The Doms Diary: 4:59

Wow!  What a way to introduce a story.  I'm still fanning myself here, but you didn't come here to listen to me jabber on, you came her to read Abyrne's latest addition didn't you? Well, let's jump in shall we?

The Dom's Diary

4:59

 by 

Abyrne Mostyn

Read part 1 here

4:59…such an inconsequential mark of time.  Who would have guessed that it would have made such a significant mark on my day?  I had overslept.  Too caught up in dreams of what could be, I’d missed the alarm and overslept.  Even now, I could feel the last strands of her hair pulling free from my grip, dragging across my fingertips.  Knowing I was late, I couldn’t help but close my fist to hold the last visceral strands that didn’t exist.

            She’d been exquisite with lush curves and soft skin; flexible but not wiry thin - just the way I liked them.  I’d dreamt she was real, not some plastic surgeon’s silicone jigsaw puzzle.  I hoped that I was right.  Her cries and moans had lingered, bounding through my synapses, leaving my body straining beyond the normal morning stand up, look at me now flagstaff.

            Rushing to the shower was complicated in my situation, but remedied easily with her in my minds’ eye and some body wash.  Unfortunately, rushing was not my style and as such, foreign rhythm means mistakes.  Soap of any kind was for external cleaning only.  A lesson re-learned unwittingly.

            Thirty-five minutes later, coffee in hand, I was dressed and out the door.  There were nine minutes to travel two blocks, hit the newsstand for the paper and reach the El stand for the Red Line to catch the 5:45 downtown and arrive on time before the New York exchange opening bell.  Shaving would have to wait.  Thankfully, last night’s shadow wasn’t too unruly yet and I had no face to face appointments scheduled for the day.

            The market was still down and trading was slow.  Even my die hard, stand by, go to clients were skittish in this economy.  I’d spent lunch at my desk, eating between phone calls hoping for an upturn.  It would not come.  I spared a thought for her only over long sips of hot coffee.  Even in my mind, revisiting her whimpering on my cross would derail the stay I’d managed to eek out in today’s trading.

            I’d managed to shut her out of my thoughts for the day actually, but remembered her vividly as I looked up and realized the clock stood at 4:59.  Ironically the same time I’d woken late twelve hours earlier still dreaming of her.  There was a long pregnant pause as I watched the second hand tick the last thirty seconds toward vertical and wondered if she would be punctual.  Waiting for the bell on the final day of any year of schooling hadn’t held my attention as closely.  Promptness was a commodity, and timing was everything in my world.

            I hadn’t consciously held my breath.  I hadn’t noticed my pulse kick up either as the sweep arm neared closer to the twelve, nor had I shifted my phone and spun it around to face me by wrote plan.  I just had.  The stutter-step of the long hand clicked into place and the sweep continued its trek around the clock face without so much as a blink that I had been waiting.

            Half a second later, I had released my breath, run my palms against my trouser leg and set to resume business as usual til the west coast markets closed.  I had been immensely hopeful for strict punctuality – hopeful, but disappointed in the end.  Her face last night outside the club had left me believing there was a kindred soul who had the same values, or at least was seeking the same thing.  Believing that there was someone who said 5:00 and meant it; someone rare, but valuable.

            Scrolling to a new list of clients for the market in play, it was a third tone before I recognized my phone was ringing and voice mail hadn’t picked it up yet.  I checked the clock, picked up the phone, hitting the green ‘send’ to engage the call, noting absently there were still ten seconds to 5:01. 

Unknown caller.

“Hello?”

A very composed male voice responded, catching me by surprise.

“Hawthorne DuFoe?”

I knew I had entered my number into her phone as Thorne, so this was obviously unrelated and I deflated a bit.

“Speaking.  Who’s calling?

“The name is Maxim.  I believe you are expecting my call.”

Swingers

For those that were following Swingers before it is now availabe from Amazon in it's entirety.  For those that haven't followed now's your chance for a sneak preview!

Swingers

by

Abyrne Mostyn

Colb knew it was a swinger’s party before he walked in the door. They had been here before. Second Saturday of every third month; same bat time, same bat channel...you could set your watch by it. This party was the highlight of the scene. Invitations were worth attendee’s weight in gold. VIP only. No one gave up their spot to this one; it was too hard to get invited again once you left the circle; so you didn’t. Tangyr on his arm to and from the door, but not in between. Per party rules, once inside, they would part company and not rejoin until daybreak.

Normally, first upon arriving and inside they would take turns drawing an adventure card for the night, stopping only to show the hostess that they were not going together before a quick peck on the cheek and a ‘See you in the morning.’ This time, things were different. The usual hostess of this party was not here tonight. In her stead was a formal looking man, one not unfamiliar, but also not one Colb knew well. His twin air kisses to Tangyr and wink demonstrating he knew her, but that was the extent of the greeting.

The lull in the post-holiday and Valentines social calendar made March a party usually raucous and lively. The time to get back to self and let go the rush and fuss over others weighing heavily on all. Too cold to be outdoors until possibly the June event, everyone was dressed well, if not slightly under the weather conditions once their wraps and coats were stowed.

Also new this time was that after formal greetings and putting up coats and such, the host handed them each a pillow case looking bag with a long zipper that locked at one corner similar to how a bank bag would. The key, conveniently in the lock and on a small band of elastic, they had thought of everything. His question of “Do you know how to work this?” out and acknowledged with little thought, as both of them unzipped and peered inside.

Looking up at Tangyr, their expressions nearly identical as they both seemed the cat that had swallowed the canary. The host clearing his throat drawing his attention back to him for directions, they wiped the smirks off their faces and paid attention.

“You are the fourteenth couple to arrive, even number males to the west room and females to the east room. No mingling across the center hallway please or your invitation will be revoked for future events. After you leave the hallway you will find the changing area. Your accoutrements for the evening are inside your case as you have seen. You may store your clothing in the bags and lock them. They will remain in the changing area until the end of the night. Keep your key with you. No personal identification of any kind beyond the first area. There are six more couples to arrive, but you may begin once changed and inside the main room. Upstairs also, no mingling across the center hall please. Each group has a designated stairwell and wing. Enjoy your evening.” With that he handed each of them a Mardi-gras style mask, one that hid all of their face but the mouth and escorted them to where they would part company. Colb then went to the west, Tangyr to the east. The last glimpse of one another their silhouette as the doors closed to the main hall.