna lie to you.” He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes as he shook his head, “But you want it, and…” He took a deep breath, “Fuck, Mel, it sounds hot as fuck. But you caught me by surprise here. So yes, I need time to do my own research. It seems like you had a lot of time to learn about it.”
He was teasing her.
The stuffy and tense air completely released from her body in a forceful exhale, and she launched herself onto him, arms tight around his neck. Frank started to pepper her face with kisses and only stopped to ask her, “What else have you been hiding from me, Mel King?”
He scraped his teeth playfully on her cheek and gave her butt a light spank, “My kinky, kinky, girl.” He nuzzled his nose on her neck, still playing around, breathing on the sensitive skin there to tickle her. He seemed to be having so much fun with the idea alone.
Warmth blanketed her body as his arms settled around her, safe and welcoming and like home. “Thank you,” She whispered shyly, trying to convey all the earnestness she could muster with her eyes. She felt so loved, so accepted. Her fear from before crumbling at her feet because with Frank, she could be anything, even herself, and she would be loved and adored for it, no matter what.
“Anything for you, my girl.” He told her matter-of-factly and kissed the top of her head.
She didn’t doubt him at all.
****
It takes Frank a while to bring it up again.
She knew he was keeping good to his promise because two BDSM books now lived on his bedside table — The Heart of Dominance and The Dominance Playbook, the names always made her giggle, and she had teased him about them more than once — both full of bright neon file tabs, the corners of pages folded, making them look thick and bulky. A little leather notebook sat on top of them, and Mel didn’t have to ask to know he took notes of everything he might have deemed necessary.
He was also listening to podcasts, which she knew because they sat on his list of recent searches on his Spotify account. He told her he had made an account for himself on Fetlife — What’s Fetlife? she had asked him, to which he replied Uhhhh… it’s like BDSM Facebook? — so he could talk to real dominants, and he had even been invited to a couple of munches because, of course, he had. Mel had yet to meet people who weren’t deeply charmed by Frank.
Frank had brought it up by bashfully telling her they had been invited to a munch, but there was a certain glint in his eyes that told her he was deeply pleased about it; the corners of his mouth turned upwards just the slightest bit while he told her about the invitation.
Apparently, munches were social gatherings held by people in the BDSM community at restaurants and cafés with the primary purpose of helping people socialize, exchange experiences, and create bonds even. Which all sounded great in theory, but Mel couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a bit insecure about it still. Her curiosity was certainly piqued, though, so she had swallowed thickly and asked him if he wanted to go.
The thought of dipping her toes into the waters she had observed from afar for so long now was as thrilling as it was terrifying. She couldn’t imagine looking at people who knew exactly what she was seeking in their eyes. Her motives clear to everyone from the minute she crossed the door of whatever place they were going to. But she would if he wanted to; he was already doing so much for her that she didn’t think she could bring herself to deny him anything.
“Do you wanna go?” He shook his head and redirected the question to her as if nothing but her reply mattered to him. His eyebrows raised, and his intense blue eyes sought an answer in her brown ones before she even had a chance to respond out loud.
“Maybe,” Mel had replied, cheeks warm and tongue coming out to wet her dry lips, sinking into the cushions of his cushy leather couch, trying to make herself small and escape Frank’s attentive gaze.
“We’ll maybe go, then,” he replied.
So they had gone.
****
He opened her car door and immediately took her hand in his big one, engulfing her wet-with-nervous-sweat palm with his, making her feel as grounded and safe as she possibly could given the circumstances. They had taken an Uber there upon Mel’s request.
(“What if people see your car and know why we’re there?” she had whispered frantically to Frank before they left his apartment. And he wasn’t known to ever deny her anything, so they took an Uber to the restaurant.)
On the first Tuesday of the month, at 7:20 p.m. sharp — she didn’t want to be the first to arrive — they walked into Roland’s Seafood Grill. Mel didn’t like seafood, but that was fine; she had checked their menu before they left the house to make sure she would have something to nervously nibble on.
