Calliope's Master

by Melinda Barron

  “Henry!” The sounds of the scene filled the room, Henry’s voice admonishing her for letting the plug slip from her ass, her grunt as he pushed it back in, her cries of pain as he delivered more strikes, her pleas for more.

  She came one more time, laying her head against the cushion while she gasped for air. She watched herself undulate under the whip, the flogger shaking between her legs. Then Henry was in front of her, pushing the handle of the whip against her clit, shoving the hard knot into her body.

  “Come for me, little slut.” She almost came again in real life as her recorded image screamed out. Henry was slamming the whip handle into her sensitive flesh. She remembered how good the pain felt. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Master Sir.” She kissed his hand, then kissed the whip handle he offered her. “Thank you for whipping me. Thank you for my orgasm.”

  There were unintelligible murmurs, but Calliope knew what they’d said.

  “You’re so beautiful, my Calliope. Do you want more? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Whichever you prefer, Master Sir.”

  “Such a perfect answer.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m going to fuck that sweet ass, knead those abused cheeks, but first you’re going to suck Justin off while I film it; will you like that?”

  “I’ll like that you’re watching, Master Sir.”

  “Very good, little slut.”

  Calliope clicked off the DVD and sat up. She had no desire to watch Justin’s dick slide in and out of her mouth, even if Henry had loved watching it. She once again thought about going to the dungeon and filling her ass with the plug. But she hadn’t used any of those toys since Henry had died. It seemed almost as if it would be a betrayal.

  But wasn’t it disloyal to him to wallow in self-pity? In the first three months after Henry’s death their friends had called regularly, asking her to come to parties or barbecues. But the more times she turned them down, the less frequently the phone calls came.

  Justin had offered to scene with her, telling her the physical release would be good for her body and her soul. She knew he was right, but she hadn’t been ready for it. She needed sex now, though, physically, at least. Mentally she didn’t want to think about another man whipping her.

  The only leather she wanted to touch her skin was from a flogger that Henry wielded. Should she watch the scene again, or pick out a different one? If she watched another one would she give in and call Justin, ask him to come over and whip her?

  Or would she have a nice, masturbatory session? She should get the plug, fill her ass, then attach some clamps. But it wouldn’t be any fun without Henry, would it? It would just be sensations. They would feel good, yes, but they would leave her feeling empty. Alone.

  Tears fell down her cheeks as she hit the Back button and the scene started again. Her desire turned to anger as Henry taunted her with the dildo. “I hate you, Henry. I hate you for leaving me.”

  She clawed at the collar she still wore around her throat. Why did she wear it? It meant nothing now, just a thin piece of junk that had once meant she and Henry were connected.

  Now, he was dead, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  “Fucking bastard! How could you leave me!’ She kicked out at the small table in front of her, sending it skittering across the floor. The DVD remote fell to the tiled floor, the sound filling the room.

  Calliope clawed at the collar around her neck. She undid it swiftly, then went to the kitchen. She dug through the drawers until she found a pair of scissors. She held them tight as she placed the collar between the sharp blades and pushed.

  It was hard, but she finally managed to cut the collar in two. Her fingers were sore, her thumb aching by the time she’d taken the two halves, and halved them and then she did it again until pieces of leather littered the floor.

  “I hate you!” The words tore from her, leaving her mouth dry and her throat scratchy. She gasped for air as sobs wracked her body. She collapsed in the middle of the small mess she’d made, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I hate you… hate you… hate you…”

  She lay down on the floor, curled up in a fetal position and sobbed.

  Fifteen months later

  “I feel like I should buy your answering machine flowers, or maybe I should take it to dinner. After all, I have a more intimate relationship with it than I do with you anymore.” The sarcastic tone of Jolie’s voice made Calliope grimace.

  “You listen to me, young lady, since you’ve been avoiding me by not taking my calls or returning messages, I had no choice but to come to Denver.” The frown spread. Jolie was in town? “We have dinner reservations at eight tonight at that steakhouse you and Henry took me to the last time I visited, and you’d better be there.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Sweetie, you’re not making this easy on me,” Jolie said, her tone softening. “I have partners to protect, and you’re a client that I absolutely adore. We’ve offered you four photographic jobs in the last six months, and you’ve turned them all down. If you turn down this one, I’m afraid the partners will force me to drop you. Please be at dinner tonight. Call me at the hotel to confirm.”

  She rattled off a number. The line clicked off, and the mechanical voice announced, “End of new messages.”

  Calliope stared at the machine, then went to the couch and sat down. She picked up the TV remote and clicked the screen on.

  A knock on the door made her heart race. No one ever came to the loft unannounced. She clicked off the TV, rose slowly and went to the door. She glanced out the peephole. Tiny Jolie stood there, looking like a ball of fire. Her hands were on her hips, her gaze fastened on the peephole. How the hell had she gotten into the building without buzzing the loft?

  “I know you’re in there because I heard noise. Open the door, Calliope.”

