Awakening (7 page)

The only creature Claire trusted growing up was the family cat, Baxter. She confided her fears and dreams to Baxter, slept with Baxter curled up next to her, and loved that cat with everything she had. It was the beginning of Claire’s deep love of animals. She recognised that her connection to her pets was reactionary. Animals didn’t betray you and they never rejected you. It was like that with Chester. He adored her, protected her, and made her feel special with his canine affection. His devotion was a balm on her psyche. One she’d needed badly. She still didn’t really trust people, though, and that was what frightened her about bondage.

Bondage required intrinsic trust – in both your physical and your emotional safety. The things a person could do to you while tied up made her shiver both in fear and anticipation. And that very dichotomy was why she’d continued to read. And why she was going to read the selection she’d found lying out tonight which combined bondage and impact play. She’d finally learnt the term Bridget had sought.

She’d quickly skimmed the back before setting her other selections down on top of it to hide it. Bridget knew she was reading through the store’s Erotica collection, but Claire didn’t really like to talk about it. She was still a bit embarrassed, mostly because it was all so new and unnerving. She was constantly surprised by how her reading was changing and shaping her desires. Or maybe “exposing” was the better word.

Each story she read was like recognising a piece of her personal puzzle that she’d been blind to. Clearly, she found bondage erotic and exciting. You could have put a gun to her head and she’d have denied that before reading the book, though. And spanking. That one caused Claire to seriously consider counselling, given the fact that her mother had been fond of spanking Claire with a flyswatter or wooden spoon, sometimes a leather belt.

She’d been spanked so often that she’d learnt to tolerate the pain and refused to cry. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction. She still remembered the time Mom had broken the flyswatter trying to get a tear out of Claire. The plastic handle had just snapped. She’d hated her mother for each and every blow landed, so the idea of being sexually excited by spanking mortified Claire.

She’d decided she was sick and in need of psychiatric intervention. Claire had been so scared she’d eventually broken down and confessed her fears to Bridget over lunch at the local deli. Bridget had laughed at her, then apologised profusely when she’d realised that Claire was serious. She’d asked Claire one simple question. ‘Did you get excited when your mother hit you?’

Claire had been so indignant she’d almost hollered “No!” in the middle of the restaurant they were seated in. She’d managed a harsh hiss instead, but she’d been furious at the insinuation.

Bridget had just raised an eyebrow and said, ‘So, the two things are completely separate, then. You need to determine if you’re OK with getting spanked in a sexual situation and stop conflating the two.’

Claire had been speechless. There was no way it was that simple, but when she’d thought about it later, she’d realised none of her feelings had changed in regard to her mother’s chosen form of discipline. She still remembered it with resentment and loathing. But when she thought about her imaginary Sir spanking her, she got wet. It had confounded her for a while, but eventually she’d realised the difference was that in her fantasy there was trust and love present. She trusted her Sir to protect her, and the spanking she would receive was about the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure.

In the stories she read, the spanking served to enhance the ultimate pleasure. Sometimes there was discipline involved in the stories where spanking was a punishment, but underlying them all was love. Her mother had been trying to hurt Claire, plain and simple. The spanking elements of BDSM were about sensory exploration and the heightening of pleasure. But either way, she wasn’t ready to talk about it with Bridget.

Claire hadn’t yet gotten used to the idea of being not just curious but desirous of the experiences that BDSM had to offer. She was still surprised to find that each new element she discovered touched places deep inside her. Places she hadn’t known were in her. All of this new experience had translated into her fantasy life almost against her will. She masturbated often now and, after that first time, she was no longer shy about touching herself. She was even considering buying her first dildo.

Her fantasies had changed too. No longer were they rote doggy style sex with cliché partners. Now, she had elaborate fantasies of submission and bondage. She fantasised about being spanked and denied orgasm. Weirdly, she almost couldn’t come until her fantasy dom gave her permission. Fantasy dom, right. Claire gave a mental snort. Evan – until Evan gave her permission. Her number one leading man was Evan. He and he alone starred in her fantasies now.

