At Her Feet Read online

  Pilar already has a glass of red, but our waitress is back in the next moment, so I order a glass of white. I need it after the half week I’ve had. “I brought the questionnaire,” I say as I dig through my purse.

  Pilar chuckles a little. “Just relax. We have plenty of time for that,” she says, but I’m already unfolding the papers. She takes them, but she’s still amused. “You want me to look at it now?”

  “Yes.” I reply with a cheeky smile.

  “Okay.” She unfolds the light-green paper I tore from my notebook, then slips her arm around my waist. I don’t think; I just put my head on her shoulder. She takes her time reading over my responses. My wine comes, and I almost finish it before she puts my papers down. We order. I get the mac and cheese and the grilled-chicken salad. She gets the short ribs. She’s so my kind of woman.

  “So,” she says as the waitress walks away. “How did we end up here?”

  I look up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “How did you end up in my inbox? How did you end up on kinklife?”

  I let out a short breath and tell the truth. “My ex-girlfriend, Laurel, introduced me to the community. We met in a book club.”

  “Really? Was it a kinky book club?”

  “No, but one of the other women was sick of reading Oprah recommendations so we decided to try an erotic romance about a woman who finds her true love through bondage.”

  “And this intrigued you.”

  “It did. I kept talking about it, and finally, Laurel told me she was into things like what we’d read in the novel. She asked me if I was interested in learning more.”

  “I’m interested in how she became your ex,” Pilar says. I liked her forwardness. This was a good question. How someone ends a relationship is indicative of how their next relationship is going to start. Laurel is the villain, that much is true, but what I say next might paint me in a different light. Still, I tell the truth.

  “She trained me very well, for her needs. But I have my own mind, and I still had free time. I talked to more submissives. I read more. I joined kinklife, and I started seeing all of these other fetishes that I wanted to explore. So I told her.”

  “And she didn’t want to be a Mommy to your little girl.” Her hand slides up my back, then back down to my waist. I hold in a slight shiver.

  “She said she wanted to at first, so I went with it, but after a while she just, I don’t know, she became less and less responsive, and eventually, she rejected my younger persona outright. I would come to her wanting to play and she’d tell me to grow up. Or say how obnoxious I was acting. One night she took me to a play party and introduced me to another woman who was supposed to be my new Mommy. She also decided then to tell me that she’d taken a job in Phoenix. She wanted to stay together, but she thought this other woman could take care of my other needs better. I was so livid, I broke up with her on the spot.”

  “Good for you,” Pilar says.

  “Yeah, I was proud of myself until my cab showed up, and I realized I was in a leather skirt and pasties.” I laugh, still thankful for the cab driver who waited outside my building until I was inside safely. “I’ve only been with a few other people since, but I was more honest with myself about what I wanted. I was able to walk away before things got too complicated.”

  “Do they feel complicated now?”

  The waitress shows up with our food, and Pilar asks for more wine. I ask for a water. We both start to eat before I answer. Our meal gives me time to consider how I want to respond to her question. I settle on the whole truth, but I’m not sure how to phrase it.

  “I have trust issues, and I know that’s the main thing a submissive needs to give to a Dominant.”

  Pilar corrects me. “Well, a submissive’s trust is the most precious thing a Dominant can earn.”

  “You’re right, but I didn’t understand that with Laurel. I thought the trust was deserved. I feel like I can trust you, but I felt like I could trust her. But I recognize now that this is a different situation. You’re a different woman. I wanted to be taken care of. I wanted to be pampered. I wanted to let myself go, but she kept reminding me that those were things I could do for myself. She’d just tell me to go to a spa and get a massage, but when she needed the release of whipping the shit—” I remember Pilar doesn’t like foul language. “Sorry.”

  She strokes the side of my hair. “It’s okay. Go on.”

  “She was very sadistic, and I was there to play into those needs, but she didn’t think our street needed to go both ways. And in the end she just tried to pass me off. No discussion about where we were as Dominant and submissive or as a couple.”

