Subfrenzy (the Subfrenzied Series)

by Jane, Kimberlee

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Clara!”

  “What?” I leaned my head back and looked at her. “I'm really high. What's the matter?”

  “Oh. Nothing. You sounded really vague, almost depressed. Not like you, y'know?”

  “I'm-- I don't know what this is. It's like subfrenzy, but for him. I'm not sure I like it.”

  “What are you feeling?”

  My body ached for pain, for the pleasure he could have me feel, but I found myself missing... strange things. I wanted to fall asleep with him again, feeling safe and warm in a way I didn't when I slept alone. It made me happy, writing while I listened to him typing, or talking, ready to do whatever he wanted when it was break time. It scared me a little, how much I missed him.

  “Not, 'how do you feel about that?'”

  She dug her nails into my neck without hurting me. “I can't be your psychologist. I'm your friend.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

  “It wasn't that bad. What's going on, love?”

  “I'm blah this week. Moody, too, because Ben lost a big client.”

  “Oh no...”

  “It's no one's fault, which is really good, but nobody's happy that it happened. So then I think about s/m, but it brings me back to my worry for Quinn. I can't do anything with that yet, either. I'm getting really tired of feeling so helpless.”

  “Ben won't be down for long, love. Neither will you.”

  “Thanks. Yeah. All of this will be gone by tomorrow. Ben goes into workaholic-mode when we lose clients. It'll help distract me away from everything else, at least for a little while.”

  “Everything else that has to do with Quinn?”

  “On everything that brings a desire for pain. But, well,” I giggled and let it become laughter to release some of the stress, “Rack's isn't an option anymore. I can't go, even if it was.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I wasn't banned or anything. I told Quinn I wouldn't.”

  “Why has he been so busy lately? What's going on?”

  “I know why he was busy. I'm not sure why he is now. He gave me a collar, so I trust he's not going to just disappear, but... I don't know. Something must have happened. Right?”

  “Quinn gave you a collar?”

  “I didn't tell you that?”

  “You mentioned that he punched someone for you, but... no, that's new. You told me about your dinner out with him, too.”

  “It made me really nervous. I wasn't sure that it meant the same thing to him as it did for me.”

  “Him taking you to dinner?”

  “No, having him give me a collar. It's not just because he likes seeing things around my neck. He looked at me like I was his. Like I'm his,” I hastily corrected.

  “What does that mean, you're his?”

  “It's not just some sex game that we're playing. He's my Dominant. I'm his submissive, but not just when we're in bed.” I smiled, thinking about his office, about running errands with him, and the dinner we went to with Tony and Chloe. “The submission I feel for him is an always-there kind of thing. Right now, it's keeping me from making bad decisions.”

  “You really trust him.”

  “He knows that.” I couldn't make myself believe that he didn't.

  My rational side, always wary of being hurt, kept asking me what would happen if I were wrong. When my desire for pain started to over-ride my submission to him... what would happen? I'd be ashamed of myself if I took pain from someone else, without his permission. I didn't want to have that conversation with him. It would be easier to make a clean break and start the search again... The pain that rose in my chest made it difficult to breathe.

  “Do you want to see the collar?” I asked, taking refuge in polite, ingrained behavior.

  “Of course.”

  “Wow. It's really-” She froze and pointed to the two powder blue boxes in the drawer. “Clara? What are those? Who were they a present from?”

  “Quinn.”

  The way she smiled made me nervous. “No, I'm not wrong... There's no name inside--? D'you mind?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Oh boy,” Lane breathed out slowly, after she opened them.

  “He has really good taste,” I agreed. “I like them a lot.”

  “Whatever happened, I'm sure he hasn't disappeared on you.”

  “That's what I've been hoping. They're really good signs that he thinks of me as his, right?”

  “What?”

  “Something for around my wrist,” I explained, “for around my neck, even when we're together in public?”

