by Roxy Harte
I’m trying—really.
His kiss fills my mouth and I go limp and soft in his arms, forgetting altogether that I am supposed to be doing anything except kissing him. When he releases me moments later, I am breathing normally.
“What in the hell was that?” he demands.
“I hyperventilated.”
“I know that, the question is why?”
“It’s hard to… When I was in Paris and—Liam…” A quick reel plays in my mind, from the wedding that almost was, to the torture that almost destroyed me, to Henri’s command for me to come here. “What we used to share. I don’t think I can do any of that again.”
“Sh-h, all you need to know is that you are safe with me.”
But are you safe with me? I want to scream but I only succeed in closing my eyes and allowing myself to be pulled into his rock-hard chest.
A long hug, followed by a quick kiss on the top of my head. “It’s late. At least ten. I have to work. Sleep while you can, I’ll be back.”
He leaves without even attempting to top me, or make love to me for that matter. I should be thankful, but I am strangely disappointed. I force myself into work mode and manage to get my thoughts to organize. First I have to find a phone, check in with Henri, and then… I open my eyes, not even wanting to plan the next step. Yes, eyes wide open. That’s what this moment requires. No dreams, no deliriums, not even the luxury of a fantasy that would lead to any hope of my life being any other than it is. I am no longer the innocent who fell in love with a Master, pretending we have forever.
An hour later I was still searching the small room for my things. No hiding places, just a bare room, I thought. But then I started finding the secret cubbies built into the walls, almost indistinguishable…unless you were looking, and even looking, impossible to spot, unless you were trained. Thus, finding my cell phone proved harder than making the phone call, but strangely, calling Henri didn’t prove hard at all.
“Well, well,” Henri says. “Not MIA after all. I was beginning to get worried, but not so worried that I was willing to send a team in looking for you.”
Static fills the line, a white noise that I could almost believe was voices, but no time for delusions. “Henri? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Yes, I’m in place.”
“Good. Wait for further instructions.” Click.
My mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. I struggle to breathe. Wait? What do you mean wait? I close my flip phone and stare at it, my mouth still opening and closing when Thomas comes through the door. He sees the phone in my hands and in his eyes I see a moment’s hesitancy, a quick calculation before it is shuttered away behind benign disinterest, as if nothing unusual had happened, as if I hadn’t spent an hour searching his room and finding his things, my things and this phone, which I’ve obviously used to make a call. I fight not to fidget, I force on my Agency-issued smile.
“Good. You’re awake.” He crosses the room to the disguised cubby, presses a hidden lever and reveals the dress and shoes I arrived in. “Get dressed.”
“How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don’t ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.”
Charles Dickens, The Mystery of Edwin Drood
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thomas
She returned to me, appearing when I least expected her to arrive. I’d thought I’d lost her forever. With her return, I realize she is more fragile than I ever would have believed. She begged me to fix her, but how am I supposed to do that? I went down to the club, planning to let her sleep the night away, knowing the club is going to be too much for her, but I don’t know where else to take her. Seeing her curled in fetal position, I thought her mind might have completely snapped under King Cobra, making me realize I had only two choices—shock her back or baby her back, and I admit, I’ve babied her, just a little, and was thrilled when she smiled.
Once her smile was a million-watt smile…now, a mere shadow of what once was. I admit, I went to Paris as much to find Eva as to find my brother. Selfishly, I wanted the woman I once knew to return to me. Whether I ever had a chance of regaining her love, her loyalty, is a huge debate. The fact of the matter is, she wasn’t calling her mother, she was calling Henri, but for what purpose?
The answer to that question will reveal itself. In the meantime, it’s time for her to meet the family.
After two days in a totally black room with limited sensory stimulation, The Oasis, home to our Members Only set, is a mind-blowing overload and Eva reacts just as I expect her to, withdrawing into herself, taking it all in. Opulence in every corner of the Victorian-themed room, exquisite wood details, soft lighting, gold cages displaying naughty beauties in an array of bound, forced poses, large dining tables and small, private dining tables, both with elegant floor pillows for slaves to recline upon. I explained the basics—feline and canine personas and all the exotic etceteras.
