Chapter 38 Seven
Seven
Shay knew this part well, but it still made his muscles rigid with frustration. This was why he’d never agreed to train a sub, though the Marquis Club board had deemed him eligible to take on the responsibility three years earlier.
He should’ve kept the key to his foot locker on him at all times.
But the salt water and sweat were taking their toll and seeing a key constantly hanging from his neck had made his family comment that he must have gold bars stored in a lock box to carry around a key all the time.
He’d made light of it but decided it would be better not to cause speculation.
He’d started putting the key in a magnetized box on the undersurface of one of the drawers of a file cabinet in the garage.
He still had no idea how Jared had spotted him putting it away.
The kid must have been spying. It wasn’t that surprising.
His little brothers looked up to him. They wanted to know everything he did and to be just like him.
Shay closed his eyes and shook his head with a rueful smile.
Twelve was too young to open a trunk full of BDSM gear and hardcore porn.
Jared had known that some nights Shay left late with a black duffel bag and didn’t return until four or five in the morning, ostensibly to go barhopping with friends, but the kid had seen a million crime shows.
To him, the contents of the foot locker at the end of his brother’s bed had looked like the gear of a serial killer.
It had scared the hell out of him. Poor kid.
Shay still remembered everything about that evening. The exact spot on the house where he’d been painting trim. That the color was Silver Sage. That he’d planned to stop by six, so they could have dinner before taking a twilight sail.
He hadn’t noticed anything strange about his dad’s voice when he’d called Shay’s name and asked him to come in the house.
When Shay saw their faces, though, pale and drawn under their tans, he’d known something was terribly wrong.
He’d thought his aunt with breast cancer had taken a turn for the worse, maybe even died.
But it was more complicated. The lid of the trunk was open. A few of the contents had been laid on the foot of the bed.
“Did you break the lock?” he’d asked, bewildered. His parents had always respected his privacy.
“Explain this,” his dad had said.
Shay’s gaze had settled for a moment on the bondage porn DVDs and the fetish photography prints sitting next to a black ball gag. In the images, of course, some of the women were in the throes of rough sex and looked it.
“It’s something I’m into. You need to understand that everything is consensual.”
“But this looks… Shay, are you saying that hurting women gives you sexual gratification?” his dad had said, as though there was any other explanation.
“It’s not about hurting them. It’s about—” He’d stopped because he’d been about to say “having power over them,” but he’d seen his mom’s face. “It’s about taking on a role. And exploring different types of experiences.”
“Don’t dress it up or intellectualize it. I want to know if you’re just fantasizing about doing these things, or if you’ve actually already done something to some woman.”
Shay knew what they desperately wanted to hear. He didn’t have it in him to bring them any more pain than he already had. He liked being dominant, but he’d never been much of a sadist. “Just thinking about it so far,” he’d said.
His dad had exhaled, relieved, but his mom knew better. She had an eye for details.
“Tim,” she’d said, her voice tight, gripping the bed post for dear life.
“No, no, Kath, he can get help. People on my side have had therapy. There’s—”
“Tim,” she’d said sharply. “Don’t you know when he’s lying? That bottle,” she’d said with a grim nod at a pump bottle of lube, “is two-thirds empty, and there are teeth marks on that rubber ball. He’s not just fantasizing. He’s already done things.”
His dad’s face had hardened instantly. “Why, Shay? What made you go in this direction? Did something happen to you that we don’t know about? Did someone hurt you?” He looked at Shay’s mom. “When would it have happened? Camp? Or at someone’s—”
“Dad, no. No one abused me.”
“Then why?”
Shay sighed. “There’s no exact why. It’s just something I’m into.” He hadn’t wanted to get into the details of his early experiences. “But I promise you I’m not lying when I say everything is consensual.”
“They wanted it, huh?” his mom whispered, completely disgusted and convinced the son she’d once loved was offering up the platitude a thousand rapists had used before to justify their crimes.
“It’s really not like that,” he’d said, reaching out when she swayed.
His parents both moved, his mom snatching her hand back and his dad putting an arm out so Shay couldn’t touch her.
