Fate

  “Do I ever need anything?” Tom asked.

  “Not really,” she said with a broad grin. “But sometimes, you like things. Like the lasagna I brought you for lunch.”

  “Spinach and ricotta,” he said with disgust. “Rabbit food.”

  Emily picked up the plastic container, and noticed he’d eaten it all. “You need to look after yourself better, Tom,” she admonished him, as she often did. “Get out and get some exercise. Go for a walk. Have some fun.”

  He just snorted at that. Emily walked around the desk, bent over and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Call, if you need anything. I’m not back until Monday, but you know that I’ll come in if you need me.”

  Tom didn’t seem to have a response for that. In his typical way, he simply grunted a gruff reply. Emily said goodbye again, took the dirty container, and closed the door behind her.

  As she left the shopping center, she saw Marilyn Banes in the parking lot. Oh shit. The bane of my existence! Why did she have to be here now? Another five minutes and I would have missed her. Emily tried to avoid her by changing direction and pretending not to see her.

  Marilyn was way too smart for that.

  “Don’t try to run away, Emily,” Marilyn chided, standing in front of her with her hands on her hips. “You may as well answer my question and I’ll let you go.”

  “Is it about Paul?” Emily asked with a sigh.

  Marilyn laughed. “Of course it is, silly.”

  With narrowed eyes, Emily studied Marilyn. People said that she had Spanish blood. The woman looked like those religious renaissance paintings of the Virgin Mary, with her big compelling dark eyes. Long, thick dark hair, passionate temper, and a sexy body. Her curvaceous figure and enormous bust had attracted Paul. Marilyn was one of the few people he’d had actually dated for a short time. Well, not dated per se. He simply slept with her more than once.

  “Yes, I’ve heard from him,” Emily said. “He’s in Mexico. No, I have no idea when he will come home, if ever. Anything else? “

  Head tilted to one side, Marilyn considered her with those dark, knowing eyes. “I guess he keeps in touch with you so he knows what his dad is up to. This supermarket is worth millions, and with mommy gone, no doubt, Paul will get it all when daddy dearest drops dead. You know Paul thinks of you as a little sister, right Emily?”

  Emily resisted a strong urge to grind her teeth. Sadly, punching Marilyn’s beautiful angelic face was out of the question. Screaming and yelling wouldn’t help the situation either. No matter how she tried to hide it from the world, Emily knew that Marilyn was probably the only person that had instinctively guessed her secret: That she pined for Paul.

  How did Marilyn do it? How did the sexy bitch manage to hit almost every button Emily had, in less than two sentences? The only thing the woman left out was Emily’s mom, but even Marilyn knew better than to go there.

  Emily took a deep breath, composed her features and decided not to rise to Marilyn’s bait.

  “Oh, Paul did say that he’d fallen in love,” Emily tossed out casually, uncharacteristically mean-spirited. There was something about Marilyn that just irritated the hell out of her. Actually, there were a number of somethings about her.

  Marilyn’s face seemed to collapse, as well as her cynical, ‘you can’t hurt me’ persona. She actually flinched as if in pain.

  For a moment, just an instant, Emily felt guilty. Marilyn, like Emily, had always been in love with Paul. The two of them were kindred sisters of the soul when it came to having a Paul-related broken heart.

  “I’ve got to go, Marilyn. I’ll catch you later,” Emily said as she strode rapidly toward her car. The conversation she had with Marilyn left a really bad taste in her mouth.

  Emily’s nasty stab at her had brought her no joy.

  Paul has fallen in love, she thought. Not with Marilyn, but not with me either.

  Chapter 19. Friday Night

  From: Paul Jarman

  To: Candy

  Subject: Love

  Love? I think it’s a chemical reaction that makes people go crazy. They get married, and a couple of years later, the reaction wears off. Then they wonder why they got married in the first place. And they find someone else and cheat on their partner.