They climbed the stairs of the restaurant that led to the upper floor, and Frank guided them to the outside deck with his hand still on hers. Pulling her body where they were supposed to go as if he already knew the way. The evening breeze was a relief to Mel’s overheated skin, the pleasant spring air filling her lungs as she tried to pace her breathing.
The sight of a huge group greeted them; a bunch of tables had been pushed together to form a long line across the deck, with red umbrellas adorning their center, and lively chatter filled the air.
Upon Mel’s first examination, everyone looked incredibly… standard. The attendees were casually dressed, which made Mel feel more comfortable in her flowery sundress; her hair was tied in a bun, and she wore Birkenstocks. She had purposefully dressed as inconspicuously as possible. No one would take a look at her and be able to tell she was going to a BDSM munch — and she knew that to be true because she had asked Frank if he thought she looked normal before they left the house.
It’s not that she had been expecting fetish gear or anything like that; they were at a restaurant after all, but there were all kinds of people, some dressed elegantly, women with their makeup beautifully done, and men with dress shirts, others with plain T-shirts and shorts and dresses and accessories that would never give away what they were there for.
As they approached the tables, Frank squeezed her hand as if to tell her I’m here, and it worked because she looked at him to find his attentive gaze glued to her. He pulled her body towards his and wrapped her arm around his own waist.
“Hello,” Frank said to no one in particular as they positioned themselves in front of the tables. His voice was apparently unwavering as he addressed the unknown bunch. If he was nervous, Mel couldn’t tell. A polite smile formed on his lips as he asked, “I’m looking for Colored Purple?”
A handsome man with silver glasses, a few seats away, raised his hand and, with a deep voice, responded, “Here. And you are?” His eyes were curious as they assessed both of them.
“Initiating2244.” Frank answered.
“Oh, dude! So good you made it! Is that your girl?” Colored Purple smiled widely, recognition flooding his expression. He got up from his seat and rounded the table to make his way to where Mel and Frank were standing awkwardly. He reached his hand out to Frank and then to Mel, who grabbed it tentatively. The warm welcome and his recognition of Frank, weirdly, put her more at ease. Despite feeling like they didn't belong, they seemed to be at least wanted there.
“Hi, uh…”
“You can call me Max.” Colored Purple, now Max, told her. Amusement in his voice while he observed the newbies in front of him.
“Hi Max, I’m Mel.” She told him shyly, her wet palms proof of just how nervous she was. Max must’ve noticed, but he was kind enough not to comment on it; instead, he looked at Mel with unexpected gentleness in his eyes.
“We’re very happy you two are here. We love newcomers.”
“Thank you, Max,” Mel told him with a faint smile. Frank chuckled and mirrored her, echoing his own Thank you to Max. She nervously adjusted her glasses, and then Max invited them to sit down.
She looked at Frank, and when she did, she caught him already staring, his eyes watchful and affectionate. Looking for any sign of discomfort that his familiarity with her could catch.
Most of the people sitting around the table greeted them; the ones who were closer reached their hands across the table in friendly, welcoming gestures that felt overwhelming in ways only meeting a new group could. Those who were sitting farther away waved their hands and nodded their heads in their direction in an attempt to communicate the same thing. Welcome, they all seemed to tell them. And Mel couldn’t have predicted it, but 30 minutes later, that was exactly how she felt: welcome.
Frank and she sat side by side on the edge of the last table, but despite their proximity, their conversations diverged, and they began talking to entirely different groups of people. Max and one of his partners moved seats so they could be closer to Frank, asking him and Mel the most mundane questions and making friendly conversation until two very sweet and chatty girls sitting to her right monopolized her attention.
Every once in a while, he would squeeze her thighs affectionately under the table or let his gaze linger on her for a beat too long. He would bring his mouth close to her ear and ask, 'You okay?' And every time she nodded, he would smile in contentment before returning his attention to his conversation mates.
