Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  “Jackie,” I growl a warning, just as I see Kitten step from the elevator. She immediately drops to her knees and starts crawling to our table. I hiss to Jackie, “Be nice.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m always nice. I’m just wondering what your Kitten is doing night after night, working late. Who’s helping her work late.”

  “Jackie,” I warn, seeing Kitten nearing the table. I pat my knee and she climbs into my lap, rubbing her face on my cheek.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She rubs her face on my cheek. Yes. When she is here with me, she is the perfect, obedient slave. When we are at home, she is devoted, loving, voracious. It seems my only complaint is the time we’re apart and, truly, it isn’t even an eight-hour workday. It just seems like forever. Jackie’s comments are unfounded. I glare at her over the top of Kitten’s head and lift my hand to order. “Are you joining us for our evening meal?”

  Jackie twists her lips, looks at Bernard, and sighs. “I suppose we shall, since I haven’t had a chance to share my news.”

  “What news?” I ask, only mildly interested as I stroke Kitten’s hair.

  “You’ll never guess who I saw down at the marina this afternoon.”

  I shrug, sipping my wine, offering Kitten a sip from my mouth.

  “Thomas Stephanopolis is back from his trip. Of course, I didn’t ask him if he had a good time in Africa, I don’t like him that well, but we did exchange pleasantries…”

  I try to ignore the fact that Kitten has gone very still in my lap, but it is obvious, she barely breathes, trying to appear nonchalant as she eavesdrops.

  “…he’s a father again, another girl. Oh, I’m trying to remember her name but it’s slipped my mind. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he sees you. He is still your employee, isn’t he?”

  “He’s my employee as long as he chooses to be my employee.”

  “Sophia!” Jackie exclaims, pounding the table.

  Kitten jumps, flying from my lap to hide on a pillow under the table.

  “That’s Thomas’ daughter’s name. I knew I’d remember.”

  “And why are we discussing my daughter?” Thomas stops tableside and I wonder how I didn’t notice his entrance. Pulling out a chair, he sits.

  Chapter 19

  “To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven.”

  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Kitten

  My reflection stares back at me, tear-streaked, my makeup a ruined disaster. I do not know how long I’ve been standing in front of the mirror in the ladies’ room. Long enough to be too hot, heart pounding, sweat sliding beneath my armpits. Long enough to be too cold, shivering, teeth chattering. I splash my face and succeed only in making myself vomit. Lord Fyre is back.

  He named his daughter Sophia.

  He didn’t even look at me. He spoke with Master, he even exchanged polite pleasantries with Jackie, but for me—sitting on the cushion at Garrett’s feet—nothing. I remember lying in his bed, every muscle on fire, welts screaming, but the greatest pain, a ball of aching need in my heart, was knowing he was leaving. He’d leaned over me and stroked his finger down the length of my face, kissed my lips, and said, “I love you.”

  Pounding the granite sink top, I scream at my reflection, “I do not love you.”

  I pound and scream and scream and scream until Garrett’s men in black enter the ladies’ room and drag me out, carrying me kicking and screaming to the isolation sphere. I don’t care; I could even say that knowing I am going to the isolation sphere is a relief, even though their intent is to punish me. Inside I laugh, knowing relief is close at hand; physically, I kick and scream and bite, even beg not to go in. I play the game, wondering who’s keeping score, who’s winning.

  Stripped, shackled spread-eagle, ball-gagged, I hang inside the surreal mirrored ball, on display, but I see only myself. Here, like this, I cannot hide who I am, what I am. Here, I’m all right. Here, I’m at peace.

  The first time I ever saw Lord Fyre I was here, confined in this sphere. The internal lights had dimmed and he had been standing there, looking at me though he was dripping liquid wax on another. His voice entered my head, taunting me with dark dreams that I had thought were confined to my headspace, but no, somehow he shared the same dark thoughts.

  Tonight, the internal lights stay on for the entire length of my descent and the returning ascension, back to the members-only Oasis, back to Master. I cannot see who is watching me tonight. I cannot hear them. I truly am in my own space, my thoughts my only companion and tonight I do not want to hear the voices in my head. I do not want to think about Lord Fyre. I do not want to think about Master. I refuse to think about Lion or my father.

