Convincing Leah by Becca Jameson
Chapter 2
Craig
“How was your lunch with Eve?” I ask Leah as I watch her struggle to get an errant curl clipped on top of her head. We’re on FaceTime. I wonder if she’s aware of how often she attempts to subdue her curls to no avail. Another one just falls forward to replace it.
Leah’s hair is one of my favorite things about her. It’s long and curly and totally out-of-control. The Daddy in me would love to wash it just so I could comb it out and see how long it is wet. I’d also enjoy braiding it away from her face or putting it in high pigtails that would bounce around her shoulders.
I shift my weight as the thought makes my cock hard.
“It was good. Fine.” She shrugs. “It was lunch.”
I’d love to know if they talked about me, but I won’t ask. There are a million things I never ask Leah because I’m afraid if I say the wrong things or push her, I’ll lose her.
I’m not delusional enough to think she’s mine in the first place, so I have nothing to lose, but whatever little piece I do have is important.
“Did you get a lot of writing done today?” I ask to make conversation. Leah is an author. She writes fantasy and sci-fi under a mysterious pen name she hasn’t shared with me yet.
She sighs. “Not enough. I’m still struggling with the world-building for my next series. I spent most of the day plotting and planning.”
“Did you pick a title yet?”
She chuckles and shakes a finger at me. “You think you’re sly and I’ll accidentally fall into one of your traps one day and tell you something that makes it possible to google me. Not gonna happen.”
I laugh. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Are you ever going to tell me your pen name?” My deeper questions are more intense. Are you ever going to go on a date with me? Are you ever going to tell me where you live? Are you ever going to come to my house? Are you ever going to try being little with me?
That last question is the million-dollar question and the reason I haven’t pushed her further. Leah insists she isn’t a little. I would never presume to pressure someone to be something they’re not, but in the kink world, people are often a bit flexible about at least trying new things.
Not in this case. And in my opinion, Leah protests a bit too much. There’s just something about her that makes me think she’s either lying to me or lying to herself. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking and I’m a fool, but I’m biding my time with her, hoping one of these days she’ll open up more and possibly even give age play a try.
I’m super clear that I’m a Daddy. But I can dominate Leah or anyone else for that matter any way they enjoy at Surrender. It’s no hardship to lower Leah over a bench and spank her fantastic ass. It’s also no hardship to run my fingers through her pussy every few minutes so that by the time her bottom is on fire, all I have to do is thrust into her and flatten my thumb on her clit to get her off.
She’s beyond heavenly when she submits and otherworldly when she comes. She has no issues with doing so in front of an audience at Surrender, and that’s a good thing because every time she performs, people gather.
I rejoined the club a few months ago after Roman asked me to come play bouncer for a few nights to keep an eye on the women, especially the littles. Before that, I hadn’t been going to any club for several years. I’m pretty sure Roman had an ulterior motive. We’ve been friends for many years. He’d been trying to get me to come back to Surrender ever since my divorce five years ago.
The first night I was there, I watched Leah perform with another Dom. She took my breath away. The woman wrapped me all the way around her finger that first night, and I never even spoke to her.
It took me a few weeks to ask her to submit to me, and the rest was history. She hasn’t submitted to another Dom since then, nor have I dominated another sub. We don’t have a verbal agreement. It’s just how things have been.
Leah picks up a pen and chews on the end of it. She does this often. It’s a cute nervous habit that I don’t mention. I wonder if she does it when she’s trying to think of what happens next in one of her novels. I wonder if there are pens all over her apartment with teeth marks on them.
I wonder if I’ll ever be invited to her apartment.
“I don’t tell anyone my pen name. Hell, I don’t tell most people what I do for a living,” she points out.
“Eve knows, right?”
“Yes. But Eve’s my best friend. She knows a lot of things.” Leah stands up, taking the phone with her as she moves around her apartment. She’s holding the screen in front of her face, but it jiggles enough for me to get an occasional glimpse of her chest.
I can’t help but look. She’s wearing a white tank top and no bra. She often goes without a bra at home. She doesn’t really need one. She’s about five-six but slender with perfect, pert breasts that fit right in my palm. I know because I have cupped my hands over them many times when she’s restrained to a bench at the club and squirming with need near the end of a scene.
As she drops down onto the couch and props the phone against her thighs, I get a better look at her chest. Her nipples are hard points straining against the tight tank top.
I lick my lips and try not to moan. I’m pretty sure she’s oblivious to my plight.
