Wrecked (The Blackened Window) (27 page)

She was soaking wet, so slick and slippery and she shifted her hips, angling to take more of me, to meet my rhythm. I tore at the neckline of her dress, wanting her tits in my hands. Her luscious fucking tits. Her luscious fucking body.
Could I ever tolerate the marks on her that I’d just left all over that girl?

“God, your body. Fuck, Leda.” I wasn’t even conscious of what I was saying, mumbling fragments of my thoughts as they went through my consciousness. I needed to fuck her more, harder, deeper. I slammed my hips at her and she only whimpered, gasping against my chest. And the fucking animal I was thrived on it, fed on it, just wanted more. I kept the onslaught, unrelenting, twisting my hips to vary the pressure.

Her breathing came faster, whimpers more frequent. I wanted to cover her with my body, my scent, all of me, mark her mine forever. Claim her in every way that mattered. “God fucking dammit. What are you doing to me? I wanna destroy you, have you forever.”

She moaned back at me, wordless, accepting, imploring. I grabbed her shoulders, pulling counterforce to my thrusting. She murmured encouragement of some kind and it was enough.

“You are mine—all mine, no one else, ever again.” I squeezed a hand around her throat and she gasped, actual fear in the sound.

It pushed me over the edge and I came, squeezing the breath from her, groaning, getting off on her strangled cries matching mine.

I dropped my weight on her, relaxing my hand on her throat. I was completely spent, drained, emptied. I never wanted to let her move. I wanted her to stay under me, legs wrapped around me. She did. She lightly ran her hands up and down my back. Both our breathing calmed and slowed back to normal as my dick softened.

I brushed the hair out of her face, my worries rushing back at me. Worried that she was terrified of me, that the sex we had just had hadn’t been wanted, that I’d misread her. Knowing that I wouldn’t blame her if she told me to fuck off. But…if that wasn’t what was going to happen, I had to engulf her, let her know she was absolutely safe with me.

“Honey girl, are you okay? Was it too much?” My voice was calmer, but even I heard the anxiety there.

She took a deep breath and I braced myself. “I’m okay, Xander. It may have been too much, but that’s what you always give me. Too much, more than I think I can handle. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

I went still and quiet.
Did she just say she loved me? She could love me?

Moisture stung my eyes and the most immense sense of acceptance and joy went through me. I smiled, knowing she couldn’t see it. It wasn’t for her. It was for my pure happiness. “You’re amazing, little girl.”

Relieved, I sat back, pulled her into my lap to snuggle. I couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off my face. When I had a little more control of myself, I shifted her and stood. “Let’s go be social a bit.”

“Will you come dance with me some? Please?” She was so sweet and I wasn’t in the mood to deny her anything.

We had a few drinks on the couches in the loft. Christy and Jason came and went a few times. But we snuggled into each other like we had a happy secret that was just ours.

“Come on, Boss! I love this song! Come dance with me.” She leaped out of my lap, smiling and holding her hands out to me in supplication.

She was so excited and cute. I couldn’t say no, even though I disliked dancing. I let her lead me down the steps, a small smile on my lips. On the dance floor, she made it easy for me. I just moved some to the beat and she rubbed up on me. It was actually pretty nice.

As a song faded and another started, I heard a familiar voice, “Xander! Sweetheart!”

I felt her hand on my shoulder, turning me as I was turning to answer her. June.

She was about five foot eight, with silver-streaked red hair. Her face was plain, but her eyes were a gorgeous green and her smile was so pure, so filled with delight that I couldn’t help but love her some. I grabbed her, hugging tight and kissed her cheeks. “June! How are you, love?”

She pushed back from me in surprise. I wasn’t normally so effusive. A pleased confusion crossed her features. “Did you play already? You’re so relaxed.”

I introduced Leda and June was cordial, but eyed Leda speculatively. We danced, but couldn’t really talk much over the music. After a few songs, I pulled them off the dance floor, to the loft. We had a drink with June, but I could see Leda’s eyes drooping. Leda rested her head against me and I explained the night to June, who nodded knowingly.

