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In Loving Memory

By: toomuchinmyhead



I have not been a Literotica Member for very long, although I was reading and enjoying the works posted here for years before I signed up in order to post my own works. I tend to be attracted to only several groups here, although a well-written tale that is outside my normal bounds is often appreciated. But I always accepted the site for what it was -- a place to read and relate mostly fantasy fiction and the occasional true-life experience, for harmless stimulation and personal or shared enjoyment. The most important sexual organ is neither the genitals nor the heart, but is in fact the brain, where physical stimulation is converted to pleasure, where thoughts and emotions are interpreted, and where imagination feeds libido. The stories posted on this site by contributing authors helped me to accept my fevered imagination, and to embrace my arousal at both usual and unusual fantasies.

A favorite group of mine, from the early days, was the Loving Wives category, but after reading the recent story "Defrosting the Freezer" (http://www.literotica.com/s/defrosting-the-freezer) by qmhl1, and reading the accompanying comments, I am dismayed to admit that following a long and painful illness, LW has passed on. Sure, she has not been the erotic and playful woman she once was for several years, but seeing the reaction by the usual suspects, she has now, I fear, succumbed to her illness and slipped the mortal coil. 

Oh, to have known her in her youth! How I often wish I had been there from the beginning, to have experienced the wonder of LW when she was a vibrant and sharing and adventurous category, exploring all the wonders of imagination, and was free to express the desires of fabulous characters living out experiences that were beyond the pale. To understand her long, brutal and unforgiving illness, one has to see what she once was; go back to the earlier stories, reading the adventures of married women, unencumbered by tradition and convention. In those days, fictional married female characters were free to enjoy the fruits of fantasy sexual adventures outside their marriage, either with or without their husband's approval, exploring the world of erotic variations and expanding their sexual horizons in a harmless world of words and images, enjoying all, and hurting none.

Let me state for the record that I bring my own pre-conceived notions to the group, and as you might determine from my postings, the idea of a woman coming to terms with her sexual desires, shucking conventions and mores, is a favorite slant. I suppose it is my way of convincing myself that my own fantasies are acceptable and not condemnable: it is not the attraction of a woman who cheats, but one of a woman who allows herself to enjoy, and to accept her own pleasure, and pursues it with vigor. And in the older stories of LW's youth is a gold mine of such fantasy. Adventures I would never experience, nor would want to, but in which I could allow my mind to explore and experience forbidden and exciting realms and scenarios. 

Some of the responsibility for the recent demise of this once-wonderful category belongs squarely in the lap of the site itself, for misnaming the group as Loving Wives, instead of Cheating, or Hot, or the more narrow Slut Wives. But who could have seen the misinterpretation by readers so long ago? Loving Wives is a clever name, to include married women enjoying love in all its forms. Who would have guessed that current readers would read these stories of married women enjoying physical pleasures outside their vows, only to rail against the subject matter? Is it because they see it as their mission to wipe out infidelity, even in an imagined form? Is it because they have experienced an event in their lives that has hardened them to the idea, and yet they are lured back, drawn to it as a moth to flame, only to be burned, again and again, reliving their pain as self-imposed punishment? Or are they aroused by the stories, as so many have been, but shamed by their arousal, and hold others responsible for their feelings of doubt and self-recrimination?

But clearly, whatever their motivation, they have accomplished their goal; LW is now dead, passed on to another plane of existence. On her tombstone should be the tag line for the category "Tales of adventurous married women & their mates." She has been chased from this life by a small, vocal group of (and I realize this may inflame the haters) both anonymous and named readers who have, over the last years, chased the best fantasy fiction out of the category. The morality trolls, the "1*" commandos, the vicious threats of death (against fictional characters!) the insulting comments to the authors; vigorous, vehement and determined, have chased away all the best writers, daunting the experienced and accomplished storytellers, the weavers of fantasy fabric that enrich our minds and lives. They either left the site or post only in other categories. 

What has been left in the last years is a shell of her former self. Gone are the well-told tales by good writers spinning quality narratives of women exploring other worlds, other men, other experiences. We are left with only newbies (I was one once -- keep writing!) who post their fantasies only to have them trashed by the peanut gallery. Granted, some of those stories are poorly written, and deserve the criticism for the lack of skill. But do they deserve the criticism because they relate fictional events that a small group of determined critics feel is immoral or wrong r evil? Is it any wonder the category has declined over the last years? Who could take that level of beating and continue?As a storyteller, I find it difficult to do the hard work of writing, re-writing, shaping, and editing until a story is ready for submission, only to have it reviled and trashed by lurkers who read a category they profess to hate. 

Which bring me back to qhml1 and the story "Defrosting The Freezer", and the apparent demise of the LW category. The story is well told, with no glaring writing errors, and I thank qhml1 for his efforts and work. Well done. But it is clearly not a story that a few years ago would have been in the LW category. It is, at its basic level, a story of a married couple who have sex with each other. It clearly belongs in either Romance, or Erotic Couplings. The ice and freezer might place it in Fetish. But does the ice, henna tattoo and purchase of a major appliance qualify it for "adventurous married women & their mates"? Only in the narrowest sense. And that sense is what the commenters have forced onto the category: wives who have sex with their husbands. And based on the comments offered, they have gotten their wish. They have turned the intent of LW from what it once was into fidelity group. Those stories have a place on this site, no doubt. Several, in fact, as indicated above. But it received significant praise not only for what it was, but for what is was NOT. 

Oh, Loving Wives, how we miss you. 

In Loving Memory of Judy



Judy passed away this past spring and I will miss her. She was the most sensual woman I have ever known. This story is not only about her it is a expression of our special relationship. We kept it secret because she was a very private person and was afraid that her wild side would embarrass her children, who were more important to her than anything else in the world. She even kept her illness from them until it was so obvious that she couldn't hide it any more. I never got to say good bye in her last few months because she spent them with her children, as it should have been.

I first met Judy at work. Judy was 8 years older than I and divorced. She worked in the office. One of her jobs was to sort the mail every morning. The first time I talked to her was when she asked me if she could borrow a magazine, that I had sent work, because there was an article in it about a baseball player. Judy loved baseball. The magazine was dedicated to digital photography and the baseball player was an avid digital camera guy. To give you an idea of how long ago this was people still smoked in the office.

Judy lit a cigarette and smiled and said "He is one of my heroes I love him!" 

"I don't follow baseball." I said. 

"You don't? Why?" Judy asked.

"I don't follow sports I keep myself busy with my side business making videos for people." I said.

"Videos? Like weddings and that sort of thing?" Judy asked.

"Well I've done family reunions and a couple of parties but no weddings, but most of my business involves private videos." I replied.

Judy grinned and made a circle with her thumb and fore finger and then poked the forefinger of her other hand in and out of the circle and said "private?" 

I blushed and said " yes!" 

"That could be interesting!" Judy said. "I would like to see some of your work sometime." 

I said "I don't keep copies most people want the originals as well as the finished product."

Our boss came out of her office and we change the subject immediately.

"Thank you I'll return it to you tomorrow." Judy said.

"No hurry." I said.

I went back to my office and forgot about our conversation. 

Three days later Judy came to my office with my magazine just at lunch time. Judy was proud of her Irish heritage and usually wore a claddagh necklace. She was only 5 feet tall and had blonde hair and light blue eyes. Judy was fairly thin with a nice set of fairly large breasts that she tried to hide, why, I don't understand. She usually wore slacks or a long skirt and a loose top. She had her usual cigarette going. Judy was a heavy smoker and drank quite a bit as well.

"Thank you for lending me this magazine I love to learn as much about baseball players as I can." Judy said and went to have her lunch. 

It was raining Friday morning, it does almost every day in the spring in upstate New York, or so it seems. I was looking forward to a quiet weekend I had no plans other than catching up on my reading, I had purchased a new Jack Higgins book. 

The work day seemed to be painfully long. The boss called her usual 4:30 meeting for supervisors, she did that just to make sure no one left early. I finally left the office at 5:15 and headed to my car. Judy was standing next to her car she had her umbrella opened and the hood of her car up. She was looking inside the engine compartment and shaking her head. 

"Do you need any help?" I asked.

Judy kicked the front tire and said "The stupid thing won't start and the battery is only a year old." 

"Does it turn over?" I asked. 

Judy looked at me she was very, very angry "I hope it rolls over and dies!" She said and lit a cigarette. 

"Let me see if I can help." I said and got in her car and turned the key. It turned over but not fast enough to get it to start. "I'll have you going in a couple of minuets." I said. I moved my truck in front of her car and hooked up my jumper cables. Then I started her car. I unhooked the cables and said "Your battery terminals need to be cleaned and from what I can see you need to get this thing tuned up." 

"I know but they want a lot of money to do that." She said. "I cant afford to tie it up for a whole day either." 

I thought about it for a couple of seconds and said "I can do I for you if you want, all you would have to pay for is the parts and they cost a lot less from the parts store than the dealership." 

Judy smiled and said "That would be very kind of you and I would appreciate it." 

I said "It's supposed to be nice tomorrow I could do it then if you like."

"There is a Yankee game on tomorrow I don't want to miss it." She said.

I laughed and said. "Don't worry I don't watch baseball and I don't mind helping people out." 

"You can do it in my garage if you like." Judy said. 

I closed the hood of her car and asked where she lived . She told me and suggested that noon would be a good time to start. I agreed and checked the windshield registration so I could be sure what year her car was.

She gave me a quick peck on my cheek and said "Thanks Rick you're an angel." 

The next morning I went to the parts store and got the parts that I needed, every thing for a tune up as well as an air filter, and oil filter and oil, a gas filter, windshield wipers and a fan belt . I already had carburetor cleaner. I loaded my tools and floor jack and jack stands in my pickup truck. 

I found Judy's house easily enough, I have no sense of direction, and backed into her driveway. Judy came out before I had stopped. She was dressed exactly as I was blue jeans and black T-shirt and sneakers. She had her usual cigarette in her mouth. The only thing that surprised me was that she didn't have her glasses on.

She pointed to me and laughed. "Looks like we are coordinated!" "How much did the parts cost?" She asked. 

I took a receipt from my pocket that only had the air filter and oil filter on it I lied and said "$20.75." I knew she had three kids in college and couldn't afford all the stuff I had purchased for her car.

"Wow that is a lot cheaper than the dealership." Judy said. "I'll give you a check if that's OK?" 

"That's fine with me." I said. "I'll need the keys to the car I have to warm it up to change the oil." 

Judy handed me the keys and said "I really appreciate this Rick. Would you like a beer or something?"

I said. "Coffee would be better. It's a bit early for me to have a beer." 

"Black?" She asked.

"That would be great." I said and noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra and for the first time I noticed that she had a nice set of tits. Not bad I said to myself for a woman in her forties. I was 36 at that time. 

Her garage was bigger than I had expected, it was a two car wide garage with one big door, I moved her car to the middle so I could work around it and started it to warm it up.

"At least it started." She said as she handed me a mug of coffee. "It almost didn't when I left my fathers last night. He thinks I should trade it in on a new car but I can't afford that."

"Don't worry I said It will be much better when I'm done with it." I started to unload the stuff from my truck . 

Judy looked at my floor jack and asked what it was. I told her and she shrugged her shoulders and said "I though only gas stations had those things."

"I bought it from a gas station that going out of business." I said. 