The girls who were closer to her, Darcy and Maggie, seemed delighted with Mel. They called her cute and pretty, and asked all about her hobbies, her music taste, and what she was currently reading. It was not until much later that they began to talk sparingly about their experiences as submissives. Funny, intense and weird anecdotes flowing from their mouths as if they were talking about the weather. They offered their own stories and never asked Mel for hers, and Mel didn’t know whether to feel grateful or out of place.
Darcy and Maggie’s eyes landed on her and Frank curiously from time to time, but they never prodded, instead making comments to Mel about how beautiful a couple they were, how they hoped they were having fun, and feeling welcomed.
“How do you guys know what you want? From them, I mean.” Mel blurted out while they were discussing Darcy’s acrylic painting journey. Darcy and Maggie seemed to be caught off guard, but pleasure sparkled in their eyes as they leaned towards Mel. Finally, their body language seemed to say.
“We fuck around and find out,” Darcy told her jokingly, and Maggie hit her arm playfully.
“Well, yes,” Maggie said, “But we also just pay attention to what catches our attention, and then we talk to our doms, and we try it out.” She made it sound like the most uncomplicated thing in the world.
“Trying is the way to go, for sure; you’ll never know what you like if you’re not willing to take risks. That’s exactly why we have yellow.” Darcy completed.
“Yellow.” Mel repeated, “The traffic light system, right?” Both girls nodded, and Mel smiled, happy to have recognized it and gotten it right.
“I’m sure that blue eyes over there would freeze in place if he ever heard anything but green coming from your lips, Mel,” Darcy said, and they both giggled.
“So cute how he keeps checking in on you.” Maggie completed.
Mel looked at Frank, who was distractedly talking to a couple of people; he was intensely concentrated, but he must have felt Mel’s gaze on him because, before she knew it, he was excusing himself and looking at her.
“You need anything, sweetheart?”
“No,” She said contentedly, her head leaning on his arm while her hand searched for his under the table.
****
“What are these?” Mel looked at the small stack of papers Frank was pushing in her direction.
She had sleepily paddled into her kitchen about 20 minutes ago to find her plate of breakfast already served, her eggs sunny side up — Just like you, Frank would sometimes tell her with a kiss to her cheek — and warm Hawaiian rolls already cut in half and buttered up.
The first time he had done that, served breakfast for her, she experienced a mini-freakout. She had admonished him and told him he didn’t have to, that she could do something as simple as serving herself, that he shouldn’t be babying her, but Frank, as gentle as ever, had taken her in his arms and asked her, “Can I not want to do things for my girl?”
He did that all the time, little things that would make her life easier, completing tasks she had never asked him to, cooking breakfast, changing her bathroom’s lightbulb, doing their laundry, and driving Becca wherever she needed to be. Everything he could take off her plate, he did, and he seemed to be pleased to do so, too.
“I don’t care how stubborn you are, Mel, we’re gonna drill into your head that you’re not alone anymore. People who have people don’t need to do everything by themselves, whether you like it or not.” He had frustratedly told her during an argument, or at least that was the most frustrated she had ever seen him be with her, which, granted, wasn’t much, but enough that she had been surprised at how vehement he was being about it. His eyes had been challenging and determined; he wasn’t budging on it, she knew that much. And though Mel was terrified to admit it, she liked being taken care of, liked to be cared for by Frank, so she had compromised despite her apprehension.
Her compromise meant that, among many other things, he could now cook and serve her breakfast, and it meant that she was learning to bask in the comfort of being tended to.
They spent their days off together whenever they could. Frank would wake up before the sun had risen for his morning runs. He would go back to whichever of their homes, down one of his vile protein shakes, shower, and make Mel breakfast. Fifteen minutes before the food was ready, he would wake her up, brushing her hair from her face and peppering soft kisses along the expanse of her skin, his voice gentle as his devoted words stirred her from her slumber.
Mel would get up, make the bed, open the curtains, and wash her face just to wade into the kitchen while her limbs still felt like mush. Frank would greet her with a loud Good morning, baby, or sweetheart, or love, or darling, or whatever nickname made her melt and reminded her, first thing in the morning, how much he loved her.
