Mastered: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (74 page)

“Solie?”

“Yes, I know I shouldn’t have looked but—”

“There’s a ‘
but’
in there somewhere? Really, woman?”

She kept her mouth shut. Smartest thing she’d done all day.

“You’re well aware that this man is a textbook sociopath, yes?”

Sigh.

“Solie, I asked you a question.” The words were spoken quietly, but there was no way in hell she missed the steel behind them.

“Yes, I’m aware he’s a sociopath,” she grumbled.

“And I’ve shared my experiences with you about people who have this disorder, which lines up with your own research. It’s to be expected for a sociopath to pull some kind of shenanigan or another, right?”

She should write a song called, “Yet another sigh.” Bleh. Instead, she growled out a plain old, “Yes.”

“I’m not even going to ask you what you were thinking, Solie, but I will say that I’m sure you know better.”

Oh here we go.

“Are you still going to the vendor fair at the C.S.P. tomorrow?” he asked.

That was a no brainer. The vendor fair at the Community for Sex Positivity was a twice a year event that she and her other best friend, MacKenzie, didn’t miss. Many of the vendors were different each time, so there was always something cool and unique to be had.

“Yep, I’m going to the fair. Mac promised my niece that we’d get some new toys for her play bag.”

“Okay. So, when I see you tomorrow I’m going to spank your ass for doing what you know you shouldn’t have, which was perv
that guy’s
profile. Agreed?”

Damn. She could simply say no. Burton wouldn’t do anything without her consent. But she was in the wrong. There were no two ways about it. Not only had she connected the sociopathic dots when her relationship with Marcais began to head south, but Burt had confirmed her suspicion because he’d had plenty of experience with people like her former dude.

To make matters worse, Solie had reached out to Marcais’ ex-wife to learn exactly what she was dealing with. That woman, who’d turned out to be a fabulous person, had also told her to expect the man to do something to re-establish communication with her. And if he couldn’t do that, he would pull a mind fuck.

So yep, Solie had known the moment she’d read his message that Marcais wouldn’t have reached out to her for the hell of it. He had a purpose, always. For someone like him it wasn’t about love. It was about winning. About control.

In the end, Solie had royally worked herself into a tizzy behind something that could have been avoided. All she’d had to do was exercise a little restraint and stop long enough to think about what she was doing. Basically, she could have simply ignored
he who should not be named
. But nooohohoho. She just had to go and be nosy. Just
had
to see what Marcais was pitching when she knew she shouldn’t.

And now, she’d tattled on herself to Burton? Forehead, meet desk. Yeah. That.

“Solie? I asked if you agree to the punishment.”

Ugh. Burt knew she was so
not
an exhibitionist, regardless of her love of kink. So public spanking equaled absolute punishment in her book. Hell, she totally had this coming.

“Yes. I agree.”

“And I’ll spank your ass every time you perv his Kinkfest profile. Agreed?”

“Fine,” she snarled into the phone.

“In fact, I’m driving down to Seattle just for you, darlin.”

“Yay. I feel so special.” The words were dead pan. Burton’s responding laughter lifted her mood a bit.

Then he said, “But you are special, Solie. Just because a pathological liar and a serial cheater didn’t treat you right, doesn’t mean you deserved it. Woman, you should be treated like the amazing catch that you are. You’re a queen bee and you know it.”

She smiled a bit brighter. But still…

“Well I don’t feel like a damn queen. I feel like an idiot. An idiot for not seeing the red flags earlier. For not cutting him off earlier. For not totally ignoring him. Look where it got me.”

“Solie, don’t be ridiculous. Sociopaths and narcissists aren’t stupid. They’re very smooth, charming and look like the perfect guy or gal. Why? Because they are experts at manipulation. Didn’t his ex say he cheated on her for almost eight years? And didn’t she compliment you for cutting him off after barely one year? Can you imagine how hard it was for her to admit that?”

Still, it didn’t make her feel any better. Her ego was beyond bruised. And now she was going to have a tender ass on top of that.

Just great.

