And Judith, with her constant picking, of course just couldn’t leave him alone.
At least it’s been a few days since his case of the blues, although normal didn’t feel much better. He used to love his job, but these days he fantasized about a career change.
The scuff of a shoe against the acrylic floor drew his attention to where Edie, one of his twelfth grade students was waiting. A perpetual rebel, she constantly pushed the boundaries of the school dress code, her skirts just long enough, her shirts just loose enough to pass an inspection.
“Mr B?” She asked. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question about cell division?”
“What’s that, Edie?” He asked wearily. If she didn’t make this quick, he’d miss out on his break completely.
“I’m having a little trouble with my drawing in my notebook, and was wondering if you could have a look at it for me? The drawing you made on the board is so much better than in the textbook.” The drawing on the board was copied from an older textbook, but Tristan didn’t feel like trying to find it.
“Fine,” he said, turning back to the board and picking up the orange marker. “What makes a plant cell different from an animal cell?”
“A cellulose cell wall,” she replied.
He pointed the end of the marker at her, then turned to the board to draw the blocky structure. “And inside this cell, we have several organelles, such as…” he trailed off.
One by one, as she named them, he added the various structures to his drawing. He noticed that she hadn’t moved to complete her drawing, but was paying rapt attention to him and the drawing that was taking shape on the board.
When he was done, he heard the camera shutter sound, and turned to see Edie pointing her phone at the board. “Edie, taking a picture of the drawing is a great idea, but don’t you think you should wait for me to get out of the way first? I’m sure I’m covering up half the drawing.”
“You’re right, Mr B,” she chirped, and took another picture of the board when Tristan stepped aside. “Thank you so much – you’re the best teacher ever.”
“Thank you, Edie, but if you’ll excuse me…”
“Would you mind taking a selfie with me?” She asked. She turned those puppy-dog baby blues on him, and he felt like a heel for being irritable with her.
“I don’t know,” he hedged.
“Please?”
“Alright,” he relented.
She skipped to beside him, putting her arm around his waist and holding her phone aloft to point at them. She rested her head familiarly on his shoulder and snapped the photo, then turned it to show him.
There was nothing in the photo he could point to, to label the image as inappropriate, yet it exuded an intimacy that made him queasy, and he wished he’d said no.
“Thank you, Mr B – you’re the best!” She sang as she pulled the handle of her trolley school bag up and dragged it behind her to the door. “See you tomorrow!”
Tristan felt uneasy as he picked up the board eraser and rubbed at the whiteboard.
~*~
Judith thanked the barista with a polite smile and accepted her large Caramel Latte. Ariel already sat at a booth, an enormous slice of cheesecake with two forks in front of her. Judith slid into the booth and removed the lid of her coffee to taste it, then stirred in a packet of sugar.
“Here,” Ariel nudged the handle of a fork over in her direction. “Save me from myself.”
“I can feel my hips expanding, just looking at this thing,” Judith muttered.
“Your hips will be fine,” Ariel said, slicing off a bite with the edge of her fork. “You have the kind of body-type that just gets curvier with extra kilos. Me, on the other hand…”
“Are you kidding?” Judith gaped, a bite of cake half-way to her mouth. “The ‘curvier’ I get, the shorter I look. On you, the weight is spread out more… vertically.”
“Still, when you share a slice of cheesecake, you can consider it therapy. You can practically claim it off medical aid. So, what has you so depressed - apart from working for a dick of a boss.”
Judith reflected that the thought echoed her conversation with the doctor on Saturday, then shook it off. “My dick of a boss is your boss’ nephew, so unfortunately, he’s here to stay.”
“Unfortunately,” Ariel agreed. “But that’s nothing new, and that can change when he racks up enough fuckups to justify him being fired. So level with Auntie Ari – who pissed in your cereal?”
Judith forked up another bite of dessert and stared at it a moment. “Things are a little strained with Tristan right now.”
“Your husband?” Ariel took a sip of her coffee. “I thought things were going well?”
“They were – we’re happy. It’s just –”
“Hey,” Ariel soothed. “Every marriage has a little friction. I’d be worried if you didn’t. It’s only been what – three years?”
“Four, and I know,” Judith hung her head, scooping up another bite of cake and dragging it through a drizzle of berry sauce. “But…” She could feel the heat spreading from her throat up to her face. “I feel like there’s something… missing in our… bed.”
“Missing in your bed?” Ariel frowned. “You mean sex?”
“Shh!” Judith’s eyes darted out to the rest of the coffee shop, but no-one was paying them attention.
“Is there something wrong with his equipment?”
“No,” Judith hedged.
“Something wrong with your equipment.”
“No!” She hid her face in her hands and muttered into her palms. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this.”
“I can’t believe you find this so difficult,” Ariel countered. “It’s just sex. What are you – Amish?”
“I’m not used to talking about sex at all.”
“So, what exactly is the problem?” Ariel took another bite of cake and nudged the plate a little closer to Judith.
“Well, uh, I’d want Tristan to be more… um, forceful in bed.” When Ariel didn’t interrupt, she stammered… “I’d like him to be more in charge. In bed. With me.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Ariel said slowly. “Did you tell him that?”