"Well the game is about to start, there is more coffee in the kitchen, if you need help just ask." Judy said. She went back into her house. 

It was four that afternoon when I finished. I had checked everything I could think of and the car was in pretty good shape. I had adjusted the brakes and lubed the chassis and even the door, hood, and trunk hinges. 

Judy came out just as I put the last of my tools back on my truck. 

She had a big grin on her face and a beer in her hand. "The Yankees won! I love that team!" 

"Great I said I'm done and I think you will be happy with the car for a while." 

"I wish you could do something with the brakes it pulls to the right." Judy said.

I laughed and said "I adjusted the brakes they should work better now."

"WOW thanks!" She said "Can I take it for a test drive?"

"Of course I said I'll move my truck" 

Judy took the car out and came back ten minutes later and parked it in her garage. She ran over to me and gave he a kiss on the lips and said. "It's better than when I first got it! Thank you so much!" 

"I've got to clean up I said and then I'll get out of your hair. I have a new book I want to read." I said. 

Judy said. "You can take a shower here if you want to."

I said. "That would be a good idea if you don't mind."

Judy smiled and said. "After all the work you did for me. Why would I mind?"

"Thanks I said a shower would be nice." 

Judy showed me to the upstairs bathroom. I stripped and got into the shower. The hot water felt good. Suddenly Judy pulled the shower curtain open she was naked and she got in behind me.

"I thought you could use some help." She said as she soaped up my cock and balls. "I want these clean so I can play with them. She noticed the shocked look on my face. "I hope you aren't offended." She said. 

I laughed and said. "No I'm just surprised and pleasantly surprised I should say." 

"Good." Judy said as she stroked my hard cock. "I need this, it's been a while since I had one."

I turned around and said. "Nice tits I didn't know they were so large." I licked on her nipples and she moaned and hugged me tightly.

Judy held up her tits and said. "36D! I just don't like men starring at them. I need a man badly!" She said as she stroked my cock.

"I hope I'll do." I said 

"Oh yes! Your just about perfect." Judy said as I rubbed her butt.

We got out of the shower after we rinsed off and dried each other. 

Judy said. "Come over here said the spider to the fly." She had a big grin on her face. She showed me to her bed room. It was small and had a queen sized bed which took up most of the room. Judy pointed to the bed and said. "I wanted a king sized bed but it wouldn't fit in the room. I like to be comfortable when I sleep." 

"Nice I said I have a king sized bed at home, but I usually date women that are much bigger than you are."

"I know she said I've heard about you and Mary and Jackie."

"You have?" I said. 

"Yes Mary and Jackie were friends of mine, don't worry no one else knows." Judy said with a funny grin.

Mary and Jackie were women that also worked at the same place I do.

We started to kiss and feel each other. Judy was excited, her nipples were hard and her pussy was already quite wet. Her breathing was faster and more shallow than normal. I sucked on her nipples as I fingered her pussy. She arched her back and I moved down and started to suck on her clit as I fingered her pussy. Judy was pinching her own nipples as I worked on her pussy and clit. She came moving her hips up and down as she moaned and groaned. She kept on pushing her crotch harder and harder into my mouth. 

"Damn she said if my ex did that we'd still be together." 

I stuck my tongue as deep as I could in her cunt and rubbed her clit hard with a finger. She screamed and pulled on the back of my head as she came again.

"Holy shit!" Judy screamed. "I'm cumming again!" 

She jerked her hips and twisted her body left and right and screamed and moaned and squeezed my head with her thighs for a good twenty seconds before she stopped.

"Please stop! Please stop! I have to catch my breath." Judy cried. 

I stopped and she just shook for another minute while I rubbed her already hard nipples.

"Damn I haven't cum like that in years!" Judy whimpered. "Mary and Jackie were right you are a good cunt lapper."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what the told you about me." I said.

"Later, Judy said, I need to feel your hard cock in me now."

"Do you have any condoms?" I asked. 

"No do you?" Judy asked. 

"No all I expected t o do today was work on your car and then go home." I said 

"Well I'm clean." She said. "I had my tubes tied after I had my daughter so as long as your clean we don't have anything to worry about." 

I was so horny that I almost didn't care. "I'm clean as well so lets go!" I said.

"I like it doggie style but no anal I don't do anal." Judy said as she got on her knees and thrust her butt up in the air.

"What ever turns you on." I said and got behind her and slipped my hard cock slowly into her hairy cunt.

"Oh That feels so good!" Judy said and pushed back. "Just hold still for a second or two I like the feel of a hard cock in me." Judy said as she caught her breath. "Now slowly move your cock I like to start slow and work my way up." 

Judy said and moved her hips in a small circle as I stroked my cock in and out.

"Faster now but not to fast." I don't want to cum yet." Judy said as her breathing increased speed. 

I gradually increased the speed of my cock movements to match the speed of her hip movements. "I'm about to cum!" I said.

Judy moaned and screamed. "Jesus I'm about to explode don't cum just yet!" 

I concentrated on controlling myself. Then she pushed back so hard that I wound up on my back with her on top of me.

"Now!" She said. "Stroke as fast as you can!"

I pushed as hard and fast as I could and she came bouncing up and down like a wild woman.

We both came at the same time.

"Shit, Shit! Oh! Shit!" Judy screamed and stopped bouncing and just sat on me, my limp cock still inside her. I was having a hard time breathing with her just sitting straight up her back arched. She shook and quivered for a couple of minutes before she finally got off of me. 

"Thank you I needed that. That was the best orgasm I've ever had!" Judy said out of breath.

"It was awesome for me as well." I said happy that I could breath again. "Lets take another shower and then go some place for dinner." I said. 

Judy looked at me and said. "Good idea as long as we can do this again after dinner."

"Excellent idea!" I said. Then I thought about it and said. "I'll have to go home and change my clothes these are filthy." 

Judy asked me where I was planning to go for dinner and I mentioned a famous Italian place in Utica. 

"Oh I haven't been there in years! I'll put on a better outfit than this." 

Judy was genuinely excited about the going to the place.

After she had changed her clothes we got in my truck and went to my place. It's just a double wide trailer but for a single guy its pretty big. I changed into slacks and dress shirt and put on a sports coat but no tie.

"You clean up pretty well." Judy said with a grin. 

We had to wait for a table so we went to the bar for a drink. Judy was working on her second martini when we were called to our table and I hadn't finished my first scotch yet. We ordered our dinners and Judy told the waiter to get her another martini because she didn't want to run dry.

The appetizers arrived and we chatted about the office and some of the people there. That triggered a question that I had wanted to ask Judy about something that she had said while we were having sex.

"What did Mary and Jackie tell you? I am curious about who else knows about what we did." I said

Judy grinned as she lit a cigarette and took a sip of her martini. "You men think that you are the only ones that talk about sex. Well we women talk about even more than you do and in greater detail." 

She smiled and brandishing her cigarette around like a magic wand and then continued after she finished her martini. She was speaking conspiratorially , which was very sexy with her soft voice.

"I ran into Mary at a bar one Friday shortly after she had left for her new job. She was with some guy that she went to school with. She finally chased him away because he wanted her to blow him in his car while some of his friends watched. She told him that she didn't do that any more. We chatted and she told me that you and her had played around for a while. She said that you brought her back to the office on weekends so she could fuck in other peoples offices. She thought that you were cool because you like being with a big woman. Then she told me that she had seen you and Jackie going into the office on a Saturday. I asked Jackie about it and she told me all about what you two did. She even told me about your side business and how she helped you at a couple of video shoots."

Our salads came and Judy started to sip on her third martini.

"I would love to help on a video! That would be interesting." Judy said as she ate her salad.

"I have one scheduled for next Sunday and I could use some help." I said with a grin.

"Speaking of next weekend." Judy said. "What are you doing next Saturday evening?"

"I don't have any plans." I said.

"I have a party for an amateur theater group that I make the costumes for. It's a theme party you are supposed to come dressed as your favorite character from fiction. I have two free tickets would you like to go? I'll make your costume." Judy said.

"Who are you going as?" I asked.

"Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christies' great detective." She dropped he voice even lower than it had been before. "I love to dress as a man it really turns me on." Judy said.

"I would never have guessed." I said. "You seemed to be so straight laced to me." 

"I don't like to make my private life public." Judy said as she sipped on her new martini.

"Who do you think I should go as?" I asked almost afraid to find out.

"I think you would make a wonderful Miss Marple, Christies' great female detective. I'm very good at make up and having a man dressed as a woman makes he hotter than hell." Judy said with an evil grin. "Would you be willing to do that? I promise I'll never tell any body about it." Judy was almost begging I could tell that she was getting excited.

"Not even another woman like Mary or Jackie?" I asked.

Judy laughed and said. "Not even another woman. I promise!" 

"I'll think about it." I said 

"I'll have to know soon because I'll have to take measurements and make the outfit from scratch. Who knows you could have a career in acting!" Judy said as she lit yet another cigarette. "Please?" She was almost crying.

"Ok I'll do it but you better not tell any one." I said with a sigh.

"Great! I'll take your measurements and start on the outfit tomorrow! I have the perfect wig for you to!" Judy gushed.

I shook my head and said. "I just hope I don't regret this."

"You won't I guarantee it. You'll love it I'm sure." Judy was overjoyed.

We chatted about people we knew because several people sat at the table next to us. 

After dinner Judy wanted to go to the bar and have a few more drinks. I suggested that we go to my place and have a few drinks and have sex. 

"A great Idea, she said, as she got into my truck but I think we will make love instead." 

"I think making love would be a better idea than just having sex." I said not quite sure what the difference was between the two.

When we got to my place Judy insisted on taking measurements for the Miss Marple out fit she was going to make for me. I got out a tape measure, a steel one from my tool chest, and she took the measurements she needed and wrote them down. 

I made a couple of martinis' for us. 

"Nice martini, Judy said, you should have been a bar tender." 

"Now what were we going to do?" I asked with a huge grin. "Now I remember I said we were going to make love."

Judy said. "I think your right!" 

We went to my bed room and started to make out on the bed. I undressed her slowly and she helped me take my clothes off. I was sucking on her nipples when she lit a cigarette. I was surprised but decided not to say anything. I moved down and started to lick on he pussy.

Judy pulled my head up by my hair and said. "Do you mind If I smoke while you eat?"




In Loving Memory of Judy



She laughed like a child. "I saw that in deep throat and have always wanted to do it to someone." She looked around with a confused look on her face. "Do you have any ashtrays around here?" She asked. 

I got up and brought one back from the living room and handed it to her. "I hate to have a good meal interrupted." I said with a frown.

Judy laughed and continued to smoke.

She was about to cum when she put the cigarette out. "Oh! God! I'm cumming!" She said as she squirmed and pumped her hips up and down and pushed her cunt as hard as she could into my face. 

I kept on tongue fucking her as I rubbed my moistened finger on her clit. She was actually crying as she came.

"Stop! I can't breathe! STOP! NOW" She screamed She was shaking like a leaf.

"Only if you say please." I said as calmly as I could. 

She had another spasm that shook the entire bed. Her hips were gyrating uncontrollably she was making incoherent sounds.

"PLEASE STOP!" She managed to get out.

I stopped and said. "I though you would never ask."

She shook for several minutes before she could say a thing. Her entire body was covered in goose bumps and her nipples stuck out at least two inches. 