Garrett is the first to join us, not saying “hello” or even “nice to meet you”, but rather, “You seem to be a bit overdressed. Perhaps you’d like some help removing your clothes?”
I allowed Eva to break the rules and he feels it necessary to enforce them himself personally, when he could just as easily have sent security…just as I thought he might. Eva isn’t amused. I watch her jaw tighten in response to his insistence. “You need to remove your clothing now, or be escorted to one of the lower levels or leave, that choice will be yours.”
She swallows hard, not answering, her eyes focused on the top of the table, refusing to look at him…not willing to look at me.
“Why are you here, Eva?” Garrett asks again, phrased a bit more gently than the first time. “I was told you consider Lord Fyre your Master, and yet look at the disrespect you show him, sitting at this table as his equal and clothed. If you truly belonged to him, you would be naked and sitting on the pillow at his feet. So why have you chosen to humiliate him in front of our guests? You do realize what an important man he is here?”
I watch her closely through Garrett’s tirade. Her eyes drift closed and she nods, almost imperceptibly, but she does nod.
“So are you here to reclaim your rights as your Master’s submissive?”
No nod, no reaction whatsoever.
“If you do not seek your Master, what could have possibly brought you here tonight?”
I sit in silence, still, blending into the chair as he takes her face into his hands, turning her to face him, forcing her to look at him, whispering, “Tell me what you want.”
I see her flinch as, I’m most certain, did Garrett.
“Are you afraid?” he asks suddenly, not waiting for her to answer, and a tear pools and rolls down her cheek. Garrett doesn’t allow her the dignity of wiping it away, still cupping her face, granting her comfort in the midst of a very uncomfortable moment.
“I didn’t used to be,” she answers softly. “Nothing scared me.”
“What happened to make you afraid? Who do you fear?”
“Gar…” I start to interrupt, but Eva’s response stops me cold.
“Me,” she answers clearly. “I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of the anger inside of me, but most of all I’m afraid of the emptiness.”
I’m not sure either of us knows what to say. It isn’t clear whether she’s going to say more and so we both watch her as she watches the crowd. At Lewd Larry’s, fetish fantasy takes on a whole new meaning as couples not only assume the roles of Master and slave, but the slaves also take on the roles of pampered pets. Cats and dogs mostly, though the personalities and costumes are what make it interesting, addictively so. I remember my reaction the first time—soft, classical music, pink walls, pink lighting, velvet, cherry wood, naked bodies. Dominants sitting in groups—eating, drinking, smoking the finest Cuban cigars—their submissives reclined naked, or mostly naked, on sumptuous tapestry a
nd velvet floor pillows.
“This is all so—pretend—but it’s also so very real. I’ve been to other places like this one, in Europe, but none of them compare, none of them make the fantasy real. I could be happy here.” Her eyes travel to a whipping post—solid teak and brass, it is an implement of exquisite beauty and a place of sublime torture for the one chained there. Our eyes follow hers, seeing what she sees, and it is as if I am seeing it for the first time in many years. The whip snapping through the air, the welt left on the nameless back, the grunt of pain. Only very experienced Masters and their subs are allowed this pleasure. Her voice breaks into our thoughts. “What makes it pleasure? What makes it torture? And if torture, how can it possibly be pleasurable?”
I have told Garrett about what happened to Eva in Paris. I am not surprised that he does not give her a quick answer. Instead, he demands, “Take off your clothes.”
She looks at him as if he has lost his mind and I see then that her fists are closed so tightly her fingers have turned white. She is afraid, proven further when she lifts a glass of water to her lips and hides behind tiny sips. Another snap of the bullwhip and she sloshes a little water over the rim when she jumps. Her quick glance to the whipping post tells me that she is close to interfering with their fun. Did her ordeal with Liam make her forget that she too used to believe that play that left her black and blue, welted, was also fun?
