Mastered: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (75 page)

Makes you scream, “Big girls don't cry!” while you blow through a box of tissues and a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Makes you want to scream, “I hate you!” while your heart bleeds and cries, “I love you.”

Makes you wonder what you did to deserve this, when you already know the answer is ‘nothing’.

Makes you wonder why you aren't good enough. Even while others tell you how awesome you are, in your mind you're thinking, “yeah, sure - I'm so awesome that I wasn't worth keeping or fighting for.”

Makes you want to shank him in the face, yet have the gauze, cloth tape and peroxide ready to sooth him.

Makes you want to put up a “Fuck You and Your Mama!” sign, though you know you were put here to serve and upgrade your partner, family and community.

Makes you wonder why he would stray and end up with nothing, when you'd already given heart, home, money, love, body, mind…everything.

Makes you want to close the door, even while you know you must keep the door open to allow your blessings to come through.

Makes you feel like a used piece of tissue, tossed away for a new piece of temporary ass, even though you know you are spun silk, gold and frankincense. Priceless.

Makes you want to become the ultimate dysfunctional bitch persona with a closed heart, even when you know you're not capable of doing so.

Makes you want to hold and nurse a grudge…when in truth, you've already forgiven.

Makes you want to run for the hills while you long for second chances.

Makes you want to know why, yet makes you NEVER want to know.

Makes you want to yell and scream…but you can't move past the hurt to get to the anger that would allow you to do so.

Makes you wish you were a crazy vindictive bitch, though you just don't have it in you.

Makes you want to punch people in the face who say, “Don't worry, you’ll find someone better” when what you wanted…was him.

Makes you want him to admit that he doesn’t care about you, even while you never want him to ever admit such a thing.

Makes your stomach tie in knots knowing he’ll simply go on to the next one, while you still hope he truly finds happiness.

Makes you feel sorry for yourself because you are alone yet again, and sorry for him because there is no one else in the world like you…and he has lost you forever and has no idea why.

* * * * *

Yep, that summed it up pretty well.

And Mac had been right. When Solie pressed the save button, closed her journal and turned off her computer, she felt just a tad bit better.

Chapter Two

Saturday rolled around much too quickly.

Mac swung by, picked Solie up and they headed into the city. As they rode, Mac chatted about this, that and the other. Solie appreciated that Mac just let her sit there quietly and ride along to the upbeat music she had pumping through her speakers. There was no need to point out her case of nerves. The fact that Solie was so quiet was a minor miracle in itself.

Mac had even pulled off the freeway and queued into a drive-through, yet Solie hadn’t noticed until a hot cup was pressed into her hand followed by a half-dozen nom-noms in a warm open bag.

“Salted caramel Krispy Kreme’s? Oooh, yummily. Woman, you are a goddess.”

“Yes, I am,” Mac said. “And I have ice in a cooler in the backseat in case your ass needs it after your Burton spanking,” Mac joked. “Oh, and I have some paddled-butt-be-gone cream, too.”

Solie laughed at that one, took another bite of delicious sugar-coma-in-a-bag and chased it down with piping hot coffee.

“No butt-be-gone for you?” Mac asked. “How about some anti-sasquatch-big-scary-paddle-hand spray?”

Solie choked on her coffee.

The levity helped, but she was still nervous. Was it because she’d be getting a public spanking or because Burton was the one giving it? She totally trusted the man. Had for years. He was ridiculously handsome and something about him had always drawn her although they’d never been intimate in more than a “bestie” kind of way.

Now, with the culmination of all the recent theatre in her life, she stopped to take inventory of her emotions. And with Burton, there was no doubt of a spark of…something. Often she thought on the sound of his voice as he spoke, his quiet but compelling manner. And the impact of his Caribbean Sea-colored gaze when all his attention was on her.

He was an alpha, through and through. Dominant. All the time. It was his nature. Not one of the dark and broody types, yet it still wasn’t something he had to tell or declare to anyone. It was just who he was.

