by L. DuBois
She was close to her own release, her body primed and her emotions fully engaged in the power exchange of the scene. And he must have known that, or knew she needed to breathe, because he withdrew, slapping her nipples.
“Well done, Princess.”
When she came—his cock in her throat, his fingers on her clit, her breasts and ass aching, her heart pounding as her lungs burned—she couldn’t do anything but lie there and accept it, her hands fisting and toes curling.
As if he’d been holding back, waiting for her, the next time Zidan withdrew, he grabbed her tits, one in each hand, his fingers digging in. He gave her only a moment to breathe before he thrust again, this time not as deep. His hips pumped, with no pause at the top or bottom of his thrust.
His fingers worked her breasts in a restless, asynchronous rhythm, and she knew he was close. She had a vivid memory of the way his fingers would tangle in her hair, or twist the sheets when he was about to orgasm.
She wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked, creating a vacuum that tried to hold him in when he withdrew, and welcomed him when he thrust.
And then she felt it, the first spurt of his ejaculate. Above her, Zidan shouted in pleasure, and maybe in relief. He filled her mouth as he switched to pinching and twisting her nipples, his cock, and his come, muffling her moans.
Chapter 9
Cali leaned against the wall in the shower. She ached as if she’d just finished a hard workout, though she’d spent most of the day, sitting, lying, or kneeling.
She tipped her head to let the warm water run over her neck and shoulders. That eased some of the ache, but also reminded her of how it had felt to have his fingers pressing into those muscles.
He used to rub her shoulders all the time, and she’d do the same for him, back in their crappy little apartment in New York. An apartment where she’d been happy, even though that word would have been far too pedestrian a characterization for her back then. She never would have used that word to describe herself at that point in her life.
As much as she didn’t want to deal with her hair, she undid her braid and ducked her head under the water, rinsing away the dried sweat along her hairline and the oil transferred there by his hands. A quick shampoo, careful of her extensions, and she forced herself to get out.
She toweled dry, then took her toiletries bag to one of the long counters with lighted mirrors. Naked, she sat on a fresh towel draped over a stool and pulled out serums and lotions, applying them to her face, neck, and arms without having to really think about it, the routine ingrained and familiar.
A blond woman sat down several stools over. They weren’t the only women in the Subs’ garden, but they were the only people in this particular area.
The blonde was lean, with the sort of subtle muscles that came from either a fitness regime that included weights, or a sport that built lean muscle in both arms and legs. She wore a pair of high-waisted leather “underwear” that covered her from crotch to just below her breasts. A sheer blush-pink kimono made an odd contrast to the black leather of the panties, though she recognized the robe as a MissyMaven piece. Her bare breasts were thinly veiled by the nearly translucent material, her dark nipples highlighted rather than hidden.
“Hi,” the blonde said.
Cali absolutely didn’t want to talk, but she smiled and nodded to the other woman while still facing the mirror.
“What’s your letter?”
“M,” Cali replied as she took the small container of makeup essentials out of her toiletries kit. She laid out the contents, then glanced over. “What’s your letter?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been called yet.” Sarah puffed out her cheeks, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I needed to scene this weekend.”
Cali’s heart went out to the other woman, and she set down the small tube of BB cream, twisting so she was facing her. “I know that feeling. Have you heard from your partner at all?”
“Nope. I’ve been here all night. Everyone else at least knows what’s going on—they know they’re supposed to come back next week if they aren’t playing this weekend.” Sarah straightened her back. “Anna, Mae, Sejal, Victoria, you…all got called. Know what your letter is.”
“Were you scheduled to be here this weekend?” Cali asked.
“No, I came because of the meeting, but was planning to stay and play. After the week I’ve had…” Sarah plucked the top off a little glass jar on the countertop, pulling out one of the hair ties stocked inside. “Okay, enough moping. I know I’m not really the only one who doesn’t know their letter.”
Cali turned back to her makeup, picking up her eyeliner. “You’re welcome to vent all you want. And call your top, whoever they might be, a jerk for keeping you waiting.”
“Right? Thank you.” Sarah pulled her hair back in a loose bun, then swiveled around on her stool to face Cali. “Mind if I’m nosy and live vicariously through you?”
Cali thought about it for a moment. On one hand she didn’t want to discuss her scenes with Zidan. They were too personal. On the other hand that was exactly why she should talk about them. The Subs’ Garden was not only a private space, but where the subs “talked shop” and discussed the clubs’ Masters, Doms, and Owners. It was how subs learned what different tops had to offer, what they were good at, and what they preferred from their partner.
“It started with manacles,” she said, flipping the eyeliner around to smudge and soften the line with the built-in brush on the other end.
“I saw you leave with those on. Dungeon scene?”
“No, though we did have a room in the Iron Court.”
Sarah moaned dramatically. “Lucky.”
Cali laughed. “Once I was there, it was a medical scene. Exam table, stirrups, all of it.”
“Oh shit. That’s hardcore.”
“It was.” Cali’s anus was still sore, and would be for days.
“Don’t leave it there!”
