Safeword Quinacridone (32 page)

Cara interrupted. “But can she talk? Can she look at them?”

“Oh, you’re asking about the club rules? Yeah, she can talk when they’re home, though she has to call them Master. She can’t interrupt, nor argue, but I don’t recall her being quiet during normal conversation. I even remember a rather spirited political discussion, where she wasn’t afraid to respectfully voice her opinions. I’m pretty sure she’s allowed to look at them unless they’re in a scene, too. I’ve never heard her refuse an order or argue when told to do something, but they seem fine with her voicing opposing opinions on movies, literature, and politics, at least. She
is
their property and it isn’t play pretend with them, but it’s not as draconian in their home as you see here.”

“She can leave if she wants though; she’s not a
real
slave, right?”

Travis nodded. “She has her own income and she could leave and support herself, certainly. I’m aware of situations where the slave doesn’t work and has no marketable skills. While they’re not kept against their will, I’m not so sure they’d stay if they had the means to provide for themselves. It’s not slavery so much as financial coercion
,
but I’m still not terribly comfortable with it, when I see it.”

Cara slid down his body, scooting back
under
the covers. “You said you could arrange for me to watch someone being peed on?”

He dipped his head. “I can. There’s a kinky camping event with a kiddie pool set up especially for watersports, or if you want something more private I can arrange for someone to come to the house.”

“Would you be the one to...”

Stretching out beside her, he propped his head on one hand as he stroked her cheek with the other. “No.” He paused, added, “Unless it’s what you’re asking to see, in which case I can hire someone. I thought you wanted to see another couple in action and I can invite a close friend to bring his slave to the house for a private play party.” He smiled, his eyes warm and happy as he traced the line of her jaw with the back of his fingers. “He’d love the opportunity to make her submit to it in front of us.”

“You said you’ve done it before?”

He sighed, moved his hand to her stomach, and gave her his undivided attention. “I have, but it’s been a while. For a short period I really got off on it, and thankfully I was in Europe at the time where some of the streetwalkers are more likely to agree to that sort of thing, for a price.” His gaze rose for a second and he brought it back, as if forcing himself to look at her instead of an interesting spot on the wall. “It shames me now, how much I got off on the degradation of pissing on them in alleyways and behind garbage bins. I’ve grown up since then and wouldn’t enjoy it anymore. Not like that, anyway. I mean, if I was with someone who got off on it, I could
...
but back then?” He shook his head. “I was no better than the assholes who used you with no thoughts for your feelings.”

He looked away again, obviously uncomfortable, and Cara reached up to stroke his cheek. “How old were you?”

“I don’t know, maybe seventeen or eighteen? I kept a residence in Paris at the time.” His eyes met hers again and he grinned. “The age of consent’s fifteen; you can buy alcohol at sixteen and can get into clubs at eighteen — though a little cash would get me in at seventeen without a problem.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t a party animal, I still worked a ridiculous number of hours a week, but I was also a teenage boy and too young and full of myself to have so much money and power.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too bad. You grew up, and I’m betting you paid them enough that they don’t think terrible thoughts about you when they remember it.”

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “It’s nice having someone who believes in me. The truth is, a few times I got off on just paying what I thought I could get away with, so they wouldn’t make a scene. Later, you’re right, I more than compensated them, but...” he sighed, rolled back to her, and met her gaze again. “I’ve never been this honest with anyone but Paul. You know how much I love you, right?”

Cara smiled. “And I love you, too, but don’t change the subject. What about it turns you on? Not then, but later
...
and, now, if you were going to.”

“The power, and the visual; but it’s more than that. A dog uses urine to mark his territory, so in a way it’s as if I’m claiming them. Some of it’s probably the taboo factor of pissing on someone, and even more so, making them
drink
your urine. But just watching it wet them, drip off them, soak their hair, and the look on their face.” He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and opened them. “I don’t personally like the odor, so if I know ahead of time, I hydrate really well.”

“You’ve paid people regularly, so you felt as if you owned them for a few weeks or so, right?”

“Yes,” he tipped his head, “and in some of those cases I used watersports to drive home my ownership.”

“Would you feel as if you own me more if you peed on me?”

“More? No, I don’t think so. Maybe in the moment, but long term I’m secure in our relationship.” He leaned down to caress her lips with his and rose above her with a happy smile. “I don’t need to prove I own you, and I think that’s what I was doing with them. Besides, we own each other. I’m yours as much as you’re mine.”

Cara curled to the side and sank into the bed as Travis wrapped his arm around her, and her eyes drifted closed as she said, “I need to think about it. I was so turned on last night, possibly more than I’ve
ever
been, although it disturbed me to be aroused by some of it.” She pushed her bottom backwards, into him, snuggling in. “I wanted to feel disgusted, but couldn’t. I wanted
more
; I craved even rougher treatment, to be made even
less
. What does that mean?”

He kissed her shoulder. “It means the submissive in you liked what it saw, and the rest of you wasn’t so sure. We can find a way to keep the parts that turn you on and toss the rest, and we’ll figure out how to do it without turning you into a full time slave.”