"You almost made me pass out!" She said when she had settled down. "That was wonderful now it's your turn to cum." She went to the edge of the bed and bent over the side and said. Slip your hard cock in me and see if I let you go!"

I stood behind her, she was at the perfect height for me to make love to her doggie style. I slowly pushed my cock in her cunt and stood still for almost a minute. 

"You bastard." She said. "Your pushing all my buttons tonight aren't you?"

"Just having fun." I said as I slowly stroked my cock in and out of her pussy.

I was hornier than hell and started to pump my cock faster and faster when she suddenly squeezed her cunt mussels in a way I've never had anyone else do. My cock was stuck all the way in, not that far in my case, and I couldn't move it no matter how hard I tried.

"How can you do that?" I asked. 

"Something I learned from a girl friend in college." Judy said and laughed. "Not many people know how to do this." 

She started to pulse the mussels and it made the greatest feeling I have ever had and she was cumming every few seconds, apparently it felt great to her as well. 

"My girl friend was paralyzed from the waist down so this was something she learned from a doctor from India. I can only keep on doing it for a short time I'm out of practice." Judy's ass was pulsing and she came hard and almost pushed me over! She had strong legs for such a small woman.

"I'm about to cum!" I said as she pulsed even harder.

"So am I!" Judy said as we both came.

Judy shook all over but didn't release my cock. I couldn't get it out until it was completely soft.

"That was incredible!" I said.

"Thank you!" She said. "Now I need some sleep after I have another martini!"

I made us each another martini and we discussed the party on the following Sunday.

But the party is another story.



In Loving Memory Pt. 01



'You can do this,' the message on Claire's mobile read.

But she felt anything but brave and capable. It had been three months since her Master's death, but the wound felt as open, as raw, as it had that night as she held His still body in her arms. His death like His life was His choice. The ravages of the illness that had plagued His once strong body and mind for as long as she had known Him had become more than He could bear. 

He had told her from the beginning that when that day came, He would take His own life. Slaves don't argue with Masters, but she had watched Him battle those demons for so long that she would not have, even if she could. Her only request had been that she wanted to share His final moments, just as they had shared much of the last five years. 

It was a risk, they both knew that. His family barely knew of her existence. He wanted to protect His teen sons and ex-wife from the reality of His lifestyle. They knew her only as a casual girlfriend. And while it was uncommon, there was always the possibility that she could be prosecuted for assisted suicide if they knew her part in it. Even though He had taken the pills by His own hand.

It had been worth it though. She would not have missed those final moments of laughter and loving for anything. Of course, the tears had come after. As she lay holding His still body in her arms. Even though her lips pressed to His had shared His final breath, taking some small part of His spirit inside of her, or so she wanted to believe, still she found herself staring at His chest, looking for some sign of breath for hours it seemed. 

Finally, she did as they planned, slipping quietly from His home into the bright sunshine. She had wiped at her face with the back of her arm, blaming the sunlight for the tears that blurred her vision. She waited until she was safely at her home before calling His ex-wife. She had performed her final scene with such aplomb. She should have received an Oscar or BAFTA for such a performance. 

"Have you heard from Him? I haven't in a couple of days. I am so worried. This is not like Him. Would you mind going over? Just to check on Him? You are so much closer, otherwise I would go myself. Yes, yes, thank you. I am sure it is nothing, but I feel so much better. Yes, please do call me, just to reassure me."

Then it had begun. She had waited. For hours for a call that never came. Finally in desperation, she had phoned back. His oldest son had answered. When she asked to speak to his mother, she had been put on hold. For fifteen minutes. Then just as she was about to hang up, a voice came on the line. A male one...older. His brother this time. He informed her that now was not a good time as the family was in mourning. 

So she had been pushed completely aside. All that they had shared for the past five years had counted for nothing. Their bonds that to both of them were deeper and more meaningful than those that either had felt in their marriages meant nothing to these people. His family. His 'real' family had taken over. She had not even gone to the memorial service. Not that one anyway.

This one was hers. Hers and their friends in the BDSM community. They had had so many. Before His illness got so bad they had gone to munches and play parties. Even afterwards, they had remained close to their friends. They texted and messaged. They even occasionally hosted dinner parties...during His good spells. 

Those friends had been there for her these past few months. The lifestyle really was a community. Bound together not just by their shared kink but by the very thing that had torn her apart. They were outcasts...all of them. And only among themselves were they free to be themselves. 

Once more she brushed at her face with the back of her arm, just as she had that day. But the darkness of the ladies' bathroom did not afford her the convenient excuse of sunlight upon which to blame her tears. 

"There you are?" came the voice from just over her shoulder. "We have all been looking for you."

Claire swallowed past the tightness in her throat and forced a smile at her sister. Not her 'real' sister of course. But the truth was that this woman was far more of a sister than the ones that shared her DNA. Just as He had been far more to her than any husband could be. 

"I can't seem to get this damned corset on," and like flood waters after the dam broke, her tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her friend engulfed her in the tightest embrace she had known since those final moments. And though it was the soft warmth of ample bosoms that comforted her and not the fresh manly scent of her 'fuzzy pillow' it was enough in that moment. 

"Damn it!" she cursed as she pulled back from her friend's embrace and stared in the mirror once more. She turned on the water and splashed some on her face. Though it did nothing to hide the swollen redness of her eyes. 

The firm hand upon her shoulder squeezed its reassurance. "Good thing He never liked you fully made up. Your bottom would be lined with scarlet cane marks if He had. You know how much He expected His property to looks its best." 

Claire chuckled as she nodded at her friend in the mirror. "Well, then would you help me get this thing laced up? I can't disappoint Him."

Their friend nodded as tears glistened in her own eyes. "You never could, sweetie. That man loved you as few in this fucked up world ever know."

Claire sniffled as she fought back the tears once more. "And I loved Him as I could never imagine loving another. But you better get to it. Or this damned thing will be over before we get out there."

"Hey, who do you think you are?" her friend joked as she landed a sound slap upon Claire's bottom. "You better remember some respect, dear. I am the Domme after all."

They both chuckled and chatted as they got about the work of lacing up the corset. "Is that tight enough, sweetie?" her friend enquired. "Can you breathe?"

"A bit."

"Then it ain't tight enough," they both chuckled as her friend pulled tighter at the lacing on the back. "Breathing is so over-rated," she quoted Him perfectly.

With one final glance in the mirror, Claire gathered her strength. She reminded herself that she was among friends, family even. She held her head high just as He had taught her. She gathered her friend's hand in hers and held tight as they walked to the door. "Let's do this then," she sighed as she opened it.

Claire did not know what she had expected. She had been hiding in the bathroom for close to half an hour. And in that time, the tiny pub that had hosted so many of the munches they shared with their friends had filled to over-flowing. The intimate get together that usually number a dozen or so kinksters had grown to at least fifty and perhaps even a hundred people, if the heads she could see through the windows were any indication. "Oh my god," she exclaimed.

Her friend's fingers tightened around hers. "What did you expect, sweetie? You know how much your blogs meant to this community. The intimate way that both of you opened your hearts and minds up to all of us has touched so many. Of course, people want to say good-bye to Him. Want to be here to support you now."

Claire was conflicted. This was so much more than she expected. A few of their closest friends was all she had thought when someone suggested that they honour Him at the next munch. Claire, herself, had been a virtual hermit since that sunny summer day that seemed so at odds with all that had happened. She wanted desperately to run back into the bathroom. To hide until this day was over. 

But that was what she had been doing. For the past three months. As if rather than that final kiss breathing some of His spirit into her, it had as He did as part of their gentle breath play games sucked the very life from her. Except this time, He had not been there to breathe it back into her at the exact moment when her lungs burned from lack of oxygen and the world blurred before her eyes. So instead she had slipped into some self-imposed grave with Him.

She knew it was not what He wanted for her. What He would expect of her. In that moment as she faced that reality, as she battled the need to turn and run, she could almost hear Him. "I am disappointed." The words she hated most. His ultimate punishment. The one that she had heard so rarely. 

She closed her eyes and gathered all the courage. The strength. His steely strength that had seen Him thorough things that would break lesser men. She gathered it all within her heart. And she resolved to make Him proud. This final time before their friends, she would do Him proud. Be the intelligent and independent woman that He had crafted her to be. His woman. His partner. Simply His.

Claire moved through the next couple of hours numbly drawing upon those reserves. Faces blurred as she shared memories with their friends. It seemed that everyone they had ever met were crowded into the dimly lit corners of the local pub. And more than a couple that they had never met. 

It was one of those that drew her attention. She had felt eyes upon her. For a moment she took solace that perhaps He had been wrong and for just once she had been right, that perhaps there was an afterlife. And perhaps He was looking down on her from wherever it was. But it did not quite feel the same as it always did when He watched her flit from friend to sister and back to His side. It was not His eyes she felt upon her. 

She had looked up, searched the room. She was about to dismiss the whole thing as emotional silliness, her 'girl brain' as He would call it. Then she had seen him. Leaning casually against the bar. It was dark but she knew. Somehow she knew. It was his eyes that had been following her about the room for the past half an hour at least. 

She boldly stared back him. He seemed familiar somehow. But she could not place him. Was almost certain that she did not know him. Slowly she made her way in that direction, shaking hands, and making small talk with a dozen or more people. But still she felt those eyes upon her. 

Finally she made it to the bar. "Can I have a glass of the pink stuff?" she teased the bartender that they had known for so long. Five years. Had it really been just five years since she had first arranged to meet Him at this very munch. She had needed Dutch courage to meet Him then too. But His writings had spoken to her soul just as they had to so many others in this room now. 

"He'll be missed," said the bartender as he pressed a tall glass of wine into her trembling hand. She tried to hand him a note, but he brushed it aside. "All drinks are on the house today."

She nodded her thanks as she brought the glass to her lips. She drained half of it in a single gulp before turning to the young man next to her. He was boldly staring now. "Have we met before?" she asked.

He shook his dark blonde head, "No, I've never had the pleasure." 

She returned his stare equally as boldly. Despite his words, there was something shockingly familiar about him. Something she could not quite place. 

"It's time for you to speak," she heard the familiar voice of her friend even as she felt the woman's hands grab her own and pull her towards the raised area just to the right of the bar.

"Speak? What do you mean speak?" Claire stammered as her friend pressed a microphone from out of nowhere into her hands. "I can't," she denied as her trembling fingers tried to pass it back again. 

Her friend just shook her head. "You can and you will. Because that is what He would want. These people came here today to honour Him. They are His friends and way more family than those people that turned their back on you. He needs you to speak to them now. Because you are all they have left of Him." 

Claire watched the tears trail down their friend's face. Black mascara flowed in their wake. And for the first time since that sunny day Claire did not feel alone. His going had affected others. Left voids in their lives too. And as she said Claire was His voice to comfort them, just as He had comforted her so often.

"Don't disappoint Him," she said as she stepped down from the dais. Claire smiled down at their friend as she began to speak in a trembling voice. She would never remember exactly what she said that slightly overcast autumn afternoon. But she would never forget the sea of smiling faces, tears streaming unchecked down the face of subs, Dommes and even a couple of Doms. 

She was shaking when she finally stepped down from the platform. The room spun about her. She knew that she had done it. Done Him proud. Given to Him that final portion of herself that she thought was beyond her. 