She was only going to be in town for a few days, so we planned on meeting for brunch in the morning. As we said our goodbyes, June again gave Leda the once-over. Not in a jealous or catty way, just information gathering, recon. I wondered about that.

We found Christy and Jason in the recovery room, sipping drinks with a few leather daddies and their boys and bois. Mistress Seraphim was on another couch with A stretched out, asleep with her head in Seraphim’s lap. She was stroking her hair, and I was struck by the beauty of what they shared. I caught her eye and smiled. She waved us over and the woman she had been speaking with left.

I sat in a club chair and pulled Leda into my lap. Seraphim continued stroking her girl’s hair and looked up at me, pleasure on her face, relaxed. “Thank you, Xander. That was excellent and exactly what she needed.” Her smiled widened as she turned her focus to Leda, “And, Leda, you did better than I expected. You’re a good girl for Xander.”

Leda blushed and smiled at the praise. I reflexively tightened my arms around her, proud of her, pleased with her. She responded by shifting in my lap to lay her head on my shoulder. She drifted in and out of sleep there as Seraphim and I spoke, rehashed the scene, comparing notes, discussing safety, limits. I was pleased to get to know another Dominant, and could have spent another hour talking with her, but Leda was clearly done.

I carried Leda to the car, her head lolling around. A few people looked askance, but I knew they were newbies and offered each a full smile. She woke a little as we passed through the front because it was so loud. But once I got her into her seat and buckled in, she dozed again. I took her home, smiling the whole way. I got her tucked into bed, in my T-shirt and nothing else—sexy as fuck. She was beautiful as she slept. I took a quick rinse off shower and climbed into bed next to her, feeling like everything was right.

* * * *

In the morning, we had brunch with June at the Cat’s Meow. Most of the conversation was June and I catching up, reminiscing. I had met June and her husband and Master, Michael, very early on in my time in the DC scene. Leda sat at my side, quiet and observing. Occasionally, I would catch June with that same speculative look on her face, watching Leda and how we interacted.

I hadn’t really had many relationships when Michael had been mentoring me in DC. Certainly, nothing like this. I knew June worried about me. She was my kink-mom, if such a thing could exist. There was nothing sexual there. She was not sexually available to anyone but Michael. She had just watched out for me ever since Michael had put me under his protection and tutelage early on. He’s a neurobiologist, so he taught me about the brain chemistry of D/s, subdrop, subspace. I combined that with what I had learned in my working life about interrogation and fear.

As June started to question Leda about her education, in a gentle, getting-to-know you way, I watched the two of them. June was twice Leda’s age, but was kind to her, not condescending, as it would have been so easy to be. Leda was open. June asked about Leda’s experience of med school thus far, how she liked Texas compared with Chicago. Everything but submission, kink.

As I was getting impatient, I played a game with myself that I always did when I was getting annoyed. I started cataloguing details about the surroundings or the people I was with. Leda was as she always was, soft and fresh-scrubbed, pure, sweet. Her eyes had smudges of exhaustion under them and I filed that away, knowing I needed to get her to bed sooner tonight.

June had a bracelet that I noticed as she gestured. I couldn’t place it, not that I kept track of her jewelry, but in the kink world, jewelry had layered meaning. After a few moments, I reached out and grabbed her hand, cutting her off mid sentence. It was forward to touch another Dom’s sub, but I knew them. And it wasn’t sexual. The bracelet was beautiful, exquisitely made, twining strands of precious metals, with a small, delicate plate of metal—platinum I thought—in the middle, a small diamond accent at the end of the word.

Joujou

“June, what is this? I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

She blushed, smiling widely. “It was an anniversary present from Sir.”

Leda’s eyes widened at the title, but I spoke too quickly to allow her to question it. “How many years now?”

“Twenty-four since we started dating, twenty-two since we got married.” She stroked her finger across the word and my high school French came back to me, slowly. I remembered they were Francophiles. Then the translation clicked.

Toy.

Michael amazed me. He put a fucking collar-substitute on his wife that said
Toy
. The balls that man had. And that June was completely overjoyed to have it, to be marked, claimed…fucking tagged like that. Amazing. I felt the sly smile on my lips.