“Christ,” Shay had said, startled and hurt by his mom’s recoil.
“Your mother is the one who got up at five in the morning to get to work early and out early enough to take you to row. When you asked her to read your papers for school, she spent hours on that feedback. She helped with your college applications and arranged those mock interviews to prepare you. She did more than anyone.” The anguish on his dad’s face had been like a sledgehammer slamming into his gut.
“I know. I love her for it,” Shay had said.
His mom had shaken her head, her face crumpling.
“No,” she’d said, her voice breaking on the tears.
“Deep down, a part of you must be angry and resent me, if you could do something like this to some young woman.” She’d covered her mouth as though she could keep the sound of the sobs from escaping. “A part of you must hate me.”
“Mom, no.”
His dad had cried too. He had broken their hearts. And that, in turn, had broken his. In the end, even Shay had shed a few tears.
It had been the single worst night of his life.
And because it had been so traumatic, he’d left the lifestyle for three months, had seen a therapist, and had had to tell his parents far more than he’d ever intended.
In the end, he’d asked the girl who’d promised she’d do anything to come and talk to them.
She’d spoken with his parents alone, while he sat on the dock.
He’d known it was the right thing. Rachel was bright and quick-witted like his mom.
She would never come across as a girl with a broken spirit.
“Hey, sexy,” Rachel had said, strolling out onto the dock.
“How’d it go?” he asked, sliding over so she could sit next to him and dangle her legs in the water.
“A lot like an interrogation of a possible green card wife I’d imagine. They were sure that you’d put me up to coming here. Maybe even paid me to lie. They thought you’d only told me the bare minimum of what this was all about.”
“And?”
“I thanked them for warning me so I didn’t end up in a cage in your garage, eating oatmeal from a bowl until you killed me and buried my body in Central Park.”
He’d smirked and put an arm around her shoulders, reaching a hand down to pinch her nipple. “Do you think it’s wise to tease me?”
“Ow. Oh God, please don’t get me hot for you. I know with all this drama you’re not going to take me somewhere and use me till I come.”
“I’m waiting to hear what happened,” he said, varying the pressure on her nipple.
“Okay. Please, Sir. I’ll be good.”
He eased his grip, stroking her lightly.
“I could tell they didn’t believe I knew anything about it.
So, I told them the truth about the sex club we go to and what happens there.
I told them about safewords and Dungeon Masters and explained how subs—male and female—keep themselves from getting injured.
I explained that pain is a turn-on and a release for some people, including me.
And I walked them through the contents of your foot locker, item by item, until they told me they’d heard enough. ”
“A tour of the foot locker, did you really?” he asked, almost managing to smile.
“Hell, they’re not my parents,” she said, which did make him smile. “And I figured the truth was better than having them think the worst about you.”
He nodded.
“Your mom asked me what I thought you think about women.”
“And?”
“And I told her I didn’t think I’d ever met a guy who cared about women more. Inside the club or out.”
He caught a handful of her wildly curly hair and pulled her back by it, laying her down on the dock and pinning her hands over her head while he kissed her.
“You’re so hot. Why aren’t you Jewish?” she asked.
He smiled, then looked down into her eyes. “You’ll stay the night,” he said.
“Stay the night here? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’ll let my parents see us interact with each other.
And when it’s late enough, I’ll lock my bedroom door, gag you so you don’t make too much noise, and take my own inventory of the items in my locker to be sure nothing’s missing, using them on you as I go. Sound about right as rewards go, pet?”
“God, yes,” she’d said.
That summer was the first and last time he’d ever exhausted himself trying to convince a smart woman that he and others who engaged in deviant sex didn’t want to take away the rights of every woman in the world.
He was interested in controlling specific women who liked to be controlled, for the mutual gratification of everyone involved.
So now, he didn’t feel the need to defend his choices to anyone, especially not to a new submissive. If he brought Emma under his control it would be because she wanted to be there, not because he’d used a persuasive enough argument. Which suited him fine. He’d always been a man of action.
Emma used the changing room next to the reception area. Her gaze darted down the hall several times. Was Shay in his office? Or somewhere else in the club?