Authors: Sacred Revelations
Roxy Harte (28 page)
Her moral fiber may be what destroys her…
Moral…but not so moral that she couldn’t stop herself from seeking him—and I know that he did not seek her out—I trust him that much because I know him that well. Kitten, on the other hand, is a big throbbing vessel of need. I’ve felt her desire simmering just below the surface. I see the look on her face and know she is thinking about him, remembering what they shared. I know that look because I’ve worn that look myself. Thomas is a hard man to get over, and last night, when their eyes met, the entire room felt the tremor of excitement. She still wants him and the look in his eyes told me without a doubt that he isn’t over her either.
Kicking back the cola, I guzzle what is left in the glass. I swallow hard, trying not to remember the days and weeks following my own self-incarceration with Lord Fyre. I’d wanted him to teach me to be a Dominant, because my boyfriend, Tony, was tired of the role, and truly, Tony was submissive. He could pull off dominant, but he didn’t want to. So I left Tony to spend two weeks with Lord Fyre. I’d ended up staying a little longer than that, not because Lord Fyre had forced me to stay, but because I’d wanted to stay.
Only a year had passed when I saw him again and I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about him, what we’d shared, him as Master, me as submissive. We were at one of Jackie’s famous parties. She’d given lots of parties in those days. Our crowd had nowhere to go just to hang out in the pre-Lewd Larry days and so Jackie had been filling a need for the community.
I’d approached him while he was filling a paper plate with snacks. Made small talk, and when that had failed, I mentioned my lecture series that I was taking across country. I explained to him that his words were a recording in my head, becoming the basis for most of my series of lectures. I offered to share what profits I’d made using his words, my presentation to the masses, but he hadn’t wanted my money, saying, “You’ve made what I’ve taught you your own. What you teach isn’t my style of dominating, it’s yours.”
I almost felt like I’d offended him with my offer. Then he punched me, hard. We shared a laugh and that was the end of it. Almost.
He’d turned away, his plate filled with little triangle-shaped sandwiches, chips and brownies and taken two steps before turning back to face me. His smile was devastating, evil and so sexually and completely seductive that, for a moment, life stilled. All that mattered was his deep brown eyes locked on mine. The thudding in my heart let me know I still wanted what he could give me.
He took the two steps back to where I stood and ducked his head forward so that his lips were even with my ear. “Nice to know, I can still Master you.” He laughed then and walked away for real.
My heart stayed high and tight, pounding in my throat for a long time. I was shaking because I wanted to follow him, I wanted him to Master me, but a greater moral obligation kept me loyal to Tony.
He approached me from nowhere, wrapping around me, tugging my ear in between his lips for the bite kiss that had become a comfort between us.
“Tony,” I sighed against him, letting him love me, letting him chase away the memory of all that I had experienced beneath Lord Fyre’s hand.
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“Take me home?” he asked.
I looked at him hard then, but he was busy stroking my body, making me want to take him home even though going home was the last thing he really wanted to do. He could have partied all night and lasted until midday the following day. He was sacrificing for me. Taking me away from the temptation, giving me a buffer zone to forget in.
I should have been willing to give Kitten the same decency.
I didn’t and now I pay the price with my imagination, my doubts, knowing in my heart that she just wasn’t strong enough to resist the lure. If I find her in time, I’ll take her away. Jackie keeps telling me I need a vacation and time away from here is definitely the prescription for what ails Kitten. Distance and time.
* * * *
Until seeing her, I’d prayed I’d found her in time.
Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the red, knotted rope around her neck. Me? I had to notice it first, knowing its purpose for being there, having worn one very similar myself. It is trademark Lord Fyre. My jaw grinds tight as I watch her add detergent to her washer, trying to hide the evidence of her muddy clothes. Was she going to shower and change and then break the news to me that she wanted to return to him—a little belated since she’d obviously already returned.
By the time she bounces into me, not seeing me, I am seeing red. I actually reach out and touch the length of rope circling her neck to assure myself that it is real. I close my eyes, wanting Lord Fyre’s handmade collar to go away, but it doesn’t. I look at her, seeing what he obviously did to her, mud covering more of her than not. Mud swirled around her breasts in a pattern that I know his hands created.
I cup her face, I can’t help but want to hold some part of her, and even splattered in mud she is beautiful, made even more exotic because of the dark brown splats. I wish I didn’t understand, I really do, but because I understand, I whisper to her, “It would have stopped hurting if you’d just given it time.”
I turn away from her because I have to. I turn away because it is one thing to use force when it’s consensual, but it’s another thing entirely when done in anger, and I want to shake her…hard—but I don’t, I won’t. I will not abuse Kitten. “Everything was wonderful,” I say, talking more to myself than to her, pacing her small kitchen, feeling caged in. “Why would you do this?”
She doesn’t answer. I didn’t really expect her to. She stands sobbing in the corner of the kitchen and I feel no sympathy. “Do you want to still be mine, Kitten?”
She nods her head and, for now, that is enough. “Get in the car!” I snarl at her, wishing I knew how this was going to play out, watching as her lips part, expecting her to refuse, and daring her with my eyes to try. It must have been the look, because she runs naked and barefoot, covered in dry, caked mud,
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outside into the night air. Only then do I consider where we are, her neighbors quiet people who would be shocked if they saw her. It is late; hopefully no one is watching.
I have enough presence of mind to grab her keys to lock up as I leave. Coming from the porch, I see her naked and shaking outside of the car. Glancing around assures me no one has seen her as I race to the car, wanting to get her hidden from sight. “I said, get in the car.”
She starts crying as I open the car door and push her shoulder to try to force her inside. She pushes back. “I’m dirty, I’ll ruin the upholstery.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the upholstery!” I turn her chin toward me with a cruel jerk. “I can pay someone to clean my car. If I had to, I’d just buy a new one. You, on the other hand, are one of a kind—you care more about this car than my heart. Unbelievable.”