  “Hmm,” is how Pilar responds.

  “Too much baggage?” I ask. I’d rather know now if she’s not in the mood to deal with my shit.

  “No. That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking how we all need to work on things in relationships, and with you I want to make sure I work on my communication. And I want to make sure I listen to you.”

  “Did you have communication issues in the past?”

  She’s quiet for a moment before she answers. “In a way I did. My first little girl couldn’t reconcile her sexuality with her beliefs. I tried to be there for her in every way I could, but eventually, we had to end our relationship. I saw glimpses of our breakup along the way, but I thought my support would be enough. It wasn’t.”

  “Were there others?”

  “Yes, there were, baby, but just one other little girl. She was a complete brat. I don’t work well with brats. I will discipline you when I have to, but I don’t need my buttons pushed every day. And there’s just certain behavior I don’t want to tolerate from anyone: children, adults, or adult children. I passed her on to another Mommy who is more than willing to deal with her tantrums. They are very happy together.” She smiles and I believe everything worked out for the best there.

  We finish our dinner, and even after the dessert, we sit close in the booth, talking and touching. Eventually, Pilar asks me the question. “So what do you say?”

  I think a moment more before I answer. “I’d like to give it a try and see how it goes.”

  She leans forward and kisses my forehead. “I’d like that too.”

  *

  We decide to start clean on Friday. I’m to spend the weekend at her house. Pilar gives me permission to give Liam her address and phone number. She promises that I am more than free to leave at any point if I’m feeling uncomfortable, but she hopes I will talk to her before it gets to that point. I’m to go to her house straight from work. Friday is another late day, a day made worse because I spend nearly every minute thinking about what my night with Pilar will be like. I wonder how strict she will be, what she really means by “structure.” I’m out by seven, and I make my way over to her house. It’s easy to find. There’s room for my car in her driveway. I pull in behind a black Acura SUV. After a few breaths, I grab my bag and walk to the front door.

  Pilar meets me at the door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. As soon as she lets me in, I’m surrounded by her rose perfume and whatever delicious Italian dish she’s making in the kitchen.

  “I’ll show you to your room first, and you can get settled. And then we’ll eat.”

  I follow her through her living room and down a short hall. We pass a room filled with fabric and sewing materials and stop in the middle of the hall. She opens the door for me, and I almost have a stroke. It’s a little girl’s dream bedroom. Everything is pink and white: the floral bedding on the white iron daybed, the tea set in the corner. Even the little desk complete with stationery and pink-and-white office accessories. There’s a Hello Kitty TV above the bureau. The bed is covered in stuffed animals centered around a giant, fluffy white bear. On top of the comforter is a pair of white panties with pink stripes and a matching nightshirt.

  She lets me look around, and when I turn back to her, I’m speechless. />
  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” I told her my favorite color was pink and that I liked Hello Kitty, but I never imagined this. I tell her so.

  “I’m glad you like it. A friend of mine is a set designer. She helped me out a little.”

  “No, I—I love it.” There’s no other way to describe my feelings.

  Pilar squeezes my hand. “Why don’t you get washed up and change for dinner.” She nods toward the pajamas on the bed, then to a door beside the dresser. “There’s a bathroom right through there.”

  “Thank you. I’m pretty quick. I’ll be right out.”

  “There’s no rush,” she says.

  I rush anyway.

  *

  I’m standing in the bathroom, and I’m nervous. I tug my nightshirt down another inch and decide the pigtails I’ve gone with are completely appropriate. I find Pilar in the kitchen. She’s still dressed from work, in jeans and a polo shirt, but she’s wearing an apron. I like it.

  “Do you need any help?” I ask.

  “Nope. Dinner’s ready,” she says with that beautiful smile. I walk to her side and take the plate of lasagna and salad she hands to me. She pours me a glass of milk and grabs herself a glass of water, then joins me at the table. I’m still nervous. I don’t know what to say. I want to do so many things with her, but I don’t know where to start. I don’t know if I can start. So I ask her about her day at work.

