by Aya DeAniege
The church itself was old. We still use it actually, but I was in awe of the size of it, and the age. It wasn't just pre-collapse, it was built during the industrial revolution and had survived fairly well. The foundation had done some restoration before they began using it for meetings.
Religious folk threw a freaking fit when they realized what we used the church for. But it was a cover building, at least it began as a cover building. Then things changed, and it came to mean something. There had been talk of abandoning the church when we came out.
We voted against it almost unanimously.
The thing was, we saved the church, or they did, the founding members. Without the interference of those in the lifestyle, it would have collapsed to ruin. We saved a really old building that now means so much to so many people.
Religious rich people just built new churches.
It was tall and grey and old. Even walking up to the building, it seemed to loom over me. It made an impression on those who passed by. There was a set of grey steps that led upward to three doors. Two handrails broke up the steps and off to one side was a ramp for better access. At the top of the steps were several urns filled with flowers nearly all the time. The urns contained plastic plant pots which were swapped out in the seasons.
There was even a man standing out front in formal wear, before the middle set of doors which were thrown open. He stands there every week and greets everyone who comes in. He speaks to the whole group of us, stepping up to the pulpit and talking for a bit. Sometimes, when regular people would wander in, he would deliver an actual sermon.
They typically got up and left fast enough. He never preached hate, but he had a way of talking that put people off. He also had a way of talking that would change a person's mind.
Let's just say he was very good at what he did.
He's a rather unassuming man. Middle-aged, greying at the temples, with dark eyes and a friendly face. He looked every bit the part of a Father welcoming his congregation. Right down to the black shirt with the little white collar.
Everyone wore their Sunday best. We were, after all, pretending to go to church. Not everyone attended every week. Just because one is in the lifestyle does not mean that they cannot believe in God as well. So many did go to another church, or lived somewhere else and flew in and out every few weeks.
We had members from all across the country. Some we rarely saw, but when they did come in someone in the main group knew they were coming. We would do what we could to pass on messages or set up something special for them.
That morning, Nathaniel took me to the man at the door and introduced me.
“Isabella Martin,” Nathaniel said with a small smile and a motion to me, “She's such a darling, isn't she?”
“Darling indeed,” the man said with a small head nod. “Well, Darling, my name is Ezekiel.”
Ezekiel is not the name he gave at the door. He gave the name he was known in public for. Those who slipped in still thought Ezekial was just a Father, they didn't suspect that the man was a Daddy and considered all of those in the community to be his littles.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“How do you know Nathaniel?” Ezekiel asked.
“I signed a contract with him,” I said, turning to Nathaniel for guidance.
“I'm training her to be a nanny and a secretary for my future wife,” Nathaniel said.
Ezekiel's eyes fell to Nathaniel's throat. “Do you need guidance, Nathaniel? You seem bothered.”
I had caught a glimpse of a silver chain around Nathaniel's neck that morning at the estate but hadn't dared ask about it. At that moment I wish I had dared. Obviously, the chain meant something to those in the lifestyle.
“Guidance?” Mr. Wrightworth murmured, stepping up to my other side.
His eyes fell on Nathaniel's neck, and he immediately turned and walked away. Just as suddenly as he had come, with no warning and without greeting me.
What was that about?
I frowned at Ezekiel, and the man took in a sharp breath.
“Don't mind them,” he said to me. “I swear, they've got a language of their own sometimes. Welcome to the congregation.”
“I thought we agreed not to use that word,” Nathaniel said, sliding his hands into his pocket.
Suddenly he seemed distant and cold like he had that first day. Perhaps out in public that was the way he always was, perhaps that was how he reacted when he was feeling unstable. I didn't know, but I also knew better than to ask.
“I don't give a fuck if it upsets her," Ezekiel said with a smile. "I've turned away three just this morning. I'm betting it has something to do with you bringing Isabella to church. Of which, three people besides yourself knew she was coming. Two of whom I trust with my balls in their mouth."
When Ezekiel raised a hand to wipe at his lips, I saw the blue band tattooed on his wrist. I gawked at the hand as it dropped once more.
“Outside the church is neither the time nor the place for religious questions," Ezekiel murmured in response to my look.
“Sorry," I said with a shake. "I, um, I like the flowers."
I motioned awkwardly to an urn nearby with tall flowers in it. I didn't know the names of any of the flowers, but they were pretty.
We maintain the flowers year round, along with the park across from the church.
Just because you like to tie people up and spank them until they cry doesn't mean that you can't also be a productive member of society.
Some have said we're like serial killers.
In reality, we just like to maintain the park to stroll through before and after our meetings. We put in a section for children to play in when members of the group started having children. The public had a problem then, especially before we explained that age play was not what they thought it was.
Those in the lifestyle are good, honest members of society. Sexual fetishes have nothing to do with paying taxes or being a good person. It only really effects what you do to a consenting sexual partner of your choice.
Notice, I didn't say behind closed doors, because some of us like having sex in public and almost getting caught.
I have a problem with people who are judgemental of us, but I have a bigger problem with those who try to sneak in, to gawk and make fun of what they see in our meetings.
