Her Master's Kiss

by Sparx, Vivien

  “I’m sorry, baby Storm,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for what happened. I know I will never forgive myself – but I hope one day you will forgive your mummy. I love you, my darling baby. You will be in my heart forever.”

  “Amen.”

  Renee looked up in sharp surprise, and saw Stefan standing at the edge of the leafy foliage, watching her quietly from the shadows. He came to her slowly, like a man approaching a startled forest animal, and she stood completely still, staring uncertainly at him.

  The deterioration in Stefan shocked her. He was unshaven, and his features were drawn – made haggard by his grief. His eyes were red-rimmed, seemingly sunken into the sockets of his face. He looked as though he had lost weight. His shoulders appeared gaunt under his shirt.

  “What do you want?” Renee’s voice faltered. Until that moment when she had seen him, she had not realized the extent of Stefan’s own tortured pain. She felt her instinctive compassion soften her tone.

  “I want you,” Stefan said.

  “Where were you when I needed you Stefan?” the sound of her voice was a whisper. “Where were you?” Renee’s back and shoulders took on a stubborn set as the color in her cheeks fled.

  He shook his head, heavy with sorrow. “Fighting my own battles.”

  He stared into Renee’s eyes, seeing them well with tears. Her expression was solemn, and beneath the swelling and bruising he could sense the traces of her ordeal in the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth.

  He held his hands out to her, but Renee shook her head slowly from side to side. Her eyes slowly filled until they were huge and glistening. A single tear slid down her cheek. “I needed you to rescue me, Stefan,” Renee said suddenly, and there was anguish and pain in her voice. “Not with your fists. Not with actions – with deeds. I needed you emotionally… and you weren’t there. You left.”

  He nodded again, his expression guilty and shamed and he cuffed at his eyes before he spoke again.

  “I’ve laid my life on the line for you – and I would again, because it’s easy, Renee. It requires only instinct. It demands only that I act. It’s what I’m best at – what I’m most prepared for. But this…?” he spread his hands wide, “…. this horrible, dreadful tragedy was my failing. It demanded from me more than I was prepared for. I was not capable. I’m still only learning emotions, Renee. I shut down – and I’m sorry.”

  She stared at him, silently. He took a careful step closer.

  “I came back to be here for you today,” he said.

  Her eyes darkened, snapping with defiance and an outburst of words seemed to boil behind her closed lips, but she said only, “I needed you two days ago when it happened, Stefan. And I needed you yesterday.”

  He nodded. “And we’ll both need each other tomorrow. We’ll both need to cling to each other again and again in the months to come. Don’t hate me for not knowing instinctively what I should have done, Renee.”

  Stefan turned away suddenly, staring out over the precipice, and when he looked back at Renee again she saw a flicker of the old Stefan behind his eyes. “I’m not a perfect man. I never dealt with Tiffany’s death – I ran from it. I hid my pain behind the disguise of a bdsm Master. And now I’ve done the same thing again. But I’m here now. I’m not hiding the hurt, Renee. I still don’t know how to deal with what lays ahead, but I do know I can’t live with myself – and I can’t live without you.”

  Renee did not say anything immediately, but Stefan could see her agitation in the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the cloth of her dress, and the way her breath caught in her throat. He went to her then, wrapping her within his arms but her body was rigid and unresponsive within the embrace, her lips thin and pale.

  “Renee…”

  “No,” she gasped. She tried to pull away. He tightened his hold, but she struggled in earnest, suddenly beating her fists on his shoulders and chest, crying out in her pain until he backed away, his eyes startled wide, his mouth open, shocked. “No,” Renee shouted. “It’s too late.”

  Stefan reared back and stared in despair – and Renee was unprepared for the agony that she saw in his expression. “You don’t mean that, Renee,” he said softly. “We’re still husband and wife. We belong together.”

  She stared at him for a long time, crying softly, her shoulders shaking. “Maybe we do belong together, Stefan,” she sobbed softly. “I don’t know what the future holds anymore. All I do know is that for now, we need to be apart.”

