Licorice Whips

by Bridget Midway

  “See you tonight.” She picked up her purse and briefcase, then strolled to the door.

  “Can’t wait.” Masaun beamed as he watched her leave.

  “Lust looks good on you.” Sweet stood.

  “It’s more than lust. It’s love. It could look good on you, too, if you just let Kindle hook you up with some of her single friends.”

  Sweet shook his head. “I’d like something permanent. I want a lover and a submissive. I can’t seem to get those two together. Just owning a submissive or slave isn’t enough for me.”

  “No, you don’t think you can keep any type of permanent relationship. There’s a difference.” Masaun pointed at Sweet. “You can own again. You can love again.”

  Easier said than done. Some breakups couldn’t be overlooked.

  “So you and Kindle don’t keep a twenty-four/seven relationship?” Sweet stared at Masaun who rutted his eyebrows in confusion.

  “What do you mean?” Masaun regarded his brother with his standard judging stare.

  “I know your playing style. I know what you demand of your slaves and submissives.” Sweet eased back on the couch. “Why didn’t Kindle come back into the room on her hands and knees? Why didn’t she call you by your scene name? Was she wearing underwear?”

  “You’re out of fucking line.” Masaun pointed at Sweet.

  Had his brother’s finger been a gun, Sweet would be dead.

  “I’m just saying if I had someone, I would want her to call me Master Sweet all day, every day. I would want her to show her obedience to me.”

  Maybe if Melinda had done that, she wouldn’t have wanted to be released. Then again, maybe if he had recognized the fact that she hadn’t shown any obedience to him, he would have released her sooner.

  “Fine. You find your own submissive. You treat her how you’d like. Stay out of my relationship.” Masaun drummed his fingertips on the desk. “Let’s get back to talking about business before this conversation goes too far. I think what you’re proposing is a stupid idea, but I’ll entertain the notion.”

  Sweet wiped his brow in an exaggerated motion. “Whew. Glad I got your blessing.”

  “Funny. So do you have a business proposal for your idea?” Masaun faced his laptop and started typing. When Sweet didn’t answer right away, Masaun brought his gaze back up to him. “You did write one up that shows the cost benefits of expanding, right?”

  “Of course there will be benefits to having another type of business. You talk to the people at the club. You’ve heard them all complain that there’s not any place around here to buy good, quality toys and not gimmicky crap that breaks after one hard play session.” Sweet braced his hands on his knees. He felt grounded that way.

  “You think the world is in the lifestyle. They’re not. Some people may want those less-expensive toys for parties. The real thing may intimidate people.” Masaun exhaled. “I just don’t see where spending money to, one, get two new spaces, then two, stock one with quality fetish materials, and three, put employees in there to run it for us is a good move for us right now. Contract time is coming up for lease renewal. Let’s hope they don’t jack up our rates.”

  Sweet felt the headache coming on as he marched toward his brother. He slammed his hands on the desk as he stared at him. “We’ve been called the ‘Best at the Beach’ for three of the five years we’ve been in business. We’ve been featured in The Virginian-Pilot and on the local news a few times. Things are looking up for us. Trust me. This will work.”

  Masaun rolled his eyes. “A candy store and a specialty fetish store are two separate things.” He shook his head. “If you had proposed a candy store and a full-on bakery, I would be more on board with that.” He rocked back and forth in his swivel chair. “Yes, we’re out now as far as our lifestyle. But you damn near dangle the fact that we’re in the Lifestyle in front of people almost daily.”

  Sweet stood tall. “I’m not ashamed of being a BDSM Dom. I didn’t think you were, either.”

  Masaun could be considered more of a dungeon master than just a Dominant who played at The Dollhouse. For the past fifteen years, he trained almost all of the new Doms and Dommes in the establishment as well as many of the new submissives. From aftercare to whipping and everything in between, Masaun taught it all. Sweet had learned about the Lifestyle along with him, but preferred playing than teaching.

  “I love the Lifestyle, too. So does Kindle.” A sly smile cocked at the corner of his mouth. “But that side of us is private. We don’t have to label ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” Sweet crossed his arms over his chest. He hated feeling defensive with the one person he thought had understood him the most.

  Masaun scanned the desk and picked up a bumper sticker that Sweet had been handing out to customers. He read the front of it out loud. “Decadent Treats. Bouquets, delivery, sweets and more.” He dropped his hand back to the desk and glared at Sweet.

  Sweet shrugged. “What? We do all of those things.”

  “What are the initials?”

  A smile almost crossed Sweet’s face knowing that Masaun had caught on faster than he thought he would. “So what? So the initials come out to BDSM. Just a coincidence.”

  “Coincidence my ass. You are right about one thing. We have more customers in here because people want to take a gander at the Dom brothers running a candy shop.”

  “I have no problem playing with anyone who wants to step into a dungeon with me.” Sweet shrugged.

  His brother’s questioning glance didn’t escape Sweet’s notice.

  “We should be known for selling great products and having excellent customer service.”

  Sweet waved his hand at him. “Sure. That’ll keep the customers in the store. Seeing us will get them coming into the store.”