This time, when I push her, she goes in. Dry mud flakes onto the leather seat. I scoot into the driver’s seat and pull away from the curb. She sits closed tight, hands folded in her lap. In the green glow of streetlamps, I start to make out just how much of her is covered in caked, dried mud, breasts, belly, between her thighs.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
I notice that she isn’t buckled and command, “Buckle up.”
“Pain and foolishness lead to great bliss and complete knowledge, for Eternal Wisdom created nothing under the sun in vain.”
-Kahlil Gibran
Kitten
Did I think we were going to his penthouse? When we arrive at Lewd Larry’s, I am surprised, but not as shocked as I should be, not as scared as I’d have been even three months ago. I am naked, except for my two collars and the drying mud that covers most of my body, but especially my breasts, my ass, and between my legs.
Climbing out, he comes to my side and opens the door. “Get out,” he barks, more sternly and more loudly than he needs to, but then Garrett is a showman. Here he is Lewd Larry, proprietor, everything he does is well thought out, executed with the knowledge of how it is going to affect the bottom line.
His eyes are challenging. Does he think I’ll refuse? Does he think I will beg to avoid this humiliation?
Three months ago, I would have begged.
Three months ago, I wouldn’t have found myself in this mess.
I climb from his car, gracefully, well-practiced, hands first, long stretch onto the pavement, stepping, hand, hand, knee, knee, making sure that each long-armed stretch is provocative, each knee forward wiggling my ass just so. I realize Garrett has never seen me in all-out Kitten-mode. This I learned on the
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streets when I was doing the Kitten Sightings for
Inappropriate Voices
, my way of passively stalking Garrett in an effort to win him back after he dumped me because I was an undercover reporter. Now is as good a time as any for him to see what he missed.
The line for entrance to the club is long tonight; it seems the line is always long now. Lewd Larry’s business is booming. I wonder if there are any Kitten fans in the crowd tonight? Yes, my Kitten Sightings created a huge fan base, many who subscribe to my online newsletter. I still receive pictures, both spectacular and mundane, in my emails from fans who have caught me about town. I crawl toward the long line of waiting patrons, knee step, hip wiggle, long-arm stretch. Someone in the line whistles, camera phones are at the ready, some taking pictures, others recording, so yes, fans are here.
Yippee for me.
Tomorrow, I will be on the front page of
The Darkness
; well, maybe not, I am the CEO, maybe that will save me. I sigh, because there is no salvation, not for me, not in heaven, not with Garrett, and not with Charlie. With this newest scandal, he will step up to the plate and milk the publicity for all it is worth.
Lewd Larry’s is our number one patron, spending more on advertising than average homeowners spend on their home.
Charlie loves me, but Lewd Larry’s will come out on top with his advertising skills, even if there is scandal. Lewd Larry’s wins. I don’t think Garrett is feeling very much like a winner tonight. Yes, I fucked up, in so many ways, but talk to me about it, don’t bring me here. Don’t put me in the spotlight.
“Kitten, get inside the club!” Garrett’s bellow is only fuel for the fodder at this point. He has no idea what he instigated. Think to reduce me and humiliate me because I transgressed? Kitten thrives on humiliation.
I crawl all the way to the long line of waiting patrons, veering to follow its path to the main entrance, long-arm stretch, knee to hand, sway, sway. Whistles and lewd comments follow my every step.
Garrett’s famous men-in-black, SECURITY blazoned across the backs of their tight-fitting T-shirts, arrive to control the crowd, trying to make a wall barrier between them and me. I am too busy crawling to pay much heed to security or the crowd. My show is for Garrett only as I crawl provocatively, taking lots of mental concentration, long-arm stretch, knee to hand, sway, sway.
Camera flashes blind me, but not so much that I don’t see Garrett striding purposely toward me, a gleam in his eye that spells trouble for me. I sit back on my hips, knees pulled in, arms stretched out, braced for impact, hissing as he gets closer. There is no impact, I am scooped from behind by security guy Bob. I should have seen him coming, quite literally. Bob is so wide he goes through doorways sideways, and not an ounce of fat on him. Bob lifts me like I am a naughty two-year-old. I don’t have a chance against him.
Glaring, I am not happy.
Garrett winks, triumphant, a smirk on his face that I’ve never seen before. What does that mean?
The three of us wade through the lower-level crowd, though really it is the two of them wading, I am solely along for the ride; at least until we arrive at The Oasis. There, without ceremony, I am dumped onto my floor cushion at Garrett’s regular table. Jackie, Garrett’s oldest and dearest friend, is already there, seated and waiting.
“Well, well, just look at the cat you dragged in, mister.”
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“Don’t start, Jackie,” he warns.
Garrett sits, lifting his hand to the waiter, holding up two fingers. At first, I didn’t understand how the waiter always knew what to bring to the table on cue, but after paying attention, I realized it was some type of coded sign language. Two fingers tight together, tumbler of Scotch, no ice. Two fingers apart, cheesecake. Tonight, his fingers call for Scotch and, on cue, it arrives tableside.
“How much fun would my life be, Garrett, if I didn’t get to tell you at least once a year that I told you so!
Cats are trouble, don’t like ’em, don’t need them.” She glares at me, saying, “They’re fickle, never loyal, I swear to you, what you need is a warm, companionable canine, perfect like my sweet Bernard.”
The sweet Bernard in question lifts his head from his pillow.
I hate Bernard, not really, but at the moment he isn’t at the top of my like-list, since he’s been promoted to perfect status. He winks at me, making me feel worse. Jackie doesn’t like me anymore and that makes me sadder than anything else going on at the moment.