  Paul

  ~~~

  From: Candy

  To: Paul Jarman

  Subject: Mr. Cynical

  Wow. I actually feel sorry for you now! You don’t trust love, and that’s really sad. I think love is when the person you love notices when you’re down and goes out of their way to bring you back up again. You do the same thing for them. I think if two people love each other, then everything is better for both of them, all of the time. I long to share my life with a man I love. You would think that’s naive, but I think it’s an attainable dream.

  All my love,

  Ms. Still Trusting and Believing.

  ~~~

  The Basement was open from 8pm to 6am on weekends. This was Emily’s second visit, and other than the fact that she had a Dom booked for tonight, she was actually at ease.

  Dressed like she imagined her alter ego, Candy, would be, Emily wore a short pencil skirt, halter top, and four inch strappy heels. Her cocksucker-red lipstick matched her toenails, and while she wasn’t wearing false eyelashes, she’d used enough eyeliner and mascara to give Cheerleader Barbie a real scare.

  Arriving early, Emily went to the ‘subs gallery’ to watch all the action. The gallery was a ‘time out’ sort of safe place, a little raised up from the floor, where Doms and subs could check each other out from a distance.

  The club had three floors of kink including a “wet room” on the third floor. There were also a large number of individual theme rooms, catering to everything: a Western stable and saloon; School classrooms, Doctor settings, Victorian households, Dungeons, Office settings, Roman Empire, and so on.

  The guy who owned it was constantly expanding to cater to the various requests from his clientele. In order to gain entry into The Basement, you had to go in at the ground floor, then go down to the underground level. Once there, security had to clear you, and let you inside the actual club. Floors one, two and three, could only be reached through the basement level.

  Everything was digitally recorded, as there were cameras everywhere. Emily found this high-tech security reassuring.

  Colin Wilkins, aka “Master Colin,” managed the place. About forty-five years old, Colin was a stocky man, just under six feet tall, with brown hair and a thick dark, beard. Nervously babbling upon their initial meeting, Emily had blurted out that he looked like a lumber jack. Colin laughed and told her he had worked in British Columbia cutting wood. Open, kind and interested, Colin inspired Emily to trust him. The man just seemed to be a straight arrow.

  Colin did Emily’s admission interviews, which were recorded on DVD, to prove informed consent. She was tested for over an hour on a number of subjects, and given “and what would you do if….” scenarios, much like an extremely personal job interview.

  Emily confided her purpose in coming to the club, and asked Colin for help. That must have been the right approach, since the man appeared to have a ‘damsels in distress’ button. After that, she paid for her two-week trial membership, which cost a fortune.

  The Basement’s open area seemed a bit like Dante’s inferno, with a full-on Dungeon design. Tables and chairs were of butcher block wood – they looked like they belonged in a castle somewhere, for knights to put their feet on. Wrought iron sconces with realistically flickering electric lights and numerous places to sit were scattered carelessly, but in fact, with artistic flare.

  A big screen was set above the bar area, with pre-recorded, appropriately kinky video and sometimes simply intriguing still pictures: the serene face of a woman fully bound, and strangely at peace; the face of a intent Dom, reverently studying his sub as he flogged her; collared subs, leashed and on their knees, looking up at their Doms in worshipful adoration.

 
Emily couldn’t decide if her attraction to the screen was because she was programmed to watch TV as a child, or because what was being shown was so interesting.

  “Hey, Emily!”

  Emily turned to see Kelly Flynn, coming up the steps toward her. “Hey, Kelly,” Emily said, with a big grin.

  Kelly was one of the first people Emily had met at The Basement. Bright, bubbly and great fun, she had a wicked sense of humor. Dark eye shadow set off her pale blue eyes. Her blue satin corset, and fishnet stockings, accented the eye shadow. With a leather collar around her neck, Kelly looked like a grown up, kinky version of Little Orphan Annie, with orange hair, and rusty freckles that covered her body.

  Kelly’s Dom, and husband, was “Father John.” The two were complete opposites. Kelly was cheerful, chatty and carefree, while “Father John” was a silent, super-scary looking guy, dressed in black leather, who wielded a bullwhip.