  I focus on my irises, reflected in the curved walls of the sphere. The individual flakes of blue, green, and all the shades in between that define the color of my eyes. It is entertainment enough to see me through this madcap ride to hell and back. I do not think about what they want me to think about and so, in this small way, I rebel. Someday, Master, Lord Fyre, all of those who would taunt me with promises of darkness when Master’s back is turned, someday, they will all figure it out. I submit willingly because I want to and when I choose to not submit, as now, there is no force great enough to make it so, even though I am here in this sphere because they want to see my reaction.

  The crowd wants to see me cry. They are to be disappointed. I will not cry, scream, react. Kitten is not tonight’s entertainment. Tonight, the sphere is for me, for my sanity.

  Ascension complete, I await the opening of the sphere doors, waiting to see which man claims me, but the doors do not open immediately. It takes me a moment to remember that the last time I was confined like this, the doors did not open when the sphere was back in place. It took a while and so I wait patiently. I wait what I think amounts to a half hour and then I wait longer. An hour? Two? Relaxed, I find it doesn’t matter. Who is in charge of my punishment? Master? The men in black? Does it matter? Inhale, exhale, refusing to panic, refusing to give in to the fears that scream to be heard in the back of my head. I know I have not been forgotten. I know that I am not alone. I know I am not dead and confined to this purgatory for the remainder of eternity. I can calmly outwait them because they have not even begun to come close to what I can endure. Lord Fyre was kind enough to teach me that lesson in the cat cage where hours became days.

  Inhale, exhale. Calm. No thoughts. Ignore the burning muscles. Relax.

  I don’t want to think about Lord Fyre, but I do. I wanted to rush to him the moment I saw him. I stayed on my pillow, being an obedient Kitten, until it was too late, the moment passed. Lord Fyre walked away. I didn’t realize that I was holding my breath until Garrett leaned down and whispered into my ear, “It will get easier with time Kitten, just remember to breathe while you’re waiting for it to stop hurting.”

  I laid my head in his lap, trying to hide my tears, but he wouldn’t let me hide and it was too much knowing that I’d hurt him, I’d hurt me, I’d hurt us. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m a big boy, Kitten. I love you, I know that you love me. We’re going to survive this.”

  I ran away, hiding in the bathroom because I don’t know any possible way to survive what I’m feeling. I love Garrett. I love Thomas.

  Clink. Hiss. Thud.

  A new sound brings my awareness back, but time has ceased to have meaning. I do not know if I have been here hours or days. I have descended and ascended three times that I have been able to keep track of. The second descent, the interior lights went out so that I could see the taunting crowd. I let my vision blur and breathed through the moment. I do not care who sees me this way. I am who I am. I have nothing to hide from anyone. The third descent, both Doctor Psycho and Mistress Morgana were voices in my head, but the words had no meaning, neither are my Master, their words were just words, they could have been talking to anyone. I did not hear their words as sentences meant to have personal meaning to me.

  Cl
ink. Hiss. Thud

  The sound comes again, but the sphere doesn’t move and just when I begin to get intrigued, I have my answer. A hard spray of water blasts me in the center of the chest, icy cold water with the force of a fireman’s hose. Holy fuck.

  Water splashes into my face and, for the first time, panic rises, water in my nose, ball-gag in my mouth. I don’t scream, aside from the initial shriek of surprise. My heart pounds on the inside, meeting the force of the water pounding on the outside, and primal fear races through my veins. I want to run but, shackled, I can’t move. They—I assume now that it is the men in black who are in charge—have my attention now. Too much water, I really can’t breathe. Tipping my head back, I look at the ceiling, the water hits my middle, hurting, freezing water but with the water not hitting my face I can breathe. I can focus, seeing in the reflected ceiling that water swirls around my feet and ankles. The sphere is filling. Great. Just great.

  I didn’t tell Master about the shark cage.

  He did see my reaction once to cold water in the shower though. He forced a breakdown without meaning to and I’d revealed all my secrets. The next day he’d thrown me out and I’d done everything in my power to get him back. Is he trying to make me remember that? Just how badly I’d wanted him back?

