Separation Games (The Games Duet Book 2)

by CD Reiss

  “I can handle it. But thanks.”

  I couldn’t handle it. I was terrified of everything about it. I didn’t want to submit to another man, ever. Didn’t want to be touched or ordered around by anyone but Adam. Charlie was tolerable because his relationship to my husband meant that no matter what he taught me, he wouldn’t touch me.

  So I had to go to plan C. I didn’t have a plan C, but I was sure I could come up with something. I was halfway through the bland, no-nonsense reception area when Charlie’s voice echoed off the walls.

  “I can get you someone.” He leaned on his cane, a three-legged man against the stark white hall.

  “A stranger?” I asked.

  “What am I then? I said four words to you at your wedding and you’ve seen me twice since.”

  “Adam trusts you, so I do.”

  He sighed deeply. “I’m going to get no end of trouble for this.” He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a slim card case. “But better this than you running around half-cocked.”

  With just his thumb, he slid out a card partway, then he held the case out to me. I crossed the distance between us in three steps and grabbed the white triangle, pulling out the rest of the card until the entire rectangle was revealed. On it, just a word in silvery grey.

  INSOLENT

  I turned it to the back and found a number neatly written in thin black felt tip.

  Text: (212) 867-5309

  “Give the bloke a fair go.”

  “You’re referring me?”

  “You’re a brat,” he said without insult. “I don’t train brats. Don’t have the patience anymore.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate the time you took to meet with me.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will,” I lied. There was no way to be careful about what I wanted to do. I couldn’t do it.

  Chapter 6

  DAY TWENTY

  My father and I had a very open, loving relationship, but he was still my father. He wouldn’t want to hear the details of my sexual exploits with Adam any more than I’d want to tell them. Life and relationships were uncomfortable, awkward, and messy in general. Telling your father how it felt to be paddled while people watched from the snowy yard wouldn’t bring us closer. It would make him worry.

  “I thought the vacation would sort you two out,” he said, flipping teabags into white cups. The cups had come from my mother’s family, and they were priceless. The whistling teapot was from my dad’s father, and it was just old.

  “It didn’t.”

  I counted pills and dropped them into his plastic container. Click click click. I checked against the calendar and marked off the week I’d allocated.

  I kept a log of his meds and prescriptions with refill dates and dosage changes. I was terrible at this sort of thing. I could barely keep a grocery list in one place. But for some reason, I was obsessive about keeping his pills in order.

  “And it’s him? Not you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean…” I sighed and snapped the container shut. “I love him, but I think this made him rethink what he needs.”

  Dad brought our tea to the table. I made an effort to let him do it himself, though I wanted to jump up and take the tray from him.

  “He’s a good man. He’ll make the right decision.”

  “Maybe.” I squeezed my teabag and dropped the dry lump onto the saucer.

  “Or.” Dad shrugged as if he didn’t want to suggest the thing he was thinking and hoped I’d meet him halfway.

  “Or?”

  “They can take a man’s… you know… stuff…” He scratched his head. “Your mother didn’t get cancer until later, so maybe it’s not worth it.”

  “Take a man’s sperm?”

  “Yes. And, you know. Blah blah.”

  “Artificial insemination?”

  “Sure. Yeah. And the other one. In the test tube. You go to a clinic, and they have it frozen. You pick from a catalog. Or… what I’m saying is, I know you were worried.”

  “I’m still worried.” I blew the surface of my tea into crescent-shaped ripples. “Maybe I just don’t get to have children.”

  “You’re giving up?” He hacked out two coughs. “Come on.”

  “It’s a race. You lose some races. And if I can’t see what I’m racing against? If I have no idea if the cancer is coming tomorrow or never? And what if I make these terms with him? Just a baby, right? He might say yes, but that’s letting him off the hook. I want all of him. I’m not splitting the difference. It’s all or nothing. I’ll give up on this race with Mom’s genes, but I won’t give up on the dream with Adam.”

  “This is the man you left.” Dad raised an eyebrow, and I detected a little smugness. He’d never wanted me to leave my husband.

  “I did it because I wanted time to have a family with someone else. Which was wrongheaded. I’m not making decisions based on how Mom died anymore. If my time’s running out and I lose this race, so be it. It’s my life to waste, and I’m going to waste it racing with him.”

  “You seem like you’ve made up your mind.”

  I placed my cup in the saucer as if it was the last bingo chip on the winning card. “This is going to the finish line. You mark my words.”

  He took my hand across the table. His skin was cold and dry. “I’ll be here for you. Win or lose.”

  Dad must have been where I got the strength to stand up to my husband’s rejection. His eyes were as sharp and blue as ever, and I could believe in the strong but icy grip of his hand that he’d be there to help me see it through to the end. Adam. A baby. The inevitable fight with renegade cells. He’d taught me how to fight.

  “There’s always another race,” I said.

  “I’ll be there for those too.” He put his cool hand on my cheek and patted it.

  He’d never leave me. Never stop. And I’d never stop chasing Adam.

  Starting tonight.

  I threw back my tea in one gulp. “Okay, you’re all set.” I stacked the containers and picked up my cup and saucer. “I have to go.”

