Authors: Cristiane Serruya
“If I may, sir?” she asked peering at him, her long blonde hair cascading around her perfect face.
He rubbed his chin trying to gauge her reasoning and if he should continue to play her game. “Say it.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m being impertinent, sir. But I need a—” She was going to ask for a loan, but decided to change the sentence at the last minute. “Let’s say... a fee for my photography work.”
You dirty bitch. So this is your game.
Alistair seethed and gnashed his teeth, struggling to control his anger. He knew what she was talking about. Since Heather died, she had been selling those photos to him every now and then. Each time, they were more expensive. He normally would not abide blackmail but she knew she had him where she wanted.
BDSM practice, even between consenting adults, was a crime in the United Kingdom. And all the photos she had were of him as a dom.
He bit out, “How much?”
“Half a million,” she said smoothly.
Really? You’re pushing your luck, Emma.
He scoffed and rose with finality. “One-hundred-thousand. Take it or leave it.”
I have to find someone to destroy those. No matter how.
“It’s very generous, sir.”
Alistair thought he heard a mocking tone in her voice again.
Seems you’re having difficulties understanding me, Emma.
He steeled himself and with a single step, he was in front of her.
Again he yanked her by the hair, this time pulling her off the sofa. “Remember, Emma, if Sophia, or Gabriela, for that matter, suffer a scratch, a single scratch, or these photos leak to the press,
you
won’t like the consequences.”
One would have supposed she would scramble hastily to her feet to avoid the pain. But her body stayed limp, her knees barely touching the floor.
“I didn’t hear your answer,” Alistair’s tone was even.
“YES, SIR!” she screamed. “I understand, sir.”
He let her hair go and she plummeted to the ground, whimpering, “Thank you, sir.”
You disgust me.
He was about to reinforce his orders, when a moan escaped her mouth.
“Please, one last time, sir.”
You never learn, do you?
Bile rose in his mouth. “In the bedroom.”
I’ll punish you. On my own terms.
She rushed inside.
He followed her, hating every second of it, his feet dragging in the mire.
“Where, sir?”
“Floor. On the sleeping place.”
Where you used to put Heather to sleep.
“Face down.”
She started to take off her T-shirt.
“Clothes on,” he ordered. He was so angry that he considered for a moment flogging her.
She panted and dropped on the floor, positioning herself.
He chained her to the cold cement floor, disgusted with himself for doing it. He got up and opened the first drawer. Amid dildos and vibrators, there was a bunch of keys. He selected the one for the floor chains and took it with him. At the bedroom door, he turned and said, “This is the last time I’ll be giving you a nice lesson. Be warned. You left me no option, Emma. I hope you enjoy it.”
Her first outraged scream pierced the air when he was closing the door. He turned the key in the lock and placed both in his cardigan.
No more intelligible sounds could be heard.
His stomach churned with the whole situation. He looked at his watch. Less than ten minutes had passed since he had entered the apartment but it had seemed like an eternity.
He took money from his wallet and donning his best dominant mask, he jerked the sub’s room door open. He handed the wide eyed sub five-hundred pounds. “Leave and don’t return! Find yourself a mistress that can take real care of your needs. This is an order and I’ll know if you don’t fulfill it.”
Alistair left the apartment, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the pressure that was wrapped around his body.
Atwood House.
8.11 a.m.
“Whores, the two of them,” he muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses. His fingers clenched the bar so tightly that his knuckles were white. Sweat ran from his bare chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in little rivulets. His discarded and already soaked T-shirt was thrown in a corner.
Alistair had been working out heavily since he had arrived from Emma’s apartment, almost two hours ago.
He didn’t even go to their bedroom to change. Under Lucy’s surprised look, he picked up a wrinkled T-shirt, shorts and socks from the pressing hamper and a pair of his running sneakers that were airing, descending to the pool area with a curt ‘
good morning’
.