Her body would crash into his back, and she would let it melt against his, wrapping her arms around him lazily as she felt his movements while he washed the dishes. She would close her eyes and smell him, feeling like she never wanted to move again. They would then sit at her round kitchen table, the wood worn and full of memories — it had been her mother’s. Frank would hand her a piping hot herbal tea in her favorite mug before he sat down, his own plate served with scrambled eggs and a huge chunk of papaya.
It was routine, one that not only she had grown accustomed to but that she cherished like one of her most prized possessions in the world. It was unbelievable that mornings like that had become her new normal, destined to eventually become an unremarkable part of their joint reality. She hoped they never grew indifferent to it; she hoped she was able to forever treasure every moment she had with Frank, their mornings together like a forecast that her day could not be anything other than lovely if that’s how it was starting.
They had breakfast, talked about the paper Frank had been reading — “Point-of-Care Echocardiography and Regional Wall-Motion Abnormalities in Acute Coronary Syndromes” —, talked about getting coffee and groceries later in the day, planning how to spend their time together, they sat in silence for a bit and then Frank was getting up, which was most definitely not a part of their usual morning routine.
He left the kitchen, and she faintly heard the zipper of his backpack. A couple of minutes later, he was back, sitting across from her once again, and handing her exactly eight pages of paper.
“They’re our negotiation forms,” he told her after her question. “Or checklist, or contract, or whatever you want to call them, really.” He seemed tense, chewing on his nails, which Mel knew to be a telltale sign of his apprehension. Did he think even for a single second that she would deny him?
Mel skimmed the pages in her hands; they had what seemed like a million different items, her eyes catching on bondage and impact and rough play, which were their own categories. Other categories included sensation play, service and controlled behavior, penetration… The document easily contained over 200 items that seemed insistent on being as specific as possible. She felt the slight urge to shove them away and pretend nothing was happening.
“Bathroom use control, chosen food for… Eye contact restrictions?” She laughed, a bit surprised. Reading it out loud to the kitchen more than she was to Frank.
“If that’s something you want, we can discuss it, baby.” He told her, seriousness in his voice.
“No… I’m just… surprised?” But then, on that very same section, she read kneeling and instinctually crossed her legs. She must have licked her lips or sighed differently or done something that had given her away because Frank immediately interrogated her.
“What?” His eyes were mischievous and keen on her. Of course, he would catch her slightest movement. She felt like she was under a microscope, his gaze alone making goosebumps cover her legs, bare if not for Frank’s shirt that hit the middle of her thighs.
“Nothing, just… something caught my attention. ‘S all.”
“You’re not gonna tell me?” He asked, disbelieving. He scoffed in impatience that was more playful than anything. “You know that I’m literally the one who’s gonna be doing these things to you, right?” He teased her.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out; instead, she pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and shushed him. Closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly, she blew air out of her mouth forcefully before taking a deep breath.
“You’re disturbing my very profound focus, if you must know.” She berated him half heartedly, a smile forming on her lips.
“Oh, am I now?” Frank laughed and lowered his body until his shoulders hit the table and sneaked his arms under it, his hand finding Mel’s ankle and circling her skin with his fingers. She knew he was being playful, but with all that on her hands, it suddenly felt all very different. Like Frank’s innocent touch was eventually going to lead them somewhere else entirely, more specifically to the things she would have to read and choose and play it out, because she wanted to, because she was secretly desperate for them.
“Read it for me.” He told her.
“Read what?” She could feel her cheeks warm, and was sure that if she could see herself, her entire face would be as red as a tomato, the blush spreading down her neck and coloring her chest.
“What piqued your interest,” Frank said as if it was obvious.
Mel stayed silent, eyes pretending to still read what was on paper but she could barely focus enough to be able to discern what the hell was serving as art was supposed to mean. But she could feel the weight of Frank’s eyes on her. It was igniting every nerve of hers, speeding her breath without her consent. His touch was the only thing anchoring her to her kitchen, to their shared breakfast, and to reality.