And she was drained. Faces swam in front of her. The room was stifling. She could not breathe. For a moment she felt the same rush that she always had just before He breathed His life back into her. She felt her knees begin to buckle.

Then out of nowhere, she felt large hands about her waist, gripping her tightly, holding her up. Then she was being propelled across the room before she even had time to think. A door flung open somehow and the brisk evening air swooshed back into her lungs, filling them to bursting. She was deposited in a chair in the corner of the beer garden. 

"Do. Not. Move." came the deep voice. The command in its tone was as clear as the words themselves. She wanted to protest that he had no right to speak to her like that. That he was not her Dom. But before she could form a coherent thought he was gone. Honestly, she was not even certain who he was. The room had been so dark. And she was so confused. And tired. So damned tired. 

Then a cold glass was pressed into her fingers. "Drink. This." Large hands covered her own, forcing the glass to her lips. Her throat burned like land consumed by a lava flow as the strong liquor made its way to her stomach. He kept the glass there until the last drop was gone. 

"Thank you," she stammered. "I think," she amended as she looked up into the face of the young man that had been staring at her from the bar. "Who are you?" she demanded.

He shrugged shoulders as broad as the ones that she had missed every night for the last three months. "Does it matter?" he smiled. "A friend." 

Claire shook her head. It made no sense. This man was a stranger. But the zing that she had felt when his hands had gripped her waist, guiding her through the crowded room, she knew that feeling. Only He ever gave that to her. 

It had happened. At last. It was official now. She had finally gone completely crazy. Or so it seemed in that moment. Panic unlike any she had felt since that day five years ago when she nervously anticipated meeting Him welled up inside of her stomach. It churned. Her hands covered her mouth. For a long moment, she feared that the acidic liquor would be re-tracing its earlier steps. Visions of amber liquid forming a projectile like a cheesy scene from some low budget horror film danced before her eyes. She chuckled nervously and the nausea began to abate.

"I am getting you out of here," that baritone caressed her senses. 

She shook her head. She opened her mouth to protest. 'I don't know you. I am not going anywhere with a stranger.' But the words came out as only a small whimper. 

"Where is your coat?" His eyes scanned her from her bare shoulders and soft breasts that threatened to swell out of the too tight corset to her garter belt and black stockings. The ones with the seams up the back of course. She had made certain that they were perfectly straight. Just the way He liked. She had worn her black patent leather Mary Jane's too. It was the same outfit that He selected dozens of times when they went out together. 

So why did she feel practically naked when this young man looked at her like that? He was a kid. Barely older than her son or His. Looking more closely, perhaps not even as old. 

Once more he shook his blonde head, "Never mind. You're useless right now. I'll find your friend. She should know."

Then he was gone once more. Simply vanished. Disappeared. 

Useless. Those words ricocheted through her frozen mind. Bouncing off glacial memories that rose stalwart from the churning chilly seas of her life until they threatened to consume her. How many times had He used those words? That twinkle in His bright blue eyes that came only from pushing her beyond her limits into the embracing recesses of subspace. He would chuckle and yank the tether that He held to her very soul, calling her back to Him. 

But He was gone. And those words were His. His alone to command her with. She tried to straighten herself, staring at the empty shot glass. She willed it full once more, just as she had lain for so long holding Him, willing His chest to rise and fall once more. As if by sheer will alone she could breathe life back into her fuzzy pillow. As nasty as the stuff had been, she wanted another shot. Needed more Dutch courage before facing him again. 

It was not to be. He reappeared as suddenly as he had gone as if some illusionist under the bright lights of the Las Vegas stage. Across his shoulder was slung her over-sized purse and her coat was draped over his arm. He held out his other hand for her. She stared at it for a long moment. 

"We are getting out of this place before you collapse, Claire. I left my mobile number with your friend so someone knows where you are. And she has assured me that she will make your excuses to that mob and send them off satisfied." He fixed that steely gaze that has first drawn her attention upon her once more. "Your only choice now is do you stand up and put on her coat like a good girl or do I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here? Your choice?"

Claire stared at him wide eyed as if watching the ancient monster itself rise out of the foaming waters of Loch Ness. She opened her mouth, "You wouldn't dare," came out more as a strangled gasp than actual protest.

He threw back his head and laughter erupted like spring rains over the parched desert. Claire fought back the urge to join him. But real laughter was an ancient memory to her now. For all she had pretended with their friends, she had not truly found anything funny since that sunny summer day. The sound drifted away on the cool autumn winds. 

It was almost dark now and the cold was beginning to seep into her just as the warmth had slowly seeped out of His body while she held Him that day. Silence filled the gulf between them, stretching outwards towards eternity. She looked up at the first twinkling star in the sky. The little girl inside of her cried out, 'Wish I may, wish I might, wish upon the first star I see tonight.' Her wish was obvious. She wanted to wake up and the past three months be nothing but a nightmare. 

But even as she thought it, she felt the betrayal to her core. He died as He lived...on His own terms. And she was being a selfish little cunt to wish it otherwise. Sobs threatened to break loose at any moment. He truly would be 'disappointed.' For the first time since their parting, she hoped He was right. That this shitty life really was all that you got. The idea that He was out there somewhere appalled her, where once it had been like the suckling teat of a mother.

She felt the warmth of wool enfolding her like clouds. Then she felt the solid wall of granite like some Tintagel rising up from the very depths of the ocean, guarding and protecting its inhabitants, a stalwart fortress against all that would challenge its might. She collapsed against it as she felt his warm breath against the side of her face. "I'll have you out of here in a minute. I promise." 

She closed her eyes, the will to fight fleeing her then. She nodded her head and the constellations swam on the dark pallet of her eyelids. She felt herself being propelled at the speed of light, racing towards some unknown galaxy, some uncharted course. And she did not have even the will to fight anymore.




In Loving Memory Pt. 01



She came to when the warm gust of air blew her hair back from her face. "You don't even know where I live," she protested. 

"It doesn't matter. I am not taking you home." 

She shook her head, realising for the first time that she had broken ever safety rule of the lifestyle that they taught novice submissives. She did not know this man's name. Where he was taking her. There were no longer even in the safety of a public place. She reached for the door handle, thought of throwing herself from the car before it picked up speed. 

"Don't worry. You are safe with me. Remember I gave your friend my number before we left."

"I have only your word for that," she protested.

"Text her if you don't believe me."

Claire breathed if not a sigh of relief at least one of hope as she punched in her security code. 'Are you ok?' flashed next to the familiar number. She typed in what she hoped was a reassuring message, "yeah. Besides you have his number if you need me, right?'

She had barely hit the send button when the silence rang out with the ping of an incoming massage. Twice. 

"Tell her I can't drive and answer her message. But at least now I hope you both believe me."

Claire nodded as she typed another message this one more reassuring than the last. She pondered how best to answer the question staring accusingly from the screen of her phone. 'Who is he?'

That same questioned plagued Claire since she had first felt his gaze upon her. She could not casually dismiss the odd sensation that she knew this man. But that was not possible. Staring at him in the dim lights from the dash board, she studied his strong features. His was not a face a woman would forget. 

She felt the almost physical pain of betrayal even before the thought was finished. She should not be thinking like that about a man. Any man. Let alone one half her age. It was too soon. It would always be too soon. She had had her chance. The great love of her life. And He was gone. No, that path was closed to her. Yet the instant taunting of her nipples inside her corset belied that thought. 

"Where are you taking me?" she tried to focus upon the practical while she fought to deny the warm wetness spreading between her lush thighs. 

"Somewhere that you can rest and regroup for a few days."

"A few days? I can't be gone that long," she lied. The truth was that no one would even notice. She would lock herself in her flat, ignoring messages, emails and even phone calls for days at a time. She tried to justify it as her work. She had written over two hundred thousand words over the past three months. But they were total and complete crap. Rubbish. Garbage. A malodorous dung heap of metaphors, similes and purple prose that would turn the stomach of any self-respecting agent or editor. 

"You need some rest. And when was the last time you fucking ate a real meal? You are going to collapse if you aren't careful. Or perhaps that is your plan? To starve yourself? Join him in an early grave? Take the easy way out. That's not like you, Claire."

"Like me?" she protested in earnest for the first time that evening. She felt the heady power of self-righteous indignation flowing through her veins like the bass pounding in a tawdry night club. "How do you know what I am like?" she demanded.

"I know you better than you know yourself."

His claim froze her blood instantly. She slunk back against the passenger's seat. 'Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into?' she thought. 

While her books were beginning to take off, providing her a modest income for the first time since she started writing almost a decade before, she had never considered that her work might attract a stalker. But what other explanation was there? She searched the nooks and crannies of her mind looking for a name, an identity. But came up short. While she had a few dozen ardent fans, this was not like any of them. Or so she thought.

"Breath. Damn it. I am not a rapist, murderer or fucking stalker. One more time...you are safe with me. Probably fucking safer than you have been in a long time. So quit overthinking everything. And get some rest. We have a long drive."

Overthinking. It was another of His words. He always accused her of wasting her brilliance overthinking everything. And He was probably right. "He always said I overthink things," she breathed into the silence. 

"Yeah, well, he was right about some things. Now. Get. Some. Sleep."

She wanted to protest. Willed her mind to remain alert to any danger, real or imagined. But his voice, that voice, left no room for arguments in her submissive brain. It knew a command. And the most natural thing was to obey. Even when she did not want to.



In Loving Memory Pt. 02



The first rays of early morning sun filled the tight confines of James's car. He had been driving for hours and had a couple more to go before they reached his destination. He should be exhausted but his mind was filled as it had been so many times over the last eight years; filled with her. He looked across the seat at her. She was curled up like a small child. Her hand under her cheek as it pressed against the cool glass of the window. 

He cursed under his breath as he saw for the first time the depth of the ravages that she had allowed. The dark circles underneath her eyes looked as if someone had hit her, creating black eyes. And she had lost weight; a lot of it, perhaps close to two stone or more. Her olive complexion had taken on an ashen hewn. She hardly resembled the woman he had lusted after since he was eighteen.

"Fucking bastard," he cursed again under his breath. The man had never been one of his favourite. How could he be when he had the one thing that James wanted most in the world? Had wanted since those first platonic emails eight years ago. He had been a screwed up kid with nothing better to do than play video games and be emails pals with a lonely older divorcee. 

He smiled at the memory. How fucked up he had been. Confused about so many things: what he wanted to do with his life, how to approach girls, hell just about everything. And like a patient and loving mother she had been there for him, offering him advice and support that his own mother just never seemed able to. 

But his feelings for her had been decidedly un-motherly. It had not taken long, only a few weeks for their emails to take on a slightly kinky bent. She had been reluctant at first. His age bothered her; he was only slightly older than her eldest son. Once that Pandora's Box of sexual fantasy had been open, he was not to be deterred. A couple of very naughty pics had lured her into his web. 

His web? Was that what this was? He had not known what he planned to do when he made the last minute decision to travel from his home in northern Wales to London for the memorial service. It certainly was not to honour a man that he pretty much despised. No, she was definitely the reason he had gone. For the first time since he had grown up as it was, she was free. Free of that other man's claim to her. 