  Twenty-One.

  Stefan moved into one of the spare bedrooms at Peter’s farmstead. He took a bottle of whisky to his room, and when the bottle was empty he bought more.

  For three days he drank, mourning the death of his daughter and the ruin of his marriage, and his despair darkened his mood until black clouds of depression threatened to overwhelm him.

  For Tink, the devastation she saw in Stefan’s eyes was reflected in Renee’s, but in different ways. She visited Renee every day, and although their banter was light and superficial, Tink could see how brittle Renee was – how she stopped herself at sudden moments as the heavy shadows of her own sadness swept over her. Every exchange between them was fraught with perils. Mentioning the wrong word was enough to send Renee’s mood spiraling down into the depths of despair. She did not laugh. She did not smile. Every moment was fragile – and Tink fretted, weeping softly to herself each time she made the long drive back to the farm.

  “Give them time,” Peter advised her.

  Their relationship as Master and submissive was everything Tink had ever dreamed of. Peter was kind and caring; he put her wellbeing above everything else, and she loved him for it.

  As his submissive, she adored and admired him. He was wise and thoughtful, and she turned to him often for advice.

  In all physical aspects of their relationship, he was her Master, and she obeyed him willingly. No matter what his sexual needs, Tink thrilled at the opportunity to please him. Of an evening, they would talk quietly for hours, Tink curled up on the floor by his chair as he answered her questions about politics, history and art. But he did not seek to control her mind. She gave him the gift of her body, and in return he respected her independence.

  Now, as they talked into the evening, he was careful to give her advice, not instruction. She was his sex slave, but she was her own woman.

  “This tragedy will take them time to deal with and come back from, Tink.”

  Tink nodded, slow and thoughtful – then threw her hands in the air in frustration. “You’re right, Master, of course – but I’ve seen them both. They’re not coping. Stefan stays in his room, looking for the answers at the bottom of a bottle, and Renee is so fragile. She cries uncontrollably and she’s not eating… This is tearing them apart. I can’t stand by and watch the two people I love most destroy themselves – and each other.”

  “There’s no other way.”

  “They should be together. It won’t diminish the tragedy, but they could lean on each other – help each other through the darkest times.”

  Peter nodded sympathetically. “You heard Renee. She doesn’t want Stefan back.”

  Tink shook her head again. “She doesn’t want him because she doesn’t forgive him yet. But she needs him.”

  “Then talk to her, but go gently…”

  “I’ve tried,” Tink sighed. “But each time I raise the subject Renee goes quiet, and I can sense her withdrawing. It’s like she is some hollow shadow of who she was just a week ago.”

  “Then what other choice do you have? You can only do what you are doing, be there for them both when they need you. It’s all you can do.”

  “I can talk to Stefan.”

  Master Peter stiffened. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you…”

  Tink looked surprised. “Why?”

  Peter draped his arm lightly around Tink’s shoulder. “Men are different,” he tried to explain, “and Stefan is complex. I know him, we’ve been friends for a lot of years. He doesn’t open u
p, Tinkerbell. He’s not the sort of man to show his feelings easily. You might be able to approach Renee in gentle tones, but even that might be too much for Stefan. He’s already retreating – shutting himself off from us, and the rest of the world. The slightest push from you could make everything worse.”

  Tink climbed up and wiggled onto her Master’s lap. She was warm like a puppy in his arms. He stared into her enormous, serious eyes and softened the tone of his voice. “The only way to reach Stefan is with gentle patience.”

  Tink laid her head against Peter’s chest and was silent for a moment. Her hand drifted down until it was casually resting on the swelling bulge within her Master’s trousers. “Can I at least try?” she asked for his permission sweetly, “If I promise to be patient and gentle?”

  Peter closed his eyes. Tink’s fingers had begun to softly squeeze and encourage his erection. He sighed. “Do you promise?”

  “Oh, yes!” Tink smiled. “I really do!”

  And then, without another word, she slid seductively back off the chair, coming to her knees before him so she could demonstrate just how grateful she was that he had given his support.

