Safeword: Quinacridone

by Candace Blevins

  She stepped the rest of the way out of the pool, and allowed him to drape it over her shoulders. She resituated it, wrapping the fabric around her body and under her armpits, and folded it down a few times to hold it in place. Quickly deciding she didn’t want to go inside, she stepped to the swing and sat.

  He gingerly sat beside her, with a foot of space between them, and said, “He’s right, you know. We both thought you were handling it okay, and into it enough so any discomfort was an added spice to your arousal.”

  She pulled her right foot into the swing, planting it in front of her bottom and wrapping an arm around her leg. “Well then, you were both wrong.”

  “All I can do is apologize, Cara. We stopped the instant you safeworded. Travis helped with the belt and I took your boots off as quickly as I could, once I realized you wanted them off too.”

  “I’m not really mad at you.” She sighed. “Travis is the one who made this happen; you were just following his instructions, trying to help.”

  “I’ve worked with a lot of submissives over the years, many of them sent to me by their loving Masters. I’ve seen so many couples forget needs and wants on both sides have to be met. Travis has done a lot to cater to your need for objectification; have you taken the time to see what needs he might have, that you should perhaps try to indulge? Don’t answer, just consider it for yourself.”

  He stood and took a few steps before turning to say, “The offer for a massage is still there, if you wish. I’ll go inside and give you some more time to think. I’m positive the two of you love each other and will find a way to work your way through this.”

  Cara had thought Travis was happy, and before their conversation on the plane two weeks before, had never considered he had needs she wasn’t able to meet.

  Long ago, she’d told him if he needed to whip women more than she could handle, she’d be okay with it as long as he took his sexual urges out on her afterwards. However, this wouldn’t really work that way, as he wanted to bend someone in half and pull their legs every direction while he fucked them.

  Sighing inwardly, she ran the evening’s events through her mind. The boots hadn’t been fun but were bearable — perhaps they could reach a compromise there?

  Cara knew he’d be in his office, as he always retreated to programming complex logic when confronted with an issue he couldn’t easily compartmentalize and resolve. When the humans around him didn’t act logically, he could always depend on the computer to follow the rules.

  Stopping in the doorway, she waited a few seconds for him to acknowledge her, and when he didn’t she said his name. When he continued to work without looking up she finally said, “Can we talk?”

  Still not looking at her, he kept typing and said, “Sorry, it’s not a good time. I’m working through a process.”

  Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t bother her. Just as he understood when she couldn’t break away from her art, she understood he had times he couldn’t stop and start when he was deep into programming. But with the way he’d walked away, his brush-off hurt.

  “Fine, I’ll just call home and see if someone can come get me.

  She spun and heard, “Wait. Don’t do that. Just...give me three minutes to jot some ideas down and we can talk. Why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  Peevish, she said, “I’m not hungry, and it’s nice outside. I’ll meet you on the swing.”

  She didn’t wait around for his response.

  She’d left her clothes in his bedroom and changed as quickly as possible — the sight of his bed almost bringing tears to her eyes as she wondered if she’d ever lay in his arms in it again. She rubbed some conditioner on her damp hair and pulled it into a ponytail, washed her face, and went outside.

  Travis was sitting on a padded loveseat on the porch and she walked by him, down the steps, across the pool area, and to the swing.

  She didn’t look back to see if he followed, but wasn’t surprised when he sat beside her a few seconds later.

  She spoke before he had a chance. “I’m trying to find a compromise and I hated the boots the least, so will it be enough to teach me to walk in them?” Suddenly remembering the first time they had sex, when he’d pushed her legs up until she couldn’t breathe, she added, “And maybe help me learn how to breathe when you push my legs all the way to my shoulders? But no splits, no backbends, and no armbinders.”

  “You thought I used my familiarity with you...how well I know you to somehow manipulate you into bowing to my whims. I’d never truly hurt you on purpose Cara, and your accusal hurt.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I get how you thought I was getting off on it, but you were wrong, and I hated it. I’m trying to get past it and figure out how to give you something you want, since there’s no way in hell I’ll ever manage the splits or bend over backwards for you.”

  He hadn’t touched her yet, and now he reached towards her and hesitated before pulling his hand back to his lap. “Can I touch you? I don’t want to run you off but it’s hard to sit beside you and not have you in my arms.”

  Without warning, her emotions burst from the protective shell she’d pushed them, and she dissolved into tears. “I don’t know. I’ve never fought with someone and made up before. I’m torn between wanting to walk away and never see you again, and terror we might not work this out and this is the end. Shit Travis, I don’t know what to do.”

  He pulled her into his arms, turning sideways so she fit into the curve of him. “It’s new for me, too. God, what a pair we are.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, and I’ll never ask you to do anything like this again.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “You’ve done so much to make my fantasies come true and help me understand what I need in bed. I don’t want to shut you down when you tell me what you want, but I can’t do all of it.”