It still impressed him how such a beautiful woman like Emma could be so vile. She had loved to whip her sister and see her whipped by him. But then, Heather had enjoyed all that as well. What shocked Alistair now, when he was seeing it all without the impaired veil, was the way she liked to push boundaries. How much she had liked it when she was her domme, knowing he disliked it. And worse, how much she had liked it when he paired with her while Heather watched, chained and helpless, while they reached one climax after another, leaving her unattended. Sometimes a whole night.
He knew he wasn’t the only one that she had submitted to, but he was her preferred.
Why? Why do I have such violence in me that she likes me more? Emma’s action, and why not say, my compliance, had pushed Heather to betray me, looking for what I wasn’t providing anymore.
Then he shook his head, remembering Sophia’s words that he shouldn’t fault himself for what Emma did.
“Alistair Connor?” The familiar feminine voice of his wife intruded on his thoughts as if they had lured her to him.
Sophia was standing by the entrance to the gym area.
But his motions didn’t slow down. He had tried to work out his frustration and anger on the treadmill, the punching bag and lastly, the weights. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was physically, but his emotions were only growing darker by the minute.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
When he didn’t turn or talk to her, she was made to feel unwelcome. She sighed.
What the hell is happening this time?
She knew before she married him that she would have to be patient with him sometimes. As he had been with her.
His thoughts were so warped and nauseating that he didn’t hear Sophia walking back through the pool lounge. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back. He was still working out as if she hadn’t been there.
Well, one hand washes the other and both hands wash the face.
Even so, she could not hide the hurt in her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just don’t forget your therapy session.”
You idiot. You son of a bitch.
He threw the barbell on its perch with a loud clunk and stood up. “Sophia.”
“Yes?” She turned to look at him, with a foot already on the first step.
Even from afar, she could see that there was such a mix of emotions on his face and body that it halted her. Slowly, to give him time, she made her way back to where he was.
He took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator. He drained it, leaving a bit, which he splashed over his head. He dried himself the best that he could with a towel, listening to her high-heels clinking musically on the tiled floor.
He didn’t want to, never meant to, but sometimes he felt helpless against his darkness.
He was sorry for what he had done to Emma. He shouldn’t have let her provoke him. He shouldn’t have gone there in the first place.
He had called a dominant he met at one of her parties, put the keys in an envelope and asked Steven to drop them off at his apartment with precise instructions and payment.
He drew a ragged breath when the tip of Sophia’s fingers touched his sweaty back.
“
Meu amor?”
The infinite and tender patience on her voice undid him.
How I need you.
He turned and almost crushed her in his arms.
But the image they formed hit him like a slap. He was sweaty all over, wearing shorts and sneakers completely soaked through. In comparison, she was fresh and clean from a shower, dressed to start the day.
He was dirtiness.
She was cleanliness.
He was dark.
She was light.
He grimaced and croaked out, “I’m on edge today. I’m sorry, Sophia.”
She didn’t ask why he was apologizing or why he was on edge. It was not the time. She rose on her tip-toes and pecked a light kiss on his lips. “Take a quick shower and have breakfast with Gabriela and me. We were just about to start.”
My lights, my angels.
“I’ll be quick.”
But it’ll take a long shower to wash away this dirtiness.
Chapter 11
Colombo Street. Dr. Andrew Volk’s Office.
9.28 a.m.
Alistair sighed. “After the abortion, I can bet Emma even got Heather prepared before I arrived. As if she could share our pleasure.”
“Prepared as in…” Dr. Volk coached.
“Seductively dressed in lace, or spiked kinky clothes, or just naked. Waiting for me, horny. I only had to open my zipper to fuck her handcuffed to the door, strapped to the dining room table leg, collared and on all fours, bounded over the sofa. Our first fuck of the evening was never in the bedroom. Without foreplay, she liked it that way. It was all for me. As long as I came, she felt rewarded.”
“It aroused you.” It was not a question.
“Aye. One Saturday morning, I woke up to Heather servicing me while Emma spanked and fucked her with a strap-on.” He grimaced. “I cannot say I didn’t like it.”