He looked at her again. The sun light glinted off the silver locket that rested just above her soft tits. His cock stirred in his tight jeans even as anger rose in his guts. Desire and hatred warred in his mind and his body at the sight of the other man's claim to her. He knew what that locket was. He had seen it on her profile for five years. Her collar. She still wore the bastard's collar. Another man's collar. He wanted to reach across and rip it from her neck. Throw it out the car window so that she could never find it again. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and forced his eyes back on the road, cursing once more. 

But what right did he have? Though they had been friends for eight years, until less than twelve hours ago they had never laid eyes upon one another. He did not know what he had expected when he went there. But her casual, "Have we met?" was not it. Eight years. Even before that bastard came into her life, he had been her friend. Hell, he had even dommed her through a couple of rough days when her first dom did a real number on her head. After all that she said "Have we met?"

Granted his answer has been honest. He had never had the pleasure. Back then he had been too shy, too insecure. Hell, just too fucked up to meet face-to-face as it were. No, all of their friendship had been emails and texts, not even a phone call or video message. It had been at least six years since she had even seen a picture of him. He supposed that in that time he had grown, matured, changed. Still some part of him was disappointed and angry that she had not recognized him. After all they shared. 

Especially as their friendship had deepened once again over these past three months. There was no doubt that man had come between them. James had grown tired of listening to the woman he loved sing the praises of a man that was never good enough for her, never loved her as he should. Every time he tried to point out how unfair the man was being, she had dismissed him. It had placed a real strain upon their friendship. To the point that they had messaged only a couple of times a month for the past couple of years.

But as she always did when she need a true friend, someone to talk to and lean on, she sought him out after the bastard was gone. James knew it was not polite to curse the dead but as far as he was concerned good riddance to bad rubbish. What man could have a woman like Claire and hide her away, deny her even? Owned and collared his arse! If you own something like that, you are proud of it; you show it off. He would have. 

But not that fool, he had been so afraid of his family finding out about his kinks that he had caused Claire pain. Not just these past three months as they pushed her aside, but even when he was alive. Never once had the bastard introduced her to his sons. Instead she was expected to sneak quickly from the house any time they visited, removing any hint of her presence. It was something that James could neither understand nor forgive. Especially when he saw the ravages that it had taken upon her. 

"Bastard," he cursed once more.

She stirred in the sit next to him. He gripped the wheel tighter and stared at the long, winding road. He said a silent prayer that she would go back to sleep. He did not want another argument like they had last night. He did not want to have to offer explanations for which there was no logical answer. Not yet. Not until he had her safely ensconced in his bungalow. Then he would deal with whatever came. But it was not to be that simple. 

"Where are we? Where are you taking me?" she demanded as she stared out the window at the overcast and gloomy Welsh countryside. 

James sighed. She deserved answers. But that did not mean he was going to give them. Not yet anyway. "Wales. And my bungalow." He replied, keeping it simple and truthful.

She shook her auburn head, "No, you are turning this car around and taking me back to London. Now!" 

James chuckled. His palm itched to turn her over his knee and spank that curvy backside. If she was going to act like a childish brat, he would treat her like one. "Or what?"

"You can't do this. It is kidnapping or something. I don't even know you." She spewed logic but the chaotic manner in which she did told James all he needed to know. If her intelligence was abandoning her, then things were not good. She was scared certainly, but he was right, she was on the edge of a break down. 

He knew it well. It was he and not that man that had seen her through one before. He was the one that she had turned to when her first dom/sub relationship failed. He was the one that had taken control of her confused and hurting mind then. He was the one that had dommed her through that pain. And he would again. Even if she was not asking this time. 

Why she had not asked for his help these past few months bothered him still. She should have, she obviously needed someone to control her. She knew she could have. Hell, they had gone back to dozens, even hundreds, of text messages every day. But not once in all that time had she sent the one message he longed for the most. 'Dom me through this.' He sighed, but whether she asked or not, that was exactly what he was going to do. 

"No. More. Questions." He answered. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hands fidgeting in her lap. See her biting her lower lip. Tension was strumming through her. He toyed with the idea of spilling it all, the truth. Telling her who he was. But his pride held him back. Some stupid part of him needed her to recognise him for herself. He hated that tiny shred of the insecure little boy he had been when they first met. But not enough to do what was right. 

"Listen. There is a decent café up ahead. We will stop for breakfast and talk then," he offered conciliatorily.

"I'm not hungry," she pouted as she looked out the window.

"Too fucking bad. You need to eat. How much weight have you lost? Two stone? Three?" he demanded.

Colour, what little there was, drained from her face at his words. "Shit!" he cursed. They were back to the stalker thing. He could not blame her. It was the logical assumption in a case like this. And perhaps it was not totally off the mark, suddenly appearing in her life after all these years. He knew he had only to give his name to reassure her, at least a bit. But still he was not ready to come clean. Not yet anyway. 

"We will stop. You can call your friend. Mobile reception is shit out here but they still have pay phones at this place. Tell her you are all right. That you just needed some rest for a few days. Then we will eat a nice big English breakfast and talk about things. Like grownups," he reasoned with her.

"Except we are one grownup short," she turned towards the window.

James chuckled, "Well, if you insist on acting like a little, I can always turn you over my knee and spank you until you stop acting like a brat. Except you would probably like that too fucking much."

"I wasn't talking about me," she snarled as she turned back to face him.

"I know that," he smiled. "But you are the one acting like a child right now. Refusing to eat when you obviously have been starving yourself."

"It's not like I couldn't afford to lose the weight. In case you have not noticed, thin is in," she responded as she crossed her arms over her chest like the six year old she behaving like.

"Not on you. Your curves have always suited you."

"There you go again. Making these assertions like you have known me for years. But you said last night that we had never met." He watched her studying him more closely for a long moment. He held his breath, hoping that she would get it. He was deflated when she just shook her head and said, "You know there are laws against stalking?"

"I am not a stalker. Besides if I remember correctly, it was you that said there is a fine line between true romance and stalking in your blog," he smiled.

"Yeah, well, even Mills and Boone gave up on the whole kidnapping the damsel scenario long ago," she turned back to the window, but he saw the scowl spread across her face.

"Damsel?" He toyed with the word, drawing it out for a long moment as he attempted to distract her, delay the inevitable showdown. "I like that. Dam-sel. That would make me your knight in shining armor."

"More like the scruffy old pirate," she pouted.

"How about we settle for your alien lover like the book you released last year? That one was your hottest yet."

She drew back further towards the door. He noticed her hand sneaking up towards the handle. "Don't be stupid, Claire. I am going fifty miles per hour. The road is practically deserted at this time of the morning. And you have no idea where you are. What the fuck do you think you could do? Where would you go? Even if the fall did not kill you or send you to the hospital."

He saw terror, real terror in her green eyes. They glistened with tears and his gut tightened. He wanted nothing more than to kiss those tears away. But they were back to where they got too often...advisories. He had long ago accepted that it was the chemistry between them. Some reactions were just so powerful that without the right conditions, the proper catalysts, they simply exploded. Or maybe they were more like a nuclear power plant in meltdown.

All he knew was he had to stop it. "The café is just over this hill. Eat something while we talk. Then if what I say does not make sense, I will take you back to London. You have my word on it," he held out one hand.

She looked at his hand but remained hunkered close to the door, her fingers just centimetres from the handle. She was frozen in fear, except for those clear green eyes that traveled over his face. He willed himself to relax, to give her the reassurance she needed. 

He saw her hands drift back to her lap as she lowered her head. "All right," she nodded with a whisper. "But I want your word. You will take me back after breakfast."

James's mind sought a loop hole. He had no intention of taking her back to London. This moment had been eight years in the making. All right, so that kid had been too fucked up in the head to have the courage to meet the woman he secretly and not so secretly lusted after. But he was not that kid anymore. 

And one way or the other, he and Claire had unfinished business. A chemical reaction that needed to be released in the right conditions. Protons and electrons that needed to collide in a nice safe controlled environment. And who knew the next time he would catch her between stupid idiot doms that did not deserve this woman? 

He pulled his car into the vacant lot of the small café. He turned towards her, pinning her with his gaze. "IF what I have to say does not make sense to you," he asserted as he held out his hand once more time. 

She opened her mouth. He knew she was about to protest. His brow knit together. His face tightened as if he dared her to argue with him. 

It worked as she simply nodded and mumbled, "All right." Reluctantly she held out her hand this time.

Thinking back upon that moment years later, James would never know what prompted him, fool-hardy courage or unrequited lust, but the moment her fingers touched his, he wrapped them tightly in his embrace. He used that to draw her closer. "Is that any way to seal a deal?" he teased as he drew her into his arms. 

He saw the panic rising in her eyes once more. He rushed on foolishly, not giving her time to react. His other arm wrapped about her shoulders, drawing her against his chest as he lowered his face towards hers. His lips brushed back and forth softly over hers. They were cool and tight at first but he took his time as if performing CPR, breathing life back into the dead. 

It seemed several long minutes, though it was probably less than one, before her lips softened beneath his. He felt a soft sigh as she relaxed into his embrace. It should have been enough. He should have stopped then. But he could not. Like that nuclear reaction, some critical mass had been reached. He was out of control. 

His lips tightened on hers, taking what she was not prepared to give. She gasped at this new boldness. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue invaded like a conquer. It swept deep into her mouth, finding her own tongue, his danced against it. Not a soft and genteel Waltz but a Samba, wild and erotic. The dance seemed to go on and on. Blood and lust pounded and throbbed through his whole body. And like dance partners that had been a team for years, their steps matched perfectly. Each thrust, each dip met with perfectly timed move of her own. He could have kissed her forever. Made up for the past eight years in a single moment. 

Then she pushed against his chest. He was caught so off guard that his hands released her shoulder. She retreated against the door once more, her hand covering her mouth as if scorched by the kiss. His own lips still burned with the need to taste her once more. But the wide eyed stare of fear stopped him from pursuing her further. 

"That is not the way to reassure me," she whispered as she stared at her feet.

James chuckled, "Are you sure about that? Your tongue seemed quite happy to oblige."

Her head popped up and she glared at him, a different type of fire danced in the depths of those green lakes. "Don't do it again," she warned.

"Oh, I forgot. You are the poor widow in mourning. Except you aren't, are you? The damned man did not even love you enough to recognise you to his family. So the moment he was gone, they brushed you aside like garbage on the street."

He regretted the harsh words as he watched the colour that his kiss had brought back to her cheeks drain away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Her hand clasped the door handle, "Breakfast. Then you take me back." She said with finality as she opened the passenger door.

James hit his palms against the steering wheel and cursed himself for every type of fool. He had seen enough bastards use and abuse her. He did not want to be another one. But something about her had always brought out in him both the need to protect and break her. 

He sighed as he began to hum the song that she had once sent him the link to...before that man ruined it all. "Sometimes when we touch the honesty's too much. I want to hold you till I die, until we both break down and cry. I want to hold you until the fear in me subsides."



In Loving Memory Pt. 03



Claire stared once more into a mirror as she splashed cold water on her face. She studied her reflection. Reluctantly she admitted the kid had a point. She was not the type that looked good thin. Her sunken cheeks gave her the garish appearance of Dickens's Miss Havisham. But that was beside the point at the moment. What was she going to do? 

He was waiting out there. At a table. Chatting like old friends with the waitress. A young woman that was disgustingly obvious in her interest in the man. She was reminded of her blog...Have Some Dignity, Bitches. It was not cool to chase a man like that. 