* * * * *

With her phone plastered to her head yet again, Solie peered out the window of her office. The soft summer breeze had blown out the earlier clouds to reveal a clear blue sky. It reflected off of the waters of the Puget Sound and reminded her of her favorite piece of sparkling, deep-blue, topaz jewelry.

She twirled lazily in her office chair. Joy was instantaneous when the number she’d dialed was answered on the third ring, and a voice that brought to mind her favorite jazz singer greeted her with an upbeat “hello”.

“Hey Mac! I totally agreed to let Burton spank me. Publicly.”

“What? You agreed to let that Sasquatch put his hands on you? On your bare ass? Girl, you’re a brave one.” MacKenzie Ivers burst into a deep laugh that had the sides of Solie’s mouth pulling up into a smile. Mac was a female version of Burton—best friends until one of them kicked and left the world for good.

“Girlfriend, you know he’s not going to hold back. And his line of work makes him awfully strong.”

Solie just sat and shook her head at herself as Mac reminded her that because Burton built houses and supervised work crews, he was a very strong man. Sometimes he had to do the suit and tie bit; when he met with his architects and clients. Other days it was ripped jeans, hard hats, work boots and lots of fantastically defined muscle.

Mac had introduced her to kink and protected her fiercely to this day. Many people thought BDSM was all about sex. For Solie, it was all about trust.

As such, Solie had explored the lifestyle for a few years before ever playing with anyone. Instead of wading into the deep without knowing how to float, she’d taken the time to learn what she liked and didn’t like; as well as accept the advice and guidance of her friends. This lifestyle was like anything else—with the good and the bad; ups and downs; sane people and nutballs.

She’d also discovered that although she was a bad ass in the boardroom, she didn’t prefer to be one at home. Solie owned a business and had a knack for running things. On the flip side, there existed a submissive side that was greatly satisfied by serving and giving to others. The result was Solie’s most cherished nickname given to her by MacKenzie—the “fantabulous alpha bitch submissive of the universe”.

When she’d finally been ready to actually jump into physical play, Mac, her very best girlfriend, had been the first to give her a flogger tasting. It had been the most fabulous birthday present ever. For days, Solie had preened in front of her mirror and grinned over the pretty marks left on her skin.

But right now her brow pulled down into a frown at the rest of the memory—that night at the Twilight Teahouse had been Solie’s first time playing in public. Ever. And Marcais hadn’t been there. He’d forgotten her birthday completely and then claimed he’d thought it was a day later.

But he hadn’t shown up the next day.

Or the day after that.

Turned out that one of his other women had a birthday the day after Solie’s, and he’d spent the weekend with that chick instead. So sure, he’d forgotten Solie’s birthday because his mind had been elsewhere. Literally.

Mac and Burton had seen her through the good and the bad, which included the long list of Marcais’ betrayals. They’d held their tongues each time Solie forgave the man, and gave advice only when asked for it. Her buds had listened to all the rants, and dried all the tears.

“Stop thinking about him, Solie.” Mac’s tone snapped her out of her musings. “I can tell by your silence after my sasquatch crack that you’re thinking about
that guy
.”

Mac wouldn’t even speak Marcais’ name, as if it would taint her soul or something. Actually, Mac described him as the shit on the heel of the antichrist, so maybe she did think his asshole-ish-ness was contagious.

“I can’t help it, Mac. You know the human psyche doesn’t work that way. I can’t just turn it off as if it never happened. Besides, it’s only been a few weeks since we broke up for good.”

“Yes, I know. I just hate that you’re in pain and there is nothing I can do about it. I know you have to process it, feel it. But damn it, Solie, I just fucking hate it.”

A few moments of silence passed.

“Mac, I appreciate it. You know I love you, right girl?”

“And I love you right back. Damn it, I’ve gotta go, Sols. My two-thirty appointment is here.”

“No worries. Go ahead and work your magic, oh architect extraordinaire,” Solie said. The woman was indeed one of the premier and sought-after architects in the Pacific Northwest. “One day I’m going to hire you to design my dream house.”

“Hire me? Do you want to add a second spanking to your punishment, you crazy woman? You won’t ever hire me. Whatever you need or want is yours. You know that. Now I’m going to ask you to do something that my therapist once suggested to me as I was going through my divorce.”