  “Thank you for asking, baby. It was good.”

  “What show do you work on? You never told me,” I reply.

  “I style for Cliques. It’s on the CW.”

  “Oh, my God. I used to do the marketing for Mallor Entertainment. Cliques was my last project.” The ship over at marketing division of Mallor started sinking just as the first season of Cliques wrapped. We were way understaffed, but instead of long-term solutions, people were demoted and given more responsibility. Liam found me a position at Reach Advertising, and I made my escape.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it,” she says.

  “It is.” I don’t know what to say then, and it becomes obvious that Pilar isn’t in love with the sound of her own voice. We finish dinner in near silence. I help load the dishwasher, and then Pilar tells me to go pick out a movie from the rack beside the TV. Before I leave, she grabs my hand.

  “You’re doing fine,” she says. “I want you to relax and be yourself. I don’t want you to perform.”

  I nod before I scamper away.

  Nothing beside the TV has anything above a PG-13 rating. I’m guessing she’s hiding the R stuff in her bedroom. Her selection is awesome, though. I snatch Curly Sue from the rack and put it in the DVD player. Pilar is still in the kitchen so I go back to my bedroom and grab a stuffed golden retriever off the bed. It’s super soft with floppy ears. I slept with some sort of stuffed animal all the way through college, but when I moved this last time a box full of stuff, along with my bear, was lost. I never replaced him. This floppy puppy seems like the perfect cuddle partner until I figure out where exactly Pilar and I stand.

  She joins me on the couch with a cup of coffee for herself and a cup of juice for me. She puts both on the coffee table, then pulls me tight to her side. I feel better once her arm is around me. I love how soft and warm she is. I love the swells of her breasts. I hope she lets me play with them. She lets me start the movie, and then I wiggle until my head is in her lap.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake up, Pilar is guiding me back toward the bedroom. She tucks me in with my stuffed puppy—I have to give him a name—then kneels beside the bed.

  “What should I call you?” I ask, yawning.

  “What do you want to call me?”

  “I don’t know yet. Pilar feels right, but so does Mami.”

  “Either is fine with me. Sometimes I’ll call you Suzy and sometimes I’ll call you baby.” She tickles my stomach. I giggle and shuffle under the sheets. Her hand moves lower and she strokes the striped panties between my legs. I swallow and my clit tingles. “We’ll play tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night, sweetheart,” she says before she kisses my cheek. I want her to kiss me on my lips, but I’m too scared to say so. Instead I say good night.

  I lie awake for a long time. I can hear Pilar moving around the house. I’m wondering what she’s thinking and what she’s feeling. I wonder if she’s wanting me like I want her. I stop thinking about her and let my eyes wander the room dimly lit by a heart-shaped night-light in the corner. Beyond traveling for random family and Liam-related events, it’s been a while since I slept in a strange bed. Or maybe it’s that I know Pilar is still awake and I want to be with her. I’ve decided to call my stuffed puppy Frank. I hug Frank close to my chest and start to wiggle my leg. It’s something I’ve always done to help me fall asleep.

  Eventually, it works.

  *

  The next morning, I wake to the smell of cinnamon. I’m hungry and Frank is only good for bedtime comfort. Half asleep, I lumber down to the kitchen. Pilar is standing at the stove when I walk in. She’s still in her pajamas—a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail. She’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts sit a little lower and her nipples poke through her shirt. I wonder when she’ll let me touch them.

  “Good morning,” she says in her perfectly sexy voice.

  “Good morning,” I reply. I sound like I swallowed a Brillo pad. I walk over to inspect what’s in the pan. She’s making pancakes.

  “How did you sleep?” she asks.

  “Okay. Can I have a kiss?” I ask bluntly. She’s in charge, but I feel a little cheated about having to sleep alone. I’ve also wanted to kiss her since the moment we met.