Enter fact number two that kept her returning to Bibliophile several nights a week. She had it bad for the store’s gruff owner. Well, gruff with her, at least. She noticed he was kind and welcoming with everyone else, but to her he remained civil and short. He wasn’t rude. In fact, after that first night he was the epitome of polite, but it was the kind of polite meant to keep someone distant. It didn’t invite any kind of connection.

Normally, Claire was content to keep people at a distance. What bothered her about Evan’s exaggerated civility was that it flew in the face of her very real and deepening attraction for him. With everyone but her, he was friendly and engaging. He listened to his customers with a focus that made it seem as if they were the most important thing in his world at that moment. She’d never seen him lose his cool. Well, if you didn’t count that first night with her. He created an atmosphere in his store that was welcoming and warm.

What Claire enjoyed and respected about Evan was how empathetic he seemed to be. He seemed to really understand his customers and provide them with what they needed. Over the weeks she’d been coming there she’d begun to see the same faces again and again. He had a loyal clientele, and that said a lot. As a result, she felt comfortable and secure in Bibliophile. It was becoming her favourite place to be. So much so that she’d actually fallen asleep in the store a few times while reading, much to her mortification.

Embarrassing moments and unrequited attraction aside, Claire loved to be surrounded by books and the smells of coffee and pastry. Just knowing she could get up and pick any book up off the shelf and read it without being harassed to pay and leave was sheer joy for her. The fact that Evan was gorgeous and kind added to the atmosphere. She spent her days waiting to get to the store. In some ways it was pathetic. She still had no social life other than the club and was now haunting a book store just to be near to a man who proved with his every action and word he wanted nothing to do with her.

He never spoke to her unless he absolutely had to. When she asked a question or required information he gave her the barest minimum required. There were no anecdotes or friendly quips for her. Every customer seemed to benefit from his humour and grace, but not her. Hell, he was downright affectionate with Bridget, and that was really saying something because Bridget tended to be friendly yet reserved with men. Claire had asked Bridget about her relationship with Evan at lunch a few days ago after Bridget had mentioned that Evan had ordered a book she’d mentioned as a surprise. Claire’s curiosity had won out over her desire to hide her attraction and she’d asked Bridget about him.

Bridget had told her about meeting him and his wife. Claire had been genuinely sad to hear he was a widower. Bridget described a relationship between Evan and his wife that sounded deep and abiding; one of mutual affection and deep respect. It had made Claire’s heart clench in envy. Bridget hadn’t offered any more details about his wife’s death other than she’d had cancer, and Claire hadn’t wanted to pry, but Bridget had been very open about how she and Marianne had become friends and, by virtue of that, she’d become friends with Evan. All she’d really been willing to say was that when she’d understood the true nature of their relationship and had seen how truly happy Marianne was, she’d realised Evan had to be a good man because you couldn’t fake that kind of love.

Bridget’s words had speared deep into Claire’s heart. She wanted desperately to find that connection with someone. To love and be loved. To trust intrinsically that you could be yourself and not be judged or rejected. The way Bridget talked, Evan and Marianne had shared that type of bond. Claire doubted she’d ever have that with anyone, let alone Evan. She didn’t think she had that level of trust inside her, but it didn’t stop her heart from racing or her body from tightening and going liquid when he was near.

‘Lunch tomorrow?’ Bridget’s voice pulled Claire out of her thoughts. ‘There’s a new Thai restaurant that just opened next to the university and I thought we could try it out,’ she said over her shoulder as she gathered up her purse.

‘Sure, sounds great. I love Thai.’ Claire smiled up at Bridget. It still surprised her that she seemed to really have a friend in her. ‘Do they have a patio? Maybe I’ll bring Chester and we can go to the park after.’

‘Oh, bring him.’ Bridget grinned. ‘I must meet the mighty Chester I’ve heard so much about. I saw outdoor seating, so I think we’ll be fine. And, if not, we’ll just find somewhere else.’

‘Excellent.’ Claire beamed.

‘Twelve-thirty work for you?’

‘Yup, I’ll see you then.’

‘OK, be careful. You worry me when you stay here too late. The streets are still dangerous, even here.’

‘I’ll be OK. I promise. I’m very careful.’

Bridget peered at Claire for several moments, her lips pursed. ‘OK. But text me when you get home.’

