by Jenna Barton
“So?”
“So what?” Walt looked at her over his glass of tea and gave her a blank stare.
“Wanda, obviously you’ve been with Erin every second you’re not climbing trees or organizing your map stands in the visitor center. How are you doing? How are things going? How are you doing with how things are going?” She nudged at Tate’s arm. “That is why we’re here, right?”
Walt took a long drink of tea and gave her an equally long, considering tilt of the head just to piss her off more.
“Hang on, there.” Tate’s hand hovered between them, always the peacemaker when Claire wasn’t available to smooth over the rifts and headbutting between Walt and Lucy. “We wanted to see you, too, Luce. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten out. Just us. We’d like to know about how you’ve been too.” Tate laid it on thick, using his best sensitive friend voice, earning a hearty snort from Lucy and a face full of wadded paper napkin.
“Bullshit. Okay, spill, Wanda. Facts first,” Lucy countered, one square stub of a red nail tapping against her glass of tea. “So? Plans for the babysub?”
“Not sure.” Walt picked up a straw and began knotting the wrapper—very, very focused on the white paper.
“Walt,” Lucy groaned. “Really? Is this you?”
“I don’t want to rush her.” He shrugged and lifted the straw to his mouth, blowing the wrapper at Lucy. She batted it away easily, without a blink.
“She’s not Holly. And you’re not this guy, either. Either way, there’s no reason to—” she lowered her voice like Walt had heard her grandmother, Percy Johns, do at numerous holiday dinners “—you know…be afraid.”
“Luce, I swear you say afraid like it’s a terminal illness.” Tate finished his tea, stood and started across the dining room. “You two are wearing me out today. I need a refill.”
“No, I’m well aware she’s not Holly. As for that guy, well…sure.”
Sure. Not afraid—responsible, pragmatic, respectful, reasonable. Not afraid.
“Look, Walt, you’ve always known what you wanted. When you start…I don’t—it’s like you headfuck yourself out of things when that therapy stuff of yours tells you to do something more reasonable.”
Suddenly the back of his neck itched like hell, and he had to look anywhere but at Lucy. The case of Miss Ernie’s cakes and tortes seemed like a good choice, and Walt began counting huge dollops of chocolate frosting on a hubcap-sized chocolate cake, until Tate crossed his field of vision.
“Here, Lucinda, stop talking and drink some more tea.” Tate refilled their glasses and sat down. “And quit the judging while you’re at it. I wouldn’t be the well-adjusted, responsible man I am today without six or seven good therapists. Neither would you.”
Lucy took a long drink, watching Walt all the while. He did the same in return.
“I fucking hate it when you two play Chicken.” Tate sighed expansively. “Walt, have you talked to Erin about your grandparents asking you to leave home? About what happened to you and Brady?”
“Some of it. I told her about what happened back home with Mel and her parents.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “And?”
“Didn’t faze her,” Walt said, shrugging. “I haven’t really told her about taking off once everything came out about me and Mel. It was just for the summer, anyway.”
“Okay, whatever. You left home a couple of months early before college. Fine, no big. And what about when you and Brady were at school? Did you mention you got kicked out of cadets? And why?”
“Lu,” Walt said, his frustration stacking for the second time in a day. “We’re at the line, okay? I don’t want to talk about this any more.”
Tate sat forward, his hand stretched across Lucy’s. “I don’t see a reason to worry as far as Erin’s concerned anyway. Hell, if life hasn’t jerked you around by the neck once or twice by the time you hit thirty-five, you haven’t really been living.”
“True,” Lucy said, nodding. “But how many jerks has she had?”
“More than you realize.” Uncertain, nebulous thoughts of Erin in danger, lonely, lost—all things he wanted to protect her from—made Walt harden his jaw. “But those are her stories to tell me when she’s ready.”
“Oh, you keep too much under your skirt, Wanda. Your female probably does too.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled as the terse line between her eyebrows softened. The tension dropped a few more degrees.
Finally, Tate chuckled and sat back in his chair. “Speaking of what’s under a skirt, Lucinda, are you going to tell us about you and this mystery lady you’re running off to Atlanta to court every chance you get?”
