Chapter 11 #2
“Hello, sir. I’m calling to resign from the club.”
Chess chuckles. “You never do beat around the bush, do you? Would you mind sitting down with me and talking about it? Say Saturday at eleven?”
I’m off for four days starting tomorrow, but I don’t remember when Mac said he wanted to go up to see his daughter. “Yes, sir. I just need to check one thing, but I think it will be fine. Can I text you if I need to reschedule?”
“Of course. Brenna, I’m not trying to change your mind, but I hope you know you will be missed.”
I rub my throat where a funny tightness has formed. “Thank you, sir. I’ve, uh, I’m becoming exclusive with someone.”
“Ah, understandable. Well, let’s just have a talk and then go over the details. I’ll need you to sign the usual NDA.”
“Yes, sir, that’s fine.” I’ve signed one for the club before, when I became a house submissive, and I’d never talk about the club to outsiders anyway.
“Have you spoken to Ten?”
I rub my throat some more. “No, sir.”
“I’m not telling you that you have to, but I think he’d appreciate hearing it from you.”
“Um, okay, I’ll think about it.” I’m definitely not.
Chess chuckles. “I’ll see you Saturday. If you’re coming by the subway, bring me a box of Krispy Kreme.”
“Sir, I’d never say no to you, but there’s no way I’m buying a box of donuts for a diabetic.”
“Ugh, you subbies gossip more than a knitting circle. See you Saturday.”
He hangs up and I finally climb out of the cold water.
By the time Mac returns, I really, really need a coffee.
And a hug. I normally love working up designs with clients, particularly first timers, but the “realistic city street scene” this client wants is not gelling for me.
I keep wanting to add whimsical elements like a deer walking down the middle of the street.
When I realize I’ve added neon fairies peeping out from behind the street signs and am in the middle of hiding an owl in a brick storefront, I call in reinforcements.
“You know, I think this might go better if I take a walk and get some reference pictures,” I tell the frowning client, who I think has just noticed the fairies. “D’you think an East Village feel would be what you’re looking for or would you like me to walk uptown?”
“Oh, East Village definitely. Um, is that a deer?”
I quickly delete the layer where there’s still a bit of a deer outline. “Let me work on this over the weekend and I’ll email you three designs to pick from on Tuesday. Okay?”
“Sure, that sounds good. I like this,” she taps on the subtle owl. “But I’d like an eagle better. Is that okay?”
“Yes, definitely. I’ll work in some eagles.”
“Great, thanks.” She shakes my hand and grabs her coat.
Mac’s got his arm around me before she’s even out the door. “Was that a request to go on a walk, sweetheart?”
“It was. My head’s totally in the wrong place for this design.”
“How would you feel about walking on a leash?”
The idea makes me shiver, but it also makes my sore pussy squeeze. “Um.”
“Since that wasn’t your safeword, I’ll take it as a yes. Go up and get the leash.” He taps a finger under my chin. “Before you argue, I know you have one. I saw it in your nightstand.”
He’s right, I do. “Yes, Sir.”
“You can keep it in your pocket until we get outside. Then hand it to me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He kisses me on the temple and releases me. I try to walk steadily through the shop and down the hall, but my insides are squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. I’m raw, but I need something to work against. I’m so empty.
As I’m climbing the stairs, my phone buzzes. I fumble it out as I open the door.
Put in a plug you can walk in. You have permission to use lube.
Fucking. Mind-reading. Dom.
Walking with a plug, on a leash, around the East Village on a cool, sunny day in late October, should suck.
It doesn’t.
Mac’s casual about the leash, keeping it looped around his wrist as he rests his arm over my shoulders.
The leash trails up the open edge of my jacket, neither obvious nor subtle.
It gets a few curious glances but not even a raised eyebrow from anyone we pass.
Since he’s not pulling on the leash, I can settle into his stride.
Mac’s taller than me and a lot of his height is in his legs, but he’s moving at a relaxed pace, giving me plenty of time to stop and take pictures on my phone when something catches my eye.
The plug’s a steady weight in my ass as we walk, sending my nerves spiraling with each step.
I’m hovering around the edge of subspace with how relaxed and buoyant I feel, but I’m still alert and focused.
Definitely the best walk I’ve ever been on.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, bold girl?” he asks after I take a picture of a graffiti mural.
