Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

“What do you want to drink?” Trent asked.

  “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.”

  “That does sound good. I think I’ll have one as well.”

  He sounded so relaxed and unperturbed despite the bomb he’d just laid at my feet. My head was buzzing with questions, and it was difficult to sit and pretend I was as calm as my master when I was actually freaking out. What would I do if he insisted on playing outside the marriage? I hadn’t signed up for that and would not agree, no matter how reasonable he made it sound. How is it that this never came up before? Did he need the club to augment our rather vanilla relationship? Compared to other couples in the lifestyle, what we did was pretty tame. Foolishly, I had assumed it was enough. I was getting everything I needed, but was he? I had a vision of that morning long ago when I’d watched him flog Jason at Max’s place, the weekend we’d first met. He enjoyed that, judging from his body’s reaction and the incredibly erotic scene I’d witnessed. I knew then that Trent had a mild sadistic streak, yet he’d never insisted on playing rough with me. In retrospect, going to the club was probably his only means of getting his rocks off without disturbing my finer sensibilities or risking my safe word.

  The Bloody Marys were served in heavy crystal glasses with the boat’s name etched on the side. Fresh celery was stuck in the middle of the icy drink, along with a few black olives attached by toothpicks. I pulled out the vegetation and dropped it on the white napkin before taking a large gulp. It was perfectly seasoned, and I could feel the vodka making a path down my throat, warming my belly, which was cold with dread. Unable to ignore this any longer, I asked him point-blank. “Do you expect to continue your membership at Wilde?”

  “Of course I do.”

  I must have looked like a guppy, opening and closing my mouth while I struggled for words, because he laughed.

  “Why are you so surprised?”

  “I… thought we were in a committed relationship. We’re getting married, for God’s sake. Do you think I’ll look the other way when you go to the club and have sex with another sub?”

  “Who’s talking sex?” Trent said angrily. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “Isn’t that part of a scene at Wilde?”

  “No! If you had bothered to come with me occasionally, you would know better than to ask that stupid question.”

  I realized my mistake as soon as I saw the look in his eyes. He was angry, but beyond the anger was hurt and outrage. I had no idea what his role was at the club, and he was perfectly right to throw out that statement about my nonparticipation. I’d assumed the worst. My old insecurities had cropped up before I could filter them out with rational thought. I’d insulted him and had no idea how to take back the words. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “You damn well better be! I haven’t touched another man since you and I hooked up. As I recall, you can’t say the same.”

  “Oh, God… don’t bring that up now.”

  “You brought it up by questioning my fidelity. I know where you’re coming from after having been with a man who hoped to have it all, but Cole and I are worlds apart. I never expected you to provide certain aspects of the lifestyle that I enjoy, but that doesn’t mean I’m not satisfied with what we have. I love you, Sloan, and I’m prepared to make the ultimate commitment, which doesn’t include having sex on the side.”

  “What do you do at the club?”

  “I train fellow dominants so they learn the tools of the trade while I keep up my skills and get my itch scratched at the same time. It does not include fucking! Naturally, that’s always an option, but I haven’t needed anyone outside our relationship, and if I ever do, you’ll be the first to know. I don’t jump before I look, Sloan. That’s not my style!”

  “Will you stop beating a dead horse? I thought sex was an automatic part of a scene.”

  “You know nothing about it, and yet you have the gall to sit there and accuse me of cheating.”

  “Guilty. I’m a piece of shit… how can I make it up?”

  Trent slipped off the bar stool and went to stand closer to the glass wall. He sipped at his drink slowly, and I could see him grinding and clenching his jaw. His body language was murderous as he reflected on my accusation, and I knew I’d better do something fast or this romantic interlude would be completely ruined.

  I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his back. “Please don’t let this ruin a perfect evening. I’m sorry I insulted you, and I’ll do anything to make it up.”

  Trent whipped around, and I stumbled away from him. “Anything?” he said, glaring at me with frosty eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Raoul,” Trent said, addressing the steward who’d been serving us.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Show us to our cabin, please.”

  “Will you be having dinner as planned?”

  “Not for another two hours.”

  He nodded, and we followed him down the inside stairs that led to the cabins below deck. When he opened the door that showed us into the master suite, I gasped at the opulence. It was palatial. The royal-blue carpet was edged in gold, and the color scheme was picked up by the bedspread and curtains that framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun was setting, and the waning rays bounced off the water, turning it blood-red. The shoreline was receding rapidly as the yacht headed north, and soon, the twinkling lights of Montauk would be replaced by darkness. Being out on the ocean with nothing but the captain’s expertise to guide us safely to port, was an act of faith when you analyzed it. Handing over my life to this man who looked at me so intently was also a leap of faith, and one I was prepared to take without further ado. Trent ordered me to strip. “Assume the position, Sloan.”

  “Sir?”

  “We obviously need to reaffirm our goals, and I think a good spanking would be an appropriate way to start our session.”

