The Right Thing

by Allyson Young

  The threat was his last sadistic hurrah before he went back up and got down on one knee, such a fucking role reversal, and asked McKenzie to marry him. He was pissed about it, absolutely furious, having done his fucking best to talk himself out of the idea, to beat and sexually torment it out of her, to convince himself what he was feeling was impossible. That McKenzie was just another beautiful sub in the long line of beautiful subs he had been working through by way of totally hedonistic and sometimes sadistic pleasure, just because he wanted to and just because he could. But she was different from the rest and didn’t want to leave him no matter what he did. Even when he started falling in love with her then tried to make her go away and take it with her.

  Fuck. He didn’t want this. He. Did. Not. He didn’t know how to do this and was scared shitless. Time to man up and face the truth. He’d do anything for McKenzie, no matter how hard. But what if she changed her mind or something happened to her that took her away from him now he’d committed his heart? His black, black heart. McKenzie was his shining light and he knew it. His hope.

  Michael didn’t want something to happen to her. She could get sick or get hurt in an accident. She could die. He couldn’t stand those thoughts, but the alternative, life without McKenzie by her choice, was far worse. She could end up leaving him in the end. He could lose her. Michael had a very real appreciation for the pain masochists craved and endured, even if he didn’t crave or want it at all. Not one fucking bit.

  The door slid back and he exited the elevator car to head to the bar for a drink. One beer should give her just the right amount of time to get worked up over the proposed jaunt to those wicked perverts and she would be back to quivering jelly in his sadistic hands. And then he would propose. He hadn’t even paddled her ass today, or clamped those amazing nipples, or used the violet wand on her pink parts. Goddamn it. He loved her so much he hurt and she was going to pay for that too. Harvey, the bartender, had his imported long neck on the coaster before his ass was even settled on the stool. And from the look Harvey gave him, Michael probably appeared as unsettled as he felt. He didn’t glance at the mirrored wall behind all those fancy bottles, fearing what he’d see. Instead, he paced himself, taking sips against the burgeoning excitement of how McKenzie would respond when he slid the perfect blue diamond solitaire on her finger and then slid his cock up her ass. Without lube. Well, maybe not without lube. It was to be a celebratory engagement fuck, after all.

  His heart soared right along with the elevator as the car rose to the designated floor. He touched the little box in his left pants pocket—he dressed to the right—his cock taking up all available space as it joined him in the excitement and anticipation. He swallowed a hint of nervousness. McKenzie deserved this to be done just so. He wanted to set the proper scene but all he could think about was that old clichéd down on one knee, clasping her hand and popping the question. McKenzie would probably weep and maybe jump around a little. Maybe even squeal like she did when he laced her pussy lips shut over a butterfly attached to her clit, then had his sub serve coffee to his business colleagues wearing cuffs, a cute little maid’s hat, fish net stockings and stilettos. Nothing else. If she came when he turned on the remote at any time that day she knew she’d be on the table and used as an ink well or a coaster or paper clip holder or anything else he and his boys could come up with.

  Their choice of lifestyle was eased by the inordinate amount of money made as financial wizards in real estate and other investments. Michael was never totally sure if McKenzie came on purpose or truly hadn’t been able to control herself. It was a time to remember and he’d had to cut the laces in order to fuck her pussy because they were so wet he couldn’t untie them. Come to think of it, he felt something that day he now recognized as jealousy, at the boys using his sub. He hadn’t let any of them fuck her in any orifices other than her mouth. That alone should have given him a hint of his true state of mind, but he was so fucking certain then that Cupid traveled on a whole different plane than he did. Talk about being dense.

  Popping out of the elevator like a veritable jack in the box, Michael strode up the hall to their apartment. Theirs. He needed to get a prenup in place and update his will because McKenzie couldn’t be left unprotected in the event something happened to him after they were married. His family would try to fuck her over. He came by his selfish tendencies honestly. Fumbling for the keys, touching the little ring box again as he did so, he jammed the correct one into the lock. Anticipating McKenzie kneeling by the door as usual, hoping for his return, elicited incredible disappointment when her gorgeous form wasn’t where it usually was.

