by Opal Carew
Burton picked up on the second ring.
Oh thank God!
“Burton!”
“Solie? You okay?”
“Hell no I’m not okay! Oh my God, I just can’t believe he did that. It’s just so low and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell happened?”
“I’m such an idiot, Burt. I just…I just I can’t believe I did it.”
“Woman, what did you do?”
While Burton and Solie had never had a Dominant/submissive relationship—sexual or otherwise—there’d always been an undercurrent of tension in his presence that made her belly feel as if someone tugged on her insides. She still considered both him and Mac as her private play partners though they seldom ever played. Burton always took care of her…including punishing her if she needed it.
“He sent me a text message.”
“He? You mean that guy? Solie tell me you didn’t call him.”
“I didn’t, I swear. What I did was worse.”
“Huh?”
“Instead of answering his call or responding to his text, I went and perved his Kinkfest profile. And he’d written a poem-like thing. Only it wasn’t a poem. It was a story. About me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He started it off by saying, ‘I want to…’ but then everything after that was a recital of what happened between us in the bedroom.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No! I wish I was.” Her eyes stung with tears, but she’d never get through the story if she started to cry now. After what Marcais had written she had every right to bawl her brains out, but that would have to come later. Right now, she had a confession to make. Solie picked up the pace, though she was practically running already.
“Look, Burt, he wrote a journal entry as if it was something that he wanted to happen between him and someone else. He didn’t use my name of course—”
“Of course.”
“But the facial expressions that he says he wants to see during this act of supposed love were my facial expressions. My body language. My words. He practically described the way I orgasm, the cheap bastard.”
“Oh man. That sounds brutal.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the worst part. He put at the end of it that this person should know that he has her best interest at heart because, and I quote, ‘You are my submissive and I love you.”
Burt’s low whistle filled the line. Yeah. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
“And the women he’s been collecting like fucking baseball cards had filled his profile with all kinds of sappy shit. They were all like, ‘oh, that’s so sweet,’ and ‘oh I wish it were me’ and ‘oh she’s so lucky’ and all of this royal bullshit. I stood in my office and screamed.”
“You mean kind of like you’re screaming now?” Burton asked. And he was right. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Hadn’t even flinched when a terrified flock of birds burst into flight as she’d stormed past the tree they were roosting in. Must have scared them with her banshee impersonation. Even her dog looked at her as if she’d left her brains back at home in her office.
So much for control.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“No worries. You have every right to yell to the rafters. He’s basically taken something that was special and intimate between you two and turned it into bait for some other woman.”
That pretty much summed it up.
“I wanted to call him up and tell him off. I wanted to send him a private message or reply to his text in all caps telling him what a mind-fuck it was, the bastard. I wanted to scream, ‘Hey asshole, I did that. I gave that. I fucking earned that! But you never loved me. You just came home to me late at night while you spent your afternoons and evenings sticking your dick into anything with a hole!”
She really was losing it now, but she just couldn’t help it. A guy riding past her on a bike must surely think she was crazy. Solie didn’t give a rat’s rear end. Not at all.
“Well you know you shouldn’t have looked, right Solie?”
Aw man. Burt had turned on his Dom-ly voice, which meant she was actually in trouble. And if she’d been thinking clearly she would have seen this coming. Must be Solie-The-Idiot Day or something. First, she’d walked right into a mind fuck of epic proportions with her ex-dude, and now she’d told all her business to one of the few people that could actually make her sorry—one her best friends and protectors, Burton Khrys.
“Solie?”
“Yes, I know I shouldn’t have looked but—”
“There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere? Really, woman?”
She kept her mouth shut. Smartest thing she’d done all day.
“You’re well aware that this man is a textbook sociopath, yes?”
Sigh.
“Solie, I asked you a question.” The words were spoken quietly, but there was no way in hell she missed the steel behind them.
“Yes, I’m aware he’s a sociopath,” she grumbled.