“It wasn’t sexy, it was…invasive, and a little humiliating.”
“Uh huh. How hard did you come?”
Cali laughed in response. Sarah pretended to fan herself.
“Mouth bit—I don’t know why that is under M instead of B for bit. But I had that in during the medical scene. Drooled all over myself.”
Sarah grimaced. “Why do men like the drooling thing?”
“No idea.” Cali switched to waterproof mascara. “Well, I mean, it’s most likely for the humiliation. Or another visible sign of their control.”
“I think it’s porn. All those come shots of girls with open mouths. The drool reminds them of it.”
“I’d like to think he’s smarter than that,” Cali murmured.
“Who’s your partner for the game?”
“Zidan.” Cali answered with her mouth half open—a necessary expression for the effective application of mascara.
“Oooo, interesting.”
Cali tensed, realizing that she might have been better off not saying that.
Sarah crossed her legs. “Do you think they gave you two the letter M since you’re married?”
Cali very carefully slid the wand into the mascara tube, then packed away her makeup.
“Oh no, I’m sorry.” Sarah shifted over one stool, putting her hand on Cali’s shoulder. “Do you not want it acknowledged when you’re at the club?”
Cali took a deep breath, but it didn’t stop the tears from forming on her lashes. Good thing the mascara was waterproof.
“I’m so sorry!” Sarah exclaimed. She grabbed a tissue and passed it to Cali.
“Don’t apologize.” Cali blotted her face. “I mean we’re not exactly front page entertainment news people, but our names, and marriage, aren’t a secret.”
Cali was what most in Hollywood referred to as a working actor. She made a living doing what she loved, and always had another project in the works. But she was never the star.
Cali played supporting roles, and the older she got, the more she was leaning tow
ards becoming a character actor. All that meant was that she was solidly on the invite list for most Hollywood parties and events, people recognized her but didn’t come running up for autographs, and her marital status was known to complete strangers.
“I’ve seen both of you here, scening with other people,” Sarah went on. “So I know it’s an open marriage, but…”
“But you’re just now realizing that it’s more than that. You’ve never seen us scening together,” Cali finished for her.
“Yes, but you know what? You do whatever makes you happy. And if you don’t like your husband as your top, then fuck the overseers for putting you together.” Sarah glanced around furtively, probably looking to see if Gabriela, Master Leo’s sub, was here.
“It’s…actually the opposite of that.” Cali had no idea why she was telling the other woman this. Maybe it was because she’d never really spoken about it to anyone, except her therapist, who wanted her to get a divorce. To end her pseudo-relationship for the sake of her own mental health.
“Zidan and I met in New York when we were young and we were both…rebels, I guess. Well he really was a rebel, or had been. It was why he was in New York.”
Sarah nodded, proving she probably knew some of Zidan’s bio. Maybe she was a theater lover.
“We shared an apartment, because it was cheaper that way, and we had sex, but we weren’t in a ‘relationship’.” She made air quotes. “At least we never would have called it that. We went to BDSM clubs together, sex parties, whatever interested us. We did it together for safety, and because we were roommates, but everyone we knew…knew we weren’t together.”
Sarah nodded, her expression already sympathetic.
“I was an actress, he was working in theater, writing his own plays at night. Then his asylum visa was about to expire.”
Sarah arched a brow. “Wait, green card marriage?”
“Yes. And why not? We could easily pretend to be married, and to the INS interviewer it looked like we’d been in a relationship for years. We hid the truth of our marriage the same way we hid our more perverse activities.
“Then a job took me to L.A. I hadn’t planned on a career in film acting, but casting directors liked me. I stayed. I was living here on my own, going back to New York to see friends…and to see him…when I could.”
“Because you were in love with him?” Sarah guessed.
“I didn’t realize it. Not until I was away. I missed being with him. Missed being able to tell him about my day. And the idea of him going to clubs and parties without me…” Cali shook her head. By that time his US career had really taken off, and she’d hoped that with the rising of his star, he might want something more with her. Or even be willing to put more effort into the facade of their marriage. But she’d heard from friends that he was still scening, still at the clubs.
“One day I went home to New York and I…I told him how I felt. Told him I loved him. He said he loved me too, but I knew he didn’t get it. I told him I wanted to be really married. Be in an exclusive sexual and emotional relationship. Spend holidays together. I wanted him to come visit me on set when I was away on location.”
“What did he say?”
“He thought I was joking. When he realized I wasn’t, he looked at me like…like he was disappointed in me. Disappointed that I’d given in. Become one of the people we used to pity, stuck in their little hetero-normative boxes.” Cali tried to laugh, but it came out watery.
Sarah put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard.”
“It was harder when he moved to L.A. to be the artistic director of the Geffen. He started producing for HBO, and we wound up being at the same parties. Back to pretending to be married when in reality we hadn’t spoken in years. Then…he joined Las Palmas. This was my place.”
“Because he still needed BDSM. Needed the outlet. The same way you did.”