She frowned. What did it matter to her? Maybe if the sweet young thing passed him her number then he would just turn the car around and take her home. And if he would not, then she was getting back there, one way or another. She rummaged in her purse until she found her wallet. Opening it she found all of her cards and the small amount of cash that she usually kept just for emergencies. Of course, it was silly to think that he had taken it, but you could never be sure with strangers.

She shook her head as she sighed. But that was the damnedest thing. He did not feel like a stranger. He had used the word 'friend' and as strange as that was it fit perfectly. It was like she knew this man. More shocking yet, like she trusted him. 

She tried playing it all back on the small screen of her mind. Their conversations, everything he had said. But when she got to that kiss, she blushed. For certain there was nothing friendly about that. The way her nipples ached and hardened within the tight confines of the corset was mortifying. 

The corset! It was all she had on under her coat. What was she going to do? Eat breakfast in her coat? "Shit," she exclaimed. Not that she had not done this sort of thing before. She smiled weakly at the memory of one of His challenges: wear nothing but suspenders and stockings under her coat on the train to His house. It had been the middle of winter and she nearly froze, but she was dripping wet by the time she got there. But this was different. It was not some silly challenge from her Master. She was stuck; practically naked beneath this coat in the middle of nowhere with a man whose name she did not even know. 

Holy god, she did not even know his name! That realization hit her like a knockout punch from the World's Heavy Weight Champion. Her knees buckled and she gripped the counter top to keep from falling. Of course, she had thought of it last night. But she was so confused and exhausted from that whole ordeal. From the past few months. Honestly from way longer than that even. In the bright morning sunlight, it just seemed...worse somehow. 

Squaring her shoulders, she stood up. She lifted her chin and looked at the hag in the mirror once more. Her hair had come out of the ponytail as she slept and was falling about her face. She dug deeper into the oversized bag and found her make-up case. Pulling out her brush, she focused all her attention on righting her abysmal appearance. Once that was done, she dabbed a bit of concealer on the dark circles under her eyes. She would have liked to blame a poor night's sleep cramped up in his car, but truth was that even in her bed at home she had not slept in a long while. That led her to add a bit of mascara, a touch of blush and some lip gloss.

When she was finished, the woman staring back at her was only moderately more presentable. But it would have to do for now. She had business to take care of. Top on that list...getting back to London. With or without his help. This place might appear nothing more but an island in the middle of nowhere but one thing she had learned: every poe-dunk town in this country had a train station. If necessary she would bribe that sweet young waitress to help her find it. Hell, the woman would probably fall all over herself to be rid of her and get him all to herself. 

She had wasted enough time. Squaring her shoulders for battle, she turned and opened the door. She ran straight into him. His strong arms once more wrapped about her waist. 

He steadied her before releasing her from his embrace, but his hand remained at the small of her back. "It took you long enough." His eyes travelled up and down her face and body. "You could have done without the makeup." He leaned in and whispered, "It doesn't put nearly as much colour in your cheeks as my kiss did."

Claire tried to shove him away but it was as futile as the fly swatting at the fly swatter as he guided her back towards their table by the window. "I came to get you because our food is here," he added as he held out the chair for her. 

She wanted to argue but decided it was best to bide her time, come up with a plan and get the hell out of here and away from him. She took the chair he offered and picked up the cup of steaming, black coffee as he went around the table and took the seat across from her. Her eye brows shot up as the hot liquid scalded her throat. Its sweetness assailed her. Strong, black and sweet just the way she took her coffee. 

But how did this man know that? Few people knew her personal habits, likes and dislikes. While her blog appeared completely open and transparent, the truth was that it contained very few identifying markers. She kept it that way for this very reason. The Internet was stalker heaven.

But this man knew things that no stalker would be privy to. How she liked her coffee. The fact that He would never recognize her to His family. Her mouth fell open. Only a handle full of her closest friends knew that. The shame of it something she shared only when she was at her lowest and then only with the ones that she could trust the most. 

Her fingers trembled as she sat the cup back on the table. She drew in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his. Grey-green. How had she not seen it before? Or was she simply seeing things that she wanted? Reading things into the situation that she had no right to? Goodness knows she was expert at that. 

"What is your name?" she strangled past the tightness in her throat. It came out nothing more than a croaked and broken whisper. She was not certain he could even hear her. 

She stared into those eyes, searched his face deeper. It had been years since she had seen a picture. She had never been much of a visual person, preferring to see people for their hearts and not their outward appearance that could be deceptive. 

But the resemblance was undeniable. His dark blonde hair was longer. His unshaven face more craggy, having lost some of its boyish charm as he matured. But it suited him well. He had grown into the remarkable man that she always knew he would be. 

Her eyes clouded over once more as she steadied her voice. "I asked, what is your name?"

He leaned back in his chair and smiled, "How about you guess, princess?"

She lifted the cup once more. Downed half of its contents in a single gulp with little thought to the pain its heat ignited in her throat or belly. She wished it was more of the nasty amber liquor from last night. But even that would probably not be enough Dutch courage for this situation.

Why now? After eight years when she was finally comfortable, resigned to the realities of their friendship. Hell, she had reveled in them. She had shared things with James that she had not with anyone else, safe in the knowledge that she would never have to face him. Anonymity gave her more Dutch courage than anything else. But that was not true anymore. He was here. Now. Why now, screamed her heart in symphony, echoing off the precipices of her mind.

But she knew. Knew why. Because she needed him. He had always been like that. Been there when she needed him the most. Whether to comfort or to confront her with truths she did not want to see, he seemed to just know when she needed him the most. No matter what.

"Eat. Your. Breakfast." His soothing Baritone caressed and calmed her fractured mind. 

Her fingers still trembled but they lifted the heavy fork automatically. She opened her mouth and chewed without tasting. For several long moments, bite after bite, she simply obeyed without thought. In obedience she found the peace and solace that nothing else had given for months. She sank deeper into it until she stared at an empty plate. Like someone coming out of hypnosis, she looked around. What had happened?

He smiled, "That's my good girl."

She shook her head as if a fly trapped in the spider's web trying to free itself from the beautiful silken strands. "I am not your anything," she protested.

"Yes, yes you are. You always have been. My friend. My salvation. A pain in my arse. And a hell of a lot more." He raised his hand and like a servant awaiting her master's command the young waitress jumped to do his bidding. 

Claire sat quietly as they chatted and transacted business. The obvious way that the waitress leaned in towards him, her coy smile was disgusting. The girl might as well crawl up on the table and spread her legs for how subtle she was being. But what the fuck did it matter to her? How long had she tried to get James laid? 

She was reminded of another young woman, one that he worked with. That had chatted for months about her. James was attracted to her and from what he said it was definitely mutual. He simply could not see that though. He lacked the courage to make his move, any move. Until finally the young woman moved on. She studied him now. Did he even notice the waitress's interest? Did this man have any idea how attractive, how magnetic, how down right sexy his calm demeanor and rugged good looks made him to women? 

It was a stark realisation. After His arrogance. A man that did not lord his looks, intelligence or innate dominance over women was...refreshing? But that had always been her James. Like a walk along a deserted beach, he simply calmed her and renewed her spirit. From that first email all those years ago there had been a connection. 

She smiled as he handed the young woman a twenty pound note. He had called her his salvation. But that was a two-way street. She had been newly separated after almost twenty years of marriage. Her sons were both in secondary school and always out with their friends. She was alone in their small flat. Alone with her mind was never a good thing. She had played over all the mistakes of her marriage until insecurity and failure gnawed at her spirit. 

She had been depressed and alone. Her 'happily' married friends had deserted her, as if divorce was a flu that could be passed from one marriage to the next. Although her boys were protective and supportive, they had lives of their own...as they should. So she spent most nights alone. She had been as pathetic then as perhaps she was now. 

So pathetic that she had placed an advert for platonic email friends upon a dating website. Of course, she had gotten scores of men looking for easy sex, but there had been a handful of genuinely nice guys that she started to correspond with. But one by one they had all fallen away once they saw that she truly meant platonic friendship. Except James.

A young man only slightly older than her boys, but so incredibly different. While he had only finished secondary school, not going as her sons would to university, there was an undeniable intelligence to him. A depth of soul. An understanding of human nature that astounded her in one so young. He just simply got it; saw through facades to the core of the matter. 

They had bounced dozens of emails back and forth each night after she got home for work, cooked and her sons either retreated to their rooms to revise or disappeared with friends. Some of them casual: how was your day shit. Others of them deeper.

He was so different from her boys. The outcast. Bullied at school, he had retreated to his room once he finished secondary. He came out only to work at the job his mother had gotten him at the warehouse where she worked. Otherwise he stayed in his room and played video games about which Claire knew only the names from her boys. Her mother's heart ached for his pain. She wanted to take him into her arms and heart, teach him the skills that she had her boys. Mend his broken wings and watch him soar as her sons were. 

But not all of her feelings for him were so maternal. She felt the blush rising from her chest; her nipples pebbled once more even as she shifted nervously on her chair trying to scratch the itch between her thighs that had burned unquenched for eight years as she remembered how he had not stayed platonic for long. 

The waitress came back with James's change. She leaned over a bit too far when she handed it to him. Had she undone a button or two on her blouse while she was in the back? Claire crossed her arms and frowned, looking away in disgust. 

To give him credit, he did not tarry long. "Time to go," he said as he drained his cup of tea and placed it back on the table.

Claire debated her course of action. This conversation was intimate, too much so for a public place. But regardless of who he was, she was not getting back into that car with him until something were settled, namely taking her back to London. She drew in a deep breath and lunged ahead rashly. "Back home."

He shook his head and frowned. "No, Claire. I meant it. You need a rest. You have holed up in that flat for over three months. Not eating. Barely sleeping. And you are killing yourself. Slowly just all that coward did."

Claire's felt her cheeks redden as her anger rose once more. "Don't you talk to me about Him. You made your feelings clear a long time ago. Which is why I am not going any place with you," she pouted.

"Oh yes, Master saint. For a smart woman you sure can be a dumbass when it comes to the men you pick."

She stared at James and chuckled. "You aren't the only one that said that. He used to say I was the dumbest smart person he had ever met."

His jaw flexed as his hands tightened into a fist on the table. "Do me a favour...never compare me to that man."

"Or what?" Claire bit her lip as the words emerged from her mouth. She hated how childish she sounded. But he always seemed to bring out the worst in her...and the best.

"I have warned you once. If you act like a brat, I will treat you like one. That is twenty-five with my belt. Do it again and that doubles," he replied calmly. His eyes held her gaze until she could take it no more. 

She chose instead to stare into her empty coffee cup as she spoke again. "You can't do that. You are not my Dom."

"Look at me, Claire," he commanded. 

She fought herself. Obedience was the most natural thing for her, but not like this. In the end she lost the battle. As she got lost in those grey-green depths, she feared she had lost the war as well.

"That's better," he crooned. "Do you remember what you told me once upon a time? That you owed me. You called it a marker once." He paused.

Claire could never forget. It was another bad time. When James had rescued her. Again. Her first dom/sub relationship had ended very badly. The man had taken her so deeply into her truly submissive nature. Then he had abandoned her, tossed her aside for a new toy. She felt a sharp pain near her heart. Not just at that remembered pain though. Something deeper that she was not ready to face stirred in her mind and she turned away. Turned to him as she always did. She knew her voice was too weak to answer so she merely nodded her head.