A moment later, she spins so that she’s lounging longways on her couch, holding the phone up higher and ruining my view. “How was your day?” she asks. “Did you make headway on the hardwood floors?”
“Yep. I rented a sander and managed to strip the hallway. Tomorrow I’ll stain and seal it. I’m getting too old for this kind of labor. Not sure why I didn’t just pay someone to do it.” I’ve been retired from the military for two years. I’ve done a few odd jobs now and then to keep busy but I’ve mainly been focused on remodeling my home. I left the hallway for last, choosing to rip out the carpet and refinish it this week.
Leah giggles. “You’re not old, and I know you love doing the work. That’s why you don’t pay someone else.”
I smile at her. “I’m old compared to you. Forty-five. Fifteen years your senior.” But she’s right. I enjoy working with my hands. The remodel has been satisfying and keeps me busy. I’m not sure what I’m going to do to occupy my time now that I’m in the home stretch.
It’s been so gratifying learning all about home remodels that part of me feels like I should sell the house, buy a fixer-upper, and do it again. It’s not a bad idea. On the other hand, I love this house now that I have it exactly how I want it.
She rolls her eyes. “Forty-five is not old. Stop it. Even if you are old enough to be my father,” she jokes.
I can’t restrain my reaction. My eyes widen and there’s no way to stop my next words from sliding into the conversation. “Though I did have sex with my high school girlfriend, I was eighteen, practically a late bloomer. Not fourteen. I have no interest in being your father, but you know if you’re ever looking for a Daddy, I’m your guy.”
She groans. “I walked right into that trap.”
“Hey, you set the trap. Not me,” I tease.
Her expression switches to something more serious, and I panic a bit. Our time together always feels like it’s borrowed. I’m constantly waiting for her to tell me things aren’t going to work out. She’s probably right, but I’m still hanging around waiting.
When she licks her lips, I watch her tongue. I’ve never kissed her, but I’ve thought about it a lot. Her full pink lips often catch my eye.
“Speaking of which, Leah brought up the same subject at lunch today.”
I swallow. “What subject?” I ask as if I’m dense.
“The Daddy subject,” she responds. “She made me think.”
For a second, I’m hopeful that she might be willing to give my preferred kink a try. “What did she make you think about?”
Leah sighs. “Mostly that I’m stringing you along with this odd friendship we have. I’m worried you think someday I’ll decide to submit to you as a little even though I’ve told you many times it’s not gonna happen.”
I can’t say I’m shocked by her declaration. We were bound to have this conversation sooner or later. “You’re not stringing me along, Leah. I enjoy your company. I don’t currently have a Daddy/little relationship, so there’s no reason I can’t dominate you the old-fashioned way. As long as we’re both enjoying our time together, that’s all that matters.”
She chuckles. “The old-fashioned way?”
I laugh. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, but are you sure I’m not holding you back? I know you haven’t been in the scene for several years since your divorce. I’m worried that now that you’re back, I’m keeping you from finding what you really want.”
I shake my head. The sad truth I won’t be admitting out loud is that I’d rather have ten minutes with Leah than a week with any other woman. Maybe I’ll change my mind someday. I can’t predict the future. But I’m into this woman, and I have no choice but to take what she gives me until she decides she doesn’t want to do it anymore. I just hope that day isn’t today.
“You’re not keeping me from anything, Leah. I enjoy spending time with you. We have chemistry. We click. Judging by the number of people who watch us scene together, I’m not the only one who feels that way.” I hope I haven’t said too much. I always worry I’ll say something that pushes her to run.
She smiles warmly though. “Yeah, I think we click too, but we have a strange arrangement, don’t you agree?”
“How do you mean?” She’s not wrong. We have the strangest arrangement of them all, but I’d love to hear what she thinks makes it odd.
She shrugs. “Just that it feels kind of one-sided. I mean we haven’t ever discussed sex, nor have we been alone together. You’ve given me dozens of orgasms. I’ve never seen or touched your cock. Doesn’t that bother you?”
I hesitate a moment, thinking hard about how I want to answer her. “If you’re asking me if I’d like to sleep with you, the answer is yes. Of course, I would. You’re attractive both inside and out. But you’re wrong about our relationship being one-sided.”
“How do you figure?”
“Sure, deep down I’m a Daddy Dom, but my ex-wife and I didn’t add age play to our relationship until we’d been married ten years. Before that, we had a Dom sub relationship that resembled something far closer to what you and I experience together. So, I’m perfectly capable of playing in that sandbox.”
“But it’s not what you really crave,” she pushes.