  She had no choice, really. She undid the chain and dead bolt, then pulled the door open. Jolie didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, she pushed the door open before striding past Calliope. She dropped her purse on the floor as she reached the living room.

  “I thought dinner was at eight?”

  “Oh, you mean you got that message?” Jolie whirled around toward her. “I wouldn’t know, since you never bother to call me back. Tell me, Calliope, were you listening to me talk to your machine? Obviously, you were, since I just called.”

  Calliope flushed, and Jolie snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  “Stop.” Jolie held up a hand. “Just stop. No more I’m sorrys, no more I’m not readys, no more drowning out the world. I’m not going to be a part of it. If you want to sit around and feel sorry for yourself, that’s your business. But you’ll do it on your own. I’ve stuck by your side with every rejection of a job offer, but this is getting ridiculous.”

  “How can I go on jobs when,” she felt her voice break, “when I always went with Henry?”

  “My God, Calliope, do you think every widow in the world hasn’t felt what you’re feeling? But they pick themselves up, they dust themselves off, and they live again. Do you think you’re doing Henry’s memory any good by wallowing in pity all day long? Have you even stepped inside a darkroom? Have you looked at new and improved equipment? Have you shot pictures of friends? What have you done? Tell me!”

  “Nothing.” The word came out as a croak. She took a deep breath and put her hands on her stomach. She’d gained at least fifteen pounds. “Absolutely nothing, except eat.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jolie shook her head. “Not about the eating part, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. But I’m so worried about you. You can’t sit in this loft and allow yourself to die. Henry wouldn’t want that.”

  Tears burned her eyes. Her crying jags were coming less and less now, but when they did come, they were hard.

  “Calliope, listen to me. You’re a photographer. You have a skill and a talent that you’re wasting. Sell all of the equipment; buy new stuff. But don’
t wither and die like an unpicked grape on a vine.”

  Calliope wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry, really I am. Every time you offered a job all I could see was Henry, standing near the equipment, checking it out, asking where it was and whom it was for. I just couldn’t… I mean…”

  “You have to.” Jolie didn’t move closer to her, but the strength in her voice made Calliope feel better. “I have a job for you, one that won’t be easy, but one that you have to take. I repeat, you have to take.”

  “Or else you’ll let me go.”

  “If it was up to me, no.” Jolie went to the couch and plopped herself down. “But the partners are none too happy about you not working. We get jobs for clients, so we can make money. It’s that simple. If you don’t work, we don’t make money.”

  In her freshly pressed clothes, Jolie looked so neat and clean. In her sweats and with her uncombed hair, Calliope felt like a slob. Calliope sat down opposite her friend.

  “Tell me about the job.”

  “It’s for Silas Hope.”

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Excuse me?” The words tasted like dirt.

  “It’s for Silas Hope,” Jolie repeated. “He was stalled on his project for a while, now he’s back in business. He’s tried two other photographers, but neither of them worked out. He’s asked for you.”

  “No.” Calliope stood, remembering the last time she’d seen Silas. He’d come to Denver for Henry’s funeral, told her how sorry he was for everything that had happened. He’d offered to help her in any way that he could, and she’d murmured the appropriate words and then tried to push him out of her mind.

  His image was too much a part of Henry’s death. She could picture him running toward her fallen husband, see him calling for help, and feel his arms around her as he tried to calm her down. Then, she felt her fist connect with his face. She had indeed given him a black eye, but he didn’t say anything to her about it, didn’t blame her for it.

  “Calliope, I…”

  “It’s unfair to offer me this job, the last one my dead husband was going to do and then tell me if I don’t take it the firm will drop me.”

  “Is it?” Jolie held up her hands as if in surrender. “If that’s how you feel, I’m sorry. But there are many, many, many women who work with their husbands and continue to work after they’re dead. You could use this to cleanse your soul, to finish Henry’s last job. Wasn’t he excited about it?”

  “Very.” Calliope stared at the ductwork, then let her gaze drop down. She started counting bricks in the wall. “I can’t, I…” She swallowed hard. Henry’s image popped into her mind, the last time she’d seen him. Not at the site, where he lay dead in the grass, but at the hotel, where he was showing her the photo of the woman on the viewfinder. The lights popped out from the woman’s body, and Henry had been smiling. “Don’t you die too.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” Jolie didn’t pat her hand. Instead she stood and went to her purse. She pulled out papers and handed them to Calliope. “He’d like to start a week from Monday. That gives you time to get things organized here for the time you’ll be gone—which will probably be the whole month of October.”

  Calliope took the papers. “Fine.”

  “It’s the standard contract. Have your attorney look it over, then sign it and fax it back to the office, or you can give it to me at dinner tonight if you want. There’s time for your attorney to examine it, if you can get in to see him.”

  A giggle welled up inside her. “Henry never had anyone look them over. Has anything changed in them?”

  “No.”

  “Then give me a pen.” She wanted to do this now before she changed her mind. If she had time to think about it, she might decide this was something she couldn’t handle. She took the pen and hastily scribbled her name, initializing the spots that were marked.