  Twenty-Two.

  Tink spent the morning restlessly making beds and cleaning until Peter finally kissed her cheek and picked up his Stetson hat from the kitchen table.

  “I’m going to spend a few hours in the top paddock,” he said. “Once I re-wire the fence I’ll drive you down to Renee’s for a visit.”

  Tink smiled brightly. “Take your time,” she said. He ran his hands possessively across the firm curve of her bottom and she parted her legs to give him access. Her expression became instantly inviting and willing. Master Peter shuddered, and it took an act of will for him to still his hand before he succumbed to the temptation.

  “Tonight,” he said instead, his eyes flashing. “I’m going to tie you up and take you in the Pleasure Room.”

  She stood by the back door and watched her Master drive away, the tyres of the pickup spinning in the soft earth for purchase as Peter steered the vehicle across country. When the truck had crested the rise and disappeared from view, Tink slowly closed the door and her expression became fierce.

  Stefan’s bedroom door was closed. Tink flung it open without knocking and stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, tiny as a pixie, but her expression thunderous.

  Stefan was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, staring blankly down at the pattern of the carpeting. There was a freshly-opened bottle of whisky on the bedside table, and an empty bottle on the ground. He was wearing the same clothes she had seen him in the day before. They were rumpled and creased.

  Stefan spun his head at the sound of the door crashing back and looked up dazedly. He stared at her with bleary eyes.

  Tink gasped in shock. Stefan looked deathly pale. The skin around his features had softened and blurred into ash-grey pouches that sagged beneath his eyes and hung loose from his jaw. The lines around his mouth were deeply etched, and new lines had carved themselves into the corners of his eyes and across his brow. His cheeks were dark with scruffy stubble, and his hair hung lank and tangled and unwashed.

  “What do you want?” Stefan asked thickly.

  Tink’s lips drew back into a thin angry growl. She stepped across the floor and swung her open palm as hard as she could, slapping Stefan’s face with such force that his head was jolted. The sound was like the crack of a whip in the tiny bedroom.

  “You bastard!” Tink seethed, staring down at him on the edge of the bed, her whole body trembling with her anger and adrenalin. “You selfish bastard!”

  Stefan stared up into her face, his expression still blank, but with the first signs of his anger showing flinty black in his eyes. “You don’t deserve a woman like Renee. You’re not good enough for her!” Tink drew back her hand again and lashed out, but Stefan’s own hand came up flashing, and he caught her wrist. Tink was still screaming at him, but now her emotions spilled over so that she was sobbing, her face wretched with her anguish. “You’ve given up, Stefan – and I can’t forgive you for that. You have given up on your marriage, you bastard. And I hate you!”

  “I hate me too!” Stefan roared suddenly, his voice snapping. He pushed himself to his feet, standing over Tink like a towering avalanche, and there was an ugly twist of rage in his expression. “I hate this pain, Tink. I hate the helplessness. I hate myself for what I’ve done to Renee, and what I should have done as a man!”

  “Then fight for her!” Tink shrieked, struggling wildly against his grip. “Show her that she’s worth fighting for!”

  “I don’t know how!” Stefan snarled. “I call every day and she hangs up. What else can I do?”

  “Go to her.”

  “She won’t see me.”

  “Then make her see that you want her.”

  “How, Tink? I don’t know how, dammit!”

  “Show her!” Tink cried out. “You’re sitting in this room, feeling sorry for yourself. Why Stefan? Tell me why?”

  She was like a wildcat, lashing out at him, her eyes huge in her face and her expression twisted by her heartache. Finally Stefan flung her down on the bed and stepped away. He bunched his fist and drove it like a hammer through the bedroom door.

  “Because I’m scared!” he whirled back to her and shouted. His chest was heaving, and his face was a dark grimace. “There! I said it! Is that what you wanted, Tink? Is that what you wanted to hear me say?” He punched at the door again, splintering the timber. “I’m scared if I do anything I will lose Renee forever!”

  “How can that be worse than this, Stefan? How can you sit here and do nothing?”