  “It’s nine at night. Where are you going this late? On a weekday?”

  “Ready, set, go, Dad.” Newly inspired, I put the cup and saucer in the dishwasher. “We don’t get to decide when the gun goes off.”

  “What?”

  I kissed his cheek. “See you in the office.”

  Chapter 7

  Monthly tryout night at the Cellar. Anyone could walk in. Last time, I’d been clothed in anger and disappointment and driven by a curiosity about what my husband had been seeing when he saw sex.

  The second time I went to tryout night, I didn’t have that armor or that drive. I was curious about myself. I was curious about my trajectory. I wanted to feel what it was like to be single in that world. I wasn’t accepting defeat with Adam, but I was getting a feel for being single and I didn’t want to wait another month to go to the Meatpacking District to find my place.

  This time, I heard every command, smelled the lubricant, tasted sex in the back of my throat as I got off the elevator onto the sixth floor. I withheld judgment on everything and everyone. Having been to Montauk, most of the activity in the room seemed tamer than I remembered. The clothing was outrageous on some and dowdy on others. Sitting at the bar, I noticed the ratio of observers to participants disproportionately favored the observers, who were usually huddled couples holding their drinks with two hands and sipping through stir sticks.

  I sat with my knees pressed together and my hands resting on them. I’d worn a blouse and slacks for modesty. As a new submissive without a Master, I felt vulnerable. Beyond being there, I didn’t even know what I wanted out of my trip downtown.

  The young Dom I’d seen paddling his sub in the observation room was on the other side of the bar, talking to a man and a woman in black. The young Dom wore a crisp white button-front and grey tie. They could have been talking about real estate.

  Our eyes met, and he stopped, tilting his head. I flushed wi
th prickly heat and looked away, hiding behind my ginger ale. I held the glass in two hands, sipping from the rim. Avoiding him. My fingers were cold and wet from condensation, but I didn’t let the glass go. His gaze held the promise of dirty feet buckling under the weight of his paddle. The sound of it hitting skin. The knowledge that someone was witnessing my domination and degradation. I wanted all of it, but not with him.

  What do you see?

  At two o’clock, a woman was cuffed to a big X. She was getting her bare ass whipped by two men. At ten o’clock, another woman was sucking off two men, alternating hand and mouth every few seconds. At one and four, collars and leashes, and at every minute in between were observers trying not to stare when staring was the point.

  What are you feeling?

  Lonely. Curious. Aroused in a non-specific-free-floating sort of way.

  “What attracts you?”

  The voice wasn’t in my head, but next to me. Bass-deep and accented in thick Ts and dropped hisses. He’d spoken to me the first time I’d come. Adam had called him Viktor.

  I didn’t respond right away. All of it attracted me, and none of it.

  “I don’t bite,” he said. “Bark a little, maybe.”

  I smiled and tilted my glass. The ice had melted into smooth-shaped stones. I glanced at the young Dom. As if he knew I was looking, he turned, and seeing me, he nodded.

  “I’m not sure what attracts me,” I said, looking squarely at Viktor.

  “None of it?”

  “None specifically, but in a general way… all of it.”

  He tipped his drink at the woman on the X. “What do you like? The cuffs or the pain?”

  I stayed silent, considering my options.

  “This is only curiosity. I’m not in business to give you either. Just to talk.”

  “I think,” I said, watching the woman’s behind flush pink, then red. The transformation was gorgeous. Like petals blossoming. “Both together. She needs the cuffs to stay still for the pain. To feel safe.”

  I shook the ice. My wrung-out lime flopped like a dead fish on top.

  “Your drink. You’d like another?”

  “Ginger ale.”

  The bartender was a woman with a long braid that twisted strands of blond, black, and red hair. She wore a corset and platform wedge sneakers. “This asshole bothering you?”

  “No. He said he wouldn’t bite.”

  “He barks.” She raised a penciled eyebrow.

  “I’ve been warned.”

  “Ginger ale?” She picked up my glass.

  “On me,” Viktor said.

  “On the house,” the bartender parried, filling my glass with fresh ice. “You’re Adam’s wife?”

  “Hey,” Viktor said, “put the lid on it.”

  Some kind of silent message passed between Viktor and the bartender. A conversation the woman with the soda gun won. She slid the glass to me.

  “You’re being watched,” she said. “Protectively. But you’re not anonymous here.”

  “Is this the only club in the city?” I asked, annoyed.

  “Ten years ago, three clubs had to merge or the scene would die. Next nearest club is in Newark. Blame gentrification. Call your congressman.”

  “Could also call your husband,” Viktor interjected.

  “Someone did that already, I’m sure.” The bartender gave me an apologetic face and went to the other side of the bar to help a couple who looked as though they’d taken the train right from their law firm jobs.

  “At least you know I’m not trying to pick you up,” Viktor said. “And I liked your answer very much.”

  “So you’re watching me?”

  “Making sure you don’t get into some trouble. We look out for each other and each other’s subs.”

  “I’m not his sub.”

  “This is between you and him. Ah, and here he is!” Viktor held out his hand and Adam appeared from behind me.

  He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans with a coat. He looked as if he’d run the whole way from the gym.

