There followed a pause, a long one. Simone tensed.
“I need to get the flights if that works,” she said. “But if you need to check your calendar or something—”
“Well, it’s like I said. My sister and the girls are here.”
“I’d love to meet them.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You don’t think your girlfriend should meet your sister and her kids?”
“The girls are little, only six. I don’t know if…I mean, they’re too young to know about certain things.”
“Jason, I’m not going walk around the house in a corset and nothing else if other people are there. Or talk about what my favorite floggers are with your sister. I have manners, you know.”
“I know, I know,” he said and sighed. “It’s just…complicated.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” she asked. She sat up and pulled her knees into her chest.
“No. It’s not that. It’s not that at all.”
“Then what is it? You asked me to be your girlfriend. You used that word—‘girlfriend.’ I thought that’s what I was. And I thought meeting family members was a pretty normal part of being a girlfriend. If your sister is really religious or something, I get it. I can sleep on the couch if she’s uncomfortable with you having me in your bedroom with her kids in the house.”
“Not much point in you coming to visit if you have to sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t know. We don’t have to have sex all the time. I just wanted to see you, hang out with you. Even kinky people like curling up on the couch and watching Disney movies.”
Simone was suddenly sick to her stomach, sick to her heart. Tears pricked her ears. “Are you having second thoughts about us?” she asked.
“Simone, I—”
“You are.”
“I just…there’s two little girls in the house, and I can’t help but think about how I want to have kids of my own someday and—”
“I want kids, too. I always have.”
“I’m having trouble with the idea of being who I am with you and then, you know, looking my nieces in the eyes. Or my own girls someday if I have them.”
“Kinky people are allowed to have families,” she said. “They’re just like vanilla couples. They don’t have sex in front of their kids. Adults are allowed private lives. Even parents.”
“Can you maybe give me a little more time to think about this?”
“You said we’d cross this bridge when we came to it,” Simone said. “Those were your words. Now we’re at the bridge, and you’re telling me you don’t want to cross it?”
“Please,” he said. “Can I just have a little time to figure out if this is right for me?”
Simone wanted to say “yes.” She wanted to say he should take all the time that he needed. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him sit there and think there was something gross or wrong or weird or creepy about what they were. Yes, she loved him, but no, she was not going to let him treat her like some sort of deviant who had to be kept away from children and gentle ladies.
“No,” Simone said. “You either accept that there’s nothing wrong with what you and I both are and you do it right now or you end it with me like a man. What’ll it be?”
“Simone, all I asked for was a little time. I told you there’s a lot of little kids that look up to me and—”
“There is nothing wrong with what you and I do alone together in private.”
“Tell that to the world.”
“No, because it’s none of the world’s fucking business,” she said. “I gave my answer. No, you don’t get more time to decide if I’m a decent person or not. You do not. Not one minute. Not one second. Because I am a good person and so are you. At least I thought so before this conversation.”
“You’re awfully demanding for a slave,” he said.
“And you’re pretty weak-willed for a master,” she said and ended the call before she said anything else she regretted.
She stared at her phone in her hand. Had that phone call really happened? Did Jason actually tell her he didn’t want her around his little nieces?
Too stunned to cry, too shocked to move, Simone sat on the edge of her bed for what felt like hours. Only when the alarm on her phone buzzed obnoxiously, warning her she had to leave for her job tonight did she get herself moving again. The job. The gig. Photographing the wedding reception. Right. Simone focused on her work because if she didn’t, she would collapse in tears on the floor and there’d be no getting her up again.
The reception was a casual affair being held at The 8th Circle, the kink club where the couple had met and Simone occasionally worked. The wife, Tessa, was a rope bunny and a bondage fetish model. She and her husband Eric wanted some fun, classy bondage pictures of the two of them together for an album they were planning on calling “Tying the Knot.” Simone changed out of her jeans and t-shirt and into a little black corset dress and high heels. She gathered all her equipment and hailed a cab.
Half an hour later Simone was at the club. The reception was being held in one of the large dungeon spaces. A table was stacked high with a black wedding cake, fresh fruit, cheese and wine. Electric votive candles burned inside dozens of Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Someone had even strung pretty Christmas lights from the suspension beams. It was all very sweet and lovely and romantic, and it made Simone want to find the nearest bathroom and throw up for an hour.
But she didn’t. She pasted on a fake smile, mingled with the guests, laughed during the X-rated toasts, and took fantastic photographs of Eric tying up Tessa, suspending her from the ceiling beams, and feeding her cake and kissing her all while she was upside down, Spiderman-style.
When they finished with pictures, Simone decided to fake a stomach ailment and bid everyone a very early goodnight. She was just about to leave when she heard a laugh, a familiar laugh, big, sexy and brassy. Simone turned around and saw her friend Mistress Nora standing in the doorway of the dungeon. She was talking to Tessa, the bride, and giving her a gift, a square black box wrapped in a red ribbon.
“It’s a human head,” Nora was saying to Tessa as Simone came up to them.