  “Spanking?”

  Trent walked over to a bank of closets that lined one wall, and when he opened it, I gawked at the array of tools. Obviously, the owner of this floating dungeon was a great believer in never leaving home without his toys. They glistened in row after row, and Trent picked up a studded leather paddle and twirled it around, getting a feel for its weight. When he turned to me, there was a decided gleam in his eyes I’d only seen once before―the morning he’d chained Jason to the St. Andrews Cross in Max’s basement.

  “Ready?”

  Chapter 33

  I WAS filled with dread as I watched Trent take off his shirt and strip down to his boxers. Spanking was a punishment, and one I’d always resented. To my mind, there was nothing erotic about it, but I’d wedged myself into this tight spot by opening my big mouth and blurting out nonsense. If my master deemed it necessary, then I was willing to endure the beating. Hopefully, this would be a healing ritual for him as well.

  I should have known better than to question his integrity. He’d proven over and over that he was an honorable man and had handled each crisis in our relationship with patience and forethought. Unlike his needy sub, who was inherently suspicious and assumed the worst, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions. Doubting my worth was my modus operandi, and expecting Trent to stray was not surprising, even though he’d never given me cause.

  Conversely, Trent never questioned me, nor did he dredge up the past, until tonight. When I spent a day with Cole and the twins, my master never looked for any hidden agenda. He’d accepted my new role in their lives without asking for details, while I had not extended that same courtesy. I hoped to God this scene would wipe out my thoughtless words, which had wounded him more than I could have anticipated.

  “Who are you,” he said abruptly, starting with the usual question he asked every morning during our meditation.

  “Sloan Driscoll.”

  “What are you?”

  “I’m a model during the day and your submissive after hours.”

  “Wrong answer,” he snapped.

  The alarms were going of
f in my brain. “Sir?”

  “Do you honestly think that when you walk out the door in the morning you’re no longer my sub?”

  “No, sir,” I said, backpedaling furiously. “I’m yours 24/7.”

  “Damn right! By the same token, I am your master, regardless of who I’m with or what I’m doing. You are the most important person in my life, and everything I say or do is with your well-being in mind. Can you say the same?”

  “I love you, sir, and strive to be what you want.”

  “What I want is your trust, Sloan. Everything else trickles down from that truth.”

  “I trust you with all my heart.”

  “You say that, but then you turn around and question me, daring to imagine a sexual agenda outside of what we have. Is that any way to show you believe in me?”

  My tears were already forming, and suddenly I was feeling like an insecure twentysomething-year-old again. Had I destroyed the most important thing in my life because I felt unlovable? Because I was sure I didn’t have what it takes to keep my man from straying? When would I realize that I had the necessary ingredients to make someone happy? “I was wrong to question you. Please… say you’ll forgive me.”

  “You have to believe with every breath you take and every thought that crosses your mind that I’m in this relationship because I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  My cheeks were covered in tears as I listened to him. His declaration was as significant as a marriage vow and made me realize, once again, how exceptional he was. Everything about my master was above board, and insinuating that he had anything on the side was beyond insulting. I wanted to throw my arms around him, but standing up before he gave the word would be a severe breach of conduct. I wished he would hold me or spank me, but his frigid glare was intolerable.

  “Would it help if I told you that I’ve never been happier or felt as safe?”

  “That’s a good start. How can I banish all the other fucked up thoughts that flit around in your head at the weirdest times?”

  “My verbal filter is defective.”

  “It needs to be replaced,” Trent complained. “You’ve got to learn to think before you speak.”

  “Needy wreck seems to be my default.”

  “I’m more than aware you still harbor insecurities, and I’m doing my best to get rid of them, but you must work on it as well.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get on the bed and lie on your stomach.”

  I scrambled up and spread-eagled on the enormous bed. The silky spread felt cool against my bare skin, a perfect contrast to my master’s warm hands. He began kneading my ass cheeks. At first his touch was light, but gradually, it became heavier, and he ended up squeezing my flesh so hard it hurt. He growled when he said, “You can try the patience of a fucking saint, boy.”

  “I’m sorry, Master. Please spank me as many times as necessary.”

  “Don’t you think you should be punished?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you submit and do this willingly?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Implicitly.”

  “Who loves you?”

  “You do.”

  “Do you believe I have your best interests in mind at all times?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  The splat of the leather-covered paddle sounded much worse than the actual pain. It was the humiliation that made this so terrible for me, but I bore it because I had to, and Trent needed it to get past this incident. I knew my submission would be a stepping-stone to forgiveness. Ten times I felt the sting, and each blow was heavier than the one before. I began moaning but never moved or tried to get out of his way. My compliance must have stimulated him, because his cock was as hard as steel and pressed rigidly against my thigh. He mounted me from behind and bent down and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.”

