Bodhi

by A. R. Hadley

  A paddle steamer.

  A riverboat.

  Powered by a steam engine that drives paddlewheels to propel the craft through the water.

  Yeah. Those.

  Life was those paddles. Circling and recycling and powering forward.

  The same constant motion.

  But it moves you.

  Changes your direction if it wants to. But it keeps on going.

  Audrey was a paddle.

  Hmm. A paddle...

  Utilizing his favorite paddle, Gavin had painted Audrey’s butt cheeks bright red one day several months ago, leaving her skin broken and stinging from the lashes — a strike for each day he’d been without her that month.

  Gavin had decided she deserved the punishment, they both did, and doling out marks for her absence had become a regular scene they looked forward to. It reminded her of the chasm, the bridge they still needed to build … or the one they’d constructed and would burn down.

  Which would it be? Which had it been?

  Eyes stern and bright, his dick out but his pants still on, Gavin sat in the chair in his room and snapped his fingers. He seemed to watch with keen interest as Audrey — naked and aware — crawled to him, resuming her ready position inches from his feet. Obeying made her pulse and throb.

  “Did you know certain civilizations worshipped a man’s cock?” he asked as he lifted it at the base. “Lingam and Yoni. Drukpa Kunley. The Egyptian god Min. You’re to study this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make me hard.”

  With his hand holding his semi-hard dick up, Audrey took over and began to pump him until he grew stiffer and longer, until he turned to motherfucking steel. Regarding her curiously, peering at her as if she were actually beneath him — not just physically — his sharp-as-a-blade interest seemed to be replaced with the observation of a man learning the codes to an arsenal of deadly weapons.

  Ready to strike.

  Ready to impose.

  “You will worship my cock.” He pointed to the floor using his head and then swiveled a hand, indicating she pay him obeisance.

  “Worship my cock, Audrey. Bow.”

  She lowered her head, arched her back, and prostrated herself. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the smell of the cold concrete floor and the scent of his arousal while imagining looks she’d seen swimming through the Copenhagen stream of his blue eyes. Gazes — a man opening his soul … a man on the verge of transcendence — she’d memorized.

  Gavin Sellers’ domination spun on a pinwheel founded upon desire. And each tip pointed at her.

  “Up,” he said with a pinch of coldness she admired and a strangling authority she craved like catnip. “Suck me.”

  As she welcomed him to the back of her throat, she licked and sucked and moaned, focusing on breathing and pleasing while moving her tongue then repeating … until her jaw ticked and ached and her eyes watered.

  “Is that the best you can do?” He cupped her chin. “Really?” Sarcasm colored his voice, and she became unsure of the game. It always felt so real. Too real. And wasn’t that why she played? “I allow you the privilege of sucking me without fucking your little face”—he yanked her hair—“and this is the best you can do?”

  He held onto the strands, pulling on them until she yelped around his cock, causing her to consciously remind herself not to clamp her teeth around him.

  “Suck. Me.”

  Appearing utterly disinterested — though she knew he was anything but because his voice was clipped and harsh, volatile and vulnerable — he dropped her hair, leaned back, and gripped the chair with a firmness she could see in his arms. His restraint was apparent in each muscle of his body, each bulging vein. She could read the fierce control he gave up in writing across his exposed skin, tight and boiling just under the surface.

  “I could order ten people in here,” he groaned. “Women or men who would give anything to suck me off. Do you understand? No one sucks me unless I grant them the privilege. And even then, no one has control,” he hissed as she began in earnest again.

  “Worship this cock,” he said without thrusting his hips. “Some people say a blowjob is for the receiver and cock worship for the giver. I say it’s both, Audrey. This is for us. I gift you other cocks. I share you, but you will worship mine because it’s yours. You honor me. This. Us.”

  His words came out in broken syllables now. And it all drove her insane with need. It was enough to make her forget the ache in her womb, the tick in her jaw, and the sear on her ass cheeks.