  Well, he hadn’t been away very long. She had probably gone to say goodbye to her birds and then to wash her face free of tears. Likely still in the bathroom. Michael could pop the question in that room just as well as in the foyer. The place didn’t matter, just the content, and his cock was so hard he had to adjust himself before making his way to that little space. He broke a rule by lately refusing McKenzie her own room, but found he couldn’t keep away because of his own conflicted emotions. And she hadn’t seemed to mind. But then she accepted anything he did, anything he wanted, because she placed herself in service to him. That meant he had her trust. So he needed to put some protocol back in place and live by what that inferred. He owed McKenzie that, for being so fucking selfish simply couldn’t continue. That epiphany made his head spin and he wanted to run again but manned up.

  Hesitating at the door to her room, debating if he should knock, he listened instead. Not hearing anything, he raised his hand and made a fist before realizing the door wasn’t totally shut. He eased it open and sensed the emptiness. His gut clenched and he fought for air. It couldn’t be. McKenzie was somewhere else in the apartment and he just needed to find her. That was it. Any other possibility was unthinkable. He tore through the rest of the space, even taking a ridiculous look in the closets and in the pantry before returning to her room to get a clue. Something caught his eye, glinting on the bed. Making one foot move forward, then the other, a puppet on someone else’s string, he came up to the little narrow cot he’d thought sufficient for a sub to be banished to, sufficient to sleep on when needing time alone. Even in that he’d been selfish, hoping McKenzie wouldn’t ever want her own space, although he’d sent her there from time to time just because he could. And maybe when he knew she needed time away from him, his desires and kink and expectations. He dared hope that was actually true, that he was a better man, the one McKenzie insisted he was.

  The engraved platinum cuffs worn by every sub he had ever lived with were reposed on the girlie pink comforter, a color McKenzie despised, not that her opinion and feelings had fucking well mattered enough to him to change the color when he’d inadvertently found out. And now he was in denial, trying to distract himself by thinking inane thoughts. McKenzie had taken off those cuffs, availed herself of the fucking key he’d tossed at her two days ago after caning her into a puddle of tears. He told his sub to stop the unnecessary caterwauling or take the cuffs off and get the fuck out. He announced she was hardly sub material. Oh, he was a real gem all right. How could she love him when he wasn’t worthy of her? It’s said a good woman is the making of a man and Michael dared hope that was true, but perhaps he was too late. No.

  Prodding one cuff with a finger he flinched back when it snapped shut. Fucking symbolism. His brain was a spongy block of black matter but asserted he’d finally managed it. He had pushed McKenzie hard enough to make her flee. Not losing the birds but the threat to give her to the twins. That would have scared the crap out of him too, but surely she didn’t think he was capable? Except he hadn’t given his woman any reason to doubt it after what he’d put her through these past weeks, and she’d already had a taste of what they had to inflict. A surge of rage rose up from deep within him. His vision narrowed and black spots swirled around the edges. He wanted to howl and pull his hair out, and set about him like a madman. After expelling the fury and terror, a semblance of
sanity returning, he stared around the room in awe of what he had done.

  The blinds were torn from their mounts, the dresser top cleared of its contents, drawers yanked clear and upended, the mirror smashed. The offensive pink bedding was torn into strips and the mattress was upended against the far wall. Still panting with exertion, he studied a shallow cut on his left hand, right at the base of his knuckles, seeping slow crimson, mocking the state of his heart. The cuffs, those symbols of servitude, passed down from sub to sub, but never good enough for ’Kenzie when he thought about it now, lay untouched side by each on the carpet at his feet and he stomped them flat, one by one, the final dregs of self-hate expended. What was he going to do without her? Who would he be? And who would she?

  Chapter Two

  McKenzie looked ruefully at her hands. The French manicure had long since succumbed to the chemicals used at the drycleaners, and they were reddened and cracked from hard use. Gloves were worn when possible, but some of the fabrics were hard to handle with a layer of material between them.