  She took a breath and wiped her eyes. “Show me how to breathe when you push my knees to my shoulders, and teach me to walk in the boots. I couldn’t handle shoes like that, but the boots support my ankles enough I wasn’t worried about twisting them.”

  “I don’t know how to teach you, Cara. The girls I paid already knew how to do all of this. I brought Jonathan down to instruct you in the things I didn’t know how to safely teach.”

  “Well then, let’s go get Jonathan and explain the problem. He can teach the two of us what needs to happen and then you can work with me once he’s gone. If we get stuck on something later I’m sure a phone call should answer our questions next time, without your having to fly him back down.”

  * * * *

  Within two weeks Cara had the hang of breathing with her knees pressed to the bed beside her ears. The lessons hadn’t been terrible, and she read up on the process of training the arms and shoulders into armbinders, but couldn’t bring herself to mention it to Travis again.

  It took a little over a month before she could confidently walk for short periods in the ballet boots. Once she had the hang of it, Travis purchased pony boots as well, alternating the lessons between the two until she could easily handle longer and longer sessions.

  He never brought her lack of flexibility up again, but every time he pushed a limb farther than it would comfortably go, and backed off when he saw her discomfort, she cringed on the inside — wishing she could give him what he wanted, but terrified to try again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cara was glad most of her housemates had left for the day. They’d all said goodbye to each other at her going-away party last night, but leaving was harder than she’d expected.

  All of her belongings were on the truck and she fumbled the house key from her key ring, awkwardly handing it over to Papa Bear. He took it and wrapped his arms around her, his voice a little deeper than normal as he said, “I’ll miss having you around. I’m proud of you, and happy for you.” He leaned back to look down at her. “I know it’s time for you to go. You can stand on your own feet as an artist, which means your spot h
ere should go to someone else, but it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier.”

  She wasn’t being booted out; she could’ve stayed until well into next year. The Arts Council asked for a copy of their tax returns, and decisions about who might be ready to leave were based on those; but she knew it was time, and Travis had been asking her to move in with him for months now.

  “I’ll miss you too, Papa Bear. I’ll be back to visit Kiki, so I’ll still be in and out. My art is better because I’ve had you looking over my shoulder for the past couple of years. Thank you, for everything. Not just the art advice, but for taking care of us, making sure we’re safe. It’s meant a lot.”

  Papa Bear grunted as he released her from his embrace. “You know the drill; you’ll be asked to spend at least sixteen hours a year mentoring the artists who live here. I have your email so you’ll get notification of the four seasonal parties we throw; as an alumna you’ll still be invited free of charge. You’re staying in town so this isn’t goodbye.”

  Cara knew he was thinking of one of the musicians who’d left last week for California. They’d all been thrilled for him, but sad to say goodbye. Wanting leave on a more upbeat note, she took a breath and said, “Hey, you’ll have two new people coming in at the same time. New blood’ll be good for the house.”

  “I walked through a few minutes ago and didn’t see anything of yours still here. If we find something, we’ll let you know. Kiki says the two of you plan to have a standing Tuesday date?”

  “Yeah, I should stop stalling and just go.” She gave him a final quick hug before backing up and wiping a tear, and his smile was sad as he said, “Bye Cara. Take care of yourself. I know he’s built you something like our sunroom, make sure you put it to good use. You’re a talented artist, keep with it.”

  * * * *

  Cara directed the movers to put her furniture into the guest room Travis had emptied, and her clothes went into the extremely large closet he’d added onto the master bedroom. Contractors had turned the room next to his home office into another office, and her computer went in there. Her art supplies went into the solarium — a freestanding sunroom he’d had built on the grounds to entice her to move in. She’d spend tomorrow putting everything away out there.

  Debbie, Travis’ housekeeper, fed everyone and ensured they had plenty to drink. Cara had made friends with Debbie but still felt self-conscious letting anyone clean up after her. However, it made Debbie uncomfortable when Cara helped, so she’d gradually learned to back off and let the older woman do her job.

  It’d been almost a year since the night of Cara’s first gallery opening, and she’d stayed with Travis quite a bit as the two had grown closer. She had to admit having the bedding changed out every couple of days was an indulgent luxury, and she loved having her dirty clothes magically appear as clean again — all hung up and everything. Debbie also kept track of their toiletries, restocking before they ran out.

  Travis was seriously spoiled, and Cara worried she’d be spoiled by it, too. What if they lived together for six months and decided it wasn’t working? Sure, she could afford to support herself now, but it would be a nice apartment or a modest house. She wouldn’t have the great place to create her work, or the pool, or Debbie. What if she started putting up with shit from Travis so she could still have all of this? Maybe this was a mistake.

  By the time Travis arrived home from the office, Cara had worked herself into a tizzy. He took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

  “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

  Cara almost burst into tears, but managed to hold them back as she said, “What if this spoils everything? What if we can’t stand seeing each other this much? Are you sure you want me and all my things here?”