It was enough of a response as he began again. "I am calling that marker now." 

He waited. This pause stretching out for what seemed eternity. Claire played his words over and over in her head. Like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, they lay in disarray upon the table of her mind. She tried to make sense of it, but it was futile. "What do you mean you are calling it in?"

"I mean that I am not going to let you self-destruct. I am not going to stand back and watch as you climbed into the grave with that selfish bastard. I earned this marker as you call it by domming you through another asshole's mess. And that is what I am going to do again." He sighed as he shook his head, "You really do have shitty taste in men, but that is beside the point."

"My rules are simple. Until I think you are recovered, I am domming you through this. So, yes, that makes me your Dom. And you will start acting like the good little submissive we both know you are. Now," the command was clear.

Claire's mouth dropped open with shock. How many times over the past three months had she erased those words from her phone? 'Dom me through this, please.' It was exactly what she wanted, no, needed. 

But did she have the strength to accept his offer? She had sworn no more. She was walking away. No more of these games. No more submission. It was too powerful a drug. Stronger than heroine or crack cocaine. It gave an Ecstasy that no chemical compound ever could. And like any drug, it robbed you of your faculties. Overrode your better judgment. And in the end left you nothing more than a broken junkie looking for your next fix.

And that was what James was offering her. Her next fix. Another high. Another rush. But she was not deluded. It would not last. It never could. She had faced that fact long ago. They would never really work.

But she remembered that crone in the mirror. She was not oblivious. She needed something. She needed this. Maybe James could be her Methadone. A less harmful alternative to the street drugs. A carefully measured dosage that would wean her from her addiction. Was it possible? Was this a blessing or a curse? Was he the best thing that had ever happened to her? Just what she needed right now? Or was he going to be the worse? The one that could destroy her as no other eve could. Not even Him.



In Loving Memory Pt. 04



James looked across the car. She had been staring out that window for the past two hours. Silently. That was shocking enough. The woman never shut up. It was one of the things that he loved about her, how completely open, honest and transparent she was. 

And one that annoyed the crap out of him. Normally he liked quiet. That was why he had bought this place when he sold his first video game...for more fucking money than he thought he would make in a lifetime. Isolated on the Welsh coast, he could go days without seeing a single person if he wanted. 

But the quiet now disturbed him. She had not said a word since her simple, "Yes Sir," in the café. For two whole fucking hours she just sat and looked at the dreary scenery passing outside the window. It was what she had been doing for months, probably for years. Keeping safely quiet while life passed her by. But no more.

He turned onto the single lane road that led to his bungalow. It was hidden in an alcove of trees less than a hundred metres from the raging sea. He loved to just sit and listen to the waves pounding against the rocks. Its eternal rhythm gave him peace that little else could. Except for her.

When she was not pissing him off, like she was now, that is. He meant it. He was not allowing her to throw her life away the way that stupid asshole had his. The way the man tossed her and her love about as carelessly as he did everything and everyone else. Like the whole fucking world owed him. He had used his illness to elicit sympathy from everyone, especially her. Used it like a mask to hide his arrogance and selfishness. 

James gripped the wheel tighter as he took the sharp right turn that would bring his bungalow into view. He smiled at the gasp its harsh stone beauty elicited from her. It was the same response he had when the estate agent first showed him the property. 

"It's beautiful," her voice was breathy and cracked a bit on each syllable like she had not used it much lately. Which was probably pretty damned close to the truth. 

"Thank you," was his only response to all the questions that shone in her bright eyes. There would be time for those later. He opened his door and walked around the car to open hers. She hesitated for a long moment when he held out his hand to her. He frowned and prepared for another battle. But in the end, she simply placed her fingers in his and allowed him to help her from the car. 

It was only a dozen or so step to the small wooden porch that wrapped about the whole ground level of stone edifice. He helped her up the couple of steps while he dug the keys out of his pocket. He so rarely bothered to lock the place, isolated and hidden as it were. But he had been cautious knowing he would be away overnight. 

Looking at her now, he wondered. Had he known all along? That he would bring her back with him. Had that been the secret plan he hid even from his own consciousness? Had he gone with the intention of spiriting her away like some captive bride? Not that it fucking mattered. She was here now. He held open the door and waited. "After you, princess."

Her mouth dropped open as she took in the large open plan kitchen, dining and living room. The stone fireplace that heated the bungalow even on the coldest of Welsh winter nights took up almost a whole wall. His collection of hand-painted military figurines was arranged neatly on its mantle. It was a hobby that had always appealed to his need for detail. 

A large leather sectional took up most of the rest of the room. A thick carpet and coffee table where he kept his laptop and whatever he was working on at the time filled the rest of the space between the sofa and fireplace. Off to the side was a small round wooden table and chairs, though he could never once remember eating there. He usually ate on the sofa or his bedroom while he worked. 

The large country kitchen had never held much appeal to him. But he could see the light in her eyes at the neat and orderly space. Her quick intake of breath when she saw the auger caused him to laugh. "I am not much of a cook, but we will go into town tomorrow and pick up some things for you."

She looked back at him and he saw the tightness in her jaw as she bit back whatever smartass reply had popped into her beautiful head. Instead she dropped her eyes and replied, "Thank you, Sir."

One part of him was pleased with her obedience. But another louder portion knew that he must break it. She had spent five years burying herself beside that bastard in a grave that he dug slowly and meticulously. He had watched the transformation from his sassy and self-assured friend to that man's docile little slave. Claire might be a natural sub but she was not a slave. But as always she subverted her own needs, becoming what the other person needed, giving too much of herself to a man that did not deserve to even kiss her boots. 

The last thing he wanted was for her to lose herself in him the way that she had always done with the others. He did not want her trying to change, to become whatever he thought was the perfect sub. He wanted her to be her. The woman he had known for eight years...giving, fiery, intelligent, and passionate. He wanted the woman he fell in love with back.

"Drop the coat," he commanded. He smiled as the command reignited the fire in her green eyes. She opened her mouth. But then closed it and dropped her eyes even as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on the coat. She obeyed...a bit too easily. 

"Hang it up on the hooks next to the door. Your bag too," he ordered. He studied her as she walked compliant across the room. The corset was punched in the back. Obviously too large after all the weight she had lost. Her legs were covered in black silk stockings, the old-fashioned kind with the seam up the back. 

They were perfectly straight. Just as she had not dared to deviate from the line that man set for her. Not even when it hurt her. Not even when the selfish bastard placed his wants above her needs. No true master had such little regard for his property. 

Her round bottom was covered in lacey briefs with only the slightest glimpse of bare skin peaking between it and the stockings. In that moment James knew. Knew the exact button to push. Exactly what would wake his sleeping beauty from her coma.

As she turned and came to stand just next to him, his smile widened. "Now strip naked."

Her reaction to his firm command was so instant that not even her submissive nature could stop it. Her head shot up. She squared her shoulders back. The auburn hair about her face fell from the tight confines of the ponytail as she shook her head so violently. "Hell no," the dragon breathed the fire that he watched dance in its eyes.

He crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly apart as he stared into those fiery depths. "You have earned one punishment already. You are working on number two. You forget I know that the bastard has not been properly punishing in a long time. How much pain do you think that cute arse of yours can actually handle, sweetheart?"

"You know that is a hard limit," she pronounced those final words slowly.

"But I thought you liked playing without limits. What? You can do it for a man that would not even fucking recognize you to his family and vanilla friends but not the one that has stood beside you through thick and thin for eight years?" He tried to keep the pain out of his voice as the words cut a bit too close to home. 

She closed her eyes as the words sliced the air between them. She was silent for a long moment. Then her shoulders slumped. Her eyes opened again and he saw the tears dancing in them. "Why?" she whispered.

James almost wrapped his arms about her. He wanted to draw her into his embrace. Reassure her that everything would be all right. Tell her that... Well, maybe not that. Not yet anyway. 

Instead, he did something that went against his better judgment, but something that he knew would set him apart from that bastard and all the others. He offered her the explanation she sought. "Because punishments are supposed to be something you do not like, Claire. You need the pain that I am going to give you. You have been missing it for too fucking long. And you need a far firmer hand than he gave you. But you also need something that will make you think before you do or say something stupid again." 

He placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I above all people know exactly what this means to you. So you should know now that all punishments will be the same. You will strip naked in front of me. Then you will kneel and remove my belt. You will assume the submissive pose...legs as wide apart as I say. Then you will offer the belt to me. Is that understood?"

He watched the indecision dance in those fiery depths for several long minutes. He was not certain what he would do if she continued to argue. He was not even completely sure that he had the will to push this one. He knew exactly why naked was a hard limit with her. As he said, he knew better than anyone what he was asking. What this cost her. 

"You will have to unlace the corset," she whispered at last.

"Upstairs. It has been a long fucking night. We both need to wash that shit off our bodies. So this time it will be strip, shower then punishment." James wished he could wash that man's stains from her sweet spirit as easily as the soap and water would remove the stale smells of the pub and the long uncomfortable trials of travel from their bodies.

"Lead the way," she whispered. 

James took her hand in his once more. He brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. This woman had done just that for him. He owed her everything. The faith that she had in him through all those years gave him strength to have faith in himself. He would do all he could now to do just that...lead the way out of this mess she had gotten herself into. No matter what the future did or did not hold, he owed her that much. 

He tugged gently and she followed him up the rough wooden staircase to the loft that overlooked the living room below. This area was even more sparse than the downstairs. It was where he worked most of the time so he liked it that way. Simple and uncluttered. 

A king size bed sat against the back wall. It was neatly made as always. The bedside table next to it was more a shelving unit for his gaming systems. But instead of a television they were connected to the projector that hung from the ceiling just above the bed. The white walls made the perfect screen upon which to play or to work. 

The walk-in closet/dressing room and bathroom were the only other rooms on this floor. They took up almost as much space as the bedroom. Two dark doors against the white wall announced their presence. One opened up to the huge closet. The area had once housed another smaller bedroom or study as well a tiny bathroom but he had it remodeled into storage space and a much larger bathroom. The closet was neatly lined with racks upon which to hang his clothes, pull out drawers and shelves for his books and game collection. 

But it was the other room that drew him now. The bathroom had once held nothing more than a toilet, sink and old tub. It now had a large shower encased in glass and a sunken tub. It was his favourite room. He luxuriated in its opulence. 

"Turn around," James commanded. Claire's silent obedience continued to both bother him and feed some demon deep inside him. For the first time he understood, truly understood, the others. The heady power of controlling this magnificent creature was like a drug. Not even when he got lost in a game or painting a figurine did he feel this kind of calming release. 

He could see now why they had held on to her, even when they must have known they were hurting her. But he reminded himself that domination was as much about giving as it was taking. He would not get addicted to this power the way those selfish bastards had. 

His fingers fumbled with the knots at the back of the corset. It took him longer than he wanted to work at it. "This was his favourite, wasn't it?"

She nodded without turning around. He walked around her to the bedside table and opened a drawer. He found what he sought instantly and was back behind her before she could protest. 

The pocket knife sliced through the thick cord easily. Each strand gave way without protest. "What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded.

The knife cut through the final strand. His fingers grasped the top edge and yanked so hard that she spun around. Fuck, he cursed. He had forgotten that the stockings were attached to the suspenders that hung from the bottom of the damned thing. It became a tug of war between them as she crossed her arms across her bosoms and sought to hold onto the damned thing.