“Some heavy, punishing scenes were how I dealt with him rejecting me.” Cali checked herself in the mirror. Her newly applied makeup was free of tear streaks, though her eyes were glossy with unshed tears.
“And the overseers forced you together for this game? That’s—”
“Heartbreaking,” Cali murmured.
“Okay, I was going to say fucked up, but yes, that’s heartbreaking. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Sarah gave her a full-on hug, which Cali accepted, enjoying the strange intimacy of the breast-to-breast embrace with no sexual component.
“Are you done?” Sarah asked when Cali pulled back. “With your letter?”
“No. But I don’t know what else we have.”
“Are you going back to him tonight?”
“He has a room in one of the outer buildings.” Some of the playrooms had beds, especially in the Sub Rosa court, but there were also utilitarian hotel-like rooms in a separate building, as well as a dorm for subs.
Sleeping in the dorm could either be a matter of convenience, or part of a scene. There was something humbling about being told to go sleep in a bunk room, especially for the members of Las Palmas who were wealthy, successful, powerful, or a combination of all three.
Cali realized she’d been ignoring the other woman’s plight and tried to stop being so self-involved. “What about you? Are you going to stay?”
“I think so. I’ll probably go see if there’s a spare bed. Maybe my partner will call me tomorrow.” There was hope in Sarah’s voice.
Cali smiled encouragingly. “I bet they will.”
“Or they’ll keep me waiting as a form of punishment.”
“Have you pissed any of the Doms off lately?”
Sarah winced. “Sort of…”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. Usually I’m good at minding my manners. But some people just rub you the wrong way, you know?”
“I do know. But I’m guessing that if the overseers put me with my husband-in-name-only, you’re probably going to be paired with whomever it is you’ve pissed off.”
Sarah folded her arms on the counter and dropped her head onto them. “Fuck.”
With a comforting pat for Sarah, and feeling lighter than she had before, Cali went to get dressed, then left the Subs’ Garden.
Zidan was waiting for her. It was the darkest part of night, and he seemed to blend in with the warm black shadows.
He stepped into the light from one of the Spanish-style lanterns that flanked the tall gate of the Subs’ Garden. The heavy manacles and a gag dangled from one hand.
Wordlessly, he came to her, raising the gag, which was just like a horse’s—two tapered metal pieces that joined in the center.
Cali held perfectly still. Waiting, and accepting, if not fully submitting. He held up the gag, one brow quirked.
Cali raised her chin and met his gaze. A silent challenge. His eyes flashed in the dark.
She didn’t struggle, but also didn’t make it easy.
When she didn’t immediately open her mouth, Zidan dropped the manacles and grabbed her by the neck. His thumb slid between her lips and along her teeth to the soft spot at the back where her jaw joined. He pressed, hard, forcing her mouth open, then shoved the bit between her teeth.
The rings on the sides dug into her cheeks as he fastened it tightly behind her head, and though this was much thinner than the other gag he’d used, biting down on the metal was far less comfortable than the nice rubbery stick from the first mouth bit.
Her hands were manacled together behind her back.
“You won’t need this.” Zidan pulled a folding knife from his pocket and used it to cut through the straps of the simple black teddy she was wearing. He really enjoyed destroying her clothing. She’d forgotten that about him.
She was naked under that, now totally exposed.
His hand cupped her sex, two fingers exploring between the folds. “Wet,” he told her, raising his hand and then rubbing her own moisture into her nipples.
He was hard, ruthless. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for tha
t brief moment of challenge, he would have been gentle with her. Taken her and tucked her into bed for some real aftercare.
But remembering their past had made her defensive. And so he’d treated her accordingly. Maybe the result would have been the same even if she’d been sweet and submissive.
She was gagged, bound, and naked as her husband marched her through the courtyards, and then out into the night.
Zidan leaned his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. When that wasn’t enough, he pounded his fist against it until the side of his hand started to ache.
The Den—the private space for Doms—was momentarily deserted. While there had been other people here he’d kept it together, unwilling to share, even obliquely, the surging emotions that had been too long denied.
Cali. It had been so long…
Zidan was far from emotionally reserved. When he wrote, he bled on the page. When he enjoyed someone or something, he expressed that.
But what he didn’t do, what he had sworn never to do again, was to love. To let one person come to mean so much that if they left…or were taken away…the loss would leave him wishing for death.
He’d lived through that once. Never again.
He couldn’t love Cali.
Couldn’t love his wife.
Zidan turned, then slid down the wall. He covered his face with his hands and scrubbed, as if that would change anything.
Enkindled feelings, long denied, refused to be resuppressed. What he’d just done and felt with Cali broke the mental and emotional walls he’d erected.
It was time for truth.
He loved Cali Leonard. He had loved her for a long time, and lied about it. To her. To himself.
The ache from the loss of his first wife had faded, and the older he got, the more he’d started to wonder if what he’d felt with her had really been love, or if they’d been more like comrades in arms, their closeness a function of a shared cause.
After her murder, what he’d had with her had been canonized, both in his own mind, and by the story of his life—at least his personal story as he presented it to the world.