  “I’m giving her the time she wanted.”

  Tink shook her head angrily. “It’s not time Renee wants. It’s you, Stefan.”

  “I offered! I went to her…” he roared indignantly.

  “She needs to believe in you again. You’re the only one who can make that happen.”

  “I’ll lose her if I push, Tink. I’ll never get her back.”

  Tink flung herself off the bed. She was fearful, intimidated by Stefan’s flash of rage, but she got to her feet regardless, standing toe-to-toe with Stefan, like David against Goliath.

  “You’ve already lost her, Stefan! Don’t you see? You’re already losing her from your life. You’ve got to fight to get her back.”

  He shook his head abruptly. The rage went out of him in an instant. He stood there, his fists bunch, his chest heaving, his whole body trembling – but with the anger extinguished, as though it had never been.

  “No. I don’t know how. It’s hopeless…”

  Tink stared into his face for long seconds. She was crying – soft broken sounds of immense sadness that shook her shoulders.

  “Don’t you dare give up hope! Don’t you dare give up fighting to win Renee back, Stefan,” she said fervently. “Don’t you understand what that would mean?”

  Stefan stared blankly. Tink stabbed a finger at his chest. “It would mean there is no hope for any of us, Stefan. Not me and Master Peter, or anyone else in the world. You and Renee are perfect for each other – you’re meant to be together. If your love can’t triumph over this tragedy, that means there is no hope for love at all.”

  “I don’t know how to show her,” Stefan’s body slumped, lost all of its tension. His face became grim again.

  “At least try!”

  But he shook his head, slow and sorrowful.

  “Then fuck you,” Tink said coldly – and walked out the door.

  Twenty-Three.

  The following morning Tink was woken by the sounds of shuffling deeper within the house. She rose quietly, careful not to wake her Master, and went to the closed bedroom door to listen. She heard the back door swing quietly open. From behind the blinds of her bedroom window Tink watched the gaunt figure of Stefan step purposefully out into the morning light and disappear behind the rear of the farmstead. She dressed quickly in hacked-off denim shorts and t-shirt and
followed him out through the back door, careful not to make a sound as she stepped lightly through the long dewy grass.

  She kept her eyes on the shape of Stefan’s broad shoulders as he went out past the small vegetable garden towards two timber buildings.

  The largest building was the barn: Master Peter’s storage shed where farm machinery was housed. Beside the building was another, smaller timber shed, where tools were maintained. Tink watched Stefan stride to the small shed and pull the door open. He stepped inside without looking back.

  She paused on the path for long moments, staring idly at the crops of fresh garden vegetables until she finally heard the sound of heavy rhythmic thumping coming from further up the hill. She started off quickly again, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

  Tink paused outside the shed’s door for a long moment and listened. The sound she heard was strangely muted. When she pulled open the door she was surprised to find the shed empty.

  On the opposite side of the building was another door, swinging ajar. Instead of stepping through the shed, she circled the building, coming around the other side to find Stefan standing beside a pile of timber. He was naked to the waist, wearing just faded blue jeans and leaning on the handle of an axe.

  He looked up at her, with the first beads of sweat glistening on his shoulders and chest. His arms were hard with sinewy muscle.

  “You’re not surprised to see me.”

  “No,” Stefan said simply. “I knew you were following me. I was hoping you would.”

  “Why?”

  She sat down on a huge block of timber, drawing her legs up to her chin and hugging her arms around her knees.

  “So I could talk to you – alone.”

  Tink was silent for a while. The morning was clear and bright. She watched Stefan pick up pieces of timber, turning them over in his hand to appraise them before discarding them, or occasionally adding them to the pile at his feet. After several minutes, he positioned one of the pieces of timber on a chopping block and raised the axe high over his shoulder. Tink saw the way the muscles in his arms bunched, and noticed the cage of his ribs drawn tight against the lean flesh of his abdomen. Stefan swung the axe with a mighty swoosh, and the timber split and splintered neatly down the center. He set the axe down against the wall of the shed and folded his arms across his chest.