Something Real

by Abigail Grey

  Aaron accepted the condolences of those who had chosen to cheer him on and the crowing gloats of those who hadn’t. He let himself be swept away by the crowd. They seemed bent on getting spots for the best viewing of the ceremony. As they stepped into the balmy summer night, Aaron extricated himself from their youthful exuberance. He lifted a hand to wave them on without him. From the wraparound porch of the quaint Victorian farmhouse, he looked over the sanctuary Warren and Trevor had built for themselves.

  Miles from the nearest neighbor in an ancient house that had been inherited by Warren before he had found his partner, the couple had carved out a paradise. After updating the condition and style of the house and grounds, Warren and Trevor had agreed that the best use of the space they didn’t need was to afford their community a gathering place. Through donations and occasional physical labor, several of the community members felt a sense of pride and ownership, though the home belonged to their unspoken leaders.

  The house kept undergoing changes. Aaron had personally been involved in the addition of the library, another bathroom and great room, where the exposed rafters allowed ropework to be practiced safely. Invariably, a new project would be suggested as the last one was finished. He noticed the renovation to the old pool house, the privacy fence that had been erected to shield the outdoor play area from curious passersby on the oft-deserted road, and the patio that glowed with candlelight. Flickering shadows were cast on the faces of those gathered on the cobblestone circle.

  Assessing that the stream of bodies from inside the house had trickled to a stop, Aaron stepped off the porch to take his usual place near the back of the gathered crowd. He estimated the guests at fifty, including some who were likely still occupied pleasurably in the house. He could pick out some of the old crowd, in predictable positions.

  Lady Leather and her household remained together to the right, nearest the house. Looking over the familial group, he noted the man he had seen a week ago at the coffee shop. With a sudden sigh of realization, he took in the man’s submissive stance and the question of the woman from the coffee shop seemed answered.

  Down front, Warren and Trevor sat on one of the benches that had been carved from the logs of the trees that had fallen during a storm in years back. Aaron knew that, had Sara been here, that’s where he would find her, as well.

  In the center were the new kids. Fresh faces, all gleaming in anticipation, all with an insatiable hunger for this new environment. They would find something of themselves here, learning from those experienced voices and choosing to remain or move on to other events and parties. Most came with expectations of wild, kinky, drunken orgies and left disappointed.

  The cheers started. Aaron turned away from the crowd and his eyes focused forward once again. A collaring ceremony had become cause for true celebration in this bizarre extended family of theirs. Often more congratulated than a wedding, the community had begun a tradition of joy for the partners. The cheers would echo through the night, as loud in this place as a wedding in a cathedral of stained glass was solemn.

  Aaron let his voice join the discordant noise. As Warren raised his hand over the crowd, they quieted to hear the oaths that the Dom made to the boy he collared tonight. His speech inspired a roar of resounding chaos from the other Dominants in the audience. Aaron heard howls from the pack leaders, roars of agreement from primal players and the shouts from those like himself. They shushed respectfully to hear the responding oath from his bottom. In reply to his promise to obey, the submissives cheered and whistled their support.

  A hand clapped on his shoulder. Aaron turned to David’s concerned gaze. Stepping aside with him, away from the celebration, Aaron queried, “What’s up?”

  “Don’t ride my ass about it or anything, but Jen’s going to kill me. I was supposed to keep an eye on Marcy and no one’s seen her. She bolted on me about twenty minutes ago. I checked the library first, of course, but she wasn’t there.” David rubbed his hand over the goatee on his chin. “Have you seen her?”

  Aaron gaped at his friend. “I’ve never actually met Marcy.” His mind conjured dark hair, but he knew it was a long shot that his mystery coffee girl was the lost Marcy. He hadn’t seen her anywhere in the house, so he didn’t think she was the one.

  “Shit.” David nodded. “Well, thanks. I’ll keep looking around. Pass the word when this breaks up, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” Aaron slapped his friend’s back as he started to walk away. “Oh, hey, Brannon?”

