by Nikki Sex
I favor the use of the carrot, not the stick? Emily repeated in her mind. They shared a look, a silent communication. André’s eyes danced with amusement as he met her gaze. In one perfect moment of understanding, they both exploded with laughter.
“Eh Bien,” he said with a chuckle. “You are correct, I oh-so very much enjoy the stick, but I use it only as the carrot, comprenez-vous?"
Emily reached up one hand, and touched her palm to his face. It was a sudden impulsive action, and she withdrew her hand, feeling the heat of an inexplicable blush. “I do understand, André,” she said. “I understand a lot now.”
André grinned, and slid out from under her. He began to gesticulate, explaining with his hands. “I love the emotions. I adore the passions. You were correct when you observed that it is the context, the significance of such things which makes us assign labels such as good or evil. Anger, depression, and grief – such emotions make one feel. If a pet dies, it is correct to weep and grieve. But if one is still crying, say many years after this pet has gone?”
André threw up both hands. “Then such passion is abnormal. Your mother’s depression is an example of this.” He paused for a moment, and pursed his lips in thought. “I should like to meet her.”
“My, mom? Seriously? Good Lord. She’d love to meet you.”
“Bien sûr, I will be glad for an introduction.” His brows lowered in a speculative frown. “I believe that if she were ma mere, I would provide her with a dog. Not a puppy, mais no! A puppy would not do at all. A puppy is too full of life, it moves, oui, it bounces with joy and happiness! Your mother, she is not happy.”
Emily’s instant burst of brittle, cynical laughter, was no laugh at all. “That’s an understatement, André.”
“Just so,” he said. “No, if it was me, I would go to a place where they keep the unwanted pets. There, I would look for an older dog, perhaps an ugly dog that is unloved.” He nodded. “I would be most careful in my choice. This poor creature would be frightened of most everything because life has taught it not to trust. An unhappy, unloved dog, oui.” He kissed his fingers and flung them outward in a gesture of excellence. “Such would be perfection.”
“Oh my God, that’s a great idea, André! Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius!”
André placed his hand on his chest, and laughed, a bright musical sound. “It is true! Me, I am very clever.” This comment cracked her up.
And modest, not so much, Emily mused. More like self-confident, peremptory, arrogant and assured. He’s a lot like Paul. Must be a Dom thing, she decided.
Chapter 28. Judgmental
From: Paul Jarman
To: Emily Malone
Subject: Your news
Hey, Rabbit,
Thanks for the dysfunctional Jarman and Malone family’s update and status report. You really are a good kid to keep me in the loop. I’m sorry about your mom. Tell her hello. She’s has always been really nice to me.
Your rotten brother never answers a text, email or even his phone. Actually, the last isn’t true. But he’s too busy partying while trying to finish assignments to talk to me.
Are you going out with anyone? Had any close calls with love? I’m too cynical for love, as you well know. It’s better all-around to remain single. I must admit, I’m interested in that girl I was telling you about, Candy. I wish you could meet her. I feel so comfortable talking to her. Almost as comfortable as when talking to you. She makes me laugh, too, which is always a bonus.
Paul
~~~
While Emily began to get dressed, and was putting on her bra, she brought up the subject of her breast augmentation again. “Do you know that you’re the only person I’ve met who didn’t condemn my actions, André? You gave me a whole new way of looking at my decision. I feel as though I can accept it, and myself more fully now. I’m just so happy to find that you’re not judgemental.”
Standing in the middle of the room, André’s eyes widened with surprise and he put his hand to his chest. “Ma petite lapine, je regrette! Why should you think this? Of a certainly, I am most judgemental.” His brows drew down in frown, and he shook his head. “You have more confidence as a woman, yes? Therefore, I judge that your actions to increase the breast size worthy. Right for you.”
“That isn’t being judgemental.”
“You do not think so?”
“Um, I always considered being judgemental as being negative about someone or something.”
“Mais non! Using the judgement is for both positive and negative evaluation. I have judged that for you, enlarging the breasts was correct.”
Emily, standing in only a bra and panties, stared at André, not surprised that, once again, her evening had taken a somewhat philosophical turn.
“Yes, it was right,” she said, slipping on her skirt. “It changed my life, really. I was incredibly flat-chested, and being on the short side, I looked like a child. I had my ID checked every time I went to a bar.” She grinned, and gestured toward her generous bosoms. “But not anymore!”
André gave her a broad smile. “Emily, your most beautiful feminine form is a work of art. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
“All should be judgemental, I think,” André said. “Are you tolerant of everything? The thief? The man who beats a woman, or a child? The pedophile? Non! Of course not. It is important to distinguish good from evil, right from wrong, and to constantly pass judgement.”
“Excuse me, just a sec, André,” Emily said, and went to the bathroom. She washed her hands and face, and considered his words. From André’s definition, she was judgemental.
When she came out, she said, “But what about the Bible teaching, ‘Judge not, and you will not be judged?’ That and, ‘do unto others,’ are two quotes that have stuck with me since I was a child.”