And now she had something else to consider—Burton’s hands on her skin, caressing her flesh to deliver a mix of what she needed, wanted and feared.

At six-feet even, Burton was perfectly proportioned, a bit on the stocky side and
more
than a bit on the handsome side. In fact, the man was all kinds of pretty, in a Marine “hoorah” kind of way. Known for his skill with floggers, paddles, dragon tail whips and even Hojojitsu rope technique, Burton Khrys was in demand. His ability to read the needs of his partner, whether they were male or female, was downright uncanny. He could have damn near any woman he wanted in their local kink community. In fact, he’d been constantly sought after since he’d removed his collar from his last submissive.

But Burt was picky. He believed in wholeheartedly and thoroughly caring for those he considered his. He put a lot of time and energy into his relationships, whether they were of a sexual nature or not. As such, he was very selective about who he gave all that energy to. He didn’t believe in casual anything. With Solie, Mac and very few others, Burton cared in action, not just word.

He really was the complete package.

Parked right across the street from the Community for Sex Positivity building, Solie took a deep breath and climbed out of Mac’s car. Maybe she was twitchy because it was a punishment scene? Nah. It wasn’t as if she’d never been in trouble before with her own Dominant. Well, former Dominant.

So, what was this gut-with-butterflies-in-flight thing going on here?

Passing the tables of vendors, a set of sterling silver claws caught her eye.

“Oooh, Mac, look at those. Tooty would love the ones with the red powder finish,” Solie said quietly.

“Speaking of Tooty, where is your niece anyway? I’m surprised she isn’t here to witness this ass paddling?”

“She wanted to be here. I still can’t believe I told her about it considering she thinks I should have snagged Burton years ago. She can’t believe we’re still just friends.”

As they stood admiring the wares on the table, a couple of guys she’d seen at Twilight Teahouse walked past. She couldn’t remember their names, but they were always together and dressed in head-to-toe black leather with spikes and crap everywhere. She almost laughed when she heard one of them whisper to the other, “Hey, isn’t that the bossy control freak chick that makes Doms quake in their boots? I heard she was a scary bitch.”

Mac pinned them with a glare. They glared right back but kept on moving.

Well, Solie could be a lot to handle. She readily admitted that. But those who knew her well understood where she was coming from. She was the chick who got shit done. The end. It was a valuable trait in a submissive who was born to be more than a damn doormat.

Mac picked up a paddle. The handle was beaten metal with leather wrapped around it. She handed it to Solie. This time, she did laugh at the words “feisty bitch” carved into the wood.

“This is awesome, Sols. Maybe the claws and this paddle? I know the people who operate that particular armory. All their stuff is handmade. They have their own forges and everything. Ever want a tour of the place, let me know. Oh! There’s our guy.”

Solie gazed toward the other end of the large banquet style space to where Mac was looking. Burton stood there, leaning casually with one shoulder against a wall watching her. The moment their eyes met, he began moving toward them. Breath stuck in her throat at the huge, genuinely brilliant smile he sported as he took her in. It totally undid her.

“Nice outfit.”

She looked down her body at the tasteful, but short, little red dress she’d sported today. The top was hand embroidered with swirls and little flowers done in a darker hue than the dress itself. Mid-thigh, the cut was tasteful yet sassy. Matching red strappy sandals completed the ensemble.

“Thank you.” She gave him a hug, as was their habit. The moment he’d touched her, the jangling nerves quieted. Huh. She’d have to give that some thought. After. The typical warmth and safety of being in Burt’s arms remained even after he’d gone on to hug Mac.

“See anything interesting today?” he asked. “How’s your bag full before you’ve even seen the whole place?” he asked, then took a swig from a tall paper cup. The faint scent of coffee and caramel declared his favorite poison—caramel macchiato with double whipped cream.

“I saw a cool set of surgical steel fingertip claws for my niece—”

“Yeah, and that’s probably the only thing she didn’t buy yet,” Mac teased.