  David turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Remind me not to have you babysit my kids.” Aaron laughed, trying to alleviate the stressful moment.

  Snorting back a laugh, David flashed his middle finger at Aaron as he walked away.

  Rejoining the crowd that witnessed the clasping of a keyed metal collar, Aaron found his gaze again drawn to the candles surrounding them. The flickering light bounced off the attendees, the stonework, the shingled side of the house and reflected back in the glass of the windows. Movement in the window he gazed at made his eyes refocus, from the surface of the glass to through it. He felt his jaw drop.

  She sat with her forehead resting against the glass, looking wistfully up at the night sky. Her arms closed tighter around her body and he could see the discomfort in her posture. The details escaped him with the distortion of candlelight, but he thought her hair was down, curling around her face. He stepped back again, counting windows and trying to determine which room she sat in. As he turned to leave, she turned away from the window and he couldn’t see her anymore.

  Frozen for a second, wondering if she had been nothing but a trick of the light, his imagination playing tricks on him, Aaron nearly made the decision to forget it. His legs, though, carried him inside. He skipped steps up to the porch, his long stride eating up the hallway as he tried to count and remember which window it had been.

  * * * *

  “It’s okay, David. I’m all right. Just a little panic, that’s all.” Marcy tried to reason with him, to placate the freaked out protector Dom who now wanted to shelter her in bubble wrap and cotton batting. She walked around him, leading the way out of the library.

  “Marce, I just don’t know what happened. It was like I looked up and you disappeared. If someone hadn’t mentioned seeing you…” David sighed. “Do we need to go? I can have someone come back for Jen and Lila if you’d rather go.”

  Marcy nodded, emotion clogging her throat. The sight of the rope coiling over skin had brought her back to the last play party she had attended. The rope tight on her arms, feeling herself slipping back and forth as he’d shifted her body, the rope rubbing on the skin that had begun to sweat.

  Jason had ruined Damien. As soon as his attention had shifted from his own scene to hers, Jason had been in motion, on the warpath. The blade that was ever in his pocket had flashed in her tear-filled line of vision before she’d felt herself drop over his arm at her waist. His call for help had brought four other capable hands to support her as she’d been lowered to the ground, deft fingers peeling the woven braids from her skin. It was only later in the evening that she’d learned Jason had threatened the other Top with charges if he didn’t leave immediately. She had fought with Jason then, railing at him for interfering. Unable to control her emotions, she had stormed away and snuck out of the party to make her way home.

  Marcy let David drape his arm around her shoulders, gently guiding her down the hall as she remained lost in her thoughts.

  It was unfortunate that life interfered sometimes, not allowing for the closure one normally needed. The offer of an executive position with the university and the move to this new city had happened quickly. Marcy had only spoken with Jason and a select few others to inform them and say her goodbyes. She had promised to visit, to keep in touch, but she hadn’t.

  At the arched entry to the living room, empty of celebration now that the ceremony had taken everyone into the sultry sensation of the July night, Marcy stopped short. She had disappeared. She ha
d slunk off, melted away, just vanished—like a victim. She’d let him win, had let him make her second guess herself.

  “Wait. Please.” She pushed away from David’s side and stepped down into the sunken room. Her heels clacked nicely on the wood floors as her hesitant steps took her to the padded bench that dominated the room. She stroked her fingertips over the padding.

  Turning her head and addressing him over her shoulder, Marcy asked, “David? Can I ask you a favor?”

  She heard the hard exhale. “Marce. I don’t know. Do you know what you’re asking?”

  Looking down at the bench, she realized the curve of the top would cradle her hips perfectly. “Yes, I do. I need to know if you can do it for me.” She pivoted fully this time, her hand resting atop the play furniture.

  David scrubbed one hand down the side of his face, the concern evident in his eyes. “This isn’t kid stuff, Marce. We’ve never talked about this. I don’t know any of your limits, cues or safewords. Are you sure?”