The doctor put his notebook and pencil on the table beside him. “We’ve already established that you sought help not only because you used sex to fill an enormous void inside you, but you also had perverted companions that didn’t know how to deal with their urges. They drove you to the point where actions caused severe consequences.”
“Right.” Alistair was still shaken by what happened in Emma’s apartment and how he had reacted to Sophia. His muscles were knotted, he was in pain and nauseated.
“We’ve already seen that when you’re with Sophia, engaged or not in sexual activity, kinky or not, you feel whole as a man. Or as whole as possible for a father who has lost a child and a man who cannot have a new one.”
“Sophia makes me feel… powerful, even when I am beneath her. And makes me want to be careful and tender, when I’m leading the scene. I don’t even remember my faults, that I am damaged. I feel natural, free, and whole.”
Dr. Volk smiled. “This is impressive, Alistair.”
“So why, Andrew, why!? For Christ’s sake, why did I do what I did today? I even considered—” he choked with the idea.
“What happened that caused such emotional and physical reaction? That is still causing such an impact, you can’t even speak the words? Was it the possibility of flogging her as she wished? Or punishing her?”
“Something like that,” the words scratched their way through Alistair’s throat.
Dr. Volk put his elbows on his knees. “Alistair, you need to be specific. Did you want to punish her or did you want to have sex with her?”
“Neither,” he croaked, shoving both hands in his hair and leaning against the back of the sofa. “I wanted to spank her, aye. But not in a scene. I wanted to punish her, aye, but to make her suffer. I was on the verge of using one of the sharper floggers on her.”
“The punishment was part of the BDSM arrangement you had. You want more of what you had?”
“Not in that way; it didn’t have the purpose of instructing the submissive because she hadn’t pleasured her dominant. I— I wanted to get rid of her. It was more violent, more uncontrolled.”
I was about to cross a boundary.
“That left you…”
“Nauseated, in pain, angry. I still am. And I took my anger out on Sophia.”
The doctor sat back and took some notes, saying, “That’s normal.”
“NORMAL?!” Alistair pulled his hands out of his hair, leaving it a complete mess. “How can you call it normal, Andrew?”
“I didn’t applaud or say it was good behavior, did I?” he asked seriously. “Your previous partners didn’t know how to deal with your needs or theirs. Neither did you. Knowingly or unknowingly, they used psychological games to play with your emotions and seduce you. They wanted a wealthy man, with high sex-drive, to be their dominant. Emma was the hunter, Heather was the bait. You were the prey.”
I was the prey.
Alistair startled.
How could I be so stupid? Am I that gullible?
“And am I playing these games with Sophia too?”
“I cannot speak for Sophia, but she seems quite firm on what she likes and dislikes. Whenever you’ve discussed it, it’s always focused on pleasure, a fantasy, a light experience for both of you.”
“But why did I go back? Why did I feel so dirty near Sophia?”
“First, you went back because of Sophia, whom you love, who is gentle and deserves your attention. What happened with Emma, your uncontrolled behavior, her shameless seduction, reminded you of all the twisted views of sex that you were introduced to and used as a punishment to yourself. It made you feel unworthy. Have you heard of
Nine and a Half Weeks
?
“Sure. Who hasn’t?”
Sophia.
“It was a hell of a sexy film.”
“Actually I want you to read the book. Let me explain something to you. Some people have underlying interests or feelings that might never have been discovered. For example: you might like Chinese food, but if you’ve never tasted it, you would never know you liked Chinese food. Because of the depth and the breadth of the erotic material available these days, especially on the internet, people are exposed to areas of sexuality they previously did not know would be arousing to them. Some of these arousal patterns can be fetishistic or related to fetishes, and sadomasochism is considered a fetish and a pathology. While you stated that what Emma asked you to do made you feel disgusted with her, it was not her that disgusted you truthfully. Can you contact the feeling again?”