Slave To Love

by Bridget Midway

  “…With supportive parents and the love of my life, I feel like I can conquer the world.” The speaker made a point of glancing at Taren like he’d made the statement to her.

  Damn. Was the whole world against her?

  “I’m not feeling so hot.” She turned to her mother. “Nothing serious. I’ll get a cab. I’ll meet you two at home.” She kissed Connie on her cheek and gave Del a hug before leaving.

  Life for Taren would have to be better once she got out on her own. Then she would show everyone who doubted her that she could make her own way.

  Chapter Two

  Taren sat at the edge of her couch, breathless. Anticipation coursed through her body, tingling her bare toes that sank in the shag rug covering the hardwood floors in her apartment. She wiggled her digits between the long brown, white, and tan yarns as she kept her attention fixed to the flat-screen TV on the living room wall.

  She didn’t care that the show, Love My Way, hadn’t been on the air in over five years. Each time she viewed it, the show and its characters all seemed real to her.

  No, not characters. Real people. Real situations. Real life.

  She wrapped her arm around her waist and used her free hand to draw a curl into her mouth, a nervous habit she hadn’t done since she played with Barbie dolls. Her flesh felt electrified the longer she watched the action.

  At the next to the last episode in her streaming subscription queue, she crossed her legs, knowing exactly what would be happening. Eagan Morton would be having his way with the final two contestants, Begonia and Sunny.

  The editors had been clever with the surveillance camera footage. Only Eagan and the contestants’ facial expressions were shown. Since the show did appear on Cine-tastic, she got to see the women naked and Eagan’s firm backside as he thrust in and out of Begonia.

  For Taren, that had been enough. She didn’t need to see Eagan’s face. She focused more on his body and the women. Did they like it? Did they want it? Did they want him? From their satisfied expression, she stopped questioning their motives.

  He had them secured differently. He had Sunny on an overhead bar and Begonia on a table. That didn’t prevent him from bringing them both to orgasm several times over. Taren kept her attention on the women’s faces.

  Sunny closed her eyes and arched her back whenever Eagan had touched her. Taren imagined that Eagan’s large hands made her feel captured and controlled. Begonia already had carried the look of love in her eyes. The way she stared at Eagan made Taren’s stomach churn harder and faster than a circus acrobat. In a subtle move, she brushed her hand that she’d had on her waist over her now hardened nipples. The touch alone caused her body to tremble.

  With each stroke and flick she tried recalling the last time she had allowed a man to do that to her, to touch her, to make her come over and over again. She could handle herself with ease, and had in the past too many times to count.

  Although Eagan looked like a movie star and had the swagger of ten Donald Trumps, Taren didn’t pine over him, only his actions. His look hadn’t enamored her, although Eagan would have no problem seducing any woman he wanted into his bed. She liked seeing him take control. The fact that the person he played with had been African American like her had her even more intrigued with the lifestyle.

  As much as he hated to admit it to herself, she kept thinking about that man she ran into at the builders event a couple of weeks ago. His eyes, those hands, that cleft in his masculine chin. He looked like walking sex. Until he’d spoken and tried telling her about herself, she had seriously thought about giving him her number. Although the man could star in many of her fantasies, she had no interest in seeing him in person again.

  She cupped her breast and released a low moan the longer she watched the trio at work on TV. She brushed her thumb over her hardened nipple as she stared at him as he thrust, slow at first, then faster and faster. He used his large hands to grip thighs and asses.

  Even from her spot on her couch, Taren felt like Eagan controlled her. He made her remain still in her position, watching him, wanting him. Her breathing hitched each time the women on TV screamed or moaned.

  Each time she watched this particular episode, Taren felt moved to action. This time she sought out her nipple with her nimble fingers and pinched it. She released a gasp, then held her breath as she increased the pressure.

  She’d seen Eagan use nipple clamps on the contestants. She no longer wondered why a woman would find them arousing. The slight pressure accelerated her pulse like it had been her personal On switch to her body.