“Oh, we’re talking about me now? Okay.” She sipped at her tea and tossed a braid over her shoulder. “I love talking about me. Fabulous. What do you want to know?”
“He asked about the girl in Atlanta, not you, Barbie-dyke.” Walt shook his head and laughed at her obvious deflecting, though he’d pretty much done the same thing.
The surprise, though, was Lucy’s reaction. A smile, one Walt couldn’t remember since her first serious college girlfriend, crept across Lucy’s face, too big to be confined just to her mouth. Her cheeks flushed; her eyes actually sparkled. Damned if she didn’t look down and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear like a teenager with a crush.
“Oh, hell,” Walt muttered, suddenly infected with the same grin. “You’re shitting me.”
“She’s, um…” Lucy pressed her lips together, pushed at the tight line of them with her tongue a little, and actually giggled. “Well, she’s pretty stellar.”
“Yeah?”
“Fucking stellar.” She actually hunched her shoulders over her coffee.
“No,” Tate said, peering at her. “That isn’t…”
Walt caught it too. “Louis, are you blushing?”
“It’s the middle of summer and I’ve been in the sun, numbnuts! I do not blush. Ever.”
Behind them, Miss Ernie approached, clearing her throat and scowling at Walt and Tate. “You two deviling my girl again?”
“No, ma’am.” Tate twisted away from the table so she could place his burger before him, giving her a good look at his humbled face.
“So do we get the story on how you met and when? Any details on the lady in question?”
“Jesus, Walt, when did you become such a woman?” Lucy flushed again and looked up at Miss Ernie, sheepish. “Pardon, ma’am.”
“Um-hum.” The elderly waitress sat a mound of fresh salad greens and grilled chicken in front of Walt, fixing him with a no-nonsense look similar to the one she’d just given Lucy. “Now, it might be past lunch and they’s nobody in here, but I won’t have y’all gettin’ loud and cursin’ in my place of business.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Walt dipped his head respectfully.
Lucy, always so tight-lipped about her own love life, had even piqued Miss Ernie’s curiosity. “So, you finally meet you a decent lady?”
“All right, all right. She’s great. Just…shi—shoot,” Lucy said, deferring to Miss Ernie. “Would y’all let me figure this one out, okay?”
Lucy’s voice drifted away and she turned to Walt, actually looking up through her eyelashes at him, suddenly beautiful and vulnerable and full of the newness of this woman none of them knew. All at once, Walt felt proud and scared and elated for his chosen sister.
“Okay, baby. No problem.” He grabbed her fisted hand and smoothed it under his thumb, nudging her into letting the tension drop from her long fingers. “I’m glad.” Tate made an encouraging sound as Miss Ernie patted Lucy’s shoulder, once again cooing over her girl.
“Me too, Wanda.” Lu laced her fingers through Walt’s and sat up straight. “I’m glad for both of us. Maybe we’re growing up. And maybe you might someday too, Tatiana.”
They stared at each other for a beat, before giving in to the absurdity of it all and bursting into laughter that earned an indignant sigh from Miss Ernie as she walked back to the kitchen.
“Three of
you are nothing but a mess,” she said over her shoulder as the door whooshed closed behind her.
“You know, she’s right,” Tate said. “We should be mature enough at thirty-seven to be respectful of others and carry on an adult conversation without sending poor Ernie off to the back to pray for our blaspheming souls.”
Walt settled against the back of his chair, drinking from his tea in his best mature-conversation pose. “So,” he asked between sips, “how’re her tits?”
Lucy’s eyebrow shot high over a half-grin, and she mimed a pretty good-sized handful.
“Nicely done, Louis.”
Despite feeling more and more distant from myself and the people around me, I knew I could survive the rest of my visit to Los Altos. I would, if I managed it with the familiar tactic I’d always used for survival: work and lots of it. I spent most of my last two days meeting with my counterparts at Main House, creating a schedule to test my portion of the memory virtualization project at Callahan House. With this new step in programming, ThinkMine would expand our data storage capabilities by more than fifty percent without adding a single piece of hardware. And once we completed that expansion, we could do it again and again.
