Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow at nine.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Would you like to see the twins?”

  “Only if I can avoid seeing their mother.”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Okay. Did you name them yet?”

  “Kenneth and Nicholas.”

  There was a long pause. “You remembered,” Sloan said softly.

  “I remember everything about you.”

  “Oh, Cole… how in hell did things get so complicated?”

  “My fault entirely.”

  “Nah… it takes two to fuck up.”

  “Can we fix this, Sloan?”

  “You mean get back together?”

  “Is there any chance?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You love this new guy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Sloan, tell me you didn’t confess.”

  “I don’t want to discuss Trent,” Sloan said, raising his voice. “What part of that don’t you understand?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “When do want me to see the boys?”

  “Anytime you want.”

  “Are there visiting hours we need to worry about?”

  “Not if you’re the father.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You could be.”

  “Let’s not get on this fucking roller coaster again, alright? Drop it or I’m hanging up.”

  “Forgotten,” I said firmly. “Meet me at the hospital around five.”

  “What hospital?”

  I gave him directions and hung up after a cordial goodbye. I was relieved that Sloan was still willing to come out and see the twins, despite that small display of hostility. It only proved that I shouldn’t reveal my hand too soon. Letting things unfold naturally would kill me, but in the end it would be wiser. If there was one thing I’d learned over the years, it was that Sloan was difficult, if not impossible, to control. He’d always been his own person, even at his most insecure, and didn’t take too kindly to being ordered around. Whatever he’d done for me in the past had been out of love, not duty. I’d have to rein in my impatience and my need to orchestrate every situation if I wanted any kind of future with Sloan. Of that I was certain.

  Chapter 8

  I HEARD the rattling of the keys through a sleepy haze seconds before Trent walked through the door. After my phone call with Cole, I’d rushed over to my master’s apartment in the Village, deliberately going against his orders. Waiting for his decision on my punishment wasn’t my style. I much preferred to get this part out of the way and try and recapture the feelings Trent had for me when he’d asked for a collaring. I knew I’d absolutely blown it by sleeping with Cole. My only excuse was that my ex still managed to touch my heart, despite everything that had occurred. Somehow, I’d have to make Trent understand that it didn’t and shouldn’t affect what we shared.

  I’d fallen asleep after finding myself alone in the apartment, and being caught in Trent’s bed made me feel like Goldilocks being confronted by a family of angry bears. Trent’s sharp query shocked me into wakefulness.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to contact me?”

  “I’m sorry… I couldn’t stay away. I have to know where I stand.”

  “On very thin ice,” Trent snapped. “Get up.”

  I slid off the bed and stood in stocking feet in front of Trent, bowing my head in submission.

  “This is twice that you’ve demonstrated you’re not capable of being the kind of submissive who deserves to be collared. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on the first infraction. You were obviously carried away by feelings of sadness, and seeing Cole in such a vulnerable state must have been difficult. I’m not saying it was right, but a part of me understands. Showing up unannounced, however, is not acceptable. You don’t call the shots, Sloan. Not if you want to be my submissive.”

  “Please forgive me.”

  “Everything we do has repercussions. Letting impulses rule your life has been your way since the day I met you. You play at being my submissive when in fact you have no clue what it really involves. Forgiveness is earned in my world. You’re back to square one and need to demonstrate that you want this lifestyle and a relationship with me.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “Think well on your request. Being with me doesn’t just involve sex. I can find sexual partners anywhere, and so can you. I’m talking about handing over the power in this relationship. There cannot be two masters.”

  “What will it take to convince you that my motives are sincere and I want to be your boy?”

  “Patience, trust, and blind obedience,” Trent said sternly. “In the nine months we’ve been together, have I ever asked you to do anything that went against your principles?”

  “Never.”

  “The truth is you’ve never used your safe word, Sloan. Doesn’t that prove I know what’s best for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now it’s your turn to convince me you’re worth all this trouble.”

  “I will do anything to make you see me in a better light.”

  “Even being a slave?”

  I lifted my eyes. My warm and sexy Highlander, the easygoing man I’d come to care for over the last many months, had disappeared, and in his place was a frigid stranger―someone fiercely determined to assert his control. I wondered if we would ever be able to recapture the warm and fuzzy feelings. “What does it mean to be your slave?”

  “For one thing, you don’t ask questions. If I tell you to jump, you do. If I forbid you to come, you don’t. When I ask you to lick my boots or kiss my ass, you happily obey.”

  I sucked in a shocked breath. “That’s what you want?”

  “Not on a permanent basis, but you need to learn some humility, boy.”

  “I can grovel with the best of them.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Trent challenged. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision. You are under no obligation, so don’t feel you owe me anything. What I’m asking of you must be completely consensual, or it’s not going to happen. Leave your key on the table by the door if you decide not to do this. There will be no hard feelings on my part, but whatever we have will end tonight. However, if you choose to stay, it’s with the understanding that you stay on my terms.”

