Indulgence (113 page)

“Kimberly?” His voice is strong but soft. “Kimberly, look at
me.” I don’t want to, but my eyes finally go to his face and I know he can see
everything there. “Honey, you aren’t eating, are you?”

I just shake my head. “No, sir.”

He takes my chin in his hand again. “Quit, Kimmer. I’m not
your master. I’m your friend. So is Robyn. And we’re concerned about you,
honey.”

“No need.” Managing to escape his grasp, I busy myself
shuffling pattern pieces around and generally trying to look too busy to talk.
Then I remember and look back to him, my hands pressed against my ribcage. “Could
you help me? This thing is so loose.”

He turns to the woman with him. “Robyn, please help Kimberly
with her corset. Further proof that I’m right,” Michael snorts out.

“Yes, Sir.” Robyn moves behind me and, after untying the
corset, pulls hard to make it tighter. She’s strong and I gasp. “Any more and
you’ll just need a new corset.”

“I can make one,” I giggle.

“I’m sure you can,” Robyn replies with a sly little smile.

“Now that the two of you have that little chore taken care
of, let’s get down to it. I want Robyn to have a new underbust corset. Red.
With some fancy stitching. I drew a little picture of what I want.” Michael
pulls a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and places it on the
workbench even as he motions for me to join him. “See? I want these little
things added to it. Can you do that?”

“Sure. No problem.”

I’m still making little notes when I hear his voice from
across the room. “There’s nothing in this refrigerator.” I look over to see
Michael staring into the little apartment-sized fridge I keep in the shop. A
lot of people would consider that snooping; Michael considers it a wellness
check.

“There’s water.”

“Water’s not food. What are you having for lunch?” I just
shrug and Michael sighs again. “You’re not taking care of yourself. You need to
find another Dominant, a decent one. Just because Phil was a prick doesn’t mean
that . . .”

“Don’t care.” I can feel the hot tears collecting in my
lower lids.

Michael turns to lean his ass against the workbench, folds
his arms across his chest, and glares at me. “Okay. Let’s just not talk about
this anymore. I’ve tried to talk to you and I’ve gotten nowhere. You resist my
every attempt to help you. You won’t listen to reason. You keep coming to the
club and letting yourself be used like a piece of meat. I feel like I’m beating
my head against the wall. So let’s drop it, okay? But quit starving yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” I nod but, deep down, I know that won’t change.
I don’t care what happens to me anymore.

He harrumphs at the way I’ve addressed him, but says
nothing. “Okay then. You need anything from Robyn? For the corset, I mean?
Measurements or anything?”

I shake my head. “No. Looks like she hasn’t changed in size
since the last time I measured her.” I start to say something else, but Michael
interrupts me.

“Why don’t you come to our house on Sunday for dinner? I’m
sure Robyn can whip something up, right, honey?”

“Yes, Sir. We’d love to have you, sweetie.” With a smile
that could light up a mall, Robyn waits to see what I’m going to say.

I take a long look at the two people in front of me. Michael
and Robyn have been my only friends. When Phil walked out, they held my hand,
brought me food, helped me pack up his things, and have just generally been
here for me whenever and however I’ve needed them. And they seem such an
unlikely pair too, her all curvy and delicious with those big icy blue eyes and
long blond hair, and him, short and heavy with all that dark, curly hair and
the scruff on his jawline. Robyn always looks like a supermodel, and Michael always
looks like a reject from the cast of
The Big Lebowski
. But they get
along unbelievably well, and when Michael collared Robyn and asked her to marry
him, everyone at the club had cheered, slapped him on the back, and hugged her.

I know full well why: Michael is one of those guys who’s a
caretaker. That’s just how he operates, simple and clean. If there’s a woman
anywhere around, he’s watching out for her, keeping an eye on her, making sure
she’s safe and cared for. Phil had been like that once upon a time . . .

Tears sting my eyes as I think about him yet again, and a
prickly mess grows in my stomach. I want to hate him, but I still miss him
every day. I’d pledged my life to him, as his submissive and as his wife. I’d
done whatever he asked, I let him to do anything to me that he wanted, and I
never used a safeword in all the years we were together.

