Two Shades of the Lilac Sunset

by Rosen Trevithick

  Suddenly, a message from Nat flashed up on the screen. It took her a moment to register that it was real.

  ‘Thanks for a smashing day yesterday. You really are beautiful, Miss Cassidy.’

  And there it was: the text that trumped all the rejection. Sending her home hadn’t meant that he’d lost interest. She’d misunderstood, catastrophising something small. She began to glow. You really are beautiful, Miss Cassidy.

  Afternoon of Sunday 26 th April – inside a house on Mayfield Road

  Willow stared again at the Wikipedia entry for dominance and submission. She had looked at it three times already this week, along with various websites about spanking, bondage and fisting. A light spanking was something she would happily try again; she could get on board with handcuffs, but fisting? That just looked painful. If she agreed to be Nat’s sex slave, how far would she have to go?

  All this agonising might turn out to be wasted, considering she’d only heard from him twice since he’d gone back to London – once asking how her ass was after her ‘little introduction’ to his way of life, and after that just a bland ‘fine thanks’ message that may as well have been about the weather. She tried not to read too much into it; he had said that he wanted her to have time to think.

  She drew strength from how well her sister’s relationship was going. She already referred to Ross as her boyfriend and he seemed more than comfortable with the word. There obviously were happy relationships out there, so it would only be a matter of time before it happened to her – hopefully, with Nat.

  Evening of Friday May 1 st April 2014 – inside a house on Mayfield Road

  Demi was delighted that Willow was out with friends, partly because it meant she’d stopped pining for Nat, but mostly because she’d arranged a particularly special evening in with Ross.

  Over breakfast the previous day, they had finished defining this week’s boundaries, resulting in a rule for the evening – Ross was in charge. This would, of course, be much more fun with the house to themselves.

  Demi stood in front of the mirror, wearing her favourite lingerie – a white corset and pink satin knickers. The colours complemented her blonde hair and golden skin, whilst the shape of the corset accentuated her petite breasts, keeping the nipples just a teasing millimetre from the trim.

  She was to wait on the living room floor on her knees with her hands behind her back. She hurried downstairs to check that the central heating was on.

  At first, Demi felt like a bit of a pillock, getting down on her knees when she was alone in the house. She wondered if the lighting was a little bright and stood up to adjust the dimmer switch. She knelt down again and waited. This was stupid. She should have got him to text before coming over.

  However, as she knelt there, she began recalling the activities they’d discussed over breakfast, one by one. A breeze informed her that her knickers were moist. She considered going upstairs to change them, but she’d told him she would be wearing pink and changing them would be almost as telling as wetness.

  Finally, she heard a key in the door. She’d given Ross a key for this precise purpose. She fervently hoped that it was Ross and not Willow having changed her mind about going to the pub.

  Happily, it was Ross. He came straight into the living room smelling like cool, blue aftershave and carrying a bag. Demi felt self-conscious for a moment but then Ross’s face broke into a massive smile. “Booya!”

  He sat down next to her and looked her up and down. As close as he could get without touching, he traced her curves. When one of his palms brushed against her nipples, she trembled.

  Ross reached for his bag. He pulled out a collar she hadn’t seen before – purple leather with a plush, pink satin lining that matched her knickers. It looked similar to the dog collars she used to wear during her brief Goth phase, but with a telling D-ring attached.

  “Chin up,” he said, fastening it around her neck. “I want you to wear this, to show that you are mine.” Demi looked at his honest green eyes, broad shoulders and enormous arms and flushed with pride. “You may leave the house this evening, but if you do, you will have to do it wearing this.”

  She thought about the D-ring. Would anybody really know it was part of a leash and not simply a fashion accessory? The only people who would know would be those in a Dom-sub relationship, and they were unlikely to judge her. Even so, the idea of going out in the collar made her nervous.

  “Remind me, why did I agree to mild public humiliation?”

  “You want to change your mind?”

  “No!”

  Ross clipped a purple, leather lead to the D-ring and gave it a gentle tug. “Come with me.”

  Demi began to get up.

  “On your knees!”

  She lowered herself back down and followed Ross into the hallway on her hands and knees. She began to climb the stairs.

  “Stay there.” He walked back down to the hall and got down onto his knees, so that his face was level with her crotch. He grabbed the corners of her knickers and wrinkled them down her thighs, exposing her bottom. “Now, I want you to very slowly crawl up the stairs in front of me. I’m going to see everything.”

  Morning of Saturday 30 th May – inside a house on Mayfield Road

  Willow was busy packing dresses in tissue paper. Best take an iron just in case …

  “Cup of tea?” asked Demi, arriving with two cups already made.

  “You legend.”

  Demi perched on Willow’s bed, as her younger sister put a few more things in a suitcase. Finally, Willow took a break. She looked down at her tea, seeming pensive.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  Demi raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s just that when I was applying for a spot at the exhibition, I imagined Nat would be there.”

  Demi frowned. “It’s getting easier though, right?”

  “Yeah. I just wish I hadn’t had sex with him. It would have been so much easier to get him out of my head.”