  Travis pulled her into his arms and held her a moment before walking with her to a sofa. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead before saying, “We’ve seen each other at our worst. I’ve seen you in a manic painting phase and survived it. You’ve seen me when I code for days and barely sleep because there’s no room in my head for anything other than what I’m creating. I’ve watched you fall apart before gallery openings, you’ve watched me rant and rave at suppliers who don’t follow through on promises. We’ve seen the best and worst and we’re both still here. Sure, living together is bound to require some adjustments, but we’ll figure it out. We both want this to work, so it will. I love you, Cara.”

  “I love you, too,” she sniffled. “It’s part of why I’m so scared. What if you get tired of me being here all the time? You’ll go off to work but I’ll be working here, either in my office or the solarium. Since Debbie does all the shopping I may never leave!”

  “Of course you’ll get out. I’ve offered to give you an office at work so you can do your graphics stuff with the group. I’m not currently participating much on the education project, so you’d primarily be working with Timothy and the rest of the team. And we’ll be eating out, and going out to do fun stuff. You’ll see Kiki on Tuesdays, and I know you have other friends you’ll want to spend time with.”

  She sat up a little. “I’m being a baby. I’m sorry. It’s just...handing my keys over to Papa Bear was harder than I thought it’d be.”

  “I’m sorry.” He lifted a strand of hair that’d come loose from her ponytail and gingerly looped it behind her ear. “Is there something else I can do to make you feel like this is your home, too, and not that you’ve moved into my house? I thought giving you a room for your things, letting you pick out the paint and flooring in it and your new office, and building the solarium...” He kissed her forehead. “Maybe you need to do more? Do you want to redecorate our bedroom? Or maybe the living room? The pool area? The whole house?”

  Cara considered his questions a moment and said, “If I could maybe swap some accessories out with my things? Buy a few pieces to add here and there? And I mean I will pay for them — not that I’ll choose and you’ll purchase. I want to physically go shopping and buy items with my money. Nothing major, maybe some lamps and doo-dads here and there. Nothing I’ll do all at once.”

  “Of course you can. Consider this your house, too. Our house. You shouldn’t have to ask, okay? A few months from now, I want anyone who walks in to see your imprint on it as much as mine. Do what you need to make it happen. If you choose to spend your money, fine, whatever. Or perhaps I should set up a construction and decorating budget. I’d be more than willing to open a joint account with a couple hundred thousand in it so you can do what you need without asking for funds. In fact, we’ll go to the bank tomorrow and handle it.”

  Cara tried to interrupt but he spoke first. “You don’t have to use it but it’ll be there if you want it. Did you get your computer set up okay?”

  She rolled her eyes, letting the bank account idea drop, but she had no intention of taking his money. “Of course I did. It’s not rocket science. I love my new closet, too. The organization person you hired helped me put everything away and it looks great. My water bottles and lunch stuff are in my closet for now; I didn’t want to invade the kitchen while Debbie was in there. Tomorrow I’ll spend the day arranging everything in the solarium.”

  “Let’s put your stuff in the kitchen now, and we can see how long until Debbie has dinner ready. She likes you; don’t worry so much about invading her space. It’s our kitchen, she works for us.”

  Cara started to interject it didn’t matter who owned it, the kitchen still belonged to Debbie, but he beat her to the punch. “Yes, I’m aware she runs the house, but only because it’s her job. She’s been with me a long time. I treat her with respect, I pay her well, and she takes good care of me. By the same token, I take care of her. When a tree fell on her place last year I sent my contractor to her house and had him work with her insurance company so he could begin working to fix it right away.”

  “That reminds me, who’s JB? I heard you inquire about him the other night and forgot to ask.”

&nbs
p; “JB is her son. Long story short, he was arrested at fifteen, I bailed him out of jail and my attorney got him off the hook, and I insisted he work for me to reimburse my legal costs. He’d been somewhat lost, drifting, but we gave him focus. After he’d worked off the eighteen hundred dollars, he stayed on with us part-time through high school, for a paycheck. He was accepted to MIT but couldn’t afford it, and was applying to less expensive colleges, so I ended up paying the difference in tuition. I could’ve paid the entire thing but his mother said he should be responsible for part of it so he’d appreciate it, and I followed her wishes.”

  “Where’s he now? How’s he doing?”

  “He works for a company I sold a few years ago and is doing quite well. Debbie’s like part of my family but she’s also my employee. I realize it isn’t a relationship you’re used to, but I want you to understand the kitchen is yours, and I don’t want you afraid to use it. I trust her to manage it without oversight, so I generally let her do what she wants, but if one of us would like something handled differently we have to tell her or she won’t know.”

  Cara wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her cheek against his chest. “Would it be okay if I asked you for something?”

  His hands went to her arms and slid around to her back until he was holding her. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her head and said, “Of course, what do you want?”

  “I need. I’m not sure what I need, but will you take me to the playroom after dinner? Remove my choices for a little while?”

  He caressed her back, massaged her shoulders. “I won’t objectify you tonight. I’ll take you to the playroom but you’ll know how much I love you as I work you over. Deal?”

  “Deal.”