  “I'm not sure. You'd have to ask him that. All I meant was, men don't buy jewelry like this for women they're not really interested in. Most famous jewelry companies have distinguishable colors, or boxes.”

  “... what? ...”

  She leaned over me and brought up a website. “Isn't that the box?”

  I stared, not meaning to scoot my chair away from the drawer. “What does that even mean?”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me hard. “Why don't you call him and see what's going on?”

  “I did. Friday. Quinn says he's fine. He's always fine.”

  “Who does that sound-- Sorry.” I stopped pointedly staring at her. “You both got really close, really fast. That can be complicated, on it's own.”

  “He controls it. Why can't I?”

  “He controls what?”

  “Whatever he feels for s/m. I'm really impressed by it, insane as that might be.”

  “Impressed by what?”

  I shook my head, unable to explain. “Part of me wishes I could control my submission like he controls his Dominant side. He needs to, to focus on work. I have more time to think about... things.”

  “How about you call him, to see what's up?”

  “I can't. Not like this, and it's too early.”

  “It's eight.”

  “I know. He works 'til nine, sometimes later.”

  “That's really, uh, sweet of you.”

  I winced, which made her laugh. “You're a Dominant now, you tell me. Where does one draw the line between submission and not being submissive? I can't find the line. Why?”

  “You care about him as a person, not just as your Dominant. You're worried about how he's doing, but because you think he's busy, you're not letting him know? That goes beyond submission, don't you think? You're really-”

  “I'm avoiding the inevitable, I know.” I fought the urge to rest my forehead against the desk again. “Quinn released his last submissive when he had work problems.”

  I took a deep breath and made myself to sit up straight. It worked, helping me feel calmer. The resolve took hold.

  “So I wait for a little while longer. That's the only option I can think of. It's the only one I want to think about.”

  “What have you been thinking about doing?”

  “After him, I can't seriously consider taking a male Dom or Top. Maybe a really good female Domme could help, but-”

  “I think we should go lingerie shopping instead, so you're prepared when he's not so busy.”

  “I've been feeling a little insecure lately, that's all.” Bright, vicious energy curled through me again. “Not anymore. Thanks for that. Time to actually do something tonight.”

  She hid her worry really well. “Exercise well, then. I just wanted to let you know about Grant...”

  “Door's always open, love.”

  “No problem. I'll order food in a bit. I know what you like.”

  “Thanks. My wallet's in my leather jacket. Use the card or cash for dinner. After that conversation, it's the least I can do.”

  A week later, however, my masochistic side was forcing me to review my options. I had started to dread that Quinn would have me over, but only to say I couldn't be his submissive anymore. If only I didn't still want him so much... It frustrated me that I couldn't get him out of my head. Was I losing him
as my Dominant?

  As the rush of panic waned, I heard an engine turn off, the front door open. Lane had gotten home with Grant. Sitting at the computer wasn't doing anything helpful for me, the same half-filled page had been on my screen for an hour. My mirror assured me I looked fine. Jeans, an over-sized shirt of Quinn's. I mentally groaned. So much for preparing to distance myself. My hair was still damp from my shower, but I didn't think anyone would mind.

  “Hey,” I said, breaking out of my hibernation, writing mode. “What's up, guys?”

  “Clara, Grant. Grant, Clara, my roommate.” Lane sat with him on the larger couch, her legs over his.

  “Nice to meet you.” His dark brown eyes widened when his gaze met mine. I liked how unshielded his were. “I think I've seen you performing at Rack's with... someone good, that's all I remember. Was that rude to say?”

  “No, that wasn't rude.” I stared at him, feeling deja vu descend. “Thanks for saying so.”

  He was good-looking, my height, lean and spindly. His hair was styled professionally, shoulder length and rich dark brown, combed nicely behind his ears. When I made direct eye-contact with him, his gaze shied away, returned, then lowered.