  “I know,” replied Demi, gently.

  “It’s been almost six weeks, Demi. He must have moved down by now. Do you think he’s moved in and not told me?”

  “I don’t think you should worry about where he is. He’s only ever been a phone call away.”

  Willow automatically picked up her phone. As usual, there were no texts or missed calls. She totalled up communications that he’d ignored: three texts and two phone calls. There was no chance he could think she wasn’t interested. She’d even intimated in one that she might be up for a little more master-slave experimentation, but as with the others, it had elicited no response.

  “You’re going to be a hit today,” Demi told her. “You’re always a hit. You don’t need him to be there to validate anything.”

  Willow smiled. Having Demi around was such a feel good factor. Then she felt a pang of guilt; she’d spent the morning moping over a man she barely knew, and hadn’t stopped to attend to the real tragedy of the day: her mum wasn’t alive to see it.

  Afternoon of Saturday 30 th May – at the Princess Pavilions

  Willow stood back and appraised her display. Her dresses looked fabulous on the manikins, especially those with hats. She felt she’d made the right decision to abandon the nylon wigs – bald manikins really forced the hats to blow their own trumpets.

  Demi and Ross returned from the bar each carrying a glass of wine.

  “Looking good, sista!” cheered Ross.

  “I don’t know what’s best to do now,” admitted Willow. “Do I stick around in case anybody wants to ask questions, or will my presence stop visitors from being objective about my work?”

  “What feels comfortable?” asked Demi.

  “I don’t know! Um … What if I wander off for a bit, and then pop back later to see how it’s all going?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  They each took one last look at Willow’s display then drifted off together to see other parts of the exhibition.

/>   The first section they came to was a collection of three watercolour paintings depicting views from the harbour. Over the centuries, very few views of the harbour had been left uncaptured, but the perspective from boats themselves showed buildings Willow knew like the back of her hand, from an entirely new angle. She cocked her head, mesmerised, as she tried to work out exactly which parts of the town she was looking at.

  Next they came to a collection of pottery painted with the colours of the sea. The shapes of the pots were unusual – trapeziums that looked as though they defied the law of physics.

  When they got to a selection of ink drawings of tall ships manned by ghosts, Ross stood back and said, “Don’t think I’m being biased, Willow, but your display is easily the most creative thing here.”

  “Very sweet of you, Ross. Thank you.”

  “No, I’m serious. Don’t get me wrong, the other stuff’s great – really well done. But everything here is what you might expect from an exhibition of artists in Falmouth, except yours.”

  “It is a shame there’s not a bit more variation, I suppose.”

  “Your display is much bigger, too,” Ross pointed out.

  “All right! All right! Stop embarrassing the girl!” laughed Demi.

  Willow fanned herself melodramatically. “I need some air.”

  They walked out onto the lawn that surrounded the bandstand. A barbershop quartet were mid-sea shanty and various groups of people were sitting around the beds of tulips and primroses, enjoying the wall-to-wall May sunshine.

  Willow began to wonder whether anybody was looking at her display. She’d put business cards in specially made stands. If she could get even a small clothing outlet interested in her work, then she might be able to start a side line in sales. Probably not the start of anything big, but it would help pay her way through the remainder of her degree.

  The suspense was too much for Willow. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She approached her gallery from the door behind the manikins, so that she could watch discreetly if she needed to. But, when she got there and found that the room was empty, her heart sank.

  Still, there weren’t many people anywhere in the building yet. There was time, Willow hoped, for it to get a lot busier. She put herself in the position of a guest, pretended that she’d never seen her work before, and imagined how it would look to a stranger.

  “Miss Cassidy, we meet again,” declared a deep, sultry voice.

  Willow spun around.

  Nathaniel Gordon.

  He smiled with the confidence of a man who hadn’t vanished for a considerable period without a word. “I must say, I do like the lighthouse beanie. I’m thinking it would look even more adorable on you.”

  Relief flooded through Willow, followed by confusion. Was she delighted or furious? She wanted to demand he tell her why he hadn’t called, but was afraid that if she did, he would disappear again and she’d never get any closure.

  Was it closure she wanted? Or was it to lean over that railing one more time … She felt dizzy and looked around for somewhere to sit down.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Cassidy?”

  Oh, shut up! Shut up with your mock period drama speech, you fancy wanker.

  Willow sensed that dropping to the floor might not convey the nonchalance the situation required, so she went in search of a chair. The first seat she found was just inside the café. She felt pathetic being reduced to jelly by this man, whom she still hardly knew. But this was the culmination of weeks of feeling confused and rejected. And this was the man who’d taken her virginity.

  “I wasn’t going to come down until next week, but I couldn’t miss your exhibition.”

  “How did you know I’d got a spot?”

  “It was on your Facebook page.”

  “You follow my Facebook page?”

  “Only the public one. I’m not a member myself. Can’t stand social networks.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m so proud of you for getting a display here.”

  Proud of me? Don’t you have to have some sort of attachment to somebody in order to feel proud of them?

