by Gina Kincade
“My house my rules remember?”
Thorne laughed. “Irrelevant.”
He stared at her for a long few minutes. She could not fathom what he was thinking but couldn’t summon the nerve to ask. A few minutes later she didn’t have to ask as he broke the silence.
“I don’t want to leave you if you have questions. I also don’t want to stay if you think better alone.” He paused before continuing. “Do you have questions I can help answer?”
There were no easy questions, nor were there any easy answers. As Maggie looked at him wishing he could read her mind, she knew he couldn’t.
“There are probably a million of them Thorne, but I don’t know any of them to be able to ask.”
“I get that.”
With no pressure to ask the right thing, Maggie blurted out the only question she could get out.
“You’re a Dominant right?”
He nodded as he answered. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She almost thought he wouldn’t answer before he finally did.
“I am a Dom because I want to be a Dom. I want someone whose greatest pleasure, is pleasing me. But, I want them to please me as I want to be pleased; however I wish to be pleased.”
Maggie considered the answer, sorting through the seeming double-speak before she pressed further.
“But isn’t that the definition of any relationship?”
Thorne was obviously surprised by the question. It was innocent at the same time as extremely naïve. He needed to word the answer carefully.
“No Maggie, it isn’t. In most relationships that’s the idea behind them but not the reality. In a Dom-sub relationship it is the literal definition. Anything a sub does or does not do is because it pleases the Dom or it is because the Dom allows it. Defiance is punished in most D/s relationships because that is the expectation. Most relationships aren’t as honest or open about what is or is not allowed, or there is emotional bartering used, or there is resentment with no voice at actions or inactions which throttle the relationship from the open where it began.”
Maggie surprised him when she interjected, “I think I’m a Dom.”
Thorne didn’t miss a beat.
“You may be right. You certainly have a number of the traits toward that role. Why do you think so?”
Maggie was seeing something in her mind as she answered, staring absently at the wall as she spoke instead of looking at him. He noticed but let it pass.
“I think I’m a Dom because of the power aspect. I crave it.”
Thorne laid a hand on her knee to bring her back to the room, speaking only when she blinked and focused on him.
“Maggie, a Dom only has power because the sub gives it to them. The sub has all the power, always has, always will. It is the highest level of trust, and ultimate gift they give. Without it, a Dom is nothing.
Is it really the power you crave or is it the control? They are on two different sides in this equation. The sub gets the power; the Dom has the control, never the other way around.”
Maggie blinked and opened her mouth to speak but nothing was there. She hung her head. Thorne ran his thumb down the side of her cheek, tilting her face to look at him when he reached her chin before continuing.
“I promise you that is the gospel truth. It is the defining difference between Doms and subs. How they act and react within their relationship aside, the sub always, ALWAYS has the power, and the Dom always, ALWAYS has the control. A Dom who uses power without control is an abuser. A sub that gifts such trust to a Dom but does not retain the power is many things, injured or dead likely among them depending on how they play. Do you understand?”
The logic wanted to take hold but her comprehension was a bit slower. This one would take a bit. It was not what she thought she understood. In fact, it seemed completely backwards. She was biting her lip when she looked up to him again before speaking. He coached the soft tissue loose with his thumb.
“I want to understand. I do. Just give me time.”
His smile was soft. “Take whatever time you think you need. To make any choice you have to understand the difference. It is imperative. You good for now?”
Her face softened. The furrows that had grooved her forehead smoothed out as she relaxed.
“I am.”
“Good. Check in with me tomorrow? Let me know that you haven’t gone stir crazy puzzling it out all night? I really should get home and feed Beta before there’s a canine mutiny at my house.”
They both laughed at the reference as they got up. He stopped her from getting her shoes saying he could easily see himself out of the building. She put her phone number on the back of one of his cards for him before he left and tacked a second one to the refrigerator with a magnet promising to check in mid-day. She knew she already had his card somewhere, this was easier.
He leaned in and kissed her long and full on the mouth before leaving. Her skin was full of microdots chasing shivers when he pulled back, a smug smile across his kiss-swollen lips. He winked, whispered, turned, and was gone.
“Happy Birthday Margaret.”
It took several moments before she realized she needed to breathe.
‘You can sleep when you’re dead...’
Sleep was elusive. Maggie tossed and turned watching the clock roll through the night as she considered all that Thorne had said. Well into the wee hours of morning she drifted into a restless sleep full of dreams, images and emotions. More than once she was startled awake but looking around could not find a reason why before nodding off again. Looking in the mirror the next morning, shadowed puffy eyes made the truth undeniable, it had been a rough night.
A hot shower, two eggs and a coffee later, the improvement was only marginal. She waited until eleven before making her check in call to Thorne’s voice mail, somewhat relieved at the recording but disappointed too. She headed to Wenstry’s for her shift.