  I hesitated before taking a seat on the single sofa chair. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “Not at all. We're just hanging,” she replied.

  “Lane says you've recently found a Dominant, too?” Grant asked.

  Surprise was a shield that held the flash of pain I felt back. Pretending to move pillows out of my way helped hide my smile. I had seen Lane pinch his side.

  “Sorry, Clara,” she glared at him. “I only mentioned it once, but-”

  “Too?” I gently interrupted. “Yes, I have a Dominant. He's the one you saw me submitting to at Rack's. … You're Lane's submissive?”

  “It's not definite yet,” she confirmed what I'd heard. “We've just been experimenting, with me as the Dominant.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” Grant grinned at her.

  “Congrats, to both of you. That's really cool.”

  They looked good together. Lane seemed relaxed and confident as she usually did, but I could feel her subdued excitement, and the pleasure she felt in hearing her title.

  “You smoke in here?” The question filtered through my subconscious.

  “That cool, Clara?”

  “Huh? Yeah, sure. The ashtray's right there.”

  “No, uh, I mean smoke,” Grant said.

  “Smoke what?” I tried not to glare at him warily.

  “Weed?”

  “Yes, sorry. I like being sure.”

  “You want-?” he offered me a pre-rolled joint.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  The pot relaxed my mind, but didn't entirely take over. I watched Lane flip through channels, completely happy when she found a two-hour block of cartoon X-men episodes. When quiet settled, it was comfortable. Our dork talk made her laugh. That he was a huge fan helped us bond.

  Jackie caught my attention, coming into the living room with a rag bone. She looked at Lane, then at me, whining indecisively. Leaning my head back to break eye-contact made it easier for her to decide. Lane wrestled her for the bone, winning, and then... blinding pain made me gasp.

  What had hit me? A plastic hairbrush. Her hairbrush. All of the air rushed out of my lungs, but the blinding pain grew worse, continuing to throb deep inside my head. I subdued the heady rush of aggression, ready to retaliate against whatever had caused me so much pain. When my vision cleared, I glanced up and saw Lane sitting forward, reaching out, yet not actually touching me. Her other hand was covering her mouth and her radiantly purple-blue eyes were wide with horror.

  “The dog's toy-! I was holding both of them, but-- I'm so sorry! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I lied. “It doesn't hurt anymore.”

  She held a hand over her heart. “I'm so fucking sorry. It made such a loud noise... Do you want ice, I don't know, something-?”

  “Nope.” I hadn't heard the noise it made, distracted by overwhelming waves of pain. That explained why I had seen black and white bursts of light behind my eyes. I hid my hands from view, feeling that they were trembling. But self-control was mine again.

  “Can I-?”

  “Yes, of course,” I held back my sigh, moving one of my arms back for her.

  She jumped up and immediately wrapped me in a hug. I laughed through her first three apologies. “I'll be more careful, I swear. I'm so, so sorry-”

  “It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I was frozen because of the, uh, the surprise.”

  “I think you're bruising,” she pointed out timidly.

  “We have weird lighting.” I handed the hairbrush back to her. “New books are calling me. I'm going to go read for a while.”

  “We'll be here if you want to join us again later?”

  “Sure. Call me if you need something.”

  Defenses crashed the moment my door closed. I went still, breathing out slowly as I could. That had really hurt! The pain had already sank in. It would linger, throbbing randomly until it faded on its own. Rubbing my cheek would make it hurt more, not less. … Fuck!! The last swear echoed down to my pain-threshold, rage driving all the pain away.

  The ache for real pain bored a hole through the middle of my body, allowing darkness to spill outward and start consuming me. It gnashed and roared, leaving me feel more vulnerable than I wanted to accept. The more I wanted it, the more controlled I forced myself to be. Knowing I was capable of being affectionate and warm, trusting, vulnerable around someone, even, was worth whatever happened. Time would tell whether or not I'd lost him. Until then, my punching bag and some good music would burn the edge away.