“Oh hush. Anyway, I got a unique pair of cuffs, too. I’ve never seen leather cuffs in that particular shade before. And they were so pretty next to some red bamboo rope I’m determined to try out.”

“Rope? You want to be a rigger?” Burt asked.

“Nah, but I wouldn’t mind being a rope bunny. I figure if I have my own rope it’ll be good energy to attract someone who isn’t crazy but is good with rope just the same.”

“Hmmmm.” And that was all Burton said. If his eyes were any indication, he wasn’t all that excited about the idea. Interesting.

The three of them made their way past a number of booths, chatting as they went. At this moment, this seemed like any other time they’d hung out together—the three of them making small talk, cracking jokes and making plans for the following weekend.

Finally they made it into the building’s main play room; which was large and open, with lots of stations throughout. There were winches for rope suspension, tables for everything from massage to fire cupping. For the edge players, there were spots for impact play, padded X’s called Saint Andrews Crosses, as well as a crap-ton of spanking benches, which reminded Solie of little padded picnic tables. For a moment, she imagined a polka dot table cloth spread over one of them with her laid out on top as she waited to be served as a main course…to Burton.

Shaking her head to clear it of the unsettling thought, Solie looked around, just as she did every time she came to this particular event.

The place was nothing like the Twilight Teahouse, but it wasn’t expected to be. The C.S.P. was one of the Seattle area’s best known kinky spots. It was located, of all places, partially under an old freeway. The space was comfy in a ‘worn old pair of slippers’ kind of way, while the Twilight was more like kitten heels.

“Are you ready, Solie?” Burt asked.

What the hell kind of question was that? Of course she wasn’t ready. This man, her very best friend and confidante, had big, thuddy, paddle hands. A woman would have to be nuts if she weren’t at least a little apprehensive about having those hands on her bare ass.

She’d watched him play at the local dungeons and the man was an expert at giving a spanking, for both punishment and pleasure. Was she afraid he’d hurt her? Not in the least—she totally trusted Burt. But she also knew that she’d been in the wrong. So, no, she was nowhere near ready. But a deal was a deal.

With a huff and a sigh, she said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

And in a flash, Burt moved.

“Get up on the fucking bench, Solie.”

Solie straddled the spanking bench and allowed Burt to push and pull her into the position he wanted her using her hair as a modern day steering wheel. In this moment he was the epitome of a gentleman who wasn’t a gentle man.

“Now, you know why you’re getting a spanking don’t you, Solie?”

The words were a forceful growl against her ear, spoken just loud enough for her to hear, but not anyone in the now-gathering crowd. This is what she got for agreeing to get a spanking at the local vendor fair. Nothing like a bit of public humiliation. Bleh.

“Yes. I looked when I shouldn’t have.”

“Do you agree that he’s playing you? Be honest, as always.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I walked right into it.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t deserve my attention and I don’t want my ass set on fire again.”

“Good girl. Here we go.” He eased her dress up just past her hips so her butt was exposed, but the front of her thighs were covered. Burt burst out laughing once he got a good look at the bulls-eye pattern on her barely-there underwear.

“Wait. Can I have a safe word after you’re done laughing?”

“No. This is a punishment. There is no safe word, no warm up and no negotiation. Understand.”

Yes, she did. When she’d been particularly bratty with
he who shall not be named,
she’d consented to the same rules. But she was grateful that Burton has asked anyway because in this particular game, one never assumed. Safety was always first.

This was new territory for their friendship. Burton had offered to become her protector the moment he learned how Marcais had been trolling around. But in all the years she’d known him, they’d only ever done some light play together, and never anything sexual.

“Do you consent, Solie?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Four on each cheek, okay?”

She nodded and the second her head stopped moving the first blow landed. Solie grunted under the impact. Holy shit, the man spanked hard. And then the second smack landed. Then the third and fourth.

He stopped, leaned down and asked her. “All right?”

She nodded.

Skin warmed quickly as the blood underneath rushed to the areas of impact. On the other cheek, the next smack landed, and with it came a particular sting that reminded her of a flogger more than a bare hand.