“Mel,” His voice was more stern. Different. It made her shudder slightly, “I’m asking you to read it for me.” But it wasn’t a request; Mel had never been commanded by Frank, not like that at least, but she could tell that was exactly what it was: a command. His voice was gravely, and now that she was looking at him, his eyes seemed to devour hers with their intensity.
“Kneeling.” She blurted. And lowered her head until it too hit the table in front of her. She could feel the rise and fall of her chest overwhelmingly, her breath coming out hot and quick as her arms caged her head on the wood. “I’m not having a panic attack.” She warned him.
Frank all but laughed, the sound echoing in her silent kitchen, relief in it as he reached his hand to pet her head.
“Thank you for telling me.” She lifted her head to look at him, and he continued, “I’m very pleased.” He told her with a self-satisfied smile, he was beyond pleased, and something deep in her chest bloomed with delight.
****
Mel left the papers on top of the kitchen table, Frank’s eyebrow raised amusedly while she muttered shut up, under her breath.
They spent their morning lazily tangled on her couch. She called Becca and got updates on her newest interest: theater. They were currently rehearsing The Age of Innocence at her center, and Becca was more than thrilled since it was one of her favorite movies; they both loved Daniel Day-Lewis. Mel told her anecdotes from work, about how she had been watching reruns of The X-Files, to which Becca complained that Mel was doing it without her. She had asked for Frank, and Mel had given him the phone. Her heart ready to burst from witnessing how much Frank loved her sister and how much he truly enjoyed her company. Frank gave her back her phone, and Mel had said her goodbyes with promises to pick Becca up tomorrow for a girl’s night out. They would go to the movies and have pizza at Proper Brick, Becca’s favorite.
Later in the day, they had gone for a walk around Schenley Park, coffee in Frank’s hand while Mel enjoyed a blueberry muffin. He carried a paper bag full of other baked goods she had picked up at the coffee shop, and she had one arm wrapped around his. They both strolled lazily across the park’s trail, watching the groups of families and friends enjoying their time together, just like they were doing. The delicious spring afternoon sun painted everything gold and warm, sunlight being filtered through the trees’ foliage as they followed the trail around the park.
Frank didn’t mention the lists again, but there was no escaping it, because no matter what they did, her mind kept wandering back to the eight pages sitting on her kitchen table.
“Why is there a non-monogamy section on the contract?” Is the best way she finds to bring it up. It’s not necessarily what she’s the most curious about, but bluntness, if not anything else, would serve her just as well. Curiosity crawled up her skin as everything from that morning thudded inside her head and it was starting to drive her insane just how much she wanted, needed to know everything about their contract.
A surprised chuckle leaves Frank’s lips.
“You’re so funny.” He mused for a minute, “Well, we need to cover everything you might wanna do. And we need to negotiate too, because you might want some things I don’t want, and I might want some things you don’t want.” He took a pause to sip on his coffee. “That was the most complete list I could find online.” He confessed, a faint blush covering his prominent cheekbones. “I have a list too, you know?”
Mel looked at him with wide eyes. Amazement colored her features. Of course, she knew Frank had to have one, but it was different thinking about it. The idea of him sitting down in his office, alone in his apartment, pondering and choosing everything he wanted to do to her, everything he wanted to do with her, made her toes curl.
“I don’t want to do non-monogamy,” Mel told him.
“Thank god, because I don’t want that either.” He had laughed again, his eyes crinkling while he switched them from her face to the path ahead and back to her face. “What do you really wanna ask, sweetheart?” He asked her after a beat.
“What if you think I’m crazy or… too much… or… perverted and depraved?” She kept lowering her voice with each word, smiling in the middle of her sentence to nod at passersby, trying to look unassuming as she talked about the filthiest thing she could possibly imagine in public.