  But she didn’t want to forget.

  The pain was a catalyst. Necessary to drive the engine. Lips fierce around the head of her Master, Audrey moaned in pleasure as she consumed him, wanting only to worship and serve and swallow his dick until there was nothing left of her doubts and fears and conclusions.

  Sucking cock had become a spiritual exercise for Audrey. A ritual. Gavin had learned this; maybe he had taught her, encouraged her to explore it. His knowing what she needed without her having to always verbalize it was the reason he’d afforded her so many men to suck and lick, the reason he cherished watching the cum of play partners hit her body, why he often spread and massaged it into her skin like a luxurious cream.

  Cum was a sacrament.

  Go ahead. Deny it. Defy it. Say that it’s wrong.

  Audrey couldn’t do that anymore. And with that realization and acceptance came enlightenment. A spiritual awakening. The act itself — sucking, licking, filling mouth to the brim with a man’s most vulnerable piece of skin, muscle, and organ — had become sacred to her.

  Anytime she found herself lying with Gavin, resting at his feet, in or out of scene, she wanted to and often did put her mouth on him. It pacified her conscience, relieved stress. His dick in her mouth wasn’t only about the act of sex or anticipated stimulation or release.

  And it was for both of them.

  Without warning, Gavin yanked her head off his prick.

  “Stick out your tongue,” he said, one hand holding her braid in his grip, the other pumping his slick, revered cock while chanting, “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated the four-letter opus as he ejaculated onto her hair and cheeks, lips and tongue.

  “Fuck!” he yelled — no, growled — and then he kissed the braids, marking the strands as his, kissing her as though he were anointing her, praising her as though he were worshiping her, and then he lifted her into his arms and cradled her as he reclined.

  Laying across his bare chest, her feet dangling over the chair’s arm, his sweet, sticky seed covering her hair and face, her lips bee-stung, she barely noticed him slipping one finger over her clit and two others into her wet hole.

  “Shhh,” he said, quieting her shakes, fingering her slowly, touching the sensitive spot on the inside of her wall. “The best. My best.” His digits slid in and then out, stroking her clit to hole. “My baby girl.” Each word was a whisper and a promise.

  Face planted at his neck for safekeeping, she began to cry as she opened her legs wider — without shame, asking for more of what he offered.

  “That’s right, baby girl,” he said to soothe her. “My cock belongs to you. Only you own it. Yes?”

  She nodded, making incoherent sounds. “Did you mean…?”

  “Shhh,” he repeated against her cheeks as she shook in his arms, as she cried without any reservation. “No. I open old wounds. Humiliate you because I can. You bleed for me, and sometimes the hurt is where no one else can see it. Only God. And me.” He kissed her collar and the skin underneath. “I love you, baby girl.”

  Her seismic release happened at that moment with those words, and it spread to every nerve in her body. The orgasm couldn’t be confined to her pussy. Like dominos on fire, each block dropped, enflaming and engorging everything as her contractions milked his fingers.

  This was what she needed.

  Who she needed.

  All she needed.

  People who disagreed, didn’t know. Couldn’t understand.
If she could be lucky enough to live to a ripe old age without having experienced this — this, this, this — ascension to a universe existing beyond every known world man manufactures and creates, then living would’ve been for naught.

  This was the purpose all great teachers over the centuries spoke of.

  Satisfying the desire of every living thing until there was no more want.

  The meaning of life.

  She’d found her Bodhi.

  And now she’d arrived at the dungeon. It was time to put away the memories. She stood at the service entrance and rang the bell.

  “God, kid,” Darcy said after opening the door — Darcy’s feet inside and Audrey’s out. “Look at you. Your hair looks a little shorter. Cute.”

  “And yours is gray, Darc.”

  “You like it?” She turned her head side to side. “Gray is the new purple.”

