Turning my focus back to my desk, another email pops up on my online dating account.
Dang it!
From: SuitMaster6979
To: Lotionlady319
Wednesday 9:10 a.m.
No! You do not get to say goodbye. That is not acceptable.
It’s not over, The Suit Master
Wow, he’s a lot more forward than I thought. That’s hot! Wait…no it’s not.
From: Lotionlady319
To: SuitMaster6979
Yes, it is. You like me too much, and I’m stupid to admit I feel the same. We don’t even know each other, and you don’t know a damn thing about me. That I know for sure.
Goodbye, Lex
Figured I already signed it with my name once. Can’t hurt.
From: SuitMaster6979
To: Lotionlady319
Wednesday 9:16 a.m.
Yes, of course I like you. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and I know a lot more about you than you know. I’m not telling you what, so don’t ask.
We will date, Suit Master
Oh my God! He is infuriating. He knows more about me? Like what? Arg! It doesn’t matter. My mind is made up. I’m done. This will be my last message. The end. Then I have to do some actual work.
From: Lotionlady319
To: SuitMaster6979
Fine, I won’t ask what you know. It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind. This will be the last email you ever receive from me. I wish you the best of luck. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I feel this is best.
Bye - Lex
There that is the final email. Sounds good and nice. I’m not being mean.
From: SuitMaster6979
To: Lotionlady319
Wednesday 9:21 a.m.
That might be your last email to me, beautiful, but I will not give up. I’m a lawyer for a reason, and I fight for the things I want. Remember that.
You will be mine – Your Suit Master
You will be mine - Your Suit Master? Shit, oh shit, oh shit! What if he’s a Dom!? I didn’t even think he meant Master in that form. When you think Suit Master. You think of a man who looks hot in suits. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. I might have just tormented a Dom. Brian was a Dom. Or a wannabe Dom. Please God if you are listening. Please, please, please. Don’t say I just pissed off a Dom.
I remember the first time I pissed Brian off. We had already started our little sex experimenting. Or that’s what I called it. He took it way beyond that. It all drastically spiraled downhill from there.
At the time, we lived in the country together, outside of Heartfair in his two story run down paint flaking farmhouse. You know the kind that you see in horror movies? With the rickety shutters, peeling paint, dilapidated front porch, and huge single pane windows with thick drapes hanging in them. Brian’s house was almost identical to that, except the interior didn’t match the outside. It was okay on this inside. Sure, it smelled musty from the basement’s cracked foundation that leaked water when it rained, and it had carpet; thirty years past its prime. It was livable and clean, for the most part. I wasn’t allowed to have anyone over to visit, so it didn’t really matter how clean it was. And I was forced to live with him and be his sex slave. No joke. I didn’t speak to my mom or Roni directly for months. Emails were exchanged but I was never the one emailing them. It was Brian.
The first time I angered him I hadn’t prepared our dinner properly. I added too much milk to the macaroni and cheese. Chucking the glass bowl across the floor full of noodles, smashing it to smithereens, he stalked towards me and grabbed me by the back of my hair, dragging me outside the rickety backdoor, down the broken steps, and into the barn. That’s where he tied me to the rafters with yellow braided rope, in the freezing November cold and cut my clothes off with a sharp bowie knife. I was shivering so badly within seconds that my teeth we painfully chattering.
I remember it all, like it was yesterday.
“Why do you want to fix me bad food, you stupid bitch.” He smacked me hard across the face, and I spit a mouthful of blood onto the busted concrete barn floor.
“If you do that again, I will make you lick it up.” He seethed, his tall lean body, stalking me with long powerful strides, around and around, as if I was his prey. He was wearing a pair of light washed dirty work jeans with holes in the knees, a black cotton V-neck long sleeved shirt, and his heavily worn work boots. I had been locked in the basement the entire day, in my makeshift daytime bedroom, and once he came home from work, I had an hour to prepare a meal, which was never much. I never learned to cook as a child.
“You need to stop cooking shit food, Lex.” He snarled spitting on my naked goose bump covered stomach.
Knowing from dealing with my father in my past, I knew I couldn’t speak up. That just gets you into more trouble.