  Pain crept through her insides until it reached her head. Even then, she squeezed harder, willing herself to take the pain, endure it, beat it. Her legs trembled. When she tried inflicting more pain on herself, her body refused to give in to her need. Taren eased her hold to something more manageable.

  As soon as Eagan had made the two women come, the episode ended. Like Taren had been in the room with them, she exhaled, not even aware that she’d been holding her breath. She released her grip on her tortured tit.

  “Holy shit.” Taren fanned her face as she collapsed against the soft pillows that cradled her back on the couch.

  She imagined what her life would be like as a submissive. She didn’t look at TV shows and movies about the lifestyle. Taren read nonfiction books on how to submit and what it meant to relinquish control. She had no interest in that side. She liked the power exchange aspect of the relationship. The give and take.

  When her streaming service offered to play the next and last episodes, she picked up the remote to stop her daily binge. She’d heard what had happened in the episode. She didn’t need to see the look of disgust and anger on Eagan’s face when all hell had broken loose. That would have killed her. She knew that later Eagan and Begonia, now known as Ananda Morton, had gotten together. She didn’t need to watch their hurt and pain.

  When her cell phone rang, Taren contemplated not answering it. She felt spent, like she’d had sex with Eagan. Although her clitoris still throbbed, she missed that feeling of having a man nestled between her thighs.

  She picked up the phone and looked at the screen. She swiped her finger across it and answered the call immediately. “Hi, Mom.” Taren curled her legs on the couch, thankful that her mother’s call came after the episode had ended.

  “What are you doing home on a Friday night?” Connie didn’t hide the disappointment from her voice.

  “Having a little me time.” Taren glanced at the screen to see the static shot of Eagan Morton surrounded by all of the masked contestants on Love My Way.

  They stood like statues, some with smiles, some who looked dour, and others who carried a look of fear through their masks.

  “I’m glad you’re relaxing. No more crazy stunts like jumping out of airplanes or climbing mountains.” Connie laughed.

  Taren had done a lot since moving out of her parents’ house. She didn’t plan on slowing down anytime soon.

  She smiled. “I did go to a gun range.”

  The phone went silent.

  Taren filled the void. “I’ve never shot a gun before. I wanted to try it. It was fun. You should go with me the next time I—”

  Connie cut her off. “Why would you want to learn how to use a device meant to end a life? I got the local recreation center’s catalogue in the mail the other day. They’re offering a painting class. Doesn’t that sound like fun? You want to do that with me?”

  Taren shook her head. “Painting? Where’s the excitement in that? Is the next class watching the paint dry?”

  “Not everything has to be on full throttle. You can stop and enjoy the scenery sometime.”

  Taking her mother up on her suggestion, Taren scanned her home. The beige couch, along with the oak coffee table and end tables and the plain rug on the floor, all reminded her of her mother, mainly because her mother had decorated her apartment for her.

  Connie had pleaded with Taren to be involved in some way with Taren’s next big
step in her life. Connie had wanted to be supportive of Taren’s decision to cut the apron strings.

  Although Connie and Del protested Taren’s move, they made sure to implant themselves within Taren’s new home. First came the furniture. Then came the frequent calls.

  Taren had thrown a red blanket over one of the chairs and hung a painting of a naked couple in bed to put her own stamp on her living space.

  “Mom, what I want is to experience as much as I can.” Taren stretched and arched her back.

  A knock sounded at her apartment door.

  “Who’s that? Did you order takeout again?” Connie tsked. “I told you that you can always come over here for dinner.”

  Taren stood. “Not sure who’s at the door. It could be anyone. Doesn’t that sound exciting?” She liked teasing her mother if only to hear the woman gasping each time she deemed Taren’s statements to be too risqué.

  Before Taren turned off her TV, she padded to the door and peered through the peephole. “Not a mass murderer. Aren’t you relieved?” She smiled and opened the door.