  Icy water climbs and swirls, teasing up my legs. I wonder when the blast will stop. The pulse against my chest is painful but is all but forgotten when a second jet blast aimed between my legs takes me by surprise. Intense, cold water hits my clit and, for a second, it is pain but then the pain becomes an immediate spiral of orgasm. I scream, unable to bear the intensity of my orgasm, but even when the wave of pleasure crests and plummets, a fresh, more intense wave of orgasm is there to lift me back up. I forget about the rising water and focus on the force between my legs, holding me in a wild, spiraling ride of pleasure and pain. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!”

  Two days have passed since the night spent in the isolation sphere. Two days and Garrett hasn’t mentioned it at all. I haven’t seen Lord Fyre since leaving the sphere. When I was released by the men in black and taken to Garrett’s table, I saw that he’d stood nearby, discreetly, shadowed, but near. Garrett sat at the table, involved in conversation with Jackie, I was deposited onto a cushion and given a bowl of water and a towel by one of Garrett’s men. While Garrett ignored me, my eyes held those of Lord Fyre. In Garrett’s attempt, or at least what I saw as his attempt, to weaken my spirit, I grew stronger, knowing that Lord Fyre was there to hold me up…even though we didn’t speak, even though none but I probably even noted his presence, he was there for me.

  Today I have been allowed to return to work.

  Normally my office is such a serene place, calm ocean colors, a trickling water fountain, and on most days I have soft new age or Baroque music playing softly. Today, my office is not calm or perhaps it is just my mind that is not calm. I stare at my screen saver, pink and yellow water lilies on a teal background, floating across the screen and long to throw it through the huge glass window behind my desk.

  My office is so completely feminine when compared to Garrett’s very masculine penthouse, at least that’s what I told myself. Did Garrett notice that my office could be an extension of Lord Fyre’s bedroom? I honestly didn’t realize. I didn’t even think about it when I was selecting shades of turquoise for the walls, one so light it could almost be white, a mid range, and a very deep shade for the window wall behind my chair. After seeing Lord Fyre at the club, everything came back, and I dreamed his bedroom in my sleep, I dreamed my last night with him. Then, I walked into my office this morning and staggered. If Master noticed, he didn’t say a word.

  I need to talk to someone about what I’m feeling, but it can’t be Master.

  But who, then?

  Charlie? He is truly my only other friend since Jackie still hates me for going to Lord Fyre in the first place, even the birthday surprise masquerade didn’t make any amends. What would I say? That when I see Lord Fyre, my heart stands still, I can’t breathe, that every look, every touch becomes electric? It isn’t that I love Garrett less, only differently. Garrett is my peace, my serenity, the place where my heart feels most at home. Why would I even think to tempt fate a second time?

  I can’t call him. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!

  No! No! No! I love Garrett. I can’t even consider the thought.

  I’m not impulsive, okay, I’m rarely impulsive, so I find myself surprised, though not really, that I am driving down the freeway toward the beach house. Yes, Lord Fyre’s beach house. I’m a fool. I haven’t seen the place since I left there months ago, and I return now to clear my head. That’s what I tell myself.

  Master is at the Club. It is Thursday, he left early, will stay late. Our life together has become so regimented, so routine. Normally, the limo takes me to the club at midnight on the nights I work and then I stay with Master until close. It is only five, that gives me seven hours. An hour’s drive there, an hour’s drive back, I have the time. Why am I so nervous? Driving up Sea Cliff Road, I see the house and stop in the middle of the road, stunned. For a moment, I am not sure it is the right house, it seems huge. It didn’t seem huge when I was there. Then I see him. Oh God, I didn’t plan for this. He knows Garrett’s car. What if he sees me?

  He doesn’t, or I assume he doesn’t, because he gets into his car and pulls away. What now? I pound my head on the steering wheel for all of two seconds trying to answer that question. Deciding, damn it, I came for closure and I’m going to get it—one way or another. So, not impulsively, but practically, I follow him, not trying for discreet, just intent on not losing him in rush-hour traffic. Luckily, he takes side streets, ending up at a secluded community park. I wouldn’t have ever known of its existence if I hadn’t followed him. Pulling into the parking lot, I am certain he sees me. He actually nods but doesn’t come over to the car. Instead, he joins a dozen men in the middle of the soccer field.