“Ah! It is a little disagreement I have with the bon Dieu,” André admitted, sheepishly. “But, no! A thousand times no! I say, ‘Judge, and prepare to be judged.’ This wisdom, I adopted from Ayn Rand. She also, was not always perfect in her views, yet she was a most observant philosopher.
“If I come to a club such as this, and I see a Dom whose methods or practice is wrong – vraiment! I judge his behavior and I move to correct it. Judge, judge, judge, I say. Yet always, I know very well that I am not perfect. I wish to be judged as well. To view oneself is most difficult. Perhaps another may see my actions more clearly.”
André paced for a moment, his body full of energy. Emily suppressed her smile. This crazy Frenchman often spoke of passion. It wasn’t surprising. He was the most passionate person she’d ever met.
“There is another problem. One cannot constantly be right in this world, and also be effective, no? I wish for others to, as needed, correct me. How can I continue to improve? It is for me to examine myself and accept such correction, if I judge it to be right, do you agree?”
Emily snorted. “Jesus, André, you’ve given me more things to think about this one night than I’ve considered in my entire life. I think we better leave this for now, before my head explodes.”
André pulled her to him, and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehand.
“You are correct, ma petite lapine,” André said, pulling out a club tie from a pocket. “I have had a most enjoyable scene with you. I find that after such a relaxing interlude, my mind often turns to philosophy and politics.”
Emily bit her lip hard in her effort not to smile. André was serious, so she really shouldn’t laugh, but honestly! She wasn’t even going to touch the relaxation comment. André found flogging a naked woman relaxing. Of course he did. Philosophy, she could understand. But nothing in what they had discussed this evening seemed to concern politics. Against her better judgement, and her fear of getting him started again, she just had to ask.
Emily obediently raised her wrists to him. “Political?” she said, mystified.
“Voyons! But of course! Politics is about influencing others, yes?”
/>
“I guess so.”
André abandoned his plans to use the club tie on her wrists, and began waving his hands in the air once more. The colorful string flew fast and furious, like a little mini whip. Wisely, Emily took a step back.
“Do you not feel this is true? J’assure, sex is one of the few ‘bodily systems’ that require another or others to accomplish – very few are satisfied with their own company. Of a certainty, sex is most political. And so there is pride and fear and power and grace and love and persuasion and seduction and bargaining and trust and who can say what else? All of these things make sex so much more complicated than, say, urinating.”
That last proclamation by the indomitable André, finished Emily off.
Choking with an overpowering burst of laughter, she honestly couldn’t stop herself. Emily moved to the bed, and fell upon it – before she fell to the floor. Arms wrapped around her stomach, hardly able to breathe, she howled with laughter until tears ran down her cheeks and her muscles were sore. André was hilarious!
Grinning, chuckling, and then laughing himself, André joined her on the bed, his dark eyes bright with humor. The more they looked at each other, the more they made each other laugh. It took twenty minutes before they could compose themselves enough to leave their room.
When they did, Emily spent another hour watching public scenes with John, Kelly, and André. Floating on an irrepressible high, she decided that this had been a close second to the best night of her life.
That one night with Paul took the prize, of course. In many ways however, this had been even better as she was able to totally be herself. She’d been Emily, not Candy.
She gained so much knowledge and she’d even increased her self-acceptance. Being with André was like therapy, enlightening and healing. She’d made new friends, faced her fears, and had a mind blowing orgasm. For once in her life she had people who knew her greatest secret, sympathized, and wanted to help. Usually Emily was the one helping others.
It made a lovely change.
Now, she even had a clever idea of how to improve her mother’s state of mind. André had was brilliant. Who would have thought of bringing an unloved dog and an unloved woman together?
Mom will bitch and moan, but she’ll spoil the absolute crap out of that lucky little mutt.
Chapter 29. One Week Later…
From: Candy
To: Paul Jarman
Subject: Love. Again!
Maybe people need to decide what love is for themselves. If you could do that, what would love be for you, Paul?
Cabo Girl
~~~
From: Paul Jarman
To: Candy
Subject: Love. Again.
That’s easy. If I could, I’d have that connection I feel during aftercare. That feeling of having no barriers, no masks, no falsehood. Just me. Just you. Just us. I felt it with you, Candy, when we were in Cabo.
Whatever it is, it goes beyond the physical.
Paul
~~~
“Hey, mom,” Emily said as she came down the stairs, carrying her laptop, and her bag. The morning smell of percolated coffee permeated the air. Her mother was up, dressed and carefully cutting up the best pieces of leftover chicken. They were going into the dog’s bowl, of course.
“You spoil that dog,” Emily admonished in a teasing voice while pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Her name is Beauty,” her mom said.
“And she is beautiful… inside anyway,’ Emily said with a snicker under her breath.
Emily had to smile because she had intentionally brought home one of the ugliest little mongrels that she could find. Beauty was a skinny collie – husky – terrier and God only knew what else mix. Her coat was black and gray, which made her look aged despite the fact she was only perhaps two years old. One ear stood up, one ear flopped down, one eye was brown, one blue, and her tail had a weird up-curl.