  John used to be John Taylor, but when they married, he took Kelly’s last name because he hated his father. Emily had never heard of such a thing, but John Flynn was a pretty unique kind of guy.

  Emily gave Kelly a hug and then the two girls chatted like long-lost friends, even though they’d only met the night before. They admired each other’s outfits, and talked about their day.

  “So, Emily, are you excited about tonight?”

  “More like terrified, but I’m determined to go ahead.”

  Emily stood at the railing, overlooking the open area. Kelly, standing beside her, put her arm around her friend. “I’m telling you, girl, you have nothing to worry about. André Chevalier is your Dom. You couldn’t have a better guy looking after you.” Kelly gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re gonna love him.”

  “I’m already in love,” Emily said. “And you know how well that’s working out for me, right? I sure don’t plan on falling in love with anyone else.”

  Kelly laughed. “André’s the perfect gentlemen. All of your questions will be answered by him,” she reassured her. “You won’t worry about pain ever again.”

  “Yeah, right.” Emily knew that her high pitched giggle sounded slightly hysterical, mainly because it was.

  Emily had discussed whippings and spankings with every sub she met, explaining her fear of pain. Responses were varied, including “You have no idea what you’re missing, girl!” Generally, everyone felt that as long as the Dom knew what he or she was doing, Emily wouldn’t have a problem. She was also assured that she could stop any scene, at any time, just by using her safe word.

  Just then a woman, fully dressed and strapped to a spanking bench in the display area, let out a piercing wail. Her Dom, intently flogging her, dropped the whip and ran his hands over her. Kelly turned toward Emily’s wide eyed expression, and giggled.

  “That’s, Rose,” she explained with a calm smirk. “She’s really loud when she comes. A good flogging always does it for her.” Kelly arched an eyebrow and tilted her head with a knowing look.

  This was a silent communication, in reference to Emily’s aversion to pain. Something about her friend’s expression made Emily giggle. Am I losing my mind? This is a madhouse, and I’m on board with it. There were sounds of murmuring voices, laughter, and whips cracking. There was also pulse-pounding music, people dancing, and amazing outfits.

  It was Saturday, and "prison theme" night. Half of the clientele were costumed accordingly in prison dress, state troopers, sexy police uniforms, complete with baton-dildo attachments, cuffs, and so on.

  Outfits ranged from complex latex costumes, severe leather harnesses, and full face masks, to almost no clothes at all. Others wandered around with intimately positioned piercings, scarification and body modifications. Straight, gay, bi-sexual, cross-dressing: the whole spectrum of ‘kink’ seemed to be represented. Collars, cuffs, padlocks, chains and leashes were everywhere.

  A prison cell stood, with prisoner subs, in one of three roped-off play areas. Complex BDSM furniture including spanking benches and crosses were set in these areas, too. The Basement happily catered to everyone, mixing every kind of kink imaginable.

  The bar had a number of people gathered around. Both male and female bartenders kept everyone happy. Subs kneeled at their Doms’ feet, Mistresses and Masters paraded their half-naked subs around on display.

  Emily had been very surprised by the atmosphere. Contrary to pre-conceived notions and first impressions, the club was an oddly relaxed place, with friendly, polite people, all having a good time. Drugs and even cigarettes were not allowed. No one came near being drunk, or disorderly.

  Must be a natural high, she thought with wry amusement.

  Kelly said that for her, coming to the club had been a lifesaver. It was a safe place to go, to get in touch with a different, usually secret side of themselves without being judged. A visit to The Basement was like being ‘Alice in deviant Wonderland.’ Where else could people safely explore just how deep that rabbit hole of theirs went? Even Emily was at ease. How could one be inhibited, when so many people were comfortable with their non-conformity?

  This was a side of humanity that the rest of the world was shielded from. Emily felt privileged to experience it.

  She saw a little altercation in the corner of the bar, which was quickly dealt with. Did someone accidentally touch someone else’s sub without permission? That was a real no-no. Emily was still trying to wrap her head around the strict rules governing behavior.