‘OK … Mom.’ Claire laughed at Bridget’s scowl. ‘Go on. I’ll be fine and I will text you. I promise. OK?’

Bridget sighed and nodded. ‘OK.’ Turning, she headed to the exit, calling over her shoulder, ‘Text me!’

Claire chuckled softly. She had to admit it was nice having someone care about her safety.

Uncovering her latest find, she grabbed her coffee and sipped languorously as she opened the book to the first chapter and the world around her fell away.

Evan stepped out of the stacks to clean up and refresh the coffee and snacks after the book club meeting. Claire was in her usual place, snuggled into the leather armchair with her back to the store. It was the only chair that didn’t have to be rearranged. This had become a ritual of sorts. Each Saturday after the club meeting, she’d settle in with a stack of books and studiously ignore him until he was done. Once he’d finished, she’d switch chairs so that she faced the front of the store. He got the impression she didn’t like to be caught unaware.

After that first night, Claire had become a regular at Bibliophile. Evan had been concerned that his boorish behaviour had driven her off, but she now spent several nights a week at the shop. Sometimes she even dozed off during her reading. Evan had become very creative in waking her up to close the store without actually speaking to her or touching her. He refused to do either, so he’d “accidentally” slam the store room door or clear his throat loudly. Usually, that was all it took. It was bad enough that she still evoked his protective tendencies and he found himself putting out the cookies he knew she liked best and switching out the coffee with decaf in the evening so she wouldn’t be wired. She drank too much coffee and was way too thin. He wanted her to fill out a bit.

He couldn’t define what it was about her that both pulled and repelled him simultaneously. She was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but he’d seen plenty of attractive women in his time and hadn’t felt this compulsion. She didn’t even fit his usual “type”. He liked voluptuous women, whereas Claire would be described more as athletic, but you couldn’t convince his dick of that. Evan was beginning to feel like he’d reverted back to being an adolescent. There were nights when he’d pass behind her to get to the store room and catch a whiff of her scent, only to have to wait it out in back until he could get his erection to deflate. Other nights, she’d fall asleep and he’d catch himself standing over her fantasising about waking her up in ways that involved his tongue, hands, and cock.

Those nights were the worst. He felt like he was betraying Marianne every time he looked at Claire. He knew it was irrational. Marianne was dead. He couldn’t betray her, but it still felt that way. To make matters worse it was getting harder and harder to not fantasise about her in general. She’d walk through the door and his dick would get hard. Once, she hadn’t been watching where she was going and she’d bumped into him so hard she’d almost fallen down. He’d grabbed her to keep her on her feet and she’d looked up at him in startlement, those hazel eyes wide, her lips parted and her breathing ragged so that her breasts heaved. It had taken every shred of willpower he had to fight the very real urge to press her down onto her knees, thrust his cock deep into her throat, and just fuck her mouth until he poured himself inside her.

Of course, he had only himself to blame. After he’d overheard her confession to Bridget, he’d realised how completely naive she was about BDSM and her own tendencies and had begun to leave out books he thought she should read. He’d even added to his collection in order to ensure she had a full range of stories to read. He refused to engage her directly, but he felt compelled to help her. The last thing he wanted was her getting bad information or remaining ignorant and then falling prey to someone who recognised her submissive needs, but wanted only to use her. This was not a lifestyle to be idealised, and the wrong introduction could scar someone deeply. What this meant for him, though, was that he knew exactly what she was reading and what her reactions to it were, and so did his cock.

She’d read the spanking story he’d left out and he’d almost come in his pants when he’d seen her just as she’d been that first night, two seconds away from coming right there in the store. So here he was, fighting the temptation to fuck a woman he wanted nothing to do with, while at the same time shaping and guiding her sexual desires. When he put out a selection that she responded to, his errant brain catalogued that fact and then added it to his repertoire of fantasy. As if he needed help in that regard; his fantasy life was alive and well at this stage. It needed no help. His dick was fully awake too, but he’d refused to masturbate after the disaster in the shower. He’d felt so ashamed of himself that masturbating again was not an option. This confluence of circumstances of course meant he was perpetually hard, with no relief in sight.