“I do think you’re perverted and depraved,” Frank told her matter-of-factly. There was a playful tone to his voice, but nonetheless, Mel gasped at his honesty. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she could feel creases forming on her forehead. She was absolutely aghast. Mel hit his chest with her palm lightly, as if to punish him for his unthinkable response. “What?” Frank asked her, but his eyes twinkled with mischief; he was teasing her. “M’Lady, you told me you wanted to submit to me. Plus, we’ve been having sex for a year now.” He said that as if it were self-explanatory. “I love you not despite your pervertedness and depravity, they’re simply delicious perks I get on top of being with you. Gimme a bite?” He halted their walk.
Frank opened his mouth and leaned down slightly, waiting for Mel to place the last bite of her muffin in his mouth. He made the most ridiculous picture, with his lanky body curving to be at her level, waiting to be fed at her wish. She, of course, gave him the last bite, and as soon as he had it in his mouth, his lips puckered, asking for a silent kiss that she happily indulged.
“Thank you, again,” She said coyly. “I love you too.”
****
On their next joint day off, Mel found herself in his apartment. She had all the necessary documents in a small, lilac plastic folder she had purchased specifically to store them.
The last week had been spent with her laboriously reviewing everything from the lists, diligently choosing each item and categorizing it as never, no desire, maybe, or yes. Then she specified whether she wanted to give or receive, chose what she wanted to feel, and what she wanted during aftercare. It had all been so much; overwhelming, exciting, and awakening curiosities that she hadn’t even known were asleep within her.
As they finished dinner, Frank’s homemade gnocchi, sitting on his sleek rectangular glass table in the dining room, with warm lights above faintly illuminating them, Mel bravely decided it was time to finally negotiate.
“So…” She started tentatively, “I filled everything.”
“Oh, you did?” He asked, and Mel was familiar enough with Frank’s mannerisms and ways to know he was feigning casualty. He took a sip of his Diet Coke and looked at her as if he hadn’t been anticipating that moment for the last two weeks, ever since he handed her the forms, which made Mel giggle out loud because his entire body told her a different story entirely.
“Yeah, we can start negotiating.” She told him, feeling smug that she had been the one to take him by surprise ever since their very first conversation about the subject.
It took them about one hour to review the first document, and Mel was delighted to know they were even more sexually compatible than she had previously thought. He wanted her kneeling, too. He wanted her bound and at his mercy and he wanted to worship her body, control her orgasms, put her over his knee and spank her if she ever needed it, he had said. She wanted him to choke her and have traces of him all over her body, him dripping from her face and her chest and from inside her. And he had jokingly told her he didn’t want to be so presumptuous as to say yes to every opportunity to have him trickling all over her body. But he wanted to mark her.
She had selected almost every form of aftercare, all the ways she wanted to be made to feel, the words submissive, beautiful, catharsis, controlled, overwhelmed, masochistic, all rolling off her tongue while Frank chewed his lips, his pupils so dilated that the bright blue of his eyes was barely visible.
They discussed safe words, both agreeing to adhere to the traffic light system. Green, yellow, and red as part of every scene.
Toys, cuffs, leather bounds, rope. There was nothing that wasn’t discussed. The air in his dining room thickening with their mutual desire as they discussed what they wanted, what Mel wanted done to her. What Frank wanted to do to her. The anticipation of it all consuming both of them, only dissipating over their laughter at a particular item.
(“Serving as art?” She had giggled. “But you already serve as art all the time,” Frank said in a joking tone.)
After they were done, Frank got up from his chair and rounded the table so he could kiss her. His kisses were lazy, outlining a trail that started on her mouth and went from her cheek to her neck to her chest as he caged her in with both of his arms.
It didn’t take them long to undress her. Her pants forgotten on the floor while he, still fully clothed, fucked her on his dining table. Her legs hooked on his arms, and her own arms slipping on the glass as she could barely hold herself up. She came with a grunt, her shirt bunched above her breasts, her own fingers on his nipples as he had commanded her to. Her clit untouched, if you want to come, you’ll do it from my cock, he had told her, and she did. Clenching and shaking around him once, twice, before he was spilling inside her and kneeling down to give her a third.
Mel couldn’t wait. She doubted he could either.