  It never mattered what color Darcy chose for her hair — gray, blue, purple, orange — they all reminded Audrey of Jem from The Holograms.

  “It’s chic.” Audrey smiled, swinging the gift bag she held in her hand.

  The women stared at one another. Darcy's gaze saying, I'm not supposed to let you in. Does he know you’re here? Her expression also seemed to betray a secret, something else regarding Gavin...

  Perhaps the selling of the club Kate had mentioned? Fuck, Audrey needed to talk to Kate. She’d been a piece of shit, avoiding her calls and texts for most of the summer.

  “How's Michael?” Audrey cleared her throat. It had only been a few days since the accident — a fucking hit-and-run.

  “He's awake,” a voice said from behind, causing Audrey to nearly burst into tears at the sound of its bass.

  Gavin stood behind Darcy, a small, white towel over his shoulder, secrets in his eyes, and a placid mask in place he no doubt wore for her benefit.

  Audrey wanted to kneel, spread her knees, and present her wrists and palms for her Master. The yearning was immediate. She longed for a generous pet from his hand. A stroke of his fingers across her cheek, shoulder, neck. “Good girl” to fall from his lips. His eyes to inspect every inch of her body. To claim her as his. She needed his approval and the trust and protection that came with it.

  The need was like a spark waiting to detonate into fireworks.

  “I'm getting ready to go there now. I'm leaving.” He spoke so matter-of-factly. So full of utter bullshit. But they had made an agreement. Don't come to me unless it's with both feet. And he could surely tell she wasn't standing before him now with two feet. Nor had she been when she’d disgracefully entered the club the night he’d forbidden her to return.

  Gavin could read Audrey like a charm. Always could.

  One foot in the "real" world and another in his fucking ironclad heart.

  “I came to give you something,” Audrey said, and then Darcy excused herself after giving Audrey a friendly peck on the cheek.

  Gavin eyed the spot on the ground where Audrey stood: both feet still outside in the heat. He didn't ask her to come inside. Nor did he reply.

  “Is he out of ICU?”

  “No. He’s making progress, though. He just started eating solids.”

  “You've spoken?”

  “Audrey, what do you need?”

  To be taken over his knee. To eat floor or mattress, to have her body painted with bruises and welts, to shake with freedom, to release fears, to feel her face stream with tears. To lie at his feet.

  He orchestrated her pain. He understood the submission. And then no one else could have power over the demons trying to surface.

  “I said I brought you something. Rick made it. We both did. And there's something else in here for the baby.”

  He took the gift bag from her hands without touching her skin.

  She glanced away and swallowed, then looked back at him — in the fucking eyes — and told him how much she did indeed love him without words.

  She knew what it was to love someone. Gavin had said that merely to test her, to press her. And she’d failed.

  Was this how Dell had felt when she’d hurt him?

  The heartache over leaving Gavin hadn't stopped. Hadn't gone away.

  It wasn't fantasy. Or make believe.

  The collar, their non-arranged arrangement, was every bit as real as her I do had been with her husband. It didn't matter that Gavin and Audrey hadn't properly courted or held hands.

  Standing this close to her owner didn't just ignite every nerve in her body — it made her soul come alive too. Made her know without a fucking doubt she was a strong person. Had goals. Had reasons. Had things worth saying and doing and expressing. And leaving him today … when she had to walk away again...

  Audrey looked at the ground … the threshold she refused to cross. Then her eyes combed his entire body from his toes to his face. Once she reached the starry-night sky of his Copenhagen eyes, she turned, shifting on her axis, ready to depart.

  “Audrey,” he said, his voice laced with pain, an ache ... love.

  “I'm here,” she choked out but kept going forward like the paddles on the riverboat.

  31

  Audrey found herself alone inside her tiny walk-in closet. A few weeks had passed since the horrific accident. And in that time, Audrey had worked things out with Kate.