I shrug. “In the long run? In my life? Maybe not. But considering I wasn’t practicing any kind of fetish for a long time before I returned to Surrender, I feel fortunate to have found someone I click with who enjoys submitting to me for a few hours a week. I’ve never once thought of our arrangement as one-sided.
“We negotiate scenes. My job is to give you the release you need. If that release involves spanking you until you relax into subspace, great. If it means you need me to fuck your sweet little pussy with my fingers to finish the scene, also great. It’s beyond rewarding to see you let go of your stress and relax into bliss. I’m proud to be able to give that to you. It doesn’t have to be more than that unless you want it to.”
God, I pray I haven’t said the wrong things.
Leah chews on the end of her pen while I try not to turn my speech into rambling word vomit. When I finish, she lowers the pen and swallows. “I think I’d like to have sex with you.” Her voice is soft.
My cock is not. I gulp. I didn’t expect her to say that. “Okay. We can do that.” I sound ridiculous. She has me off-balance.
“If you want to. I mean, I don’t want to be presumptuous. Maybe that’s not the kind of relationship you have in mind with me. I mean, of course, it’s not. You’d rather I submit to you as a little. But I just don’t have that in me, Craig. I get that you’re biding your time with me.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she continues before I can get anything out.
“I’m at least submissive and we have fun together and we’re friends or something, so maybe it would be weird if we had sex, but I don’t know. I mean, as it is, I have sex when we’re together. Or at least I get to orgasm. You don’t. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if we did have sex. Together I mean. If you also had sex.” She stops rambling, tips her head back so she’s looking at the ceiling, and groans. “God, why on earth am I still talking?”
“Leah, take a breath. It’s okay. I get it. Yes, I’d love to have sex with you. We can get a private room at the club Friday night, or if you’d rather be more comfortable, we can come back to my house after we scene.” She’s never taken me up on the offer to come home with me, so I don’t push her.
“Either is fine.” She chews on that pen again. “Or I guess the club is good. We can see how it goes.”
I chuckle, trying desperately to lighten the mood. “I don’t think we can mess it up. Tab A in slot B and repeat until both people cry out their release,” I tease.
She smiles. Her skin is tanned but I can see evidence of a flush anyway. “What makes you think I’ll cry out?”
I laugh. “Leah, you cry out every time you come. I assume it will be louder if I use my cock instead of my fingers.”
Yeah, she’s flushed. “I do not.”
My eyes widen. Is she seriously unaware of the noises she makes when she orgasms? “Sweetheart…”
She waves a hand through the air. “Okay. Okay. Let’s not discuss my noises. It’s embarrassing.”
It’s fascinating how this woman who is stressing out over a private conversation about having sex with me is the same woman who walks into Surrender dressed to kill with her head held high.
She usually wears a tight black leather skirt and a corset that pushes her tits up. Black fuck-me heels round out the ensemble. Her hair hangs down in long ringlets. There’s always an assortment of pins pulling it back off her face, but they don’t really accomplish much.
When Leah submits, it’s a work of art. I’ve known that from the moment I first watched her. She’s not like any other submissive I’ve ever met. She has a different vibe. If someone met her in the club for the first time, they would probably think she was a Domme. She presents as fully in charge.
But underneath that façade is a woman who craves domination. She doesn’t top from the bottom, at least not directly. She never says a word to try to control a scene. Nevertheless, there’s an air around her that feels like she never fully lets go.
She plans, and in a sense controls, her scenes ahead of time. When she turns herself over to me, it’s deliberate and intentional. I get the feeling she’s a bit OCD. I imagine she has a routine for everything. Brush her teeth, put her clothes in the hamper, pull a T-shirt over her head, turn out the light, climb into bed.
When she submits, she knows what she’s getting, too. Lean over the bench, let me remove or lift her skirt, pull down her panties, spank her until she’s writhing, get her off with my fingers, lift her into my arms, hold her while she recovers.
It’s submission. No one watching would think otherwise. But is it contrived? Maybe.
I lean in and hold her gaze. “I’ll reserve a private room for Friday night at Surrender, okay?”
She nods.
“Okay. Now I’m going to hang up so you can get some sleep. It’s late.” This kind of statement is the closest I ever come to dominating her when we’re on the phone.
“I’ll see you Friday then.”
“Yep. Good night.” I end the call, but like every time we finish talking, I feel the loss. Even though I don’t own even a small piece of this amazing woman, I take what I can get. I look forward to our chats almost as much as I look forward to dominating her in person. In between, I miss her.