“See the colors there?” I point out the mural’s flowing blue and orange against the rigid lines of a metal fire escape. “That’s what I want. It’s, I don’t know, the combination speaks to me.”
Mac tips his head, looking at the mural. “I think you probably see the world differently than I do.”
“What do you see?”
“I see graffiti of some guys in sombreros.”
I laugh. “That’s what I see, too, Sir. But I also see things I want to use in a design—color, shape, texture.”
“You see it as something you can turn into something else. I see it as it is. Yours is probably a nicer way of looking at the world.”
I tip my head onto his shoulder and slow my steps. “Do you think so, Sir?”
“Your way of seeing being transformative? Absolutely. And I’m looking forward to wearing some of that art. What wasn’t working for you when you were working up that lady’s tattoo?”
I shrug and fit myself into his side as we walk down Avenue A.
“I kept wanting to add nature back into the cityscape, you know, as a juxtaposition? And not just nature-nature. I want to add fairies and goblins and maybe a troll hiding in the shadow of a building. Totally not what that poor woman asked for. I just felt like it fit her better.”
Mac kisses my temple. “When I scene with you, I’m not just focused on what you want. I’m focused on what you need. What you’re telling me without telling me. Maybe that’s what you tapped into with that lady?”
“Maybe.” I feel a certainty tightening in my belly.
It solidifies out of the comfort I’ve taken in being with my Sir.
The way everything in me has settled from the moment he clipped his leash to my collar.
“I’m going to do one design with the mythical elements.
One realistic and contemporary. And one kind of Victorian.
I can pull up pictures of what this area looked like from the internet. Maybe have a steampunk feel to it.”
Mac smiles down at me. “I love the way your mind works, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You never told me what you came back to go to school for. Was it art?”
“No.” I shake my head, remembering. “Business. I didn’t see a way to make a living with my art until I met Rufus.”
“Rufus?”
“He’s the guy who had the shop before me. He trained me and when he wanted to retire, I bought the shop off him.”
“Ah. What attracted you to getting a degree in business?”
I laugh. “Nothing. I thought it would make Bebe J proud.”
“You didn’t think she’d be proud of your art?”
“She loved my art. I sent her sketches all the time. But she didn’t want me to struggle the way she did.
She was a banana-picker until her joints gave out.
My Ma didn’t even finish high school before she got pregnant with me.
She worked shitty, minimum-wage jobs until life drove her into a bottle. Bebe J didn’t want any of that for me.”
Mac’s eyes lift to the middle distance, trace a flight of pigeons. “We all want better for our kids.”
I squeeze his lean waist with the arm I have around him. “Sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to remind you . . . what do you want for your daughter?”
“I just want her to be healthy. And happy. But mostly healthy.”
“I can tell you have a lot of love for her, Sir.”
Mac sighs. “It’s not enough. All the love in the world can’t fill the hole in that kid’s heart. I should know. Her mother’s got the same damn hole and all my love didn’t fill hers, either.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Is that why things didn’t work out between you two?”
Mac shakes his head. “You sure you want to hear this now?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Sir.”
He snorts. “Amy’s not something I’m ever ready to talk about.” He kisses my temple. “No matter how I say this, I’m going to sound like an asshole. All I can say is that I’ve grown up a lot since I married Amy. Navy made me a man. I hope, a good man.”
Mac seems like a very good man to me, but maybe he wasn’t always.
“You married young, didn’t you, Sir?”
“Yeah, as soon as Amy finished high school. That’s where we met. I was a junior when she was a freshman.”
“High school sweethearts?” I ask as we turn the corner onto East 6th Street.
Mac makes a choking noise in his throat.
“Not quite. I . . . I said I was an asshole, Bren. I wasn’t exaggerating.
When Amy started high school, she was this tiny thing.
Not even five feet. All eyes and elbows and knobby knees.
I was already six feet. I played football.
I worked out every day. I must’ve outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She didn’t stand a chance.”
I don’t understand. I try to read his expression, but he’s looking at the pavement as we walk slowly down the street. If I had to guess, he looks . . . remorseful.
I try to lighten the mood. “What’d you do, force her to be your girlfriend?”
“Worse.” He nods sadly. “I forced her to be our slut. Me and my three best friends. We called ourselves the Four Aces. Stupid, I know. We were kids. Not a brain between us. And we did a lot of stupid, fucked-up shit. If Teddy’s father hadn’t been a cop, we’d have all ended up in jail long before we graduated. ”