Subordination:Chronicles of a Domme(42)
“All I know to be true is my heart is breaking. My entire life has turned to shit, but the one bright spot in it was you. Now I see that’s been snuffed out as well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that you have it in that stubborn head of yours that there is a right way and a wrong way to have a relationship. That there has to be a perfect meeting and all smooth sailing. I’m sorry, Sophie, but that’s utter bullshit. You’re much too intelligent to hold such a naïve view. Relationships are like a battlefield—they’re bloody and painful and frightening. Just as the landscape of a battlefield is altered and scarred, so are relationships. But it’s because of what happens on that battlefield that defines greatness. Considering you’re an English teacher, you should fucking know that the greatest love stories were never easy.”
“Yeah, they usually all ended tragically or in death.”
“I never took you for such a pessimist when it came to love.”
“I never was until I met you. Then all the anguish and agony that I had read of in my books became real to me. All the superstitions of my life manifested again with all the negative things that happened to us.
“It looks like the bad luck of threes is now on me as well. After all, this is the third time we’ve had a discussion about our relationship.”
“I am sorry, William. I truly am. But this is the way it has to be.”
“And like a true sub, I must obey my Mistress’s wishes, right?”
“I was never truly your Mistress.”
“You owned my body, heart, and soul.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I whispered, “William, please.”
“Fine. I’ll honor your wishes.”
“Thank you.”
When he started off the porch, I should have felt relief. But I didn’t. Instead, it felt like one of the bullet’s from the shotgun was tearing through my chest, its pellets shattering my heart into pieces. Feeling lightheaded, I gripped the porch railing for support.
At the bottom of the stairs, William stopped. He paused for a moment before turning around. “If I’d never met you at 1740, I’d still have been attracted to you when I saw you at school. When I got to know you better, I would have liked your sarcastic wit, your strength, and your kindness. I would have had to fight against my better judgment not to ask you out on a date. You’ll never be able to convince me that somehow in some way we were meant to cross paths, and we were destined to be together.”
With those final words, he walked off the porch and into the night, taking a piece of my heart with him.
TWO WEEKS LATER
A hard-edged Metallica sound blared overhead as I brought the slim cane down over Owen’s back. At the stinging contact, his arms jerked against the rope. When I had walked out the doors of 1740, I never thought I would ever be back. That sentiment had been magnified when I stormed in to confront Calla. Even though Robert had told me I always had a job there, I didn’t believe him. Or maybe it was that I didn’t want to believe I would ever need to be back.
Yet here I was in my Domme attire of a short, white leather skirt and bustier beating the shit out of Owen in the dungeon.
While I might’ve been dressed for the part, I wasn’t in Domme space. Instead, my mind festered with dark thoughts. There was worry for my dad’s rapidly deteriorating health. There was fear that the grim reaper was hanging around our house just waiting to take my father away. There was grief for the loss of my teaching job. There was anxiety about if I would ever find another teaching job.
And then there was anguish and agony when I thought of William.
The more the thoughts whirled like a destructive cyclone in my mind, the harder I began to bring down the cane. Sweat broke out along my body from the intensity of my movements. I began to pour all my emotions into the beating.
“Judge, Mistress!” Owen shouted.
My arm froze in midair. In all the years we’d been doing scenes, Owen had never had to use his safe word.
The cane slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. At the sight of the blood pouring from Owen’s welted back, my hand flew to my mouth in horror. “Oh God, Owen, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Untie me.”
I didn’t bother reworking the ropes. Instead, I snatched the shears from my bag and quickly cut his hands and feet loose. “Don’t move. Let me get the first aid kit.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “No.”
“Wait-what?”
“I said no.”
I knelt down beside the CBT chair. “But your back is a wreck. You need aftercare immediately. I might even need to get Master Elias in here to stitch you up.”
Owen shook his head. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” I asked incredulously.
“This scene…it hasn’t been you.”
I squeezed my fists together as I fought to keep from crying. “I’m so sorry, Owen.” I shook my head. “It kills me that I hurt you so bad.”
He laughed. “You think I safe worded because of the pain?”
I nodded.
“Sophie, I’m a masochist, remember?”
“I know that, but everyone has a limit, especially with the cane.”
“I stopped the scene because of your pain.”
“But—”
“You weren’t giving me what I needed—you were giving me all the hurt within you.”
I could no longer hold back my tears. They flooded my eyes before spilling onto to my cheeks. After I swiped them away, I said, “I’ve fucked up everything else lately. Guess it only makes sense I would fuck up a scene.”
“You didn’t fuck up the scene.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, not totally.” He gave me a sheepish grin before cutting his eyes down to the floor. “I totally came without permission.”
When I realized I was almost kneeling in cum, I jumped back. “Nice way to try and make me feel better.”
He laughed. “You got me off, babe. That’s a good scene to me.”
I playfully smacked his cheek. “Coming without permission and calling me babe. I would leave your ass black and blue if your back wasn’t a mess.” After glancing at the blistering whelps, I winced. “Won’t you please let me clean you up now?”
“Only if you promise to talk while you do it.”
“What’s there to talk about? You were there at the school board meeting. You know everything.”
Owen gave me a knowing look. “I want to hear about him.”
My eyes pinched shut at the pain just alluding to him brought me. “So I was right?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Let’s both get cleaned up.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
After pulling myself off the floor, I went over to the cabinet where the first aid kit was. I washed my hands before soaping up two towels. I grabbed the alcohol and gauze. After sliding a pair of rubber gloves on my hands, I gently I eased the soapy cloth over Owen’s back. At his hiss, I grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I was getting hard again?”
I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Maybe.”
“Good.” As I continued cleaning off the blood, Owen asked, “Where is William?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the school board meeting.” I tossed the bloodied towel to the floor and picked up a fresh one. “Things were left…badly.”
“On his part or yours.”
With a sigh, I answered, “Mine.”
“Why?”
Slowly and in painful detail, I related to Owen my last conversation with William. “Why did you shut him out?”
“Why? You’re seriously asking why?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What good could possibly come of us being together? At the very least, he’s a submissive, and I’m only a Domme for money. Then there’s all the school bullshit.”
“Every couple has baggage. Some have more unique than others. As for the Domme and sub thing, it’s workable. Look at me. None of my wives have been interested in the scene, so I just take care of that on my own. William could get his needs met without you.”
“That’s just the thing. I believe in total monogamy. I can’t just kiss William on his way out the door to get off with a Domme.”
“Not even one of the girls here that you trust.”
The thought of Mistress Angel or Mistress Venus putting their hands, least of all their floggers, on William made me feel a cross between being sick and violent. “No. I just can’t.” I dipped a cotton ball in alcohol and began dabbing it across Owen’s abrasions.
He didn’t protest. Instead, he wiggled his lower half slightly. “Are you trying to get some friction on your dick?” I demanded.
He laughed. “Once again, I’m a masochist.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re an emotional masochist.”
My fingers froze on his back. “Excuse me? Do you actually think I like feeling the way I do?”
“No. I really don’t.” Owen sighed. “So maybe that isn’t the right term. What do you call someone who is so afraid of people leaving them that they would rather be miserable than take a chance?”