“And I’ve shared my experiences with you about people who have this disorder, which lines up with your own research. It’s to be expected for a sociopath to pull some kind of shenanigan or another, right?”
She should write a song called, “Yet another sigh.” Bleh. Instead, she growled out a plain old, “Yes.”
“I’m not even going to ask you what you were thinking, Solie, but I will say that I’m sure you know better.”
Oh here we go.
“Are you still going to the vendor fair at the C.S.P. tomorrow?” he asked.
That was a no brainer. The vendor fair at the Community for Sex Positivity was a twice a year event that she and her other best friend, MacKenzie, didn’t miss. Many of the vendors were different each time, so there was always something cool and unique to be had.
“Yep, I’m going to the fair. Mac promised my niece that we’d get some new toys for her play bag.”
“Okay. So, when I see you tomorrow I’m going to spank your ass for doing what you know you shouldn’t have, which was perv that guy’s profile. Agreed?”
Damn. She could simply say no. Burton wouldn’t do anything without her consent. But she was in the wrong. There were no two ways about it. Not only had she connected the sociopathic dots when her relationship with Marcais began to head south, but Burt had confirmed her suspicion because he’d had plenty of experience with people like her former dude.
To make matters worse, Solie had reached out to Marcais’ ex-wife to learn exactly what she was dealing with. That woman, who’d turned out to be a fabulous person, had also told her to expect the man to do something to re-establish communication with her. And if he couldn’t do that, he would pull a mind fuck.
So yep, Solie had known the moment she’d read his message that Marcais wouldn’t have reached out to her for the hell of it. He had a purpose, always. For someone like him it wasn’t about love. It was about winning. About control.
In the end, Solie had royally worked herself into a tizzy behind something that could have been avoided. All she’d had to do was exercise a little restraint and stop long enough to think about what she was doing. Basically, she could have simply ignored he who should not be named. But nooohohoho. She just had to go and be nosy. Just had to see what Marcais was pitching when she knew she shouldn’t.
And now, she’d tattled on herself to Burton? Forehead, meet desk. Yeah. That.
“Solie? I asked if you agree to the punishment.”
Ugh. Burt knew she was so not an exhibitionist, regardless of her love of kink. So public spanking equaled absolute punishment in her book. Hell, she totally had this coming.
“Yes. I agree.”
“And I’ll spank your ass every time you perv his Kinkfest profile. Agreed?”
“Fine,” she snarled into the phone.
“In fact, I’m driving down to Seattle just for you, darlin.”
“Yay. I feel so special.” The words were dead pan. Burton’s responding laughter lifted her mood a bit.
>
Then he said, “But you are special, Solie. Just because a pathological liar and a serial cheater didn’t treat you right, doesn’t mean you deserved it. Woman, you should be treated like the amazing catch that you are. You’re a queen bee and you know it.”
She smiled a bit brighter. But still…
“Well I don’t feel like a damn queen. I feel like an idiot. An idiot for not seeing the red flags earlier. For not cutting him off earlier. For not totally ignoring him. Look where it got me.”
“Solie, don’t be ridiculous. Sociopaths and narcissists aren’t stupid. They’re very smooth, charming and look like the perfect guy or gal. Why? Because they are experts at manipulation. Didn’t his ex say he cheated on her for almost eight years? And didn’t she compliment you for cutting him off after barely one year? Can you imagine how hard it was for her to admit that?”
Still, it didn’t make her feel any better. Her ego was beyond bruised. And now she was going to have a tender ass on top of that.
Just great.
* * * * *
With her phone plastered to her head yet again, Solie peered out the window of her office. The soft summer breeze had blown out the earlier clouds to reveal a clear blue sky. It reflected off of the waters of the Puget Sound and reminded her of her favorite piece of sparkling, deep-blue, topaz jewelry.