Mac and her husband, Landon, had hit what seemed like an endless rough patch in their ten year marriage. Mac had wanted counseling but Landon voiced loudly and often that he didn’t need any help because it was all Mac’s fault—it didn’t matter what
it
was. Mac had lifted her head, refused to be stomped on, and filed for a divorce that she’d bounced back from like a champ. In fact she’d processed that madness so completely that her husband, Landon, couldn’t help but notice. He followed Mac’s example, came to his senses and sought some good therapy. In the end, he’d come crawling back to Mac on hands and knees. Literally. Now, to everyone’s grand relief, they were the happiest couple Solie knew.

“I want you to write down how you feel, Sols. No holds barred, no editing or altering. Just write it down. All of it. You’re heartbroken and I understand better than anyone. You know that.” Yes, she did know. Not too long ago, Mac had been through her own journey through the Seventh level’s East Side of Hell. “And I know I told you to stop thinking about him, but that was a knee-jerk reaction. I’m sorry for that. Forgive me?”

“Of course, woman. So, what do you want me to do? Just write about my feelings?”

“Yes, but rather than dwell on all the ways this guy screwed you, concentrate on what you actually feel. So no ‘he did this or that’. Instead make it, ‘I, Solie, feel…’, then fill in the blanks. Make sense?”

“Yep.”

“And you don’t have to share it, Solie. You’re allowed to keep your own counsel and play this as close to the vest as you want. This is your thing. Yours. You own it; do it the way you see fit as long as you stay on this side of functional. No dysfunctional bullshit. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Okay, I gotta run. Catch you later?”

“I know we’re going to the fair together, but will you stick around for…you know?”

“Do you honestly think I’d miss the chance to watch Burton paddle your ass?”

“No paddle. Just bare hand.”

“Not the point. The question was, do you think I’d miss that? Hell no!” Mac laughed, full and honestly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world because you know your goofy ass deserves it.”

Did her friends have to be right all the damn time? Solie shook her head at herself, said her goodbyes and turned her attention back to work. And every time her brain tried to skip off to “dwell-on-Marcais-land” Solie deliberately squashed those thoughts. Instead, she concentrated on the anomalies between the databases in front of her. Reverse engineering someone else’s work was a pain in the ass, but it was necessary if she was going to figure out why the script she’d written to move data from one system to another wasn’t working.

Normally it would be annoying as hell to find such huge differences between systems, but right now it was a hell of a welcome distraction. When eyeballs began to cross and hands trembled a bit, Solie looked down at her now-buzzing phone. Earlier during a brief moment of common sense—she seemed to be sorely lacking in that particular area lately—she’d set her alarm for seven o’clock this evening to keep herself from over doing it on her day.

She hadn’t actually eaten since she’d gotten back from walking the dog and screaming at Burton at lunchtime. No wonder her stomach felt like an empty, wind-swept cavern.

“Well, at least I remembered to drink water,” she grumbled at herself.

Thankfully, Mac knew her so well she’d swung by a couple of hours ago on her way to Twilight Teahouse. The woman had run in, waved as she passed Solie’s office, said something about plugging in a crockpot and then run out again.

Solie had peeked out of her window and caught a glimpse of Mac’s outfit as she jumped back into her car—black knee high boots with buckles up the side, a burgundy leather corset with matching bolero jacket over a sleek black catsuit. My goodness, it was a combination of Selene the Underworld Death-dealer and a sexy, flogger-toting Hollywood starlet. Mac had pulled out of the driveway and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.

After a quick pit-stop to the bathroom for a wash-up, Solie found that crockpot on her kitchen counter and happily dished up a big bowl of steak chili. This time, when she returned to her office, it was for some self-healing rather than work.

She’d suppressed her thoughts all day. Now she followed Mac’s advice and wrote it down. She called her journal entry, Heartbreak and Monkey Balls.

* * * * *

Heartbreak and Monkey Balls

Heartbreak sucks hairy monkey balls and makes this girl wish that people came with warning labels, including myself. But you know what else heartbreak does?

It makes you want to crawl into your hole and never come out again, though you know you have too much shit to do to hide yourself away.