The afternoon moved slowly until it was crunch time as the next loads came in on the afternoon truck. Mid-week afternoons were boring at best and this was no different. She hated every one of them. She had picked up extra hours when one of the part-timers had gone on medical leave. It wouldn’t last forever and she knew she needed to find something or start rationing the life insurance money from the savings account. So far she had managed not to touch it but that wasn’t going to hold true by the time July arrived at her current spending levels. Once August came she would really have to pay attention as rent and the phone would have to start figuring into the budget.
She locked up promptly at seven-thirty and headed for home. Panera tempted her as she passed but she over-rode the urge with her finances squarely in mind. Wednesday’s Tribune had been on the back counter at Wenstry’s. She had liberated the classifieds on her way out before she left, deciding the search needed to begin.
Maggie grabbed the mail before heading up, flipping envelopes as she climbed. An envelope from the state caught her eye, but went back in the pile when she saw the one shoved into the jam of her door. Thorne had been by.
She set everything down, leaning against the sink as she read his brief missive.
Thanks for checking in. Sorry I missed the call.
Overseas desk tonight will keep me late.
Call if you need to or check in tomorrow.
I should be available then. T.
There was a strange layer of something between them she couldn’t quite name. He was protective but not, suggestive but not, and responsive but not as well. It was like he was keeping her at an arm’s length but pulling her in too. Maggie couldn’t decide if she liked it.
She liked the tenderness. She also liked that he was patient to explain things and that it seemed important to him that she understand. She really liked the kissing. Damn but that man could kiss. It was after that where she floundered.
Given the chance, Maggie knew in a heartbeat she would jump at the opportunity to experience him further. She pulled up short every time though thinking abou
t why he was a Dom and what he would expect. She could not get anywhere near okay with the idea of pleasing him as her greatest want or personal pleasure. She needed to be of her own mind. What if I don’t like whatever it was that was how he wished to be pleased? What if I’m not good at it? Doubt plagued her at every turn.
Try as she might and want him as she did, Maggie could not find a way to accept the idea of total subjugation of her will to Thorne or anyone else. Flipping the idea, she rather liked the idea of him submissive to her. She had no idea what she would do with him that way, but his sole goal being her pleasure had a lot of merit to her thinking. She giggled loudly at the idea as she remembered the pink corset and considered what she might give him to wear.
Maggie flopped on the sectional with the mail and a bowl of nuked Cantonese left overs. The envelope from the state was the title for the car finally, she set it aside. The rest of the pile was junk except for a manila envelope with a furniture brochure from Ava. She scanned the ad before deciding it too was random solicitation and wanting to shop or not, she had to recommit to her lean financial living.
Scanning the classifieds she had snicked from work, she was newly disheartened. Lots of work was available for customer service at various call centers if she wanted it, but everything else was industrial or shop work unless you had more specific and specialized skill sets. Maggie didn’t meet the criteria for many of the postings, but what was more, she didn’t want to.
Dropping the various papers in the recycling bin, and her dishes in the rack for the next run, Maggie retrieved her book and ran a warm bath. Though she had read many of the role definitions before, several took on different nuances as she read them again, now with Thorne’s explanations in the forefront of her mind. In some ways, she wished he could just detail them all out as the reading was dry. On the opposite side of her thoughts, she didn’t want him to explain at the same time. She felt the odd whatever it was that was building between them could easily tip one way or another and fear that it could fall to her as his sub stayed her questions and kept her reading.
Maggie checked in again on Friday with a quick call begging off calling over the weekend for fictitious other commitments. There was work though she could have easily made a call from Wenstry’s. He reminded her that she had his numbers and ended the call. She had stretched the truth of her schedule but needed to breathe and the check in calls had a feeling of neediness to them that she didn’t want to keep encouraging.
Saturday afternoon the magic black bag of Ms. Eldeiress came in reminding Maggie of her own suit and quest. Strangely, the items did not hold the mesmerizing quality they had once held. The mystery was gone, and the curiosity at the other pieces in the bag was no longer there either. Maggie chalked it up to gaining knowledge and the refining of her own tastes. Self-amused, she giggled to call herself a grown up. Maybe she’d get to eat at the big kid table at Thanksgiving now too.
From her reading, she knew what each of the items were for now, how they were used, and what they were meant to accomplish. As she tagged them, she considered which ones she would and would not one day own. She knew too, that while Ms. Eldeiress obviously had a specific male for the items, the one that had come in weeks before, called her ‘Mistress’ and nearly panted curbside at her touch of approval through the lowered window, Maggie wanted something broader.
As she thought it, the missing piece snapped into place. Maggie didn’t want one person; she wanted to be adored by many. It was why the idea of falling into position as Thorne’s sub rifled her. It was everything she didn’t want. Maggie decided in that moment something else too. Thorne was right about the core definitions, they made sense finally, but he was wrong in a way as well. At least in the context of what she wanted. Maggie had a theory, but it was one she would need to see the players to verify. She was hoping she could make her case to Thorne and he would be her cover so she could observe without it being weird. Time would tell as that was not on her immediate agenda.
‘Run for the roses as fast as you can...’