  “Good.” Jolie took them back and signed her name. She handed a copy back to Calliope. “We’ll have to have a quick dinner tonight. My plane leaves out of here at six tomorrow morning, which is actually eight my time. It’s going to be a long day, and I want to get to bed early.”

  “I’ll pick you up and take you, if you like. Unless you rented a car?”

  “No, I took a cab here. That will work. I’m going back to my usual hotel to finish some things up for another client. I’ll see you around seven thirty?”

  “Sounds good.” Calliope stood, and Jolie pulled her into a big hug. It was amazing to her that such a small woman could have such power in her arms.

  “This will be good for you; you’ll see.” When she was gone, Calliope leaned against the door; then she took a deep breath and marched to the phone.

  She dialed a number and it rang once, twice, three times. “Calliope. This is a surprise.”

  “Justin, Ineedawhipping.” She rushed the words out.

  Silence met her declaration for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he said, “There, or at the club?”

  “Not here.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. I’m having dinner with my agent. Can we do it after? Around ten? Please?”

  “I’ll meet you there.” His voice was commanding.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” There was a short pause. “Calliope, it’s going to be okay. This will be your first step back. All you’ve got to do is take it. Don’t stand me up.”

  She assured him she wouldn’t and then hung up the phone. She could almost feel Henry beside her, nodding his approval. Or at least she hoped that’s what he was doing.

  Thank the Lord for GPS. Calliope followed the pleasant female voice’s instructions to turn left. She tightened her grip on the wheel and tried to slow her racing heart. She’d expected to feel anxiety when she’d landed in Boston. The last time she’d been at the airport, she’d been signing paperwork to ship Henry’s body back to Colorado.

  She’d been very cold that day, even though it was July. Today, she’d felt nothing as she’d collected her luggage and picked up her rental. But the closer she got to Augstown, the place where Henry had died, her nerves took center stage. If she wasn’t careful she was going to hyperventilate.

  How embarrassing would that be?

  “Relax, Calliope,” she said. “If you go in like this, Silas Hope will think you’re a nut case and you’ll lose the job, and possibly your agent at the same time.”

  That would be disastrous. Although Henry had left her well off, the money wouldn’t last her for the rest of her life. Jolie was right when she said Calliope needed to work. More than that she needed to join the world again, to know that the sun rose at the beginning of the day and set at the end, no matter what happened. She needed to remember she wasn’t the only person in the world to lose a husband.

  People dealt with pain and loss every day, and they didn’t retreat from the world. She knew some people who began dating months after their spouses died. Those people didn’t break down when someone took a whip to their ass.

  She winced as she remembered her reaction to feeling Justin’s whip. The minute she’d been secured between the columns at the club, she’d tensed up, her entire body feeling like a plank of wood. The strike had been so painful she’d screamed and not in a good way.

  Justin had ordered her released from her bonds. She’d tried to beg him to continue, telling him she would try harder to relax, but he’d refused to go on.

  “You’re obviously not ready for this.” His words echoed in her mind.

  “I need it,” she’d answered.

  “Physically, yes, but mentally,” he’d tapped her forehead, “you need to exorcise Henry. I won’t beat you so you get physical release. If you want to talk about ways you can move on, we can do that. But there will be no whipping tonight.”

  He’d been right she knew, and she’d tried to stop seeing her late husband in everything she did or saw, but it was hard. Going on this job wasn’t helping. Maybe when it was over she would be able to move on
. Maybe this would help her to finally lay Henry to rest in her mind.

  The GPS instructions led her to the ghost town and when she pulled into the drive, she stopped. The place had been overgrown woods and ramshackle houses the last time she’d been here.

  Now, the foliage was cut back, and a large plantation-style house sat next to a large parking lot. Calliope parked next to a large SUV, the one she remembered Silas Hope driving the last time she’d been here and stared at the structure.

  It was three stories high, with wraparound porches on all levels, supported by large columns. The wood was painted a cream color, and red shutters bracketed the floor to ceiling windows. Rocking chairs gave it a very homey feel, and Calliope couldn’t help but smile. It definitely seemed as if it belonged to another time.

  A large gray cat sat on one of the railings, staring at her. She got out of her car and watched it as it watched her.

  “Hello,” she said, and the cat’s ears perked up. Then it jumped to the porch and sauntered into the house through an open window. Seconds later the door opened, and Silas Hope appeared. He looked exactly like she remembered him, large and muscular with long, black hair. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that advertised Augstown.

  He took the stairs rapidly and Calliope watched him intently. Seeing him brought back memories she’d rather forget.

  “Hello,” he called out as he neared her. “What do you think?” He swept his hand toward the hotel but kept his gaze focused on her.

  “I like it. It’s much larger than I thought it would be.”

  “We added a level from our original plan,” he said as he drew up next to her. He offered his hand and she took it, hoping he didn’t notice her palms were sweating. “We decided to put all the guest rooms on the second and third floors. The bottom floor is the kitchen, dining room, three living areas, a library and the office.”

  “Very nice.”

  “We think so.” He gave her a bright smile before he let go of her hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”