She twirled lazily in her office chair. Joy was instantaneous when the number she’d dialed was answered on the third ring, and a voice that brought to mind her favorite jazz singer greeted her with an upbeat “hello”.
“Hey Mac! I totally agreed to let Burton spank me. Publicly.”
“What? You agreed to let that Sasquatch put his hands on you? On your bare ass? Girl, you’re a brave one.” MacKenzie Ivers burst into a deep laugh that had the sides of Solie’s mouth pulling up into a smile. Mac was a female version of Burton—best friends until one of them kicked and left the world for good.
“Girlfriend, you know he’s not going to hold back. And his line of work makes him awfully strong.”
Solie just sat and shook her head at herself as Mac reminded her that because Burton built houses and supervised work crews, he was a very strong man. Sometimes he had to do the suit and tie bit; when he met with his architects and clients. Other days it was ripped jeans, hard hats, work boots and lots of fantastically defined muscle.
Mac had introduced her to kink and protected her fiercely to this day. Many people thought BDSM was all about sex. For Solie, it was all about trust.
As such, Solie had explored the lifestyle for a few years before ever playing with anyone. Instead of wading into the deep without knowing how to float, she’d taken the time to learn what she liked and didn’t like; as well as accept the advice and guidance of her friends. This lifestyle was like anything else—with the good and the bad; ups and downs; sane people and nutballs.
She’d also discovered that although she was a bad ass in the boardroom, she didn’t prefer to be one at home. Solie owned a business and had a knack for running things. On the flip side, there existed a submissive side that was greatly satisfied by serving and giving to others. The result was Solie’s most cherished nickname given to her by MacKenzie—the “fantabulous alpha bitch submissive of the universe”.
When she’d finally been ready to actually jump into physical play, Mac, her very best girlfriend, had been the first to give her a flogger tasting. It had been the most fabulous birthday present ever. For days, Solie had preened in front of her mirror and grinned over the pretty marks left on her skin.
But right now her brow pulled down into a frown at the rest of the memory—that night at the Twilight Teahouse had been Solie’s first time playing in public. Ever. And Marcais hadn’t been there. He’d forgotten her birthday completely and then claimed he’d thought it was a day later.
But he hadn’t shown up the next day.
Or the day after that.
Turned out that one of his other women had a birthday the day after Solie’s, and he’d spent the weekend with that chick instead. So sure, he’d forgotten Solie’s birthday because his mind had been elsewhere. Literally.
Mac and Burton had seen her through the good and the bad, which included the long list of Marcais’ betrayals. They’d held their tongues each time Solie forgave the man, and gave advice only when asked for it. Her buds had listened to all the rants, and dried all the tears.
“Stop thinking about him, Solie.” Mac’s tone snapped her out of her musings. “I can tell by your silence after my sasquatch crack that you’re thinking about that guy.”
Mac wouldn’t even speak Marcais’ name, as if it would taint her soul or something. Actually, Mac described him as the shit on the heel of the antichrist, so maybe she did think his asshole-ish-ness was contagious.
“I can’t help it, Mac. You know the human psyche doesn’t work that way. I can’t just turn it off as if it never happened. Besides, it’s only been a few weeks since we broke up for good.”
“Yes, I know. I just hate that you’re in pain and there is nothing I can do about it. I know you have to process it, feel it. But damn it, Solie, I just fucking hate it.”
A few moments of silence passed.
“Mac, I appreciate it. You know I love you, right girl?”
“And I love you right back. Damn it, I’ve gotta go, Sols. My two-thirty appointment is here.”
“No worries. Go ahead and work your magic, oh architect extraordinaire,” Solie said. The woman was indeed one of the premier and sought-after architects in the Pacific Northwest. “One day I’m going to hire you to design my dream house.”
“Hire me? Do you want to add a second spanking to your punishment, you crazy woman? You won’t ever hire me. Whatever you need or want is yours. You know that. Now I’m going to ask you to do something that my therapist once suggested to me as I was going through my divorce.”
