Bound to Please(75)

“Thanks, Freud.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“I guess.” She blew on her coffee. “Claire, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think I failed you? Be honest; I can take it.”

She heard a quick intake of breath. “What? Are you kidding? Growing up, I thought you were better than any mother I knew. And way cooler, too.”

“Mom did her best.”

“Mom’s a flake and you know it. You’re the one I always looked up to. Even now, you’re still my role model.”

“I’m no role model, far from it.” What would Claire think of her perfect sister if she knew where Ruby had been last night? She didn’t want to know.

After they’d disconnected, Ruby stared at the phone. Ten missed calls, all from Mark. She wasn’t even sure why she was avoiding him. Partly from anger, but was she mad at herself or Mark? Or both?

She threw the phone aside and went to her bathroom, suddenly in need of a soothing, warm soak. She loved her bathtub. It was a claw-foot that was probably as old as the Victorian building in which she lived. It had been a rusty old beast when she moved in, but one weekend she’d holed herself up and painted the exterior a shiny black to match the black-and-white tiled floor.

She turned on the ancient brass faucets and squirted a healthy dose of jasmine bubble bath into the water. She slid off her robe and nightie, and once the tub was full she sank into the warm water. Breathing in the pungent jasmine scent of the bubble bath, she immediately began to relax.

Steam filled the small space, fogging up mirrors and windows. She’d wanted the water extra hot this morning, and it felt good, cleansing. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing, listened to the flow of water from the faucet as her heart started to slow its nervous pace.

For the first time since last night she was calm enough to really think. And she couldn’t get the images of what she’d seen at the fetish party out of her head. When she went to bed last night, she was too upset to allow herself any pleasure from the experience.

She turned off the water and suddenly the room was quiet. So silent she could hear the murmur of her neighbor’s television and the traffic on Clement Street. The sounds of normal San Franciscans going about their normal Sunday routines.

But nothing felt normal to Ruby this Sunday. Because she couldn’t get the erotic images out of her head.

And, with a start, she realized she didn’t want to.

When she closed her eyes she saw the woman with the candle wax. Out of nowhere, she had a picture of Mark tied to a bed, covered in hot wax. She imagined what it would be like to slowly tilt a votive until the molten wax spilled out of the candle and onto his nipples, onto the piercings he had there. He’d jerk at the shock of the heat, like the man last night, but his erection would tell her how much he enjoyed it.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, she contemplated what it would be like to dominate someone. She sank under the water, washing the question out of her head. The last thing she wanted was another curiosity creeping up.

But she couldn’t help that just the thought turned her on, and when she emerged she let her legs fall open, let the water caress her now-throbbing pussy. Her juices provided enough lubrication to withstand the bathwater and she slid one finger, then a second, into her vagina. She gasped, her legs twitching as she plunged her fingers deeper.

She continued fucking herself, finding a rhythm, gasping aloud, losing herself in the pleasure of it.

And she imagined Mark was there, watching her. Instructing her. Despite her little fantasy, she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to have him rule her. She craved it like an addict craves alcohol; that exhilarating freedom of giving him her power. How liberating it was to trust him fully.

She pinched her nipples hard enough to make her gasp, hard enough to make her sex throb. She moved her hand to her clit, touched a finger to that swollen tip. She pretended it was Mark St. Crow. Telling her what to do with her hands, her fingers. Rub your clit harder, harder—don’t stop. That’s a good girl.

Her knees splashed in the water as she thrust them open. Her legs strained against the sides of the tub as she bucked against her hand, hearing his imaginary voice in her head. Open up, baby. Fuck yourself for me. I want to see you come for me. Fuck yourself, baby, like it was my cock inside you. Fuck yourself, baby… Harder, harder, harder….

She cried out, her entire body going still against her palm. Her eyes popped open, and she focused on a crack in the ceiling as she came. Her core spasmed in nonrhythmic bursts; she momentarily stopped breathing.

She tried to drag the feeling out because it was so lovely there, floating in that tingly haze. Mark’s imagined voice still hung in her head, but as her breathing slowed and her body sank back against the ceramic tub, the words began to fade. It was like being awakened too soon from a magnificent dream. She wanted to go back to that place. But the reality was slowly returning.