  Masaun shook his head. “You’re all about the immediate reaction, aren’t you?”

  “What can I say? It’s my drug.”

  Masaun sat back in the black leather high-back swivel chair. “It’s your excuse to not open up again.”

  Before Sweet got into the same argument he’d had with his brother for the past two years, since Sweet and Melinda had broken up, he turned back to the door. “I’m open. I’m going to check out what’s going on in the store before I head to the kitchen.”

  “Hey, while we’re on the subject of changes, are you still looking for a new place to live?” Masaun pointed at him.

  Sweet shook his head. “I like living upstairs in the apartment.”

  Masaun released an exasperated sigh. “You’re using this place and The Dollhouse to hide.”

  “I’m committed to the business and the Lifestyle.” Sweet shook his head. He had to count to ten in his head before he continued speaking. “When I presented you with the idea of us owning this candy shop together, I did it without a business plan, and you jumped on the idea, right?”

  “Right, but–”

  “And when I said I would make some of the candies, you trusted me, right?”

  “I knew you would do a–”

  Sweet cut him off again. “It seems like my instincts have been pretty dead-on as far as our business. Why don’t you trust me now?”

  Masaun sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. You get these romantic notions in your head without fully thinking things through. You’ve entrenched yourself in this business as though you’re hiding away from something. You’re great with the creative, but you have nothing to keep you grounded to reality.”

  “Except you.” Sweet pointed at him. “Is that what you were going to say?” He raked his fingers back through his hair. “I know it’s going to hurt you to say it, but you can tell me that I’m right sometimes.”

  “Even when you’re wrong?”

  Sweet shook his head. “Fuck you.” He grabbed the doorknob. “As always, thanks for the support. I see I’ll have to do this my way as usual.”

  Before another word could be said, Sweet stormed out of the office and slammed the door behin
d himself. He tried showing a pleasant appearance before getting to the main store area but even Sweet couldn’t fake the expression.

  Sweet went behind the counter as his employee, Hanson, checked out the purchases for a mature African-American woman. Hanson had been an employee for the last three years, coming on when business really started booming. The tall, lanky African-American man proved to be a great asset to their business.

  “Everything all right, boss?” Hanson asked without taking his attention away from the customer.

  “Fine. Just me and my brother having one of our discussions.” Sweet scanned the area behind the counter and spotted a shipping box filled with large, heart-shaped red boxes of chocolates. He pulled one from the box.

  The pre-packaged boxes of chocolates and candies had been Masaun’s idea. Sweet sold some of his creations in the store, but he could only produce so much in a day before customers bought out the stock. If he could clone himself, he would.

  “Connie and I were about to stock those but it got busy.” Hanson handed the customer her purchases and her change.

  Sweet glared at his employee. First he couldn’t get his brother around to his way of thinking, and now his employees developed minds of their own.

  When Hanson caught the look, he stopped moving. “I’ll get them stocked right now.” He started to call for Connie but Sweet stopped him.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Sweet swept the box off the counter and moved to the middle aisle.

  As he crouched down, Sweet’s thoughts tumbled through his head. He knew this business venture would work, just like he knew Decadent Treats would be a hit.

  Masaun may not have believed in him, but that didn’t mean Sweet didn’t believe in himself. He had a goal. He thought his brother would have appreciated his willingness to expand their business. Even if he didn’t, that didn’t mean Sweet had to stop. He hadn’t forgotten he owned a portion of this business and had a voice.

  “Uh oh,” Connie, the other Decadent Treats employee, said next to Sweet. The older woman covered her mouth with her hand in shock.

  Sweet glanced at the woman as he stood. “What?”

  “She’s back.” She nodded her head to the front of the store. “The lone protester.”

  Sweet stared out through the front glass of the store and saw a woman handing out fliers to people walking by, and talking to patrons as they entered the store. He had heard about her from Masaun but hadn’t seen her yet. In the glare of the noonday sun reflecting off the glass, he couldn’t see her face. That would be rectified right now.

  When the front door opened, Sweet heard a portion of the woman’s speech.

  “...leading cause of diabetes and childhood obesity.”

  Then the door closed and he couldn’t hear her. Sweet heard his heart pounding in his head. The crackling of his grinding teeth rumbled through his ears.

  “This woman acts like we’re cooking puppies and kittens in here.” Connie almost raised her delicate voice. She didn’t get rattled easily. If this person could get his employee riled up, he had to check her out.

  Connie crossed her arms over her chest. “Where does she get off protesting a place like this? At least she’s smart enough not to step one foot in here.” She shook her head. “Your brother said if she shows up again for us to call the police.” She turned on her heel and headed to the register counter.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll handle this.” He pointed to the box on the floor. “Finish stocking up here.” Sweet marched to the front door.

  His brother tried squashing his dreams. This woman wouldn’t do the same. He tried going the easy route by convincing Masaun he could make this idea work. Just like everything else, Sweet would have to do things his way.

  Chapter Two

  Nikla Dearwood paced back and forth in front of Decadent Treats. She could barely look at the pink, blue, and white neon sign advertising the establishment. With each step, she felt stronger and more confident that being there and stating her case would potentially help someone.