  “How long am I expected to be your slave?”

  “As long as it takes to convince me you’re sincere about wanting this to work.”

  Trent must have sensed my alarm and said, “Don’t look so horrified. I won’t be asking you to do anything that will hurt you.”

  “What about work?”

  “What about it? Life goes on, Sloan. You’re not going to be walking around with a ball and chain around your ankle. Whatever I demand will be within the confines of our respective apartments.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t send you off to work without a cage around your cock or a vibrating butt plug rammed up your ass. You will do and wear anything I ask.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Trent lifted his eyebrows at my reaction, but he walked out of the bedroom without another word.

  I slumped down on the floor with a sigh. So much for honesty… if I’d said nothing about my encounter with Cole, I’d never be facing such a momentous decision. And it was huge, to my mind. Maybe Trent was right, and I was merely dabbling in BDSM because the sex was out of this world. The few times I’d needed to be cut had been intense and the high so very, very high. I would have stripped naked and crawled around Times Square barking like a dog if Trent had asked me to do it.

  But this wasn’t a game to Trent, and I was finally beginning to realize what I was getting myself into.

/>   It had been easy in the beginning of our relationship. Being compliant when we first hooked up was a no-brainer because I’d been in the throes of despair over my breakup with Cole. Trent offered comfort, hot sex, and an ego boost that couldn’t be bought in any psychiatrist’s chair. His acceptance of my cutting had been another plus, and the rush I’d felt the first time Trent had guided me into subspace was worth its weight in gold. But Trent had just reminded me that this wasn’t all about sex. It was about power, and handing it over without question wasn’t something that came naturally to me, contrary to what I’d been led to believe. Trent and Max both convinced me I was submissive by nature, and yet, the more I learned about myself, the more I realized that I submitted to the strong men in my life because it was my choice, not because I automatically fell into the mindset. It was a conscious thing I did to please them. Did that make me an imposter? Was I a Dom in a sub’s disguise? There was really only one way to find out.

  I began stripping off my clothes. Long ago, when Max had introduced me to the world of BDSM, he’d mentioned that the reason subs were usually naked while their masters were fully clothed was to establish that they had little or no power. Prisoners of war were routinely stripped before an interrogation. It put one in a vulnerable state, and the chasm between Dominant and submissive was never more apparent when viewed in terms of clothing. The classic black leather favored by most masters was a throwback to the days of the cave men when people wore skins as a sign of their prowess as hunters. Now it simply evoked power. There was a reason behind most of the rituals common in the scene. They were necessary tools to get people in the right mindset.

  I walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Trent was standing beside the sink, drinking something out of a cup. He put it down slowly when he saw that I was naked. I knelt in front of him. “Please, let me stay. I will be whatever you want me to be.”

  The bulge in Trent’s pants was an obvious reaction to my humility. “Are you 100 percent sure?”

  “I am.”

  “You do this freely and give full consent?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you remember your safe word?”

  “It’s Queen.”

  “You give me your word that you will use it as soon as you deem it necessary? You won’t hold back or try and act like a martyr because you feel you have to atone for any transgressions?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Thank you, Sloan. You’ve made me very happy.”

  “Would you like me to make you even happier?” I asked, burying my face against the outline of his cock.

  “Go ahead,” he said, “but don’t touch yourself. You’re not allowed to come.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I released his cock from the tight confines of his pants and slid it down my throat expertly. I gave my master the perfect blowjob, ignoring my massive erection in compliance with Trent’s order not to come. It wasn’t easy, but I resisted. By the time Trent unloaded down my throat, I was shaking from the effort of controlling my need to tug at myself and come all over the floor. Moments after, my phone rang. It was the ring tone identifying Cole. Trent turned hostile and shoved me away, glaring as we listened to the sappy lyrics.

  “If you don’t delete that ring tone, I will take a hammer to your phone.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do it right now.”

  “Stay.”

  I sank back down on my knees and cringed when the phone rang again. “He’s calling because I promised I’d go and see the twins.”

  “I forbid you.”

  “But….”

  “If you pick up the phone, it’s over.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Get up, turn that damn thing off, and get a cock cage out of the bureau in my bedroom.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t care. Make sure it’s something you’ve used before so it fits.”

  “How long am I going to wear it?”

  “Until I decide to take it off.”

  My boner wilted after that statement. I left the kitchen reluctantly and went back to the bedroom. The bureau Trent used to store his sex paraphernalia stood against one wall, and I rooted around for the hated chastity device. After choosing the most harmless cage amongst the bunch, I dragged myself back to the kitchen and handed it over to Trent, who was sitting on a stool.

  He manhandled my flaccid cock dispassionately and stuffed me into the black rubber coated metal cage, locking it in place and pocketing the key. “There you go,” he said, satisfied with his handiwork. “Safe and secure.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Behave and I may let you take it off tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” I squeaked in alarm. “What if I have to pee?”