In my mind, I see her as she once was, kneeling, her arms raised high above her head, corset cinching her waist so tight she could barely breathe, but a fiery determination in her eyes, fighting me but begging me to top her. I kissed her, hard, pinching her cheeks between my fingers to force her mouth open, my tongue filling her, possessing her mouth. Releasing her mouth, I stepped back, holding a heavy leather collar in her line of vision, black leather, pointy steel spikes. Dropping her head, she offered her neck in submission. There has never been a more beautiful sight than the pale luminous glow of her skin, reflecting the soft flicker of candlelight as I attached the collar around her neck, her shoulders trembling beneath my touch. I want her that way again, and I know in my heart, I can settle for no less.
I am only a little surprised when she remains sitting, fully clothed. Garrett’s gaze meets mine and a tilt of his head asks me what I want him to do. She has called his bluff, giving him no recourse but to have her escorted out. I turn to her, and seeing the agony of indecision in her eyes rips out my heart. “You asked me to fix you. Your words not mine.”
“Yes.”
“Do you still want me to fix you?”
“Yes.”
“You can start by answering, ‘Yes, Master.’”
She remains frostily silent, engaging a staring match of wills.
“Do you fear me?”
“No, of c-course not!” she sputters, finally setting the glass down. “I-I don’t fear anyone.”
“Maybe you should start.” I let her look away, giving her a moment to collect herself before I give Garrett the green light. He nudges me beneath the table and I look in the direction his gaze travels. Kitten. Eva doesn’t know about her yet. I suppose I felt it was difficult enough for her learning that I have a family. I really don’t think she’d have come back if she learned that I have not one but two committed lovers.
The Eva I know from the past isn’t likely to understand that the three of us share a very open polyamorous relationship. Everyone in San Francisco, not just the club, is aware of our highly publicized romance, thanks to Kitten. Since she took over Inappropriate Voices as chief writer and editor and renamed it The Darkness, poly-relationships are a primary focus, our poly-relationship getting more than its fair share of coverage, the Bay Area alternative community privy to the intimate details of how our poly works and why the dynamic we’ve created works so well.
So everyone in the room knows that Garrett, Kitten and I share—equally. I am Kitten’s co-primary, Garrett, her other co-primary. Garrett and I look at each other and Kitten, as primary. We’ve made room in our relationship for secondary partners, but approval is required by our counterparts—if the relationship is anything more than a one-night stand. Kitten’s rule. I agreed to it, never expecting my compliance to come back and bite me in the ass now that I want to add Eva as a partner, and I see her not as a secondary as I should, but something more.
Kitten will be jealous, though she was accepting of Latisha in the same role and I hope will be accepting of Eva. It all depends on how Eva reacts. She is the wild card.
I know she saw Kitten with me. The night of her return I was staging a wax and fire scene with her.
Kitten has been anxious to meet this new woman. I have cautioned her that timing is everything, but now that I have brought Eva into The Oasis, Kitten’s intent is obvious on her face. If ever there was a troublemaker at The Oasis, Kitten wins hands down, a showstopper, her place is in the spotlight. Worse, she had lessons from the greatest Diva San Francisco has ever produced, Jackie.
Kitten plays pouty, possessive and can be an extreme pain in the ass, but she is also kindling to my flame, giving more to me than any other submissive in my life ever has, including Latisha and Eva. The difference is her honesty. She doesn’t play games. For her, this, the life we have created together and at the club, is real life, not fantasy. Everything beyond our realm requires a mask to make her acceptable in the eyes of others. I won’t lie, when Eva asks, I will tell her the truth, no matter how much it hurts her. I love Kitten, I love Garrett.
Kitten’s approach silences the room, her eyes are fixed on me, those in the room have their eyes fixed on us. I shake my head, seeing that causing trouble is her agenda. She nods, yes, meaning so many things, but mainly possession. It is time to let her competition know of her existence. I can fathom no reason not to grant her request, although as she licks her lips and makes the same eye contact and nod to Garrett, I realize just how big and ugly this may get, with Eva, newly arrived, manipulated into a staged drama, unaware that it is happening.