  “I see you’re not dressed as usual. And you’re on the phone.” Dori, Taren’s friend, smiled as she shook her head and stepped inside. Her long, brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in luscious waves.

  “Is that Dori?” Connie asked.

  “Yes, Mom.” Taren glanced at her friend. “Dori says hi.”

  She hadn’t but Taren knew her friend would have.

  “She’s not staying long, is she?”

  A creepy tickle crept up Taren’s spine. She had hoped after so many years that her mother would have seen beyond Dori’s past antics to remember the young woman who had always been Taren’s best friend.

  “I have to go.” Taren made a kissing sound over the phone. “Love you.” She disconnected the call before her mother could respond.

  Dori embraced Taren. As usual, Dori smelled like violet and lavender, and her hair smelled like a strawberry field.

  “I did, at least, shower. I’ll change, do my hair, and throw on some makeup. It’ll take me two seconds.” To illustrate her point, Taren held up two fingers.

  It had taken her friend a while to stop wearing her hair draped in front of her face. Now that Taren could see her brown eyes, she recalled how much she’d missed talking to her and staring into them.

  Her clothing style started to go back to her old, confident self as well. She no longer sported baggy, potato sack-like dresses and flats. Tonight she had on her stilettos, tight jeans that showed off her hourglass figure, and a low-cut shirt. It had taken some time, but Taren finally had her friend back.

  Dori gave Taren a playful nudge on her shoulder before she continued talking. “You’re the one who asked to go to dinner. I had to juggle a lot of things to make this happen.”

  Taren pulled on her vintage Duran Duran T-shirt that she’d picked up at a thrift store. “I know. I forgot. I got wrapped up in—”

  Dori cut her off. “In what? New man? Are you seeing anyone yet?” Her smile widened until she strolled into Taren’s living room and saw the picture on the screen. “What the hell are you looking at that shit for?”

  Taren should have known better than to have the show playing. Talking to her mother had her thrown off her game. Time had slipped away. One episode turned into two, then three, then a back-to-back cram session to watch them all...except for that final episode.

  “I like the show.” She turned off the screen.

  “Including the parts with me in it?” Dori crossed her arms.

  Taren had to choose her words carefully to retain her friendship with a woman who knew most of Taren’s secrets and fears. No matter what, Taren would always be honest. “No, I didn’t like the parts with you as Meadow, mainly because you lost yourself during that show.” She swallowed hard before she continued talking. “And it should have been me on there.”

  Taren headed back to her bedroom. She heard Dori fast and hard on her heels behind her.

  “Have you not heard anything I’ve said about that lifestyle?” Dori’s voice rose to almost a screaming level. “It breaks you. It tears your defenses down, and you don’t build it back up. It exposes every part of you.”

  Taren opened the door to her walk-in closet. “Maybe that’s just you. It could have been different for me. I could have handled myself with Eagan and those challenges.”

  Dori snickered. “You think so? I doubt it.”

  “Why is that? You don’t think I’m tough enough?” Good thing Taren had herself hidden out of Dori’s view. Her friend wouldn’t be able to see her fists and tight mouth.

  Dori continued. “At the time, no, you weren’t strong enough to handle what that show dished out. You would have seen things that you never thought you would see, like a grown man with a cane, spanking you like you were a child.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and shook her head. “And you couldn’t have done it anyway. You were too young when the show taped.”

  Dori had been right. At the time their mutual friend, Carter, had asked Dori to be on the show, Taren had graduated high school at seventeen. Dori had been twenty-one at the time.

  “I know you went on the show because of me.” Taren changed out of her casual clothes and threw on something more appropriate to go to dinner. “I kept saying I wanted to do it and would have done anything to be a contestant, including using a fake I.D.”

  “Had you done that, you would have gotten more than yourself in trouble.” Dori plopped herself down on Taren’s bed like this conversation exhausted her. “I don’t want to talk about that show. Not now. Not ever.” She scanned Taren’s modest bedroom. “And now I don’t feel like going out.”