  Great.

  He and Viktor shook hands. Adam thanked him. I flipped the red stirrer out of my drink and sipped from the rim. I was feeling furious and butch.

  “It was nice to talk to you,” Viktor said then pointed at Adam. “You take care of this one.”

  I hid my face behind the glass. My sneer was inappropriate. Viktor meant no harm.

  When Viktor was out of earshot, Adam said, “Huntress.”

  “Fuck off,” I said from behind the glass.

  He put his hand on the bar and leaned on it, putting his body close to mine. “You know how I feel about you being here?”

  “Tell me more about how you feel.”

  The braided bartender smiled when she got to us and folded herself over the bar to kiss him on the cheek.

  “The Glenallen,” he said. “No ice.”

  The girl on the big X was taken down. She had a blindfold on, and she was smiling. Her Dom carried her away. I didn’t know what to make of it. I hadn’t decided how I felt about seeing other people do what I didn’t know if I wanted. With Adam, it was all fine. I could figure it out. Without him, I was afraid to experiment, and I was afraid not to.

  “I have a right to be here,” I said. “I don’t need the whole tribe breathing down my neck.”

  “This isn’t you.”

  “Are you serious? You just spent two weeks showing me that it is. Then you left me hanging.”

  “I mean it’s not you to stalk me.”

  I almost poured my soda down his pants. “Were you always such a narcissist? I’m here for me. I’m trying to figure out who I am, what I like, and what I want.”

  “You’ve always known what you wanted. This was never it.”

  His chest rested against my shoulder, and his breath warmed my ear.

  “I want something else. I think. I don’t know if I’m submissive or what type and I can’t decide from home. If you’re going to make me decide without you, I’m going to do what I have to. This place is the first stop for anyone working through this.” I faced him nose to nose. “Maybe you’re the one who’s stalking me.”

  He put the whiskey to my lips and tipped it. I drank. It made my lips cold and my throat hot.

  “Can I show you something?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been asking?”

  He helped me off the stool and guided me to the back hallway that was for members only, even on tryout nights. The hallway where I’d met Serena. He walked quickly, keeping me on his arm, nodding to a few people but not getting distracted. Leaning on the brass handle, he pushed through a frosted-glass door to a narrower hallway with doors on one side.

  He took me down it until he hit an open door. A young man who looked as if he hadn’t seen a lick of sun in years furiously tapped a device in the dark room. When he looked up, the light from the device revealed a movie projector.

  “Hey,” he said. “Looking for something?”

  “Number nineteen,” Adam said.

  “On it.” He kicked the door closed.

  Adam pulled me to the next door to the left. It opened into a small theater with about two dozen red velvet seats with lights at the bases.

  “There was this guy in Marine Park who collected vintage pornography. When he died, one of the clubs uptown took it and preserved it. When all the clubs merged, they reels moved here.”

  “We’re going to watch porn together?”

  He guided me down an aisle. “Yes.”

  “How adventurous of us.” I smiled at him, flirting.

  He smiled back a little, but was reserved in his enthusiasm. We sat in the center.

  “Now I’m sorry I wore pants,” I said.

  The lights dimmed to black. I took his hand, and he paused before dropping our entwined fingers in his lap.

  “I’m trying to illustrate something. I want to talk. So I’m glad you wore pants.”

  The bullseye countdown appeared. Adam leaned his head back,
closed his eyes, and exhaled. They went back to the screen as if all necessary strength had been gathered.

  She’s blindfolded, arms tied above her. He’s lashing her.

  “These are from the late sixties,” he said as the picture flickered. There was no sound. “The stuff here is very real. There’s no retouching. It’s 16mm, so there’s none of the porny quality of video.”

  He’s wrapping her tits in black tape.

  “I see,” I said.

  He was right. The frame was raw. The beauty of her submission wasn’t on the film. I didn’t feel as though I was watching something. I felt as though I was witnessing something.

  He’s clamping her nipples until they’re elongated meat.

  “This is called tit torture,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every step of this was worked out beforehand. You’re not seeing the dozen things he’s not doing.” He twisted in his seat to face me. He was backlit, so I couldn’t see his expression. “Give me an adjective. What do you think of it?”

  “Is this your thing?”

  “Answer me first.”

  I loved him. I wanted him. I’d get on my knees and submit to him.

  “It’s gruesome.”

  “It’s not my thing.” He sat back and faced the screen. The light flickered on his face. “There’s so much more though.”

  He’s putting the business end of a hairbrush in her anus.

  I’ve never seen skin that shade of purple.

  What is she eating?

  In all of them, the submissive may have cried or screamed, but she always came back for more. She kissed the Dominant’s hand or looked at him admiringly. Her lips did a dance of gratitude.

  Thank you.

  Ten minutes in, I couldn’t hold my questions anymore. “Why are you showing me this? You don’t want to wrap me in duct tape.”

  “Someone might. I want you to know what it looks like first.”

  “Adam Steinbeck!” I stood and put my fists on my hips. “You fucking shit!”

  He crossed his legs, shrugging as if it wasn’t his fault. He just worked here. “What?”

  “You’re trying to scare me.”