Then again, tying up a little spy and spanking him until he admits why he came is such a stress reliever.
“Come on,” Nathaniel said. “We should go find a seat.”
I followed Nathaniel into the church. We stopped just past the entrance where a woman stood with a table. She smiled at Nathaniel, then looked at me as the smile fell just slightly.
“Darling, Emma-Jean,” Nathaniel said with a motion.
“This is Darling?” Emma-Jean asked, jabbing a finger at me. “I was expecting ...”
“Someone attractive,” an annoyed male voice muttered from behind me.
I spun on the person. The man was about Nathaniel's age, with short blond hair and brown eyes. For a moment I swore I saw a family resemblance, then the features turned up in emotion, and the resemblance was gone. When the mask came over his features, I swore once more that there was a family relation.
He seemed almost normal, there was a mask of indifference on his face, though the tone of his voice had spoken volumes.
“Excuse me?” I demanded of him. “Why don't you go crawling back to your mommy and suckle from her tit some more, you judgemental prick.”
“Ah, there it is,” Emma-Jean said with a dry chuckle. “You have her well trained already, Nathaniel.”
“No, it comes and goes at the most amusing times,” Nathaniel said. “Red for both of us please.”
“I'm—” the woman cut off suddenly as I turned back around. She was focused entirely on Nathaniel, a frown creasing her brow as she watched him. “I'm sorry, did you just say red for both of you?”
“I did, yes,” Nathaniel said.
“Oh, okay, um," Emma-
Jean reached under the table and pulled out two red wristbands.
Nathaniel held out his right hand and received his. I held out mine and Emma-Jean shook her head and motioned to the other hand. I held up the left and glanced at Nathaniel, then Emma-Jean.
“What happens to those who switch?” I asked.
“They get to choose,” Emma-Jean said, glancing at Nathaniel. “Nate, you all right?”
“Fine,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Emma-Jean asked as if she had had this conversation with him before and knew he was lying.
“Fine.”
“He's on a plane, isn't he?” Emma-Jean said.
“Don't know where he is, doesn't matter,” Nathaniel growled. “Come on, Darling.”
As he pulled me away, I looked back at Emma-Jean who made a face that I could only describe is 'oops.' Which made me wonder what Nathaniel hadn't told me that morning that he should have. Some concern of his?
Did he wear the necklace when he was worried? What was on it? A ring?
That ring? The one that Mr. Wrightworth had mentioned before?
What did it mean?
Nathaniel sat me down in the middle of one of the rows. I gawked around us for a bit, then turned to Nathaniel.
“You are not to call me Nate,” he said.
“You're Nathaniel,” I said. “I was going to ask why she called you Nate. I thought that was a childhood nickname that Mr. Wrightworth used.”
“Mr. Wrightworth is the only one who is supposed to use that name, yes,” Nathaniel said.
I looked behind us, to the table as Emma-Jean spoke with Mr. Wrightworth.
I watched the other man stiffen. His hands slid ever so slowly into his pockets as he seemed to lean back slightly. Emma-Jean continued talking, motioning to her neck, then across the church in a general motion. Mr. Wrightworth shook his head and then said something to her, no emotion on his face. He too motioned towards the church, but it was with his head, not his hands and it was the barest motion.
Emma-Jean seemed to say, “but.”
Whatever she saw on Mr. Wrightworth's face, in the man's eyes, she went still, and her hands lowered shakily to the table.
I turned back around when Emma-Jean left the table.
Pretend like you didn't see what you just saw.
The only place I could look was my lap. Emma-Jean came down the row and sat beside Nathaniel.
“I came over to apologize for my inappropriate behaviour," Emma-Jean said in a whisper to Nathaniel. "I didn't mean offense when I called you Nate, it was a slip of the tongue, and I'm sorry."
“I didn't think it was anything but that,” Nathaniel whispered back. “We're both distracted these days.”
“We are, yes.”
“How's that going, anyhow?”
“I, uh, I miscarried,” Emma-Jean said, she sounded so sad about it. “Doctor doesn't understand it. And we don't play during.”
“You're still young, I certainly don't blame you for acting out," Nathaniel said with a lopsided smile. "I know too well how you make trouble so that we have a reason to beat you harder. But no one's going to, not until you have the child you want, and you damned well know it. If you do it again, Darling be damned, I'll take you to the edge and leave you there."
Emma-Jean squeaked out and went pale.
“Sir can't pull me from that edge if you take me there, that's not fair, Nathaniel.”
“I can't discipline you the normal way. I'll just have to find another, now won't I?”
“It won't happen again,” she said.
“I don't expect it will,” he said. “You should go man the table before he gets snippy. Last time that happened he started a full on fight.”
“When was that?” Emma-Jean asked.
“When you were on bed rest a month ago," Nathaniel murmured. "Someone got past Ezekiel. It was—well it was a delight to watch, and I'm sure he enjoyed it, but we don't need another incident so close together, now do we?"
“Oh dear,” Emma-Jean said as she stood. “I should go.”