  Marcy looked up at the ceiling with a sardonic laugh. “David, I haven’t felt right here all night. I just need something so I can feel connected or real or put back together or something. I’ll make it easy.” She turned to the bench, both hands flat on the cushion. “Flogging only. Just my back, where it’s bare from the dress. Nothing more. That’s it.”

  “All right, Marce. I think we can handle that. I’ll honor red, yellow and green, but do you have another safeword?”

  She drew in a sharp breath as the thought crossed her mind. “Caramel,” she breathed, her lips trembling.

  “All right.” David crossed to the toy armoire, and she heard the swish of what sounded like three different floggers lashing at the air. He walked back to the center of the room, laying two of the implements beside her on the bench.

  The first had thin tails ending in knots. The falls on the second were thick straps of leather. Pointing to the latter, she walked to the end of the bench, placing herself in position. Her body laid almost comfortably across the length. David placed a hand in the center of the open oval of skin as he crouched beside her.

  “Do you need restraints?” he asked gently.

  “No!” she exhorted. “No restraints. No rope.” Her body trembled under his hand.

  He nodded and rose. She heard the practice swings and imagined him getting used to the balance and striking distance of the unfamiliar tool.

  The first strike made her squeak and cringe. He allowed her a moment before the next fell. Marcy’s hands rose to cling to the edge of the sawhorse-style bench. There was tension in her back after the first two had hit her bare flesh.

  The next three came in quick succession, lined up across her shoulder blades. The breath she had been holding pressed out of her. The impacts from the flogger started to reach a slow steady rhythm that David methodically worked over the skin she had allotted him.

  In the back of her mind, she heard the doors opening and closing as people re-entered from outside. Jubilant shouts quieted to whispers as they heard the slap of leather against flesh. Marcy felt the heat of their eyes on her as steadily as the heat of the whip in David’s hand. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself to the beat he set on her skin.

  Chapter Nine

  Aaron sat on the window seat, his hand resting on the spot that had been warm when he’d arrived. She had been here—right here—and she was gone again. If he hadn’t guessed wrong, twice, about which room she had been seated in, he might have caught up with her. With a sigh, he placed his hands on his knees to propel himself to standing. If he could find them, he would say goodbye to Warren and Trevor. David, Lila and Jen, too, if they weren’t still looking for their friend.

  He noticed the crowd at the living room again, chuckling to himself when he realized how popular that spanking bench seemed to be tonight. He could feel the hushed energy rippling through the crowd. The heavy sound of leather strikes made him nod his approval. Not many people played hard impact in public, even here.

  He approached, again at the edge of the large crowd. No one dared enter the room, fearing the reach of the big man with the whip. Again Aaron nodded, impressed, when he saw David rocking back with his whole body to deliver the blows. He edged through the crowd, sorry he wouldn’t have the chance to say his goodbyes to David and Jen.

  Something drew his eyes and stopped him dead. Outside the arc of the implement, Jen and Lila sat, open-mouthed and enraptured, as they watched David work. Quickly Aaron pushed his way through to a clear point of view.

  Leather encased her feet and ended at her ankles, leading his eyes up her stockinged calves. The hem of the black dress would have been modest in this crowd if it didn’t look painted on as it stretched over… Oh, God, that ass. The fullness of it made him want it in his hands. He noted how her back dipped into delicious curves and he saw just the barest hint of the way her breasts would press against him, as evidenced by the way they flattened against the bench. Her sleeves wrapped her arms in the same black lace, so tight to her skin that he could imagine it tattooed there. She gripped the wood frame of the bench tightly.

  Aaron released a gasp of shock when he realized she wasn’t bound to the bench. He had never seen impact done to this degree without binding. Every involuntary twitch could lead to danger for the next blow. Having immobility was a safety most submissives required. He continued the circuit of the room, his gaze on the bare skin of her back, framed in black lace. The pink was making its way toward red now under David’s attention. A quick glance at his friend revealed the utter concentration of a man involved deeply in the scene.