  * * *

  “Clara?” I heard a tentative, quick succession of knocks on my door.

  “Yeah? What's up, Lane?”

  “I'm so sorry- I heard you downstairs yesterday, and before, when you got home from work.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't freak Grant out, did I?”

  “No, he didn't hear any of that. He's really impressed by your restraint, by the way. Do you have time to talk?”

  “What happened?”

  “I did something stupid,” she said, sitting down on my bed.

  “Oh?”

  “He asked if I could enjoy hurting him a little, physically, I heard myself say yes. I like him a lot and I'm willing to learn how, but...how do you start? What if I do it wrong?”

  “You feel pleasure when you think about inflicting pain for him?”

  “Yes, but we talked about that. I might feel bad, too. He says he'll be there if I feel bad, to make sure it doesn't stick.”

  “That's a really good answer.”

  “I know. He was so sincere! That's when I heard myself say, 'Sure, let's try it.'”

  “What kind of pain does he like?”

  “Being smacked in different areas. He got hard when I asked if he liked being hit with things, you know, not my hand.”

  “That means a lot. ...What other things?”

  “He likes belts, but nothing too hardcore. Nothing that would make him bleed.”

  “Belts can make you bleed,” I warned her. “If his skin gets red, really red, don't hit him in that area anymore. With anything, just to be safe.”

  “Okay. That's easy enough to remember.” She flushed and hugged the pillow on her lap. “I know this is a stupid question, but, um, how do you slap someone across the face?”

  “Avoid anywhere near his eyes, his temples, his nose, definitely. Aside from that, I wouldn't know.”

  “Hm. I'll have to e-mail some people from Rack's about that. I was reading your blog for information again. I couldn't help noticing you like belts for bondage and pain. I found sites online and I've been practicing on- Don't laugh at me, okay?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I've used pillows for target practice. I'm pretty good with aiming, but I don't know how much they hurt.”

  “If he likes that kind
of pain, you should be fine. Unless you double it... Don't double the belt when you hit him unless he asks for it, okay? If he does ask, go light. Really light.”

  “That hurts a lot?”

  I smiled and felt everything go hazy for a few moments. “Yes, it really, really does.”

  “Can you tell me if I'm good enough to aim the belt at a person?”

  “Sure. Do you have the one you're going to use?”

  “Plain black leather,” Lane nodded. “It's not a fashion belt or anything.”

  “Good? Plain is good.”

  “This is a fashion belt.” She returned, putting a black braided belt on my bed, black tassels falling in a fringe over the actual belt. I made a mental note to buy one. It would hurt and leave marks on my wrists. The one she chose to use was an average brown belt, wide instead of skinny.

  I tried to focus on teaching, rather than how the belt sounded when it hit different parts of the pillow. Thud, thwack, the whipping, hiss sound of leather slicing through the air--

  “Pace them out. Smoother,” I moved her arm to show her. “If he doesn't have a high tolerance for pain, you'll exhaust him if you hit that fast, so soon.”

  “How's that?”

  “Much better. A lot better, actually.”

  “A pillow isn't a person,” she said. “What if I hit him too hard? Or what if I miss?”

  “If you hit him too hard, stop and rub the pain away. Don't panic if you miss. Try to stay in control. Don't pull the belt straight back.”

  “Yeah, I learned to stop doing that before. Sort-of.”

  “Try missing on purpose, that way you can learn to control your reaction. I won't let the end hit you.”

  “Would it be a huge, weird favor to ask. Uh, it'd probably be weird, huh?”

  She made it easy to guess. “Are you asking me to take pain from you?”

  “That's not what I originally-” she stopped and looked toward my left temple. “I'm so, so sorry about yesterday.”

  “It's forgotten, Lane.”

  “Are you in the right mindset to let me?”

  I smiled, not needing to answer. “You really want to do this?”

  “Yes... but what if I hurt you?”