I’m sure June saw the wheels turning, my envy and the hope that maybe I found something with someone that would make me that happy. She leaned toward me, holding my hand. “Xander, why don’t you go away?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Leda

Brad Sucks,
Making Me Nervous

June and I sat together, sipping coffee, neither of us speaking for a few minutes. “So, what questions do you have?” she prompted.

“God…all of it, I guess. Just tell me about how you do it.” I didn’t even know how to ask the questions.

“I had to search for my Master Right.” Amusement crossed her features. “Before him, I’d find someone and think it was going to work and then something wouldn’t be right. It can be really easy for subs to get taken advantage of. You have to trust your instincts and listen to your intuition more than you would if you were just vanilla, or even if you were a Dom, I think. It’s just how we’re wired, I guess. We want to please. We want to trust.”

I nodded at her. It made sense, but I felt sure it wouldn’t happen to me. Xander wasn’t going to hurt me. I trusted him.

She continued speaking, leaning forward to emphasize her point. “What a really good Dom understands is that at the most basic level, a sub actually has as much control as his or her Dom. She, or he—the sub, is the one willingly giving herself, and her permission, her
consent
, is the only thing that allows the scene to continue. If the Dominant doesn’t have consent, it’s assault or rape. That’s why safewords are so important.”

“Wait, back up—what’s a scene? And then tell me more about safewords. Really any terminology, because I feel a little behind in most conversations.”

“Okay—a scene is what defines the boundaries of the power exchange. So, last night, when Xander played with Seraphim’s A—did he start after getting her consent and then was there a clear point when it ended?” I thought back to her thanking him, and nodded. “So everything that took place within that boundary of consent was the scene. Sometimes, people have less clearly defined scenes, like my Master and I live like this almost exclusively. When we get home from work until we leave again in the morning, I’m his.”

“Jesus—is it all like what Xander was doing last night? I mean he kind of kicked the shit out of her.”

“No—there’s a lot to explain to you. You’re a true neophyte.” She sighed like she was starting a big project. “For me, sometimes it’s making his dinner and doing his laundry, sometimes it’s begging him to use me, and sometimes, when I’m good, I do get used.” A pure joy suffused through her at that thought. “But let’s back up. Safewords are important because the intensity of the scene can tap into really deep feelings. Some fantasies are about overpowering someone or getting overpowered. Sometimes, when it’s really good, it’s so psychologically overwhelming that the sub isn’t consciously aware of what she, or he, is saying.”

“But wait, if they are so overwhelmed that they don’t know what they’re saying, what if they actually want to stop and can’t say it?”
Have I found an inconsistency that may tear the whole thing down?

“Well, the hope is that if you truly want something to stop, when you start to feel that way, you would have the clarity to safeword—because you’d be focused on not wanting it, not getting lost in it. That’s why the best safewords are specific and not something one would usually say in the course of play. But sometimes people get so lost in it that they can’t remember, can’t bring themselves to stop it. Sometimes the mindfuck of it and the desire to please prevent the sub from safewording when they should. It’s hard. It is…a thing that everyone playing should be cognizant of before it starts. And the Dominant is hopefully in tune enough to read the situation well. But we walk on the edge of risk. Everyone should do it as responsibly as possible.”

That surprised me. I expected some explanation that would make everything about this seem safe all the time, risk free.

“Xander called that woman a pain slut last night. What’s that? And what about her not having a name? Isn’t that fucked up?” The questions were starting to pile up in my brain, coming at me out of any logical order.

She smiled. “A pain slut is a specific type of sub who gets off on, who
needs,
the pain to get off, or at least to get lost. It’s a type of masochism. I wouldn’t actually characterize her as a pain slut. I think she is more of an SAM.” At my blank look, she continued, “Smart Ass Masochist—someone who goads their Top into punishing them. For masochists, SAMs, pain sluts—sometimes it’s the pain itself, sometimes it’s the degradation, sometimes it’s the subspace.” She shrugged. “About her name, or lack of one… People are into different things. It’s just one way she gets what she wants out of the scene, I guess.”