  “Of course you can,” she says. She sounds happy with the request. She leans down and pulls me closer with a firm hand on my butt. Her lips are soft and her breath smells like fresh coffee. She kisses me sweet and slow, teases me with her tongue. Her mouth makes me wet, and I want to rub myself against her apron-covered thigh, but the pancake is burning.

  She pulls away and tosses the burnt flapjack.

  “My, you’re a sinful little distraction for Mami.”

  “Do you like the way I kiss?” I ask.

  She smiles just a little. “Yes, baby. I do.”

  I look around the kitchen, then back at the stove clock. It’s eight thirty. I never really sleep in on the weekends, but if I’m home, I find myself passed out on the couch by four thirty in the afternoon. I wonder what Pilar has planned for the day and if a cup of coffee for myself will be necessary. I wonder if she’ll let me have it.

  “What are we doing today?” I ask.

  Pilar flips the next pancake, then pulls me back under her arm.

  “We’re going to run errands, then we’re going to have lunch, and then we’re going to come home so you can take a nap.” She asks me to hand her a plate. I grab one off the counter, then watch as a heart-shaped pancake is placed gently on the dish. It’s thick and smells like heaven.

  “What will you be doing while I nap?” I know it’s only Saturday, but I feel the lacquered claws of the 21 And Up account scraping at the back of my neck. It’ll be Monday before I know it, and I want to spend as much time with her as I can.

  “Go sit down, baby.”

  I do as she asks and set up my pancake with the warm butter and syrup that are already on the table. She pours me a glass of water and places a bowl of chopped-up strawberries beside my plate.

  “I’ll be doing Mommy stuff, like cleaning and making dinner,” she says as she joins me with another cup of coffee. I assume she’s already eaten. “What’s wrong?”

  I realize I’m picking at my pancake. “Nothing. I just thought we’d do something more fun.”

  Pilar’s mouth quirks up at the corner, but there’s a twinge of hurt in her eyes. I realize how ungrateful and bratty I sound. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I blurt out.

  “I know. This is new, and you were ho
ping for some excitement. There will be excitement, but as I recall, you’ve worked late every night this week. From the tone of your texts and even your voice on the phone, you need some downtime. I told you I like to nurture and pamper. I don’t think it would be very nurturing of me if I whisked you off to Tijuana for the weekend only to drop you on your doorstep hungover and under-slept.”

  I feel horrible now. She’s completely right. I asked to be taken care of, and that’s exactly what she’s doing, and on day one I’m acting as if she’s not doing enough. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I’m blowing it.

  “I’m really sorry. Will you forgive me?” My stomach sinks, and I feel the tears threaten to rise. I scan her face for genuine acceptance of my apology.

  “Come here.” She scoots her chair back and pats her lap. I join her without hesitation. Her arms are around me, and instantly, I feel better.

  “I just want you to think about why you’re here. I promise we will have fun, but it’s not in my nature to return you back to your straight life feeling worse for wear. I want every moment you spend with me to be joyful and fun and relaxing.”

  “I know. I want that, too.” Boy, do I need that. “You’ve just wowed me so much already with your amazing cooking and the room. I think a little part of me was expecting some sort of spectacle.”

  “Well, this is something I want you to work on, management of your expectations.” She rubs my back and kisses my chin. “But at the same time, in the ways I’ve promised, I know I will exceed them. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I kiss her, this time on the lips. When I pull away she’s smiling.

  “Finish your breakfast and then we’ll get ready.”

  *

  I stand in front of my new closet. Pilar’s filled it with cute dresses and rompers. She’s instructed me to pick out an outfit, but if I’m not comfortable with anything she’s purchased I’m to tell her and we’ll discuss where to go from there. But as I sift my way through the hangers, I see why she’s running a wardrobe department. Every piece is cute, girly, and youthful, but not in a way that will draw negative stares. However, it’s June in Los Angeles. I could walk down the street in a bra and hot pants, and no one would blink.