  Taren emerged from the closet. “Come on. Don’t go home because of this. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

  “I didn’t say I was going home.” She removed her shoes and brought her feet up on the bed. “Order a pizza or Chinese food. We can stay in and talk.”

  Taren smiled and ran down the hall to her kitchen. “You in the mood for Thai instead?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Taren found a menu in the designated junk drawer in her kitchen filled with papers, chip clips, batteries, and an assortment of pencils and pens, and returned to the bedroom.

  “Here. You pick first.” Taren handed the menu to Dori. “I’m not sure what I want yet.”

  Dori snickered. “That’s not unusual.”

  Taren felt her eyebrows rut together. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Come on, T. You aren’t known for sticking with a plan. You get excited about something, get into at the beginning, then give it up when it becomes difficult or you get bored.”

  She sat on the bed across from Dori. “That’s not true. The reason you and I are friends is because I studied hard in school and I was able to take a lot of senior classes as a freshman.”

  “I’m not saying you’re not smart or that you don’t work hard. You have this fantasy view of things and you get disappointed if it doesn’t turn out your way.” Dori lifted her hand and started ticking off each instance on her fingers. “First you wanted to be a pro football cheerleader. You definitely have the body for it—all small, fit and compact. And I know you cheered some in high school, but as soon as you had to try out, you quit. Then there was your fascination with scuba diving and wanting to swim with sharks. Then there’s Diego.”

  “That’s not fair. I had to give up my puppy.” She smacked Dori against her foot.

  “Yeah, for the sharks. You were going to be so devoted to the lessons that you weren’t going to be available for anything else. So I took in your bulldog. I still have him. Besides the fact that I’ve fallen in love with him and would kill you if you dare try to take him, is there any reason you haven’t asked for him back now that you’re not doing the classes?”

  Taren considered her circumstances and her answer carefully before she responded. “I found out that I’m allergic to dogs. I never had one growing up so I had no id
ea until I had gotten him. It had nothing to do with the lessons, which I did complete and passed.” She went to her dresser and pulled out her certificate to prove it. “See.”

  Dori shook her head. “Fine. Congratulations. Are you still a temp?”

  “Hey, I just finished college. I’m trying to find my career. It’s hard. Temp work keeps me employed for now.” Not happy though, she wanted to say.

  “Fine. I’ll give you that.” Dori held up her hand to Taren.

  Taren slicked her hair back into a ponytail, preparing for a fight, or rather a heated discussion. “You’ve named a few instances. That doesn’t make a pattern.”

  “Yes, it does. Just because you refuse to acknowledge it doesn’t make it not so.” Dori scanned the menu and handed it back to Taren. “Pad Thai for me.”

  “As usual.” Taren placed the menu on her bed, closed her eyes, hovered her index finger over it, then slammed it down. When she peered down, she moved her finger enough to see what she had chosen out of chance. “Yum pla muok.”

  Dori snatched the menu and reviewed it until she found the item. “You know that’s squid, right? Spicy squid.”

  A strange itch crawled across Taren’s belly like a slithering snake. “So?” She shrugged and stood to retrieve her phone.

  “So you don’t like spicy food, and when have you ever eaten squid?”

  Taren huffed. “I want to try new things. Don’t you get it? If I could afford it, I would do the same with a globe. Plop my finger right down on it and go wherever it landed.” She picked up her phone off the living room coffee table and returned to the bedroom.

  “You’re the same person who had a coughing fit when you ate my abuela’s salsa, and she had given you the mild version.” Dori giggled and shook her head.

  “I did not. A chip went down my throat the wrong way.” It had…and she thought the salsa would burn the lining of her stomach.

  “Fine. You have your squid. Don’t come over to my plate looking for food when you realize you can’t eat it.” Like a cat, Dori reclined herself on the bed.