I watched the woman leave and caught sight of the young man who had called me unattractive. He was talking to a woman with almost violet eyes who was watching me. She was obviously a rich person, her dress, the way she stood, and her beauty all alluded to that fact. Her eyes, though, they were so weird and so creepy. I turned back to Nathaniel.
I had never seen eyes like that before.
“Are violet eyes normal?” I asked.
“They aren't violet. It's just the lighting in here," he murmured back. "That's Mayfair."
“She's beautiful,” I said.
“At a distance, yes," Nathaniel said. "She's a rich person. Just keep that in mind. Her face doesn't have the ability to express emotion any longer."
Mr. Wrightworth came down the row, facing the front of the church as he slid past Nathaniel and me. Yes, the man has a wonderful ass. However, he could have approached from the other side of the row, which would have taken just as long and wouldn't have resulted in having a bum in my face.
Sitting beside me, he cleared his throat and set his arms on the back of the pew, which meant that he set an arm practically around my shoulders. I glanced towards Nathaniel and caught Mr. Wrightworth's finger tapping him on the shoulder.
Nathaniel turned to Mr. Wrightworth at the tap.
“You're the only one who can play with her?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
“There is the addendum, obviously,” Nathaniel said in response. “Why do you ask?”
“Does she know what the addendum is?” Mr. Wrightworth asked, finally turning his attention to Nathaniel.
“Mr. Wrightworth can play with you, but only if you give him permission,” Nathaniel said to me. “No one else is allowed. They aren't allowed to touch or hurt you either.”
“And if they do?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
Nathaniel made an annoyed sound. “If anyone else touches you, you're to call Mr. Wrightworth immediately.”
“On the phone,” Mr. Wrightworth said to me. “You remember my number?” I nodded. “Recite it.”
I recited the number back to him, and the man made a small, appreciative sound. I turned my attention to Nathaniel and frowned.
“If, let's say, someone were to play with you,” Nathaniel said. “That would be breaking the contract. Mr. Wrightworth here will pursue them to the full extent of the law. If there's anything left when he's done, I will rend them to bits.”
“In the community, he has a right to rend them to bits," Mr. Wrightworth said. "I, however, need everyone to recognize that contracts come before petty feuds. Do you know what a phone looks like?"
“Of course, I do," I said. "It's a box on a wall with the receive—"
Mr. Wrightworth pulled a small rectangle out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was smaller than a book and practically fit in the palm of my hand. I had witnessed Nathaniel handling an item just like that one but had thought it was some item for stress or boredom, to give the hands something to do.
I stared at it, then looked up at him.
“Press that button there and—”
He proceeded to show me how to use a cellphone. He showed me how to use the touchscreen and let me text someone on his phone—with what he told me to text them. He then showed me how to delete a number from the logs to prevent someone else from seeing what I had done on the phone.
It was weird, but I did it.
And it was so amazing!
After showing me how to use it, he pulled up a game on his phone and then handed it to me for me to play. He and Nathaniel talked around me while I played.
“You're wearing the ring,” Mr. Wrighworth said.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said.
“I need to ask, then, how you are," Mr. Wrightworth murmured. "I can take her for a night if you need private time. Not for you to play, mind you, but to just have some time off. We can go shopping. I can introduce her to a mall or an outlet store. To those who have been raised up fro
m poverty."
“I don't need a night off right now,” Nathaniel said.
“Oh?”
“Mm,” Nathaniel said, except it sounded a great deal more like a moan and less like a general sound.
My head snapped up, then towards Nathaniel.
“Open discussion,” he said to me before looking past me, to Mr. Wrightworth. “We've played, I don't want her thinking that I need to have time off after we've started playing. That might make it seem like she's doing something wrong.”
“It's not just subs who drop,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
“I know what the drop feels like. I am not dropping. I've never had Dom drop. You would know if I had, you'd be my first call."
“Why would he be your first call?” I asked as my little man on the screen died.
“Because you would need to be taken care of,” Nathaniel said.
I turned my attention to Mr. Wrightworth.
“She drops?" he asked. "Really? I would never have thought."
“At the drop of the paddle,” Nathaniel murmured. “She's very sensitive. I think you were right about the training suggestion, though. Amazing reaction.”
“Really? Jake and Oberon are wanting to perform today, should I talk to them, see if I can't move them up? They're fantastic examples of control without being too violent to scare her off just yet."
“They're a little intense, though," Nathaniel muttered.
“Little intense, a lot gay. I could use that right now.”
“You know how uncomfortable that makes me. Watching that and orgasm control. What about Jordan and Robin? Same thing—still great—but a man and a woman.”
“Which one's which?” I asked.
They ignored me as if I wasn't there at all.
“But that's him being controlled and her on top. It would be best for Darling to see a man in control of the orgasm, and frankly, the other option isn't trained well enough to be considered a good example of someone just starting out. Jake and Oberon are not going to mess it up.”
“You know it makes me uncomfortable.”
“That's the point,” I said as I started playing another game.
“What do you mean, that's the point?” Nathaniel asked me.