I remember that night like it’s happening this very instant.
My forty-third birthday party. Phil had planned a huge party for me at my
favorite restaurant. I thought it was weird that, among the people he invited,
he’d included a woman from his office. After all, it was my birthday party, and
I barely knew her. But when I caught them in the back hallway up against the
wall, arms and legs in a tangle, their tongues down each other’s throats, I
knew why the woman was there. Two weeks later, I found a slip of paper on the
floor and picked it up – a receipt from a florist downtown for a dozen red
roses delivered to Phil’s office building. It wasn’t hard to put two and two
together.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What followed was
a veritable Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of younger women, most barely
thirty-five. At the end, where Santa Claus always makes his appearance, Phil
told me he wasn’t interested in me anymore, that he was leaving, and rode away
in his brand new Corvette, red like a sleigh. But that wasn’t the worst part.

He told me he’d never loved me.

I haven’t gotten over that, and I don’t think I ever will.
But it was his answer when I asked why he’d stayed with me through the years
that laid me low and cut through me like a razor blade.

“Because I didn’t think I could do any better.”

The idea that I’d sacrificed my body to him, his cane, his
whip, his flogger, his hands and mouth and cock, for all those years, and he’d
simply settled for me, ripped a hole in my heart that the space shuttle
could’ve flown through. I remember throwing up for hours, drinking until I was
almost blind, and wondering how I could kill myself in a way that would make it
look as though he’d done it. Bitterness has grown in my soul like cancer, and I
can’t stop it. There’s no cure. There’s no drug. There’s no hope.

So I spend my evenings at the club as one Dom after another,
sometimes more than one, uses me. Yeah, I know what they think of me, but I
don’t care. It’s the only time I feel alive. It’s terrifying and exhilarating
at the same time, and I’ve gone back over and over until I’ve worked my way
through the entire membership and then started over. Michael has begged me to
stop or, at the very least, let him be the one to administer whatever I think I
need, all in the name of safety.

Safety isn’t what I want. It’s pain, just pain. Pain to make
me worthy, to make me wanted, to take the other pain away. And it works . . .
until the cane or the whip or the flogger stop. And then it comes right back.

A home cooked meal – I guess I could use one of those. “What
time would you like for me to come?” I ask, but I never look directly at
Michael.

“Oh, I don’t know, anytime you want, I guess. Robyn?”

“I can have it ready by one o’clock. Would that be okay?”

I think for a second before I answer. “Sure. That would be
fine. Thank you so much for having me, sir.”

I hear Michael sigh. “Kimmer, look up at me.” Even though I
don’t want to, I turn my eyes up to his face, and I’m surprised at the misery I
see there. Is that what I’ve done? I never meant to hurt anyone but myself.
“I’m glad you’re coming. We’ll enjoy having you.” That’s all he says before he
tells Robyn, “Let’s go, babe. Ice cream on the way home?”

“Ooooo, thank you, Sir!” Robyn’s practically dancing. “Bye,
Kimmer! See you Sunday if not sooner.”

“Sure.” I know Robyn means the club. And I’ll definitely be
there.

*****

The music is a little too loud for my taste, but it covers up
the sounds of the submissives crying out during play. Ronnie, the DJ with the
chain running from his earlobe to his nose, chose heavy bass beats to work the
crowd into the mood, and it’s getting the job done. Even outside the play
areas, there’s already a lot of bumping and grinding going on.

After I’ve changed into my fetwear, I stroll out into the
main room. All the usual suspects are hanging out at the bar, and most of them
eye me as I head that way. Angus and Ross are standing there, and I hope one of
them has plans for me when they see me. If not, there are plenty of other guys
who’ll be interested, but those two are long-time members and I know them to be
clean and recently-tested, and I prefer that when possible. I’ve intentionally
worn my school girl outfit, knowing that if I want to play, it will garner
plenty of attention. Sure enough, it doesn’t take two minutes for Angus to
march up and smile. “Were you planning to scene tonight?” he asks as he leans
against the bar. Most of the club members don’t like him. They think he’s
crazy. Yeah – crazy enough to give me what I need.

“Maybe, sir. What did you have in mind?” My eyes never leave
the floor as I speak.