“She is beautiful,” her mom said grumpily. “And she’s nothing but trouble. I can’t believe you got me a dog, as if I have the time for it.” With that parting comment, her mother went off with premium cubed chicken pieces, to find the dog which was no doubt hiding under a bed somewhere.
Emily couldn’t believe what a difference a week made. Her mind reflected on the quote anonymously written on the wall at the Portland animal shelter. ‘She is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are her life, her love, her leader. She will be yours, faithful and true to the last beat of her heart. You owe it to her to be worthy of such devotion.’
So true, Emily mused.
Beauty was nervous, but those shy, sweet appreciative licks she gave, combined with the adoring look in her eyes could melt the hardest of hearts. Or the most broken one. Emily’s mom was worthy of Beauty’s affection.
After deciding to have a couple of eggs for breakfast, she pulled out a fry pan and put it on the stove. “You want eggs, mom?” she yelled down the hall.
“No thanks, I’ve eaten.”
Emily smiled, and turned on her laptop, waiting to check her email. Could her life get any better? Nothing and no one could lower her spirits. She got orange juice out of the fridge, poured a glass, and put two pieces of bread in the toaster.
The Paul she’d always known and loved, had become so disillusioned before he left. But his old self showed through on the wonderful, sensitive and funny emails he’d writing to Candy.
He sent her his new phone number, but she hadn’t sent him hers. He already had her number, as Emily of course. It had been easy to put him off. She just told him she preferred to discuss sexy things by email.
Paul confided to her how he’d become addicted to kink. He explained that he’d been young, and had been running away from problems at home. Kink had simply been the pain medication that worked for him at the time. Hands down, it beat drugs or alcohol, in his opinion.
‘Candy’ told him about her fear of pain and her visit to The Basement. Initially, Paul hit the roof, wanting to be there to make sure she wasn’t taken advantage of, not to mention the intense jealousy he’d felt. He’d calmed down after talking to the club manager, Colin Wilkins, and finding out that The Basement was a well respected establishment.
That had been the topic of a flurry of emails, one after another. ‘Candy’ explained that the only reason she went there was because of him. She told him she hadn’t had sex per se, but she’d experienced an orgasm while receiving a light flogging. This, she confided, was because she had been thinking and talking of Paul.
While Paul regretted not being the one to introduce her to the experience, he had been placated and pleased to find that she climaxed only while thinking of him.
As ‘Candy,’ Emily had been able to show Paul a side of herself that he’d never realized existed. In return, she got to see thoughtful, somber Paul in a whole new light. There were facets of his personality that she’d never known about. Scary, sexy, super amazing and intriguing aspects that she longed to delve into.
It made him even more attractive than before, which she never thought would be possible.
Paul was smart and sweet and so damned sexy. Unlike her, Paul never lied. Everything he told her aligned with what she already knew of him. The more they chatted back and forth by email, the deeper Emily fell for him. She was completely, hopelessly and absolutely in love.
What would he do, when he found he’d been writing to her all this time, and that Candy didn’t really exist? Emily winced at the thought.
After a long chat with André, they came up with a plan. Emily was going to take more time off work, and spend four days in LA. She’d go to the club with him, and wait for her moment. Then she would confess.
So, she’d written another email to Paul late last night.
From: Candy
To: Paul Jarman
Subject: Bringing out the worst in me
Hey handsome,
I booked my booty-call flight. I’ll be there next week (details attached). I have mixed
feelings about coming. (Not about ‘coming’ of course… I have very straightforward and uncomplicated feelings about that!) I should have said about ‘arriving,’ but you know what I mean. God, I’m such a slut, but with the blunt conversations we’ve been having, you bring out the worst in me!
Am I going to be staying with you? Is that a silly question? And do you share a place with Jai? I have to say, if it’s all the same to you, can we sort out what there is between us as a TWOSOME before you run off trying to make it a THREESOME?
I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so good night and sleep well!
Your one and only,
That bad girl. XOXOX
P.S. Promise me that you won’t hate me once you know everything about me.
~~~
André told her, “Deceit is a barrier to intimacy.” While the statement was essentially true, in her case she’d never have had intimacy with Paul without deception. Hopefully, Emily would be able to explain herself, and Paul would forgive her.
Cracking eggs into the pan, she got out a plate, and buttered the toast. Emily didn’t have any new mail, but when she typed in Candy’s Hotmail account, there was a letter. Her heart gave a little flutter of excitement and her stomach clenched when she saw that it was from Paul.
From: Paul Jarman
To: Candy
Subject: Definition of slut
Hey beautiful,
I’ll be there to pick you up at the airport. So glad that you’re ARRIVING in less than a week. But be warned, you are going to be COMING the entire time you’re here.
You say you’re a ‘slut.’ May I ask which definition of ‘Slut’ you were referring to? Traditional definitions concern: 1. A person who is sexually promiscuous. Other definitions may include, 2. Choice of poly amorous and poly gender partners (such as threesomes.)
In the book, “The Ethical Slut,” 3. ‘A slut is a person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.’