  Instinctively, I know he would not appreciate it if I followed him onto the field and insisted on talking. I need so much more than talking. I need to go! Now!

  Too clichéd, but really, wild horses could not drag me away, not with him so close. Seeing him, I want to touch him. I want to fall to his feet and lick his boots, although today it would be cleats. I don’t care, I would kiss them, lick them, shine then with my saliva if he wanted. That is why I am here, not to hurt Garrett, but because I ache inside with a longing that cannot be described. I ache, physically, painfully, needing him, needing his attention in only the way he gives it. I hunger for this man, as deeply as I hungered for Garrett when I stalked him, when I was obsessed with him, but somehow this is even greater than then.

  Garrett put the question to me that perhaps it was being topped, perhaps anyone who topped me would ignite this kind of visceral response. I argued that Dr. Psycho topped me, Morgana topped me; and that was true, mentally they had both topped me in the past. I do not think this has to do with my reaction to being physically topped, and if it does, so what? It doesn’t change the fact of what I’m feeling.

  I love Garrett and I need the kind of attention he gives me. I am his pampered pet. I don’t want to lose him over my wanton desires, but I can’t be in as close proximity to Lord Fyre and not seek him out. It is irrational, I know. When he was in Cairo, I missed him, but I could breathe. Knowing he is here…miles away, a room away, it makes no difference because I can’t think or function for the longing inside me to go to him.

  Only God should be longed for so intensely, not a man.

  I smile, watching him, longing for him with a very unholy nature. He kicks the ball in an odd swaggering shuffle, controlling it for a long run before another steals it away. Athletic, toned, he moves gracefully; of course I’ve seen his muscles, felt the strength in his arms and legs, but never gave any thought to what having such a hard, defined exterior might be good for. This is it. His white silk shirt, with horizontal stripes of green and yellow, hug against
his chest as he runs, kicks; likewise, his white shorts ride up and cling, muscles bunching as he runs. He is glorious to watch. So glorious, even his knee-high yellow socks are sexy.

  I sit in the car watching him, knowing he knows I am here, but he doesn’t even look my way. I’m not going to get all paranoid. I could, very easily, but not yet. If play ends and he gets in his car without a single word, yeah, then I’m going to be freaked. But I don’t think that is going to happen. Last night, at the club, we shared a moment. He looked, I looked, and without saying a word, his look said it all, I miss you, too.

  I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t.

  I close my eyes for a second and when I open them again the windshield is covered with a fine mist. I squint, as if it will make seeing the men on the field easier. If I turn on my windshield wipers, will he notice? Will everyone on the field notice? I leave them off, squinting as I try to watch the game. I know nothing about soccer. It dawns on me that I don’t even know what the object of the game is. However, on quick assessment, it seems the object is to get the cute black and white ball into the big nets at either end of the field, guarded by a big guy from the other team intent on not letting the ball get into the net. So when Lord Fyre sets up the ball to kick it into the net, I hold my breath, waiting, hoping, and cheer enthusiastically when he scores. He is suddenly a hero, tackled by his teammates and hugged, ass slapped. God, watching him play makes me so happy. I can only imagine the elation he must feel being in the middle of it.

  A sudden downpour, in my mind, means the game will stop. They don’t stop playing. Come on, give me a break already. You’ve been playing two hours. Granted, the view has been nice, lots of eye candy on both sides, but I want to talk to Lord Fyre and I want to talk to him now!

  Rain, they keep playing.

  Torrential rain turning the soccer field into a huge mud pit, they keep playing.

  I have decided that Lord Fyre and his friends are insane! The only difference the rain has made is their play has turned rougher, the rain, slick grass, and resulting mud making soccer a dangerous sport. So far two bloody noses, one each side, an injured knee, not Lord Fyre but one of his teammates, and a wicked pileup that should have been photographed for the impending liability suit when all eight guys wake up in the morning unable to move.