  A soft sigh escaped the bottom on the bench. A responding gasp echoed through the crowd. Aaron watched the minute flex of her hips that served to press the juncture of her thighs against the hard edge of the bench. Aaron marveled at this woman. The punishment she took was harsh, but her body moved like David was caressing her skin with the softest silk. She arched up occasionally to meet a strike, satisfied sounds coming from her throat.

  Aaron suddenly felt an encompassing need. Her face was positioned over the opposite side of the bench from him. He had to know who this woman was. He was so near to positive. Could it be her?

  As he made the decision to move, almost as though she had heard his desire, she used the arching of her back to shift position. Her face was masked by the…no…dark chestnut brown curls. His focus had been everywhere else. How did he not see it? She lifted her hands out to indicate needing a moment. She swept her hair out of the way, her eyes remaining closed, before she resumed her position, her face now on the side of the bench Aaron stood frozen next to. He found himself staring at the face he had fantasized about. She curled her rose lips in a peaceful smile, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa’s secrecy.

  “Color check,” David rasped, his breath haggard in his throat.

  “Green,” her sure response came.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” His friend twirled the flogger again, working his wrist with the weight before it cracked loudly across her bared back.

  She parted full lips on a gasp and opened her eyes, unfocused. David let another fall before she could collect herself, and Aaron could see the pain make its way out in her gaze. Tears formed, glittering on her eyelashes. As her lip began to tremble, she focused—on him.

  Marcy’s mind played tricks on her. It had never done that before, but every subspace was different in her experience. He couldn’t possibly be real.

  He shifted restlessly. Fantasies weren’t restless. Dreams didn’t get uncomfortable. Her focus closed on him even as each continued, increasingly harder, blow of the flogger pushed the breath from her lungs. He stood wreathed in light, a beacon of white in a sea of black, like a fierce avenging angel. His shirt was as snowy white as her dress was jet.

  “You.” His mouth formed the word she couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her brain. His expression was incredulous as he stared at her. The vision of him grew fuzzy at the edges. She blinked repeatedly, trying to banish the t
ears that came unbidden. Her mouth was dry as she whimpered incoherently now. She watched him edge closer, crouching nearer to her, while still at a safe distance.

  Her back no longer arched to meet the blows. The flogger that had been delivering the thick thud that she craved was now an instrument of torture, releasing the emotion of her injury in a way she hadn’t been able to on her own. She closed her eyes, wanting to hide the ugliness from him. She knew there was no way to hide the tears, to mask her sobs, as David wrung all of the wrong out of her. In her head she heard Jason’s voice, heard the angry shouting as the rope had been discarded, wet with sweat. She could see the ghosts, the women who disapproved, the players who had villainized him, the ones she had allowed to treat her like a victim. She gathered the shame close to her, knowing she had been weak to allow it. Her inexperience had burned her, but it had also taught her a harsh lesson. Her tears soaked her cheeks and hair as she felt each fall of leather like a lick of fire across her sensitive skin. Her eyes opened again, unsure if she wished he were gone or if she wanted him closer yet.

  Marcy saw him in the same position, frozen at the very edge of the safe play area. Even through the haze of tears and pain, she identified him as the owner of the pants, those she had seen while searching for refuge and that had appeared to feel soft. She watched his lips, her focus narrowing to the disbelieving, relieved smile that spread across them.

  “I’m here.”

  She saw, heard and felt his words.

  Her hand pried loose from where it gripped the bench. A sudden need, encompassing and compulsory, made her want to press her skin to those pants. She wanted to crawl to him and lay her head in his lap. Her world narrowed to the thought of it, requiring the feeling of him more than she desired her next breath. She stretched out her hand but was too stiff from the severity of her grasp to both straighten and hold out to him. After an exhaustingly brief moment, she dropped it to hang loosely.