Judith expelled a gusty breath. “It didn’t go well. Turns out, he wants me to be more… passionate.” The whole story jumbled out of her. She didn’t even notice that Ariel had stopped eating and was regarding her with a serious expression.
“He was completely out of it after the doctor’s office,” Judith said. “He looked drunk. He was clingy. The next day he was depressed and irritable.”
“Sweetheart, what I have to tell you might be difficult to hear, but I can’t stand watching you suffer.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s over,” Judith said miserably.
“No, far from it,” Ariel said, reaching over and taking one of Judith’s hands in hers. “But from how I know you, Judith, you’re a submissive.”
“Okay…” She said doubtfully.
“And your husband sounds like a masochist, more than likely also submissive. I won’t know for sure until I meet him.”
Judith stared at Ariel, the cheesecake a heavy ball in her stomach. “But – how does this work? I mean, it’s not like I’ve got any other men to compare Tristan to –”
“It sounds like your husband got a case of subdrop. He was high on endorphins from the stitches, and without the proper aftercare, he crashed, causing depression and all the other symptoms you described. Don’t be fooled – subdrop can be dangerous; in extreme cases potentially suicidally dangerous. You need to learn how to manage it.”
Ariel opened her wallet and extracted a matte black business card, which she pushed across the table to Judith. Judith picked it up and held it so the light caught the silver letters. “Mistress A?”
“In the flesh,” she smiled wryly. “I’m not really taking on any new clients at the moment, but I’m the owner of this club, and I’d like to invite the both of you as my guests on Friday night.”
> “You own a club? Mistress?” Judith stared at her. “I thought you were a PA?”
“Yes, and… yes,” Ariel smirked. “I opened the club with an inheritance. I’m also a PA; I needed a little balance in my life.”
Judith stared at her friend and colleague. “I – I…”
“Come on, darling,” Ariel gave her a challenging smirk. “It’ll be fun. It’s just sex, after all.”
~*~
Tristan twisted the key in the latch, and opened the front door to the smell of bubbly cheese, tomato and garlic. His stomach growled in anticipation and he dumped his laptop bag and duffel on the couch before he ventured to the kitchen.
When he reached the door to the kitchen, he paused to appreciate the sight of his wife, in a little red dress that showcased her curvy hips, bend over to check something in the oven. The hem at the back of her skirt rode up as she bent over, and he almost held his breath, hoping for a glimpse of her rear, but she saw him and straightened. Her hair was twisted in a knot at the top of her head, with wispy tendrils coming down around her face and her nape, and her feet were encased in a pair of black heels that melted his mind.
She leaned over to twist the dial of the oven to zero, then came over to hug him, and once again, he savoured the feeling of tucking her head in under his chin.
“Come, sit,” she said, taking him by the elbow and leading him to the table in the breakfast nook that had been laid with a tablecloth, two place settings, wine and candles. When he sat, she kissed him on the cheek and bustled back to the stove, only to return with two plates. She placed his lasagne, salad and garlic bread before him, and he frowned.
“Wait, am I in trouble?” he asked.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“You’re dressed up and looking like a million bucks, as if we’re going on a date. And you made my favourite dish – without it being my birthday. Did I forget an anniversary, or something?”
“No,” she said, not meeting his eyes, but reaching for the wine instead and pouring them each a glass of red.
“Don’t misunderstand me – I’m not complaining.”
“Good – I wanted to do something nice for you,” Judith said, taking a deep swallow of her wine.
With the first bite, Tristan’s appetite roared to life. Everything was perfect, from the pasta to the salad, Judith’s famous garlic bread, and the store-bought, but no less decadent, peppermint crisp caramel tart.
When Tristan put down his fork after the last bite of caramel and cream, Judith pushed his plate away to the middle of the table and settled herself sideways on his lap. His arms went around her automatically, and Judith melted against his chest. This, right here, almost made his crappy day worth it.
“Tristan,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”
He stiffened. No conversation that started like that could be good. “Of course.”
“Please promise you won’t be mad?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. Promise me, please,” she pleaded, “because the last time you got mad, we ended up at the doctor’s office.”
“Alright,” he exhaled slowly. “I promise.”
“I want us to go out on Friday evening.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tristan said.
“To a BDSM club.”
“You want us to go to a sex club?”
“Not a sex club,” Judith muttered and slid off his lap.
“It sounds like a sex club to me.”
“Tristan, please.”
“What could possibly have brought this on?”
“This was a mistake,” Judith muttered, clearing the table to carry their plates to the sink.
“No, you can’t unring this bell,” Tristan said, following her. “What could possibly have prompted you to bring up going to a sex club?”
She put the dirty plates on the counter and braced her hands on the edge of the sink to steady herself. She hung her head, and when she finally spoke, her voice was husky with suppressed tears. “Tristan, don’t you feel it?”
“What?” Dear God, please don’t let this be the end of our marriage.
“Don’t you feel there is something missing? In our marriage bed?” After several moments of silence, she dissolved into tears. She turned slowly. “Please Tristan, say something.”