  “’Kenzie! Time to lock up, gal!” Mr. Lee’s Asian face was belied by his southern Texas accent and complete command of every American idiom known to mankind, including those used in the twentieth century and before. Her boss and his wife worked to rule, Mr. Lee’s work ethic. The cleaners opened on time and closed to the minute, eight to five with half an hour for lunch and two ten minute coffee breaks. She wondered where her boss learned this work style, expecting his employees to work hard but not abusing them. She felt eternally grateful to both Lees for hiring her in this economy, when they really didn’t need another pair of hands, and was only too happy to take cash under the table. Mrs. Lee worked the front, Mr. Lee did the actual dry cleaning, and McKenzie, Lisa and Donna did the pressing and repairing. They had a loyal clientele, but many people were pinching pennies where they could, including not buying expensive clothes requiring dry cleaning. She nearly smiled to herself, realizing all those clothes in the closet at his place were dry clean only and could have kept the Lees busy a day a week. The smile died before being born as she purged that memory from her frontal lobe.

  McKenzie hung a white coat up carefully on the rack. The coat protected her clothes from the chemicals, if not from the smell permeating the shop, and there wasn’t enough money to easily replace them. The highlight of each month was the bonus of being able to look through the unclaimed items and find as many in the right size to take home. Apparently the Lees usually sold the clothing around the corner at the thrift shop, but were generous and offered first pick to their girls. Donna was a big woman and didn’t find much to take, although when she did she would choose a man’s shirt, saying she needed a shortie nightgown, which made them all giggle. McKenzie and Lisa were much the same size and played rock, paper, scissors for different items. In any event, she now had an eclectic mix of high-end clothes to choose from, and sometimes, advantageously, items would actually match, not that there was anywhere to wear them. The clothing budget was spent on underwear, and on good shoes made for standing for much of the day.

  Ensuring the equipment was shut down, she stretched. And she had thought her body well inured to pain. But then this kind of pain didn’t elicit arousal and wasn’t in service and…crap, thinking again. All roads led to Rome, and he was her Rome. She’d make herself crazy if she kept thinking about him, even if she didn’t let herself think his name, not his real name nor his title. It had been nearly two months since she left and he still tried to pervade her thoughts, her dreams, and her life. Well, it didn’t matter how much time it took to get over him, because there simply was no other option, and McKenzie had the rest of her life to do it in. Satisfied everything was shipshape, she snagged her hoodie in case the weather had turned. Soon, purchasing a winter coat would be a priority and the thought of the expense was anxiety producing.

  “Want to grab a drink or something?” Donna watched with an expression that expected her to say no, but ’Kenzie figured there was enough money before next payday to treat herself. Spending money would detract from the budget for a winter coat, but maybe she could splurge on a glass of white wine. Lisa shook her head. Having two little kids at home and what sounded like a dragon of a mother taking care of them curtailed her time. Lisa accounted for every minute of time away from work ‘so she wouldn’t spawn another brat’, to quote her mom.

  ’Kenzie sometimes thought about babies in a wistful, fairytale kind of way. In her prime baby making years, mid-twenties, the urge was there, but if she couldn’t manage her own life, how could she raise a child? Besides, it would take somebody to fertilize her eggs and even the idea of becoming intimate with anyone other than him, was totally repugnant. For someone who had been given multiple orgasms each and every day, at least when not being edged or denied, ’Kenzie had gone cold turkey without vaguely understanding why that was or allowing herself to puzzle over it because, she reminded herself, doing so would lead to self-awareness, and to him, and to remembering. And if she led herself down that path, she would end up like one of those crazy, sad women sitting in a shelter somewhere or eking out a living on the streets instead of a crazy, sad woman who’d been blessed enough to find employment and a safe place to live and have enough to eat. And maybe even garner a friend or two.