“Once this stage goes live, I want to start considering taking more of our remote houses virtual.” Steve Gomez, the site director at Callahan house, had joined Ardhi and me for a quick lunch in the Main lunch room.
“Dear God, Miner Chicken Tikka and tofu Pad Thai.” Ardhi sniffed as we looked over the hot food offerings. “I can’t. Bless our corporate directors and their altruistic catered lunches, but I need a salad. Meet you chaps in the courtyard, hm?”
I accepted a plate of Pad Thai, watching Ardhi’s departure and wishing after him and his salad. All the long days on the back of spicy, oily lunchroom food was doing my stomach no favors. Once we were outside, Steve and I sat at one of the primary-colored free-form plastic picnic tables that were scattered between the two large, green glass buildings making up Main House.
“You know, I thought I saw one of your admins this morning in the hotel lobby.”
“You did.” Setting my untouched—and now unwanted—lunch aside, I cleared my throat. “He talked Connie Simpson into bringing him out here for an all-hands meeting on the census project.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose. “He could have called in for that. Did you approve it?”
“No. Connie did.”
“Nice of her to approve travel from my site,” he said. “This guy—?”
“Alan. Alan Richardson.”
“Right. Alan Richardson. He’s been with us for seven months? Second wave of admin new hires.”
“Nearly seven. Closer to five on my team.”
“Ah. Just seems like he’s been there forever since I see him everywhere I go.” His lips pursed a little and I had to do the same to catch a laugh. Snark was highly frowned upon at the Mine, especially when handling an associate’s performance, but sometimes the situation asked for a little griping. And this was my in. Steve knew it, and I knew it.
“Steve, I need to action plan him.”
“Oh? Hm.” He chewed for some time, looking across the courtyard at a group of developers playing volleyball with a neon pink and orange Nerf ball. “I’m sorry, Erin. Based on the patch jobs he went solo on and this stunt, I’d terminate him if we were part of any other organization.”
“But we’re Miners.”
“Oh yes, we are. And we create solutions, not conflict. I’m the worst mentor, Erin. I’m sorry you and Ardhi are saddled with me.” He shot me a rueful grin and pushed his chicken away. “At least ten percent of our associates at Main are from somewhere in India, and the lunchroom is still murdering Chicken Tikka. Fixing that would be a more beneficial solution than stringing people along who are a bad fit.”
“The Pad Thai hasn’t improved either, I’m afraid.”
“Once we’re back in Callahan, write up his plan and when I’ve looked over it, we’ll meet with him together.”
“Oh, I can…No, I want to handle it myself. If that’s okay with you.” I added hastily.
“I’m fine with that, but are you sure you don’t want me there for backup? I know this isn’t your favorite part of being a manager.” He glanced around us for any unaccounted-for ears. “This guy doesn’t play well with anyone, but I think women are a real issue, Erin.”
I heard Walt’s voice, from the night of our first date, in my head: and doesn’t it piss him off that he can’t fuck you out of your power?
“No.” I shook my head. Ardhi was crossing the courtyard to us. “I can handle him.”
“Okay, then. It’s your call.”
Discovering the Sensual World around You
The act of submission should be a pleasurable one, even if your experience of that pleasure comes from the most harsh discipline. For many submissives, embracing their own true nature opens a new sensual world to them. I don’t mean sensual in expressly sexual terms but in the larger definition of the word. Because we are asked to reveal our true selves to our Dominants and answer so many questions to Them as well as ourselves about who we really are, I believe the way we experience the world is profoundly changed. Heightened. A Dominant, especially a sensual one, will use all of your senses to train you, make you more aware and responsive. If you’re looking exclusively for a disciplinarian, you might elect to move to the next chapter, but I’d encourage you to give this exercise a try. Your ability as a submissive to surrender to your senses, rather than your rational mind, will enhance your experience—not to mention your poise and presence as a sub.