It was such a relief to see Nora, Simone’s knees wobbled. As soon as Nora spied her, she threw her arms around Simone.
“What are you doing here?” Simone asked the beautiful, black-haired woman she hadn’t seen in months.
“You know I’ll take any excuse to come back to New York. What’s up? You look paler than usual, kid,” Nora said.
As much as Simone wanted to tell Nora everything, she knew there was nothing the woman could do but commiserate. What she needed was to speak to a man about this, a man who might understand Jason’s fears. Simone sure as hell didn’t get it.
“I know this sounds weird,” Simone said, “but would it be okay if I called Mister S and talked to him? I’m having master trouble.”
“Ooh,” Nora said, as she picked up her wine glass off the table. “Master trouble is the worst sort of trouble to have. But I wouldn’t call him if I were you.”
“Why not?” Simone asked.
Nora pointed with her wine glass at the tall, blond, imposing man striding down the hallway toward them. He wore a black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie.
“Because he’s right there,” Nora said. “He’s my date.”
Simone kissed her on the cheek quickly and ran out into the hall. As soon as Mister S saw her, he smiled.
“Hello, Jellybean,” he said. “It’s been too long. How are you?”
Simone looked up at him and swallowed hard.
“I…” It was as far as she got.
Simone burst into tears and collapsed against him.
He put his arms around her and held her close as she wept loudly and long against his chest.
“Ah,” he said. “Memories.”
That made her laugh when she thought nothing could. Yes, she had cried for him a few times when he’d broken her
into a million lovely little pieces during a session. Cathartic tears. Happy tears. Laughing tears. Not like these tears. Not brokenhearted tears.
“I need to talk to you,” Simone said. “Please?”
“Let’s find a room,” he said. He guided her down the hall until they found an empty room. He sat in a large leather armchair beside a gas fireplace. Simone threw a pillow on the floor at his feet and knelt there, her head in his lap, his hands in her hair.
“Tell me everything,” he commanded softly.
She told him.
Eighteen
Jason had taken the call from Simone in his bedroom far away from the prying ears of Aimee and the girls. They were downstairs in the kitchen baking rhubarb custard pie for dessert while he was upstairs kicking himself repeatedly in the ass for how badly he’d handled the conversation.
He wasn’t asking for much, was he? A little time to figure out how to be in a relationship like this and also not alienate his entire goddamn family? Seemed like a reasonable request. But Simone acted like he’d insulted her to her face. He would never do that. Never in all his life would he insult a woman to her face. Or behind her face. Or anywhere. He knew for a fact Aimee was overreacting but what big sister didn’t when she thought her baby brother was dating someone bad for him. Simone was a fetish model with pink hair, piercings, tattoos, who’d never sat on the back of a horse in her life until he’d put her on one. Yeah, on paper, of course, that didn’t look too great. While his father had literally beaten respectfulfulness into Jason, their mother had lectured Aimee on an almost daily basis about how Christian girls were supposed to act. Dress modestly. Act modest. Don’t be a stumbling block for boys. Don’t tease. Don’t be like those girls on TV with their short dresses and too much makeup. So of course it would be hard for Aimee to get used to the idea of him dating a free-spirited girl like Simone. Simone was the exact opposite of the woman Aimee had been raised to be. His family was important to him, even if he didn’t always agree with them. He had every right to want to take a little time, not rush things, and ease his family into getting used to the idea of him with Simone.
But if he was in the right and Simone was wrong, why did he feel so sick to his stomach?
Was it because she’d called him weak? Well, that certainly hadn’t felt very good. People said things when they were angry they didn’t mean. He’d been trying to spare his family’s feelings. How was that weak? And of course her feelings were hurt. She’d wanted to come visit him and he’d asked her not to while his sister and nieces were there. The day before he’d told her he was counting the minutes until she could come back again. But after seeing how upset Aimee was about it all, he knew it wasn’t time yet to make those introductions.
He was definitely in the right. Right?
Yet the nauseated ache in his stomach remained.
Jason ignored it. He took his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
“Asshole,” was the first word spoken by the person who answered.
“Whatever happened to ‘hello’?” Jason asked.
Luke answered, “Hello, asshole. Why you calling me? I’m busy here.”
“Busy in the hospital?”
“I’m out, man,” Luke said. “Got out yesterday. I’m about to get a sponge bath from a sexy nurse.”
“If you’re out of the hospital, why the hell do you have a nurse giving you a bath?”
“I asked her real nicely.”
“Good Lord,” Jason said. Luke only laughed.
“How’s your girl?” Luke asked.
“Not very happy with me right now,” Jason said.
“Good. Send her my way. If you won’t be nice to her, I will.”
“I swear to God if you weren’t already limping, you would be after this conversation.” Jason should have known better than to call Luke. The man had a gift for saying the exact opposite of what Jason wanted to hear.
“Hey, don’t take it out on me just because you fucked up. I assume it was you doing the fucking up because otherwise you wouldn’t be crying in my left ear.”