The Sunday paper had held no promising prospects nor had the Wednesday one that followed. Thorne had checked in twice, both times by phone as messages on the machine. Maggie had replied to both in turn with no questions and as ‘okay’. She was not ready to test her theory yet. She had a different agenda to resolve.
Friday afternoon she headed to the casino in search of Cynder. Maggie had to know if that was a legitimate option or not and there was only one way she could fathom to find out, directly. Enquiring with the concierge if Cynder was in, Maggie handed him the photo from her birthday and a note requesting a few minutes with her before sitting down at a nickel slot machine. A roll of nickels plus a few later the man from the door waved her over and took her back as he handed her back her five by seven. He directed her to the far corner before leaving to return to his spot.
The room was a disaster. Lined with little tables with mirrors save a narrow walkway every square inch was littered with heaps of feathers, piles of shoes and racks of scraps of fabric that glittered. The disorder and chaos robbed her breath.
“Over here doll.” A voice called.
Looking up, Maggie saw Cynder watching her approach. She hoped her disapproval at the mess had been missed. It hadn’t.
“Ignore all that.” Cynder said plainly as Maggie arrived at the one tiny cube in the room that had visible flooring and an ordered tidy table making excuses.
“I shouldn’t judge. It’s just a lot.”
“It’s a filthy pig sty. Call it what it is. Now, how can I help you?”
Cynder was all business, which given the brief time requested was probably best. Maggie adjusted her snorkel and dove in.
“I wanted to know if you meant what you said.”
Maggie hoped she remembered and it wasn’t just routine lip service that was conveyed to everyone. She had her answer in the next nine words.
“You mean you on stage? Of course I did. I don’t say that to everyone. It’s my job; I wouldn’t risk it with just anyone near me. You would look good up there.”
Maggie resisted the urge to squeal and locked it down tight reaching for calm and business instead.
“I was hoping we could find some time for you to tell me more about it.”
“Something wrong with now?” was the plain, direct response.
Maggie dug short nails into her palms to keep in control.
“No, nothing’s wrong with it. I did not presume to drop in and commandeer your time. I figured you’d be busy.”
Maggie shrugged to make her statement more non-committal or less judgmental than it sounded to her own ears. Cynder didn’t bat an eye at it.
“What’s your name?”
“Margaret.”
“Listen Mags, here’s the skinny. I’m always busy, and business always comes first, but guess what? In this case, right now...you’re business. So, I am working. I am busy...with you, unless you’re yanking my chain, then I’m busy and pissed.”
There was a long hard stare as she finished and an expectant pause. Maggie didn’t hedge this time.
“I’m not yanking anything. I swear it.”
“Good.” Cynder said with a firm nod.
The atmosphere eased now that her agenda was not in question. Cynder continued then.
“I’m always looking for talent for the stage. I’ve been here for twelve years now and outlasted everyone. It’s my show now until I say otherwise. Sometimes talent is in the right look. Sometimes it’s an attitude or energy, and sometimes it’s something more like actual dance background, but those never stay long.
Showgirl is an attitude. It’s a perception of being something a little bit more. People don’t stop to ask us questions about life and philosophy sugar, they want a picture with us. It’s a status thing. Blue collars to CEO’s want to show the picture of them with the showgirl on their arm. Every one of them fails to recognize that they are on ours. Do you see?”
Maggie was elated. She did se
e.
“Yes actually, I do.”
Cynder smiled.
“Good. I can’t explain it otherwise. You said two left feet right?”
Maggie was surprised she remembered that part.
“Yes.”
“No problem. Did you notice the bookends?”
Maggie only knew one definition for ‘bookends’ and would bet her savings account that wasn’t what Cynder was meaning.
“Bookends?”
“On stage there were four girls, two on each side...bookends.”
Maggie thought for a few minutes not really remembering.
“Maybe.”
“You can start as a bookend. They don’t move around the stage. Mostly, they stand and smile and frame the show. Living props if you will.” Cynder waved her hand dismissively as she spoke. “As you learn to move around, or trade in one of the lefts, you change up. It really doesn’t matter.
At the end of the show the bookends get a line for photos just like everyone else. The attitude or air you give off determines the length of the line far more than how much you moved on the stage. With the right presence you could do very well as a bookend and never need to change. It’s rare, but I’ve seen it happen.”
Maggie was at a complete loss.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Mostly. Where’re you from?”
“Chicago.”
Cynder frowned.
“That’s a haul, but not really my call to make. We do have rehearsal time, though bookends have a little less. Starters get the slower nights so it would be during the week but even those can pull good money. We make waitress base, but the money isn’t in the hourly rate anyway, it’s in the tips and fees.
Photos and autographs have a fee as you know. The house gets cost plus twenty percent. You set your own fee, with guidance of course so you don’t price yourself out of range. You can also be out on the floor and charge for snapshots. Most of the girls charge a couple bucks or five, pocket change on a casino floor.” Cynder shrugged it off.