  “Why don’t you come over to mine after this? I’ve got furniture now, and not just a bed.” He winked.

  Willow glared. How dare he? How fucking dare he? How dare he make her think that she was too insignificant even to be worth a text, and then come back into her life flirting with bells on?

  “I don’t know. I was thinking of going for a meal with Demi and Ross.”

  Nat stiffened at the mention of Ross. “All right. If that’s what you want to do. At least I tried.”

  He walked towards the door.

  Willow felt the urge to run after him but couldn’t bear to give him the satisfaction. She was still taking it all in. Nathaniel Gordon was back, and apparently he still wanted her. The question was: did she still want him?

  Afternoon of Sunday 31 st May – at the petrol station on Dracaena Avenue

  Willow needed a large bar of Dairy Milk; nothing else was going to cut it. She felt proud of herself for saying no to Nat, so why did she feel so damned awful? So damned conflicted? Presumably, if he still wanted her, there was some good reason for his recent behaviour. If she didn’t see him, how would she ever know what it was?

  When she got to the petrol station, she didn’t just buy a large bar of Dairy Milk. She also picked up a packet of Bourbons, a full-sized tub of Pringles and a pint of strawberry milkshake. She kidded herself that she was going to make her confectionery last a week.

  “Miss Cassidy?”

  Willow froze. Was he following her? She turned to face Nat, trying to hold up a jaw that was heart-set on falling to the floor.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Miss Cassidy.”

  Willow looked out the window and saw his ridiculous Ferrari parked at a petrol pump between a Fiesta and a Gulf. Did he happen to be here getting petrol?

  “Have you thought any more about coming to see my flat now that I’ve furnished the bedroom?”

  A passing stranger paused briefly, glancing at Nat then grinning at Willow. She saw Nat through the stranger’s eyes – tall, good-looking and undeniably charming. So he hadn’t called? It happens. Willow told herself to grow up and start living in the real world. Total perfection was a pipe dream.

  “I would like to see your flat, one day.”

  “How about now? No time like the present.”

  Willow looked down at her greed-filled shopping basket and felt embarrassed. “I was buying these to share.”

  “With me?” asked Nat, with a cheeky grin.

  Willow didn’t respond

  Nat scowled. “With Ross?”

  “Demi, actually. Ross hasn’t quite moved in yet.”

  Nat’s upper lip twitched. He grabbed Willow’s basket from her and placed it on the floor. “You won’t need this. I have better chocolate at my place – 85% per cent cocoa.” He seized Willow’s hand and led her out of the shop.

  “What about your petrol?”

  “I didn’t top up today.”

  Evening of Sunday 31 st May – inside a penthouse on the Sea Front

  Willow had to admit that Nat was a fantastic cook. Gourmet goat cheese and rocket quiche – it was like going to a swanky restaurant but with a better view. An elaborate sound system watered them with soft classical music.

  The company was pretty damn good too. Nat had been entertaining, sexy and extraordinarily funny. Willow wondered if perhaps the reason that she felt so messed up about him was that he was too brilliant. Perhaps she liked him too much.

  Eventually, when they had almost finished the chocolate soufflés with strawberry cordial, Nat asked, “Have you given any further thought to my proposition?”

  “Proposition?”

  “Don’t play coy with me. It’s not every day that a multi-millionaire asks a virgin from the sticks to become his number one submissive.”

  “WHAT?”

  Nat grinned back

  “Virgin from
the sticks?”

  “It’s hyperbole.”

  “And number one? How many women have you got on the go?”

  Nat smiled. “I like you, Miss Cassidy. You’re bold. You’re brave. You stand up for yourself.”

  “So, how many are there?”

  “I want you to be my only submissive. If you agree to my terms, you will get me, exclusively.”

  “Right …”

  Nat just stared back, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say. “I assume that’s what you want?”

  Willow remembered her research and the wide range of submissive practices out there. “What is it you want? To spank me?”

  “To start with.”

  “What else?”

  “You’re spoiling the surprise, Miss Cassidy.”

  “I don’t want to be surprised. How can I agree to something, if I don’t know what it involves?”

  Nat frowned. “I tell you what. Why don’t you give me a list of the things you don’t think you want to do? Then we’ll work from there.”

  Anal sex. Fisting. Suspension. Flogging. Public humiliation. Wax-dripping. Strangulation … “I don’t know,” Willow muttered, coyly. What if she told him she didn’t want to be fisted and it turned out that such a thing had never crossed his mind? She’d feel stupid for even thinking it. For not the first time, she wished she were more experienced.

  “Okay, how about the things you do like. Intercourse, you like that.”

  “Yes.” I think so.

  “How about drinking me?”

  It took Willow’s mind a while to register. Oh, that. She’d once been party to a conversation during which her uni friends discussed whether they liked to spit or swallow, most had said they liked to swallow. So it couldn’t be too bad, could it? “That sounds … okay.”

  “You don’t sound too sure. Have you never tried it?”

  “You know I haven’t.”

  “You didn’t have sex with anybody while I was away?”