MASTERED: (The Novel) (19 page)

Chapter 62

That son of a bitch knew damned well
it was an illegal drop! Two-shot penalty, my ass! Disqualify the cheating
prick!

James Colton was two things: In a
black mood and no fan of Tiger Woods. He had little respect for any man who
couldn't keep his putter in his pants, pardon the pun. In fact, one of his
favorite maxims was;
“Males like him give men like me a bad name.”

On the other hand, James loved the
game of golf. Today, it was a re-run of the 2013 Masters Championship.
Reclining in his favorite chair with his favorite cigar, he was watching his
favorite sport. James knew he ought to be counting his many blessings.

Fuck, I miss her
..

He was also aware that he ought to
delineate between Tiger's professional and personal life. In his case, however,
he made a conscious decision to not. It irked him no end that misogyny on such
a grandiose scale could be swept under the rug. Or in this case; the
perfectly-manicured green. Just a few key ‘strokes’ later, and a hobbled
society cheers.
The
same society that condemns my lifestyle as 'demeaning to women’
.
James almost snorted in derision at the irony.

James knew of more
happily-ever-after D/s relationships than he did ‘
nilla
’.
His marriage was an excellent example, despite it being cut tragically short.
Many women professed to never feeling more alive, or more fulfilled, than after
emerging
from the proverbial
closet.

She looked so thin
..

There is an
inherent grace and freedom in submission.
More notably, there is intelligence and courage.
From it blossoms a deep sense of accomplishment and self-worth.
Similarly, self-control and responsibility are inherent in the very word
'Dominant'. Anything less is indicative of fraudulence.

She didn't trust me...

Respect plays a crucial role, as
well. And, that respect goes both ways.
Contrary
to public opinion, the submissive component of the relationship is a full and
contributing half, nothing less. By definition, one is incomplete without the
other.
To be sure, what is a Top without a bottom? Conversely, what is a bottom
without a Top?

Why would she throw it all away
without
so
much as a word?

Sure, 'genteel' society gasp in
scandalized horror when confronted with words such as
slut
,
whore,
or
heaven forbid,
cunt
. Yet, the
truth lies behind too many closed doors to count. That’s where ‘respectable’
men everywhere are hurling these exact words at their women– in anger.

When two people are free to share
their deepest thoughts and most carnal desires without fear of judgment, there
remains little need for rage or deceit. While the same words may be commonplace
in the D/s world, a true Dominant would never use them in anger. Now,
that
would constitute the epitome of
disrespectful behavior!

She left me no choice…

Chapter 63

Missy was messed up, and she knew
it.

Disoriented, she emerged from an alcohol-induced
slumber with
one arm twisted at an impossible angle
beneath her. Now, it hung useless at her side, numb to the fingertips.
A
zillion razor-sharp needles pierced the frozen limb as fresh, alcohol-infused
blood rushed to revive it.

Cringing, she braced against the
excruciating onslaught of the still-blaring television. The volume she once
welcomed had somehow transformed itself whilst she dozed. It was now a hot
poker buried directly between her throbbing eyeballs!

Peeling one unwilling lid open at a
time, the empty wine bottle came into semi-focus. Its lack of contents made it exceedingly
clear why her mouth felt like sandpaper and her head felt like shit.

With both palms flat on the coffee
table, Missy managed to get her feet planted solidly beneath her. Hoping for
the best but prepared for the worst, she rose ever-so-slowly to her full
stature.

Pleased with her progress, she
paused. When the spinning slowed and the nausea settled, she collected the
bottle and half-filled glass. Stumbling to the kitchen, she dumped the dregs
down the sink.

 
Missy swore she would never, ever drink again.

On second thought, she couldn't
imagine a better day to get wasted. It had sucked to begin with; hurtling
downhill at breakneck speed from there. It had been nothing short of grueling;
watching helplessly as James strode away from her ever so casually. Whereas he
seemed unaffected by their chance encounter, Missy was left virtually gutted.

It got worse after learning that
she’d been jealous of a ghost.
A memory.
Her odious
behavior that day was reminiscent of a spoiled brat who didn’t get what she
expected for Christmas. How she wished she gave him the benefit of the doubt
and simply asked for an explanation.

 
It wasn’t until she and Stephanie returned to
the boutique that the final nail was hammered into the coffin that best
represented her day. Teresa unwittingly did the honors, informing Missy that
her old job was no longer available. Carla was promoted to full-time, and
another part-timer was just recently hired.

Utterly defeated, Missy was only
peripherally aware when Teresa changed the topic.
Was she talking about Ethan Montgomery?
Accustomed to getting
whatever
, and whomever,
he desired,
Ethan pestered Teresa incessantly. He made it annoyingly clear that his
interest in Missy wasn’t diminished in the least. How was it possible that he
didn’t find their first date to be as unbearable as she remembered?

Slouched drunkenly against the
kitchen sink, she retched, making a conscious decision to blame the wine. It was
time to face facts and rejoin the real world. Fate had thrown her into James's
arms. They embraced her with a strength wrought of understanding and a heat
borne of recognition.

In slow motion, she again dissected
every detail as he turned from her; nonchalantly walking away. Each step he
took stomped on the fragile thread of hope to which she clung so desperately.

She could deceive herself no longer.
As unexpectedly as she was thrown
into
his arms, she was just as suddenly thrown back!