  At first, she thought it would be like a swingers club, where everyone had sex with each other, but it wasn’t anything like that. Sex was only allowed in booked rooms, or as part of special voyeur acts. Otherwise sex, including masturbation, wasn’t allowed in common areas. Still, there was a hell of a lot of mental and visual foreplay going on.

  It had been easy to get a conversation going with her fellow subs, both male and female. Were they happy because they were openly on display? Where they could safely expose themselves and show others who they really were?

  Emily imagined that if she had kinky desires, she’d like to have others to talk to about it. People who’d understand.

  Tonight’s proceeds were going toward a local charity, and this added to the community atmosphere. Everyone was feeling good about themselves, having fun, and being a part of it. She was probably the only one worrying.

  What in the hell am I going to do with this Dom tonight? More to the point, what’s he going to do with me? Or, she mused wryly, to me, if it comes to that.

  Just then she saw a man confidently walking up the sub gallery steps. Emily just knew that he was coming for her. It looked like she was about to find out…

  Chapter 20. Little Rabbit

  From: Paul Jarman

  To: Ms. Trusting and Believing

  Subject: Research on love

  Gorgeous,

  Music can inspire emotion, and stimulate the mind. Perhaps music holds the key to our quest for the meaning of love? The singer Haddaway’s classic song “What is Love” proclaims:

  “What is love? Baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me, no more.”

  Although he did also sing: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, uh, uh whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, uh, uh.” So maybe we can’t draw too many conclusions from his lyrics. ;-)

  Paul

  ~~~

  “André!” Kelly screamed, and ran up to give the newcomer an effusive hug, which was just as effusively returned. Not a standard sub/Dom greeting from what Emily knew, but perhaps it was acceptable in the more relaxed atmosphere of the sub gallery.

  Frightened as she was, Emily took a moment to study him. Perhaps it was the interaction with her friend, but André seemed approachable. He looked about six feet tall, and while not precisely handsome, he had a pleasant face.

  “The most beautiful Kelly,” André said, kissing both of her cheeks in that French way. “Always a pleasure. Will you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. André Chevalier,” Kelly said, politely gesturing to
ward her. “This is Emily Malone; Emily, André Chevalier. I understand that Emily’s your sub for the evening.”

  Emily wasn’t too sure about the protocol. Anxious and uncertain, she moistened her lips, shifted her feet, and felt an urgent need to pee. How should a submissive respond? André saved her from any social faux pas, and offered her his hand.

  When Emily held hers out, André accepted it, and brought her fingers to his lips, pressing a soft kiss onto her skin. A shiver ran through her. God. She wasn’t sure if she was terrified or aroused by his touch. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. Hot or not, there was no way that she was going to have sex with him.

  “Je suis enchanté,” he said, his voice was low, smooth, with a wonderful accent. His eyebrows were thick and expressive, his dark eyes remarkably bright with intelligence. That dominant gaze of his never left hers. It reminded her of Paul, when he used that “Look.” Only she knew Paul. She didn’t know this guy.

  What the hell am I doing, going off with this stranger?

  Emily had no idea what he just said, but assumed it was French greeting. “You, too,” she replied, hearing the meekness in her own voice. Cold and still, it took real effort to prevent herself from shaking with nerves. She looked longingly at the exit.

  Oh, God! I’m scared to death and pathetic! Holy fuck, I can’t do this! I’ve got to get out of here.

  As if aware of her thoughts, André didn’t release her hand. Instead, he stepped closer, and ever so gently, tugged her against him. He felt warm and solid, and his grip was firm.

  Strangely, his natural confidence combined with his touch calmed her. I need to be here, Emily reminded herself. Her speeding heartbeat began to slow… until she saw “Father John” coming her way.

  Firm lips, commanding presence, John Flynn, Kelly’s husband, walked up the stairs to the sub area. His fluid, graceful movements demonstrated a kind of harnessed power. Black leather pants, black shirt, swat boots; everything about him screamed not only ‘Dominant’ but fucking scary dominant. Broad shouldered, cut abs, thin hipped; Kelly’s husband was movie-star good looking.