  “Tell me and I’ll remove it.”

  “That’s inhuman,” I sputtered.

  “Are you questioning me?”

  “No, sir,” I said, backpedaling furiously.

  “Get dinner started. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Dinner? What shall I make?”

  “Nothing Japanese.”

  Chapter 9

  ALTHOUGH FULLY stocked, Trent’s refrigerator didn’t inspire me in the least. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t a cook to begin with, but standing naked with a chastity device guarding my virtue, or lack thereof, was a buzzkill. Clearly this humiliation was part of my punishment, and I was to be on display and subject to Trent’s iron rule until he was ready to forgive me. At the moment he was royally pissed off, and who could blame him? It was amazing he’d even let me touch his cock, considering I was soiled from my recent encounter with Cole.

  In hindsight I wished I’d followed Max’s advice and said nothing. Did I confess because it was the right thing to do, or was it some Freudian slip, hoping Trent would break it off with me so I could go back to Cole? Was that the true motive behind the now infamous incident, or was it really an impulsive act? I’d never expected a resurgence of old feelings, but there was an emotional connection between Cole and me that was puzzling and downright disturbing if I analyzed it. I’d hoped the link had been severed by his choices, but seeing Cole for the first time since our breakup had been more traumatic than I’d anticipated. Worse, if you consider what happened.

  Was it force of habit, or did I still love the guy, even while I was “in love” with Trent? I’d always felt protective about Cole because of his disability, and seeing him in such a helpless state had awakened the guardian angel in me. I worried about him, plain and simple. How could I reconcile Trent’s rules to the letter and still help Cole? If only Cole and Noriko would work out their differences, then maybe I wouldn’t be called on to testify. I could walk away from this situation without feeling like I was abandoning him. And honestly, what could I possibly say? If the court found out the births were surrogate but cloaked in a legal marriage, there would be repercussions. They would undoubtedly award Noriko full or joint custody, not to mention slapping Cole with horrendous fines. I had no idea what the penalty was for breaking the law in this manner, but no judge would deny Noriko her children. The sympathy of the court would be on her side.

  Trent walked into the kitchen and cocked his head to the side when he saw me standing in front of the refrigerator. “Can’t make up your mind?”

  “What do you want?” I said, with a little more venom than I’d intended. He picked up on it immediately and hauled me up to within an inch of his face.

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry… it came out wrong.”

  “Put a lid on it, Sloan, or we’re going to have a problem.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There are a couple of steaks in there. Stick ’em on the broiler pan and be done with it. I’m not expecting a four-course dinner.”

  “You want sides?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Trent said, leaving the room.

  I’d been warned that Trent was ex-military and could be a badass if circumstances warranted it. Sudd
enly my master’s darker side was emerging, and I had no idea if I could endure it. At least I’d been spared the traditional methods of punishment. Being flogged or spanked in a public scene would have pushed me into using my safe word, and Trent knew it. Despite his rage and disappointment, he was in complete control and more than aware of what did and didn’t work for his boy.

  Early on in our relationship, when we’d discussed the BDSM lifestyle and negotiated our arrangement, I’d been very clear on my hard limits. I’d admitted that public scenes and instruments of torture, such as floggers, riding crops, and nipple clamps, were not my thing. I could withstand humiliation in a private setting and was more inclined to be cooperative with edge play than anything else. Bondage was tolerated, so long as it led up to sex, but knife play was my preferred kink, and thankfully, Trent was a master with a blade. I enjoyed playacting as well and participated wholeheartedly in scenes, especially anything involving marauding Scotsmen in kilts.

  Trent was far more versatile when it came to likes and dislikes, but titles were paramount. He insisted on being called sir or Master, even though I felt a little silly using the words. They didn’t come naturally, and I had to make a conscious effort not to say them with any hint of derision. Trent had not pushed, letting me get comfortable within our relationship before he’d exerted his will, but once he’d determined I was ready, it became a requirement. Because I’d had a bad experience with Max and my initial forays into BDSM, Trent had been patient and accommodating as hell. He’d taken the time to initiate me little by little, always talking before and after a scene to explore what did and didn’t work. Trent could be as gentle as a newborn kitten, but beneath that exterior was the superman who’d routinely put himself in harm’s way for his country, and his underlying strength was easily apparent.

  There were rules that governed his world, and I chafed at some of them, but there was a part of me that needed the discipline he offered because it was dispensed with a loving hand. He respected me and was far less judgmental than Cole. I could say anything that came to mind and was free to eat, drink, or smoke if and when I wanted, wherever I wanted. Trent treated me like an adult and enjoyed almost everything about me. Knowing I was appreciated, on top of the outstanding sex, made up for most of the things I couldn’t stomach about BDSM.