  Hearing his husky voice and knowing I turned him on, were empowering. It was another affirmation of his love, even if the hearts and flowers were missing. I heard him snap open the lube and felt the viscous jelly as he wiped it around my entry, seconds before I was breached. He exhaled against my ear when he was embedded deep inside my channel. Before I had a chance to relax, he lifted me up to my hands and knees and began thrusting. There was nothing tender about this moment, but I was okay with it. My cock began to fill out as I experienced his loss of control. He needed me as much as I needed him, and the simplicity of this erased the last of my fears. The jabbing against my prostate initiated the begging, which aroused him further. My pleading always flipped some switch in his head, and Trent gripped my waist while continuing to plow into me, hell-bent on release. He came with a loud cry, and it pushed me over the edge. I collapsed with his heavy weight bearing down on me. He rutted against me a few more times, eking out that final drop as he shuddered with content. “Love you” were the last words I heard before I fell asleep.

  I woke up to the rocking motion of the yacht as it traversed the sea toward our destination. I had never been to Provincetown despite our proximity to Cape Cod. Cole had no interest in going, claiming it was too gay, too wild, too this, or too that. He could be such an ass at times. The tales of this iconic vacation spot intrigued me, and I wanted to see and experience everything I’d ever read about. I had mentioned it to Trent earlier in our relationship, and he’d filed it away in his mental drawer under “Things That Make Sloan Happy.” He never forgot anything.

  He was lying on his side facing me, looking so peaceful. The deep frown line I’d created earlier had smoothed out, leaving his forehead unlined. The dark stubble covering his cheeks made him look menacing, but I knew he was anything but. He was a kind and generous man and so very careful with my fragile emotions, something I never fully appreciated until now. I would have walked on hot coals for him if he’d asked.

  He opened his eyes, and when he saw me staring, he smiled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Very.”

  He rolled over and picked up the phone beside the bed, and I heard him tell the steward to prepare our dinner. It was surreal to know we had three people waiting on our every whim. “So this is what it’s like to be a multimillionaire,” I commented.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “I could get used to this.”

  “We make good money, babe, but this is another league altogether.”

  “Seriously, sir, what would we do with a yacht?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “It’s fun to pretend, though.”

  “Are you hurting?” he asked, shifting down into his Dom voice.

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t too rough for you?”

  “Did I safe word?”

  He reached for me. This time the kisses were soft and tender. I knew he’d forgiven me and would never bring this up again unless I fell back down the needy hole. “I’d like to dress for dinner,” he said gently, “if that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course it is. What should I wear?”

  “I had them lay out your things in the room across from here. You can shower and change, and I’ll do the same. Meet me upstairs when you’re done.”

  “Sure.” He was so mysterious; I loved it.

  The room across from the Master Suite was a scaled-down version in brown and deep red. It was another example of wealth-gone-wild. Every fixture in the bathroom looked like it was made of 18-karat gold and probably was. The tub and sinks were marble. Not the fake stuff but the real deal. The shower stall had four pivoting heads angled perfectly. It was heaven to feel the hot water, and I shampooed my hair and cleansed thoroughly, wanting to smell good for him. I was excited, anticipating a very special evening.

  When I walked back out to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I was surprised to see my wedding tuxedo on the bed. The last time I’d laid eyes on it was at the tailor’s when I went in for a final fitting. Trent must have picked i
t up without my knowledge and had the steward lay it out while I was in the shower. I started to dress, wondering what was up his sleeve.

  I stood in front of the full-length mirror and inspected the vision staring back at me. Trent had chosen my charcoal gray tuxedo specifically because the color matched my eyes. Who was that attractive stranger? Was that really me? In my head, I was still that scrawny kid from San Francisco, but the dark-haired guy looking at me was hot as hell. Really, I was. It made me grin, and I blew myself a kiss and left the room. Hopefully, my husband-to-be would be equally impressed.

  When I got to the upper deck, I was stunned by the gorgeous redhead in his Scottish finery. Trent was also wearing his wedding outfit. The snowy white shirt offset the dark coat, and the blue and green plaid of his kilt brought everything together perfectly. He was so fucking beautiful I was tongue-tied. All I could do was whistle.

  He smiled. “That good?”

  “Better.”

  He handed me a champagne flute and clicked my glass with his. “Sláinte!”

  I smiled at him, recalling all the times we’d heard that toast when we toured Scotland. “Back at’cha, Master.”

  “Will you think I’m a romantic fool if I recite the wedding vows I’ve borrowed from my Scottish brethren?”

  “You could never be too romantic for my taste.”

  Nodding, he took another small sip of his drink and began. “I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own. I promise you the first bite of my meal and the first sip from my cup. I pledge that your name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor you above all others. Our love is never-ending, and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to you.”

  My heart was soaring as I listened to him. Whether he’d borrowed the words or written them himself, I knew he’d been preparing something to say when we finally stood in front of the judge. This preview, in the privacy of such a memorable setting, made it more meaningful. I could barely articulate my vow, but I made an honest attempt, trying to remember what I’d hoped to say that day.