Missy retched again. This time,
there could be no blaming the wine…

Chapter 64

You're a fucking idiot is what you
are
!
Scowling at the mirror, James spoke
directly at his own reflection.

James dealt with his hurt and
frustration over Missy’s exodus as would any normal, red-blooded male. He
called Jenny. The Southern-fried personal trainer shrilled in eager acceptance.
He made no mention of working out. She didn’t ask. There was no mistaking the
type of ‘
session’
he was
expecting.

Stepping out from an impossibly hot
shower, James wrapped a towel around his waist and grinned at his clever play
on words. At least, it
felt
like a
grin. A quick glance at the vapor-streaked mirror revealed that it was nothing
more than a grotesque scowl. James couldn't remember the last time he actually
smiled.

Also problematic was the fact that
only his genitals were in need of feminine attention. His mind, detached and
indifferent, roamed freely. Predictably, it made a beeline for Missy.

That infuriating woman is going to
be the death of me!

As days turned into weeks turned
into months, James transitioned from infuriated to desolate – and back again.
Eventually, he settled on just plain wretched. The ache in his heart and the
emptiness in his soul were not lessening with the passage of time. Instead,
they seemed only to intensify.

The time had come to face facts and
do something about the untenable state of affairs. He just spent three ghastly
years pining for his dead wife. He refused to squander even one more day!
Especially over what came down to
pigheadedness over a damned ritual
!

He cursed his decision to let Missy
go uncontested.
What was I thinking?
Self-aware, James realized that ego
played a larger part in the fiasco than he cared to admit.

True, he tried to impress upon her
the inherent responsibilities attached to being
'
Collared'
.
Unfortunately,
he gave no consideration whatsoever to her inexperience. Worse, he offered no
leeway in recognition of that naiveté.

How
could I possibly have expected her to understand?

It was his duty to guide and
instruct; to bend, never break. Instead, he dealt her a garbage hand, and then
called her feeble bluff. The only ‘out’ remaining her was the front door!

Toweling off, James reminded himself
to check his condom supply. Jenny was a ‘friendly’ girl.
Very
friendly.
She was referred to James by one of her many satisfied
clients; as that client was referred before him. And so it went with
free-spirited Jenny.

Like he said; friendly.

Satisfied that he was loaded for
bear (or Jenny) in the condom department, he quickly prepared for his booty
call.
 
And, what a booty it was!

In his mind, James conjured the last
time Jenny visited. It was a '
wham,
bam, thank you ma'am'
type of engagement - which was perfect. Just like
her ass. Judging by her big smile and flushed cheeks, he could only conclude
that she left equally as ‘gratified’.

James was planning an encore
performance this evening.
One act.
No curtain calls.
Jenny Dean would be exiting, stage right, before the lights were even raised!

Chapter 65

With seven hundred and fifty
milliliters of alcohol as encouragement, immersing herself in self-pity was an
uncomplicated endeavor.

Missy was disgusted with life in
general, specifically – her own. She decided she'd endured enough crap for one
day. Head and heart throbbing, she chased a couple of aspirins with a few
handfuls of lukewarm water. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the
last leg of the day’s excruciating journey.

When she was able to stand without
the kindly assistance of the kitchen counter, she did so cautiously.
Lightheaded, Missy began the perilous trek down the hallway that led to her
bedroom. She was so close to sweet oblivion, she could almost taste it!

Lurching past Christopher's room, it
struck her how much she missed him. He and two buddies had driven up to check
out their new campus. The boys were best pals, and planned to share living
quarters and expenses. It was comforting to know they would have each other, at
least.

Still, the idea of her baby living
away caused tears to well in her bloodshot eyes and loneliness to creep into
her broken heart.
Where did the years go?

Overcome with a sudden longing to be
closer to her son, Missy opened the door to 'the cave' and stepped inside. Her
senses were immediately flooded with Christopher. While the tears persisted,
she felt better already. She glanced around the well-christened lair.

Mountains of scholastic and athletic
awards were strewn about haphazardly. Wrinkled posters of half-naked starlets
and fast cars hung torn and askew. Rumpled clothing inhabited dark corners.

However, the books, while tattered
from use; stood in pristine form and order. From comics to Tolstoy, they lined
the shelves and much of the floor. The familiar scent of her son pervaded the
small space. Missy inhaled deeply.

It was then that she saw the
computer. It was an old relic that Christopher was forced to upgrade time and
time again over the years. They could never quite afford a new one.
That is, until recently.

The dinosaur sat dusty and
forgotten, replaced courtesy of James’s jaw-dropping monetary endowment. She reminded
herself that she was jobless thanks to him! The remainder of that money stood
as the sole buffer between herself -
and the
welfare line!

Missy and computers were
incompatible, period. More akin to oil and water than chocolate and peanut
butter, her resentment toward them ran deep. Occasionally, Christopher
attempted to demonstrate the simplicity of navigating the world-wide-web. It
was only a matter of time before he gave up; both of them throwing their hands
up in frustration.

She was left with only the most
rudimentary capability, and that was fine with her. She could serve a customer
and close the boutique.
It sufficed.

Whereas she usually avoided them at
all costs, today she found herself drawn to the technological monstrosity.
Getting to it was no small feat either, considering the room's state of
disarray. Not to mention her tenuous claim to sobriety.
Nonetheless, she made her way over and around the obstacles,
succeeding somehow in not concussing herself.