  Kate kept her informed of Michael’s progress. He was home. And he was seeing his dad, talking to him — which made Audrey’s heart swell ten times its size. He had a long way to go on his road to recovery, though, but Kate said his prognosis was quite good. Soon, Michael and Sarah’s baby would be born too. Gavin would be a grandfather.

  Enough time passes … and life changes.

  Faith moves mountains.

  Gavin had meant what he'd said about the two feet and the real life. After Audrey had given him the handmade craft and baby gift, after she’d walked away from Bodhi for the third time, he’d never attempted contact, and neither had she.

  At first, Audrey thought she was fine. Only a thin film of dust had settled over her soul. Nothing permanent. Nothing she couldn’t remove with a fancy feather duster named optimistic hope and faith in the unknown future. But she had to wear a mask for her sons.

  However, as time wore on ... the dust didn't just settle; it caked, fell in between cracks and crevices she hadn’t known existed, fucking up the wires inside her already fucked-up brain. And she realized the things in her life she’d thought were only part of the past hadn’t ever really gone away.

  The divorce she’d not truly mourned.

  The mother she continued to mourn every day — each November a reason to wish for the pain in her chest to deflate. The previous month’s (October) push of pink-ribbon-wearing cancer survivors a reminder of the hurt that never truly left.

  Her children who didn't have a father under the same roof and deserved one.

  Her failed attempts at anything resembling normal.

  Gavin...

  Audrey knew why she’d come into the closet. But it took her several minutes of catching her breath before she could pull the weekender off the shelf. The bag she’d stowed away behind a plastic container full of wrapping paper, tissues, and bows several months ago.

  Knowing what she would find...

  She could feel the item’s energy pass through the thick material.

  She opened the zipper and removed the wrinkly clothes. What she’d tried to leave behind had been with her all along…

  Dropping to a lotus position in the center of her closet, she clutched the silver collar in her hands and cried tears she’d forbidden. And she cried for two days straight. Days in which she…

  Took off work. Sent the boys to her father’s. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t function. An exhaustion the worst she’d known since pregnancy.

  And to top it off, fantasizing about Gavin had increased.

  The commands. The boundary pushing. The sharing. The smell of his skin. The feel of him. His warm chest. His fucking arms — brute and wide and soft.

  If o
nly he would hold her in this side of the world. If only he would give up heaven to join her on earth.

  He had to be missing her.

  He had to have moved on.

  He had Peyton.

  He had an endless supply of sexual freaks willing to beg so they might serve him, be beaten by him … maybe even be collared by him.

  But did he have a woman to love him?

  Did he see in others’ eyes what she saw in his?

  Would she ever see that again in this lifetime?

  Could she find it this side of reality?

  Could she phone him?

  His words — don’t come back to me until you’re ready to give me both feet — played over and over in her mind. What did they really mean?

  It meant giving herself to him without borders. Presenting herself whole in mind and spirit — because he didn’t want only her body. It meant not denying her children or choosing between them and him. When she offered him her love and devotion, they weren’t supposed to come with stipulations. It meant accepting the two of them as they were … not how she wished for them to be.

  It meant she had to stop expecting him to enter her world.

  As she sat in the closet clutching her submission to one man, she found herself beginning to think of another...

  Both men she’d let go.

  Dell’s aura surrounded her in the tiny closet they used to share. The smell of his skin after he shaved. The way his dark hair felt between her fingers. The taste of his tongue after he smoked, then brushed his teeth. And of course, the damn crinkles around his eyes.

  In these moments, she didn’t dwell on what their marriage had become. In these moments, she wondered if she’d ever truly allowed herself to feel any of this since they’d separated. Because thinking about the past made her miss the things she could depend on. The things she romanticized made her long for a time only existing in her memory. But what was broken couldn’t be put back together with wishful thinking.

  Monumental things they’d shared together seemed so long ago…

  “Come on, ABS, push.”

  “Keep her legs steady,” the maternity ward nurse said to Dell.