  As a couple of women walked toward the store, Nikla held up one of her bright yellow forms that pinpointed the issues of eating too much candy and sweets.

  “Ladies, look at the stats on what places like this can do to you and your loved ones.”

  One woman snickered. “Are you kidding? You must be at the house that gets covered in toilet paper during Halloween.” She opened the door. “Tutor kids. Help homeless people. Get out of my face with that.”

  Nikla hoped she hid her disappointment under her forced smile. Withstanding this embarrassment would be worth it in the end.

  The two women walked inside just as a tall man strolled outside. With his shape, no way could he eat anything this place had to offer. Men with flat stomachs, long, muscular arms, and broad shoulders like this guy would turn their noses up at unhealthy snacks like what this store offered. This man probably went into this place to get his girlfriend, wife or, possibly, boyfriend a box of chocolates.

  Nikla sighed at the thought that she had never received the clichéd gift—not for Valentine’s Day, not for her birthday, and she hadn’t been with a man long enough to celebrate an anniversary.

  Before she could continue to bemoan her past, Nikla noticed the intense man’s Decadent Treats t-shirt. Great. He would be out there to try and run her off like the other employees had done the few times she’d been there. From the sour look on his face, he must have been chosen because they thought he would strike the most fear in her. No chance. Growing up with Lieutenant General Lawrence Dearwood, she had to learn to toughen up.

  For her actions now, Nikla knew her rights. This scrooge had better not put his hands on her.

  When she actually looked him over, she thought about amending her last thought. Besides being tall, he had shaggy brown hair that would have been great to run fingers through, or even grab during sex.

  Sex. She had to push that thought out of her head, especially since she had her man. When she glanced at this enemy in his face, she made the mistake of looking into his hypnotic green eyes. She remained transfixed to the stare until she had to look away.

  Nikla chalked up her newly-accelerated heartbeat to how she felt about her impassioned speeches she gave to the people she encountered outside of the store. If she kept her breathing even and her mind clear, she wouldn’t get afflicted with one of her attacks.

  Nikla gave her flier to a woman walking by with a small boy.

  “You can’t be here.”

  The deep voice rumbled over her. Nikla trembled a little when she heard him speak but managed to compose herself quickly. When she directed her attention back to him, she noticed him standing strong with his fists to his hips. His tanned arms looked good enough to caress.

  Nikla approached him. She held out a flier to him. “Do you know what eating large amounts of sweets will do to your body?”

  After an uncomfortable silence, the man accepted her literature that she’d researched and had written on her own. She’d left a copy for her father to read. Whether he did or not, she didn’t know. She just hoped.

  “Do you know that this place affords me my living as well as some other people?” He scanned over the information then crossed his arms.

  She cleared her throat. “There are other jobs out there.”

  “What would you know about work?” He snarled. “What? Did you stop on your way to some afternoon Pilates class? You dropped off your little foo-foo dog at the groomers and passing out these little leaflets is your way to feel like you’re making a positive change in someone’s life?”

  Nikla felt the heat climbing up her body to her face. She balled her hands into fists, crunching the remaining fliers. “You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

  “And you don’t know what this place means to me. I will defend it and the people in it with every breath in my body.”

  His passion showed through his eyes. His breathing, though, remained even. Nikla admired his control. She had a goal
, too. Some employee wouldn’t stop her.

  “I’m on a public sidewalk. I can be here and pass out my fliers without being harassed by you or anyone else.” In her flip flops, she balled her toes.

  “I’m not saying what you’re doing is illegal.” The man took a couple of steps toward her.

  Nikla remained in her spot, determined not to buckle.

  “What you’re doing is futile. You act as though keeping our customers away is going to solve–” He glanced at the paper. “—childhood obesity in all of Virginia. I mean, it’s great that you think this little store has that much power and influence.”

  Nikla wanted to ignore him. Between looking at his eyes and his large hands, and listening to the deep timbre of his voice, she couldn’t break away from his command.

  Then again, he worked in the type of place that, as a teenager, she wanted to visit frequently.

  Even in October, the unseasonably mild weather felt good considering she wore her yoga pants, sports bra, and wraparound ballet sweater. The longer she stared at him, the more she felt her hardening nipples brushing roughly against her bra.

  Damn. What was wrong with her? This was the enemy.

  A man started to go into the store until Nikla handed him her paper. The customer glanced at it, looked at her, smiled, then walked away.

  The fact that she stopped one person from going into the establishment lifted her spirits. She turned to the Decadent Treats employee. “If I can stop one person, I can call this a success.”

  “You spoiled drama queen.” The man stormed back into the store.

  “Spoiled?” she screamed after him. “I. Am. Not. Spoiled.” Considering she stood in front of a large candy store that looked like a gingerbread house and had on her workout gear, she would leave out that she did resemble a drama queen right now.

  Nikla felt victorious in her fight. Not only had she gotten out her message, but she even made a Decadent Treats employee retreat.

  She glanced at her watch. As much as she enjoyed her small victory, she would have to get going to work.