He felt numb. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Just please don’t look at me like that.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Tristan swallowed. “It’s not every day my wife tells me I don’t satisfy her in bed.”
“Tristan, no, that’s not what I said –”
“How did you think this conversation would go?” Tristan leaned back against the kitchen cabinet and gripped the edge of the counter top for support.
“Tristan, can you honestly say that you’ve been satisfied in bed?”
“I haven’t been complaining,” he said.
“What do you call last weekend?” Judith sputtered. “You complained that I make you do all the work. All my life I’ve wanted to be told I’m work in bed.”
“It’s sex, Judith! It feels good. It’s also private. Between husband and wife; it’s why we waited.”
Judith approached him cautiously and the tears shimmering in her blue eyes nearly stopped his heart. She wrung her fingers together at her waist until she stepped up against him and laid her hands on his chest. “But Tristan – what if it could be more?”
“What more could there be?” He whispered.
“Would you go with me to find out?” Judith whispered? “Please, Tristan, you’re my husband and my heart – I want you with me. I don’t want to do this alone. We don’t have to actually participate – we can just go see what it’s about.”
Tristan slowly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his chest, trying to ward off the numbness in his chest. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “And I love you too.”
~*~
Chapter 4
The chime for his front gate dinged and Michael looked up from his dinner to look at the clock on the wall of his den. Only a select few had the code to his front gate, and he wondered what they needed at seven on a Friday evening.
Setting down his fork in the plastic TV dinner container, he limped to the front door, nearly stumbling when his thigh muscle protested the sudden activity.
Down in his driveway, he saw his sister parking her Mercedes sports car in one of the oblique parking spots under the blue gum trees, and heard the handbrake ratcheting into place. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for her. He saw her legs emerge first, then a moment later, a large orange paper gift bag with red tissue paper frothing out the top before she pushed herself to her feet from the low seat.
She was wearing her regular Friday night leather pants, black stiletto boots, and Michael could see a black leather bustier with silver stud accents blinking out from underneath her denim jacket, her typical Domme-wear. She looked up at him with those glowing steel-grey eyes made up in a dark smoky eye and gave him a dazzling smile.
“Hey, sis,” Michael said as she climbed the steps up to his stoop. “On your way to the club?”
“Hey, big brother,” she said and hugged him hard around the waist, the cold, heavy gift bag thumping and clinking against the back of his thigh. “Yes, I’m on my way to Angelus.” She pulled away and presented Michael with the gift bag. “I have something for you,” she said.
Michael regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. “You promised you wouldn’t try to set me up with any more of your girlfriends.”
“I’m not setting you up,” Ariel said innocently.
Michael peeked in the bag, pushing aside the froth of tissue paper. He saw several frozen foil containers stacked inside. The cardboard lid of the top container said ‘mac and cheese’ and a date in black marker. He lifted the top container, and the one underneath said ‘beef and lentil soup’. His sister knew
him well – he loved to cook for company, but hated to cook only for himself. “What’s her name?” He asked.
“I’m not setting you up!” Michael just cocked his head to the side and waited. “Okay, I need a favour.”
“Favour?” Michael prompted.
“I need a DM tonight; Jimmy called in sick.”
Michael took a deep breath, feeling his ribs expand, before letting it out in a gust. “Ari, you know I’m not really in the scene anymore.”
“I know,” Ariel assured him. “But you still know how to keep people safe. Please, Micky, I really need your help tonight. You don’t have to play, if you don’t want to.”
Michael regarded her suspiciously. “You swear you’re not setting me up? I’m not interested in another ambush-date.”
“I’m not setting you up,” Ariel said. “If you do end up playing tonight, it’ll be a hundred percent your idea.”
“One shift,” Michael said. “I have to work tomorrow morning.”
“One shift,” Ariel grabbed him around the waist and squeezed. “Eight till ten. Thank you, Micky!”
~*~
Why did I ever agree to do this? Michael thought, staring at yet another tender aftercare scene. The Dom had pushed his sub to the edge of her endurance, and when he finally allowed her to fall apart, he’d been right there to catch her. Now he held her on his lap, stroking her face gently, and occasionally fed her bites of chocolate. She looked up at him with big, puppy eyes as if he were half her soul, and Michael had to look away.
“I just realized something,” Derek Lindholm, his best friend and fellow Dominant said beside him. “When last have I seen you actually play with a sub? It’s been what, two years since the accident, and I still haven’t seen you get back onto the horse, so to speak.”
“I’m on DM Duty.”
“Your obligation to your sister ends in half an hour – want me to rustle up a play partner for you?”
“Not tonight, thanks,” Michael deflected. “I have an early day tomorrow; I need to get my beauty sleep.”
“That could take years,” Derek muttered. “I hope you realize you’ve become something of a unicorn around the dungeon. The subs see it as a challenge; there’s even a betting pool on who the lucky lady would be. I half expect to see your taxidermied head mounted on the wall in the ladies’ locker room if anyone ever caught you.”
Michael Page 3