  McKenzie went to tell Mrs. Lee about going for a drink with Lisa, and then asked Mrs. Lee to pass the message on to the new landlady, Mrs. Wu, who spoke only Mandarin. Sharing her plans this way, like telling a mom, was something she had never done in her first life. McKenzie’s mom didn’t give a royal rat’s ass about what any of her kids did as long as they didn’t interfere with her narcissistic lifestyle. McKenzie was forced to look after herself from an early age, which probably led to the incredible need to be taken care of and dominated by…she flicked the mental switch to off.

  Mrs. Lee had found her a room with a family in the neighborhood and in doing so ’Kenzie actually experienced a sense of belonging. Initially on a careful, cautious path, always expecting the bottom to fall out of these strangers’ kindness, she now accepted their benevolence as real and realized she could be independent again. A choice. Except life with mom didn’t suit, with no one really giving a shit. Eleven months under him, under complete and utter control, feeling safe and content, wanted and needed, and yes, even loved…did she want the choice? Was there a balance? She was so conflicted.

  This new life was taking some getting used to, and ’Kenzie knew she’d assigned Mrs. Lee, and Mrs. Wu by extension, a kind of house mother status. It was important to her to feel someone cared enough to want to know where she was going, and with whom, and knew what her plans were. Conversely, the Lees never inquired about her past, never pried, and she was everlastingly grateful for that too.

  Walking that fateful day, unable to lift her feet anymore, she sat on the curb in front of the drycleaners, sneakers placed in the gutter, the cold and grit of the concrete evident against her tender bottom, even through the covering of denim. The place wasn’t that far from him, really. She could see the building where he lived, looming on the skyline, but had gone as far as she could until her strength failed, more emotionally spent than anything. There was little money in her purse, but there seemed no ability to figure out where to stay, or even where she might find something to eat. It was as if her brain stopped working that day.

  ’Kenzie thought she might have just sat there until the street sweepers swept her up like trash when Mr. Lee looked out as he put the closed sign on the door. The man told her afterwards, maybe a week later, she looked different from most of the urchins who littered the streets, and he’d been curious about her total immobility. She didn’t tell him keeping a certain stance, a positioning of her body regardless of what was being done to it or what going on around her had been an expectation in his world, making the crouch on the curb effortless and in fact a balm to sore feet.

  Mr. Lee had sat on the curb and proceeded to blow her away with his down-home southern boy drawl with an Asian accen
t, cutting through the lethargy. At first she thought Mr. Lee was propositioning her and was summoning the energy to move on when his petite wife came outside. The other woman stared assessingly, gaze roaming over manicured hands, glossy hair and pampered complexion, so at odds with ’Kenzie’s attire. ’Kenzie didn’t know what they saw or how they interpreted their assessment, but after a brief discussion in what she later learned was Mandarin, they offered her a job. Their unexpected kindness, a hand up instead of a hand out, brought tears to her eyes, something clearly upsetting Mr. Lee, his face tightening, head shaking, so she quickly blinked them away. She agreed to start at eight the next morning and shook on it. She remembered staring after their diminutive forms as they walked towards their apartment just a few blocks away.

  ’Kenzie was motivated enough by the exchange that day to make her way to a cheap hotel after carefully memorizing the address of the dry cleaners. Washing out her underwear, hanging the jeans and shirt up in the bathroom for the wrinkles to drop out, then brushing the dust off the hoodie. She didn’t eat, having no appetite. Falling into the bed naked, after checking the linens for cleanliness, she rolled to the middle of the mattress, sagging from the burden of countless bodies, either alone, or paired, or in tandem. She slept the sleep of the soul dead and emotionally spent.

  Waking before dawn the following morning she showered, using the little complimentary bar of soap on her body and scalp. Her hair was already drying out and losing its shine from the lack of luxury. She studied her reflection dispassionately and thought to cut the mass, sport a buzz cut. Rinsing her mouth over and over, she wished she’d thought to take a toothbrush. Seven o’clock found her standing nervously outside of the dry cleaning storefront holding a bottle of orange juice and a bagel, still with no appetite but aware of needing the fuel in order to work. The cash reserves were seriously depleted but she discovered a flicker of hope and maybe the will to live another day.