“I have the room until tomorrow,” he said, tucking the blanket around her and pulling her closer, gathering her into the curve of his body. “We don’t have to go back on a schedule. Go back to sleep Cara Mia, I’ll be here when you wake this time. Sweet dreams.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cara talked to a few friends who took yoga classes, and was invited to take a trial class with several of them. She hated the first class, which boasted a heated room to keep your muscles warm. The second was okay, but the instructor seemed a little too starry-eyed and out of touch with reality for Cara’s taste.

The third studio was run by a husband and wife, with one teaching while the other walked around and helped those who didn’t have the pose exactly right. A yoga-wall contraption also helped support Cara in the positions she couldn’t get on her own.

The wife’s motto was anyone could do any pose; they just might need a little help. She was quick to place a block or stool in front of Cara when she couldn’t reach the ground, or to show her how to loop a strap around her foot when she wasn’t flexible enough to grab her heel with her hand.

She signed up for their Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning classes, at a time Travis was always at the office. She intended to tell him about the classes soon, but wanted to give it some time first to see if her body could be made more flexible before getting his hopes up.

Cara was certain she’d figured out how to evade the paparazzi, as she arranged to go into the fancy teahouse next door, out the back door, and into the second floor rear entrance of the yoga studio.

Halfway through the second week she came home and proceeded straight to her solarium without even showering. She’d been
painting
a few hours when Travis came home from work early, barging in and abruptly interrupting her concentration with a harsh, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

She jumped at the intru
sion, startled, lost in her art
with no idea what he meant. She shook her head and turned to him, pallet in her left hand and brush still in the right. “I don’t think so? Are you okay?”

He turned his tablet towards her and she took a second to recognize the girl lying on her back with one leg pointing to the ceiling and the other with a strap around the foot and angled out, was her. She wore yoga pants and top, but the angle looked obscene, presenting a fully clothed crotch shot to the camera’s lens.

“Shit, how did they get that! The studio’s on an upper floor with high windows, and I snuck in and out!”

“I’m not worried so much about how they got it, but that you’re doing this and didn’t tell me. Why would you keep this from me, Cara?”

She saw the hurt in his eyes and her heart instantly broke with the knowledge she’d caused it. She couldn’t hug him with her hands full and paint all over her, and she talked as she deposited pallet and brush on a nearby table.

“Oh Travis, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I want to be more flexible for you, but I needed to make sure I could do it before I told you.”

He didn’t say anything, and she threw her hands up. “I just started with this studio last week, three days a week, so I’ve had five classes. Well, six counting the test class, I guess. Still, it’s been less than two weeks and I wanted to see some results before I told you. Please don’t be mad at me! I know you’re still careful with me and I want you to be able to bend me however you want!”

His face was still blank, he was still silent, and she wanted to crumple in a heap and die. She turned away and put her hands on the table, dropping her head. “I hate that I can’t be what you need. I’m tired of beating myself up for not being able to handle what Jonathan was trying to teach me, and I wanted to...”

Her voice broke and she had to stop talking or risk crying. He took three quick steps to her and turned her, pulling her into his arms before she could stop him. She tried to push him away, warning, “No, I’ll get paint on you. It won’t come out of your clothes.”

“Then I’ll throw them away and tell Jacob I need more. God Cara, I love you so much. I wish you’d told me, but I can understand why you wanted to wait.” He hugged her tighter. “Just knowing you’re giving it a try means so much.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“No, Cara Mia.” He kissed the top of her head. “My feelings were hurt, and still are a little, but I understand.”

“Okay, then.” One crisis averted, now onto the next. “Is that the worst picture? How many are there?”

“Only two have been published of you in the studio so far, along with pictures of you going into the front of the teahouse, out the back, and into the rear of the yoga studio.” He kissed the
top of
her
head. “They’re pretty proud of themselves for figuring you out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shit, I thought I was so smart. It worked for a while, but
...
shit.”

He laughed. “If you were going at the same time, three days a week, they were bound to figure out something else was going on
,
and sneaking just made it more of a story. If it’s okay with you I’ll offer to have a contractor install a film on the windows so light can come in but people can’t see into the building from outside.” He hugged her tighter for a moment before releasing her. “Just go in and out the front door from now on, and don’t try to sneak.”

She sighed and pushed herself up to sit on her stool. “Print something out about the window film, so I can give it to them, and I’ll make the offer. I’ll let you pay for it, but only because the paparazzi are
your
damned fault. Fuck if they aren’t on my last nerve.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could make them go away but trying is counterproductive as it just gives them more to print.” He touched her chin, gently lifting until their gaze met. “Can I ask you for something, if you think you’ll be comfortable doing it, eventually?”

“You’re asking if you can ask me something?” She laughed nervously. “That’s never good. What do you want?”

“Will you show me what you do in class? Maybe once a week? I want to be part of it with you,
but
it’d be weird for me to go to with you to watch.”

She smiled, suddenly shy again, and she hadn’t felt bashful around him in almost two years — shortly after they’d gotten back together after her gallery opening. “I don’t know, Travis. Give me a few weeks? Maybe? I don’t even know if I’m going to get any more flexible.” She shrugged. “I can’t tell that much of a difference yet. I mean, the poses don’t seem as awkward, but I don’t see an improvement in how far my legs will go or how much I can bend over.”

He kissed her forehead. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, then. I’m just so happy you’re trying. It means a lot to me, Cara Mia.”