“I think you’ve been a naughty girl. Have you been a naughty
girl?”

“Yes, sir. Very naughty.”

Angus laughs. “And what did you do that was so naughty?”

I think for a second, then improvise by blurting out, “I did
the whole football team.”

Ross hears what I say and he starts laughing too. “Well,
well, well, that’s quite an accomplishment, young lady,” Angus chortles. “I
think we’re going to have to find an appropriate punishment for that.” He leads
me by the arm to a nearby table and sits down. “Let’s negotiate.”

I set my lips in a firm line. “No negotiation.”

“No negotiation?”

“No.” Out of pure nervousness, I lick my lips and finally
look up into his eyes. “Whatever you want, however hard, for however long.”
Then I repeat, “Whatever you want.”

“No safeword?”

I shake my head. “No safeword.”

He laughs, a sound that has a menacing edge to it. “You’re a
sadist’s fucking wet dream, girl. Let’s do it.” Glancing around, he points.
“Platform three is open. Let’s go.”

When we’ve mounted the platform, Angus looks out into the
crowd and pinches the back of my neck in his hand. “This is Ashley. She’s been
a bad girl. One of the guys told me she did the entire football team last night
after the game. Ashley, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Involuntarily, I shudder, wondering what he’s setting me up
for. “I’m sorry, sir. It was a bad thing to do, but it felt so good. But I know
I deserve to be punished.”

“Very well. First things first. Turn around and pull up your
skirt.” When my hands find the hem and I pull it upward, the cool air hits me
through the waist-high cotton panties I’ve put on. “My, my, my, little girl,
look at those panties. Those look like panties a virgin would wear.”

I decide to make the role play a little more interesting.
“They are, sir.”

“But I thought you did the entire team last night.”

I nod and pretend to be embarrassed. “I did, but I only used
my mouth, sir. I didn’t do anything else.”

“Meaning what?” Angus has a gleam in his eye.

“Meaning, well, you know,” I mumble, pretending to be
humiliated.

“No. I don’t. You need to tell everyone what you did and
didn’t do,” he barks.

“Um, I, uh . . .”

“Say it, child!” Angus roars.

“I sucked them, sir, but I didn’t let them fuck me.”

“Very good. We’ll take care of that little detail tonight.”
He looks at my cotton-clad ass again. “You’ll get a bare-handed spanking first.
Grab your knees and get ready.” I’m sure he’s drawing his hand back.

When it strikes me, it nearly knocks me over. “Stand still!”
Angus yells as he lets loose another one. After four, he announces, “The
panties have to come down. Pull them down to your knees.”

I yank them downward until they’re binding around my knees.
As Angus keeps up his relentless spanking, I look down at the white cotton. The
entire crotch is wet with my juices, and I smile even as tears sting my eyes.
When he’s given me twenty swats, he chuckles. “Time for the paddle. Across my
knee, girl,” he says and points as he sits down. I move to get into position,
but he stops me. “Ah, there’s a detail I forgot. Turn toward me.” When I do, he
unbuttons my blouse, pulls it off, and then unsnaps my white cotton bra and throws
it on the floor. Once both are gone, he gives my nipples a savage pinch and I
squeal. “Nice titties for a school girl. Now, get into position.”

“But the people, they can all see my, um, you know,” I
groan, feigning embarrassment.

“Yes. They can. That’s what I want. Now. Get into position.”

Draped over his legs, I take the paddling and try not to
move or cry out, but Angus is a strong guy and he can really swing the wood. I
know my ass will be bruised the next day, but I don’t care. It’ll make the pain
last longer, and that’s all I really want. When he’s finished with the licks
from the worn board, he helps me up off his lap and pulls up my panties.
“You’re just not learning your lesson, little slut. Let’s see . . .” He
rummages around in a chest off to the side and comes back with something that
makes me start to shake. “These are pretty damn strong. I think they’ll do the
job.”

Binder clamps. I use them around the shop; they’re great for
holding the leather pieces together without making marks or holes like pins
would. Over the years I’ve tried several times to clip them to my fingers when
I’m working, but they’re so strong that I can’t stand it. There’s no doubt
where Angus is planning to put them.