Mac and her husband, Landon, had hit what seemed like an endless rough patch in their ten year marriage. Mac had wanted counseling but Landon voiced loudly and often that he didn’t need any help because it was all Mac’s fault—it didn’t matter what it was. Mac had lifted her head, refused to be stomped on, and filed for a divorce that she’d bounced back from like a champ. In fact she’d processed that madness so completely that her husband, Landon, couldn’t help but notice. He followed Mac’s example, came to his senses and sought some good therapy. In the end, he’d come crawling back to Mac on hands and knees. Literally. Now, to everyone’s grand relief, they were the happiest couple Solie knew.
“I want you to write down how you feel, Sols. No holds barred, no editing or altering. Just write it down. All of it. You’re heartbroken and I understand better than anyone. You know that.” Yes, she did know. Not too long ago, Mac had been through her own journey through the Seventh level’s East Side of Hell. “And I know I told you to stop thinking about him, but that was a knee-jerk reaction. I’m sorry for that. Forgive me?”
“Of course, woman. So, what do you want me to do? Just write about my feelings?”
“Yes, but rather than dwell on all the ways this guy screwed you, concentrate on what you actually feel. So no ‘he did this or that’. Instead make it, ‘I, Solie, feel…’, then fill in the blanks. Make sense?”
“Yep.”
“And you don’t have to share it, Solie. You’re allowed to keep your own counsel and play this as close to the vest as you want. This is your thing. Yours. You own it; do it the way you see fit as long as you stay on this side of functional. No dysfunctional bullshit. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Okay, I gotta run. Catch you later?”
“I know we’re going to the fair together, but will you stick around for…you know?”
“Do you honestly think I’d miss the chance to watch Burton paddle your ass?”
“No paddle. Just bare hand.”
“Not the point. The question was, do you think I’d miss that? Hell no!” Mac laughed, full and honestly. “Wouldn’t miss it for
the world because you know your goofy ass deserves it.”
Did her friends have to be right all the damn time? Solie shook her head at herself, said her goodbyes and turned her attention back to work. And every time her brain tried to skip off to “dwell-on-Marcais-land” Solie deliberately squashed those thoughts. Instead, she concentrated on the anomalies between the databases in front of her. Reverse engineering someone else’s work was a pain in the ass, but it was necessary if she was going to figure out why the script she’d written to move data from one system to another wasn’t working.
Normally it would be annoying as hell to find such huge differences between systems, but right now it was a hell of a welcome distraction. When eyeballs began to cross and hands trembled a bit, Solie looked down at her now-buzzing phone. Earlier during a brief moment of common sense—she seemed to be sorely lacking in that particular area lately—she’d set her alarm for seven o’clock this evening to keep herself from over doing it on her day.
She hadn’t actually eaten since she’d gotten back from walking the dog and screaming at Burton at lunchtime. No wonder her stomach felt like an empty, wind-swept cavern.
“Well, at least I remembered to drink water,” she grumbled at herself.
Thankfully, Mac knew her so well she’d swung by a couple of hours ago on her way to Twilight Teahouse. The woman had run in, waved as she passed Solie’s office, said something about plugging in a crockpot and then run out again.
Solie had peeked out of her window and caught a glimpse of Mac’s outfit as she jumped back into her car—black knee high boots with buckles up the side, a burgundy leather corset with matching bolero jacket over a sleek black catsuit. My goodness, it was a combination of Selene the Underworld Death-dealer and a sexy, flogger-toting Hollywood starlet. Mac had pulled out of the driveway and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.
After a quick pit-stop to the bathroom for a wash-up, Solie found that crockpot on her kitchen counter and happily dished up a big bowl of steak chili. This time, when she returned to her office, it was for some self-healing rather than work.
She’d suppressed her thoughts all day. Now she followed Mac’s advice and wrote it down. She called her journal entry, Heartbreak and Monkey Balls.