“It’s complicated, all right,” Jason said. “Things got kind of serious fast, and Aimee’s giving me hell over it.”
“Why? She not like pink hair on girls? I like it myself. My nurse has purple hair. It’s cute as hell.”
“Simone’s, you know, a little wild. Well, not for New York City, I guess, but for Montana she’s wild. She’s my kind of wild.”
“I’d kill for a girl who was Montana wild,” Luke said and Jason detected a note of real longing in his voice. “I know if I had one, I wouldn’t let my stuck-up sister get in the way of us being wild together.”
“Aimee isn’t stuck-up.”
“She’s so stuck-up I don’t even know what she looks like. I met her a hundred times and all I can picture is the bottom of her nose it’s stuck up in the air so far.”
“She thinks you’re a bad influence.”
“I am a bad influence. But you’re also a grown man. Last I checked anyway.”
“She’s just protective of me because of Dad.”
“Fact is, man, your sister is not going to like any girl you date unless she’s an Aimee clone and you know it. Call me crazy, but I wouldn’t want to date my own sister. Not that I have one, but if I did, hell no.” Luke managed to draw “hell no” out to about ten syllables.
“You’re a sick man, Bradley.”
“Truth hurts. I’m sure your sister’s great to you, but a man has needs his family doesn’t need to know about or think about it.”
“What would you know about it?” Jason asked.
Luke fell quiet for a few seconds.
“I know a lot about it,” Luke finally said. “And I know if I had a girl who understood all that about me, I would not fuck it up a week after meeting her. Now fix it with her so she can introduce me to all her wild friends. I am only two weeks away from being healed enough to fuck again.”
“So me making up with Simone is about you, not me?”
“Right,” Luke said.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Good. My bath’s ready.”
Jason hung up.
He shook his head and considered tossing his phone across the room just for the hell of it. But before he could, it buzzed in his hand with a text message.
From Luke unfortunately.
What the hell did that insane cowboy want now?
“Hey,” Luke wrote. “I’m going to be serious for two whole seconds. I talked to your girl only two times on the phone when it was supposed to be me in that calendar. When she found out I had to bail because I got hurt, she sent me a get-well card and candy. That’s why I was kind of interested in her. Not because she’s hot. Because she’s sweet. I’m jealous you got someone that sweet when all I get are girls who only want me because they seen me on TV. All I could think about in the hospital was getting out and finding something real for once. Do not reply to this message. Just read it and delete it and if you tell anybody I said all that I’ll call you a damned liar.”
“God damn,” Jason said, reading the message a couple times before deleting it as requested. He didn’t know Simone had sent Luke a card and candy. That was pretty damn sweet. And Luke, poor guy. Jason knew exactly how he felt, lying in a hospital bed for days and nights on end, wanting to get out but also dreading the moment he got home again to an empty house.
Jason sat back in his chair and threw his boots up on the desk. Maybe he ought to go for another long ride. Maybe that would help clear his head.
But he already knew it wouldn’t. Nothing was going to help except figuring out what to do and how to do it.
Outside Jason heard a loud rumbling sound, heavy tires and air brakes.
Aimee called up to him from downstairs.
“UPS delivery, Jase!”
Grateful for the distraction, Jason went downstairs and signed for his package. He didn’t remember ordering anything.
The package was from Simone.
She’d sent it three days ago, long before their fight so he wasn’t scared of opening it and finding a bag of dog shit and a nasty note. He didn’t want to open it in front of the kids, though, so he went into his office, shut the door, and found his box cutter. He sliced the tape off the heavy rectangular box and nervously opened it.
It was a photo album. Oh God, what sort of X-rated pictures had she sent him now?
Carefully, he opened the front page of the album and furrowed his brow in confusion. It was a photograph of his PBR cup, the big one. The next photograph in the album was of his trophy from winning the Bud Light Cup. And on the next page, a photograph of his medals. In fact, the entire album was nothing but pictures of his awards and trophies and cups and buckles and every other prize he’d stashed in his bedroom. The photographs were all beautifully shot and staged. He could frame them and put them on the wall if he wanted. When he got to the last page, he found a note from Simone—black ink on pink paper.
“My Darling Master Jason,
Now maybe you can donate your trophies to a museum or your high school and still “have” them. I’m as proud of you as I am relieved you’re retired. I can’t wait to see you again. Being your slave has been the most freeing experience of my life.
Love,
Your Spanky.”
Nineteen
Simone poured out her heart to her beloved Mister S until she had nothing left to tell him.
“‘You’re pretty weak-willed for a master…’” Mister S repeated in a solemn tone. “You do go for the jugular, don’t you, Jellybean?”
Simone snorted a liquid weepy laugh and blew her nose again on his handkerchief.
“I’m a horrible slave.”
“No, no, no,” he said gently. He patted his leg, a signal for her to get off her knees and sit on his lap. As soon as she was in his arms, she rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her close like a father. “You can’t be in a relationship like that without speaking your mind. And a real master can take it.”
“I don’t know if he took it or not,” she said. “I hung up on him right after.”
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