Garrett lifts a brow as if to ask, do I stop her?
No. I shake my head. It will prove interesting to see how Eva reacts to Kitten, especially in her favorite role, that of prized Siamese cat. She is making tonight even more special, more dramatic, by arriving in full body paint. Naked, glittered and painted in white and brown metallic paint, she is exotic and animalian, even more breathtaking than when she is onstage. Her brands make it no longer necessary to wear our collars. It was getting inconvenient, taking off Garrett’s, putting on mine, each of us refusing to top her if she was wearing the other’s collar. The brands were her idea—excruciatingly painful to receive, but as Garrett and I held her in our arms pre, during and post-branding ceremony, none of us doubted her commitment to us both—enabling us to top her separately, together and most times simultaneously when it is at the Club. Nights we share, not always equally, her going with him or me, sometimes the three of us in a pile together at one of three possible houses, two now that the house I shared with Latisha has sold.
Kneeling before me, Kitten licks my hand. A quick glance confirms Eva is not impressed, but she is enthralled. I absently run my fingers through Kitten’s curls, petting her head. “Did you miss me, pet?”
“Meow, meow,” she answers yes, rubbing her face on my thigh.
Eva raises her brow, managing to catch my eye. I don’t take my eyes from Eva’s and I don’t stop stroking Kitten, even as she spreads herself enticingly over a floor pillow, my fingers don’t leave her hair. I imagine she looks like the cat that swallowed the canary as I lengthen my stroke, pulling long curls through my fingers. Massaging her scalp, I pull a soft moan from her lips, and through it all, I don’t take my eyes from Eva. Garrett’s soft chuckle tells me that he at least is enjoying the show.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Morgana asks, approaching the table. We must be making a spectacle if Morgana has joined the party. She detests Kitten.
Fortunately, the salads arrive and I realize it is now or never, both Kitten and Garrett
want this scene to happen, and they’re right. It is time for Eva to face the truth of all that a relationship entails and accept it or leave. I let her take a mouthful of salad before I drop my verbal grenade. “Eva, this is my pet—Kitten.”
I turn my attention to the woman on her knees at my feet and see pride in her face, love in her eyes. Leaning forward, I press my lips to the top of her head before turning my attention back to Eva, but it is Garrett to whom I speak. “Long ago, Eva was very conflicted by the lifestyle I introduced her to. She submitted, but she was always conflicted. It wasn’t enough that, intellectually, she grasped that it was the intent between the players that decided if it was pleasure or torture. Emotionally, that pleasure destroyed her.” She stares at me stonily and I don’t see it as a good sign. “Now she has been honestly tortured, but still found pleasure…at least until the pain grew too great.”
“So the pleasure, not the pain, made you a victim?” Garrett questions.
Shrugging noncommittally, Eva drops her eyes and resumes picking at her salad, doing a fair job of ignoring the two Doms at the table and the purring submissive at her feet. Kitten is not one to be ignored, even if Garrett and I are willing to give Eva space to collect her thoughts. She climbs onto Garrett’s lap and kisses him fully on the mouth, tongue obvious, before climbing over and onto Eva’s lap. Eva gasps, dropping her fork, not seeing the woman until she was in her lap. Kitten leans in toward Eva’s face, Eva pulls back. They are eye to eye and nose to nose, but not touching. Kitten sniffs short, fast sniffs over Eva’s face, circling her face with her nose. I know the sensation well. It is one of Kitten’s favorite ways to greet, being both highly disturbing and sensually overwhelming to the one being sniffed. She leaps from Eva’s lap to my lap in a smooth motion born of much practice, leaving a paint and glitter trail over Eva’s clothing.
“Kitten once had the same issues,” Garrett continues, as though the woman isn’t here. “She understands both sides of herself now, the light and the dark, the naughty…and the nice.”