Of course, the five senses are taste, touch, smell, sight, sound. How often are you really aware of these senses? How often do you choose clothing for utility rather than its feel, the color, or even the scent of the fabric? Do you use your sense of taste exclusively for eating? Are you simply hearing music, the sounds of life around you, or truly listening?
No doubt you’ve heard the term “sub space.” It is my belief, and that of my Master, that we can only find this space when we are willing to let go of the mundane, vanilla world and dare to visit the part of us that is pure pleasurable sensuality—and sensual pleasure! Finding this space inside you may be difficult at first, or you might wonder just what it has to do with a Dominant working you hard with His/Her toys. However, your Dominant will expect focus and discipline as you work toward reaching the goals He or She sets for you. Wouldn’t it be easier if you were responding with your whole being?
Sensory Exploration: Senses.
Choose an item that appeals to each of your five senses and find some time alone to discover them all as one experience. Concentrate on the appeal of each item and then indulge all of your senses simultaneously. Be aware of how this exercise affects your mind and body: How does your body feel? Has your breath changed? Are you sleepy or hyper-alert?
Alert? Sleepy? Was it possible to be both?
Suspended between the two? Yes.
I shoved Claire’s notebook and an empty vending machine bag of M&M’s away from me and took off my glasses, blinking hard at dry eyes. After four days back in the arid environment of Los Altos, everything about me felt drier, especially my temper, which had turned to crispy after Alan’s surprise arrival at the Main House. And I missed Walt. Terribly. So much. We kept missing each other’s calls too, which added frustration to the ache. Even missing Walt, as ridiculous as it should have made me feel, was far better than worrying over Alan’s appearance earlier that week. I felt low. Tired. Detached even from my own thoughts.
My phone was by the hotel room window, charging on the only available outlet. Crossing to it, I played Walt’s latest message again, then twice more, gnawing at my thumb so I wouldn’t smile too much at the wide-open vowels on his deep voice as he called me sweetheart.
I caught my reflection in the shaded glass, lit with a shaft of early evening sun, and despite flinching in surprise, I couldn’t quite look away. I saw the angles of my face, the same camisole I’d put
on once I stripped away my rumpled suit, the flyaway hair around my ears. My legs twined together as I huddled over my phone and smiled at the sound of his voice. And I saw the last shadowed traces of Walt’s bite peeking from under the white cotton stretched across my breast. I heard my own gasps, the whine in my throat as his teeth closed over my skin there and he thrust his fingers into me.
Was this who Walt saw? And what would he think if he saw this new seam of neediness opened in me?
“Sir,” I said, half-aware, a thin, thready sigh. The memory of his voice answered.
“…they’d want to remember how beautiful you were when they didn’t have you with them. Because they’d want to see your skin all warmed up and pink from their hands. Because they’d want to have proof for themselves they got you to make that face you make when you come.”
I turned my phone over in my hand, considering. Before I could consider too much, I snapped a picture.
I miss you.
“Miss you, too. Wish I could see you a little better in this picture.”
Smiling to himself, Walt sent the message and thumbed over the smooth glass face of his new smartphone, pulling up Erin’s picture again. It was exactly the kind of thing she’d do to him, sending a dim image of herself, reflected in a window. Nothing like any naked phone-pic he’d been sent before. Nothing more than outline hinting at the full curve of her breast, receding into a stretch of bright white. And very clear, just beneath it, a deep blue and purple bruise, just about the size and shape of a row of teeth. His teeth.
In the past, he’d had the most obvious reactions to the marks he left on the women he played with. Sometimes it was pure lust and want for the mind-blowing sex that followed a hot scene. Sometimes, he’d nod his head a little and smile, remembering how a bottom looked and sounded under his hand. Occasionally, he’d even gloated at the reactions he could bring out of a woman. But Erin…the slight hint of the mark he’d left on her clenched down deep into his gut. His teeth ground at the urge to leave his handprints over more of her, to haul her close to him by her messy ponytail and make her breath go shallow, her eyes turn wide and a little wild. There was a difference, though. He wanted all of those things because they were part of her, not because he’d made them happen.