He used the knife once more to slice cleanly through the two at the front and two more at the side. Only two more in the back remained. "Turn back around," he demanded.

"Or what?"

"You know you really need to learn better comebacks than that, princess. You are not my sister and we are not five years old. Now turn back around." When she shook her head again, he grabbed the front of the corset, pulling it away from her chest and spun her about like a rag doll once more. The knife cut the final bindings. He used the momentum to toss the damned thing over the wooden railing. 

"You have until the count of ten to take off the rest. Or I will do it for you," he challenged.

She spun back to face him. One arm was crossed over her chest and the other angled to try and conceal as much below her navel as she could manage. "You would not dare."

James stepped back and crossed both his arms over his chest. "One."

Her mouth and brows tightened. He fought the need to laugh. It was more the look of a petulant two year-old than a woman approaching fifty. "Two," he chuckled at the irony.

She drew in a deep breath and looked around. He stood between her and the stairs. She looked across at the other closed doors. "Three."

Like the little girl she was acting, she made a run for it. As Fate would have it, she chose his room, the one they had been heading towards. She was not fast enough to get the door closed before he pulled it open again, "Four."

She backed further into the bathroom until her calves bumped against the edge of the sunken tub. He reached out a hand to steady her. "Five."

She tried to jerk free but it only propelled her backwards. If he had not stepped forward and wrapped his arm about her waist she would have toppled into the empty tub. "Six," he hissed through his teeth as his cock hardened in his jeans. Her almost naked body pressed against him was not something he had thought through completely. 

He watched as her eyes widened with shock. Her hand that had been covering her tits shoved at his chest. He was the one sucking in air as he caught his first sight of them. "Seven," he tried to steady his voice but feared his body's reaction showed through anyway.

If the crack in his voice did not give him away, the back of her hand trapped between their lower bodies must have surely felt the pounding blood rushing to his cock. "Eight."

He felt her tremble as her eyes dropped once more. Her cheeks all the way to the light brown areolas pinked up as they took in the tent that was the front of his jeans. "Nine," he could not resist the urge to press closer to her hand. He yearned for her to turn her hand around. Her fingers to wrap about its hard length. 

His words and their ragged breathing echoed off the cool clean white tiles that surrounded them. He held his breath and waited. He willed her...

But even he was not sure what he willed her to do. To fight him...deny the power that strummed between them. Some part of him yearned to break her, to drag her to her knees, to force her to face what they had been denying for too fucking long. 

Another part wanted her to surrender willingly. Why would she not give to him that which she offered too fucking freely to those other worthless bastards? How could she not feel it? Feel the connection they shared from the beginning. Why was it the one thing she fought hardest to deny? Why was he the only man that she could not surrender to completely?

"Ten!"



In Loving Memory Pt. 05



Claire stared at her black patent leather Mary James against the stark white marble tiles that seemed to stretch from beneath her feet to the ceiling. His words echoed off the cold walls but her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she barely heard them. 

Until his hands on her shoulders pushed her down to sit upon the edge of the tub. He shook his head as he knelt to undo her shoes. "How can you be both the smartest woman I know and the dumbest?" he asked as the first buckle came loose. He sat the shoe to one side and turned his attention to the other.

She opened her mouth to remind James that he was not the only one that felt that way. Then she remembered his warning about comparing him to Him and thought better of it. 

The feel of his slightly rough hands slowly caressing the silk stockings down the length of her legs brought her back from her reverie. It was doing things to her body that she had honestly thought she was well past. Truth was that the sex she had once craved had long since stopped being a major part of her relationship with Him. 

But now needs and hormones that she believed had waned away with age were raging like a forest fire fanned by the San Andres winds. She fought to control her reaction to him. To have the self-control that He had drummed into her. 

This time she did not have the corset to hide the eraser hard nipples that jutted like craggy rock precipices from the cliffs of her breast. As hard as she fought it, she was powerless to stop the tiny moan that erupted from her dry throat as he lifted her foot and slipped the silk off her toes. 

She kept her head down. Concentrated on following the light golden trail that seemed to cut across the white tile closest to her toes. She tried counting as she breathed. In...two, three, four. Out...two, three, four. She repeated over and over in her head as the silence stretched out across the universe.

She was naked now. Totally and completely exposed to the one friend that had known her longer than all others. The one man that knew her better than anyone. Better than herself, she reluctantly admitted to herself. She could not bring herself to lift her head, to look into his eyes. Fear and insecurity tightened her gut into knots tighter than a ball of yarn that had become her cat's new favourite play toy. 

"Now undress me," he ordered as he rose to tower over her. Her neck ached at the sharp angle that her head forced it into in order to meet those grey-green pools. She shook it violently from side to side as more tendrils fell about her face. She opened her mouth to respond but no words would come out.

His eye brows arched, "You agreed to my terms, Claire. You were the one that said, 'yes, Sir,'" he reminded her. "Until I feel you are able to manage on your own, you are mine to control. Dom you through another mess of your making." A snarky smile cut across his handsome face, "And remember I know exactly how much your little sub brain gets off to washing your Dom."

Claire choked on the air that seemed thicker than road tar. She blushed even more as she remembered an email she had sent him once. He had a shitty night at work and she wanted to lift his spirit, encourage him. She had applied her writing skills to weave a web of fantasy, describing how she would meet him at the door naked. Naked as she was right now.

His large hand brushed the hair back from her face and trailed around to the back. With a strong yank, the scrunchie that had been holding it back was gone. "I see you remember too, princess." His fingers laced through the thick auburn length, twisting around his fist. Her eyes widened and blurred with tears and he tugged firmly forcing her to a standing position once more. 

"Work from top to bottom. Begin with unbuttoning my shirt," he provided clear instructions that her submissive brain craved in this chaos. 

She wanted to fight, but she was so tired. He was so much stronger than she was not. Not physically, that was an obvious and foregone conclusion. No, his strength came from the one place that mattered most. His soul was the dominance that called to hers. To fight that was to fight her nature. And she was much too weary to fight a war that was doomed from the beginning.

Her fingers trembled and she could not look him in the eyes, but she fumbled with the top button. It took far longer to spring free than it should have, but in the end it surrendered just as she had. The second was a bit quicker but a task that should have taken only a minute seemed to stretch out into the eternity that her Sunday school teacher had spoken of when she was little. She was not certain though if this was heaven or hell.

When she reached the top of his jeans, she tugged the cotton from the waistband. She hesitated when the final button sprang free. "Take it off, Claire," he provided the missing piece of the puzzle, her next instruction. 

Her fingers slipped beneath the crisp material and her heart stuttered in her chest. Warmth and smoothness assailed her. She had spent so many nights over the last five years sleeping with her nose against His hairy chest. She had even nicknamed it her 'fuzzy pillow.' 

But this was so fucking different that her brain was struggling to process it all. Young. Healthy. Virile. The words registered but seemed almost foreign somehow. Her fingers seemed disconnected from her brain as they disappeared further inside his shirt. They danced across firm muscles. They teased and toyed with him as she explored far more than was necessary to complete the simple task he had given her. 

"Damn it, Claire. Stop it," he cursed as he drew in a ragged breath and shrugged his broad shoulders. The shirt slipped easily down his arms. He tugged on the sleeves and in a single motion tossed it like malodorous rubbish into a laundry basket several feet away.

He stood staring down at her for several long moments. For the first time she felt truly naked. Naked and exposed. It was not a pleasant feeling in that moment. Finally he stalked over to the glass enclosed shower. Opening the door, he turned the silver handle until water erupted and pulsated from the wide shower head. "Get. In."

Claire's feet bypassed her clouded brain until she came to stand beside him. "What about you? Didn't you want me to finish undressing you?" she stammered. She held her breath and waited.

He frowned at her for a long moment. His fingers caressed her collarbone and she closed her eyes. Ache and need that had been barely beneath the surface burst forward like the rising of the sun in the east. She arched her chest to meet his torturous touch. Her breasts jutted out in an open invitation that she was unaware she was even making. 

Then she felt the tug at something around her neck. Her eyes opened to look up into his. They had become the coldest darkest grey storm clouds she had ever seen. All trace of the warm green was gone. Simply disappeared. 

"Despite your obvious invitation, princess. I don't make love to another man's property. So as long as you wear this meaningless piece of metal, forget it." He pushed her under the water as if to cleanse her from the stench of a French brothel.

Warm water seemed freezing cold as the power of his words hit her like a lorry. "The least you can do is wash the stench of fags and beer from your body even if you won't wash the selfish bastard from your mind." 

His fingers caressed her chin as he lifted her face to his. "Don't go making offers that you are not free to fulfill. Five years playing second fiddle to that bastard's ex-wife should have taught you that at least."

He closed the glass door and turned his back to her. "I'll wait for you in the bedroom."

The moment she heard the click of the door closing Claire collapsed to the shower floor. The warm shower spray mixed with her tears. She had cried a thousand times or more since that sunny summer morning. But not like this. 

Her tears were not for the basically good but horribly flawed man that she had loved and was committed to for so long. No, this time her tears were for herself. For the pain of his denial that she herself had denied for so long. He was right, for five years she was the secondary in a polyamourous relationship which was one thing she never wanted to be. The truth was that he had used them both...her and his ex-wife. Played them against one another for his pleasure and ego. 

Worse yet, the truth was she had let him. In her misguided desire to live up to the commitment she had made to him when she accepted his collar, she had allowed him to use her and abuse her trust. The hardest truth was that she had fulfilled a commitment to a piece of metal that did not mean the same thing to the man that put it on her neck as it meant to her. She had been a fool. For five years. 

And she was going to be one again. She stood up and grabbed the loofah. She poured body wash on it and drank in the deep clean scent that had permeated the confines of the car. She scrubbed. Hard and long until her skin shone a rosy pink. 

But He was right. She could not seem to wash him from her mind. She filled her palms with shampoo and ran them through her hair. She tugged at wet tangles as the lather seeped into her eyes. New tears sprang to her eyes, but it was neither the chemical burn of shampoo in her eyes or the pain of tangles that she seemed incapable of unweaving. 

No, this pain was deeper. Soul deep. The pain that she had denied for too fucking long swamped her mind. She had known. She recognized the truth but had chosen to ignore it. It was why she had never ever tried to come between them. Never raised the issue of his denial, no matter how much it had hurt her. She had been a fool. An old fool as the saying goes. 

Had it been worth it? He had not died alone. She had been with him until the end. She had held him and laughed with him. She had caressed and soothed his cooling body as his spirit careened onwards to whatever awaited. She hoped it was something good; that he would find courage and self-awareness in the next life that he had not in this one. 

Because another truth was that he had died in the wrong woman's arms. His stubborn pride had kept him from admitting the truth...that he made a mistake when he divorced her. And that mistake had cause all of them pain. So much pain. 

Was she going to make the same mistake? Was her pride going to keep her from admitting her mistake? She had knelt to the wrong man. The wrong men. She swallowed the foul tasting bile that rose in her throat at the thought. She looked at the closed door. The only man she had truly wanted for the past eight years was on the other side of that door. Closer than she had ever thought He would be. Closer than she deserved. 

But sometimes you are lucky. Sometimes you got another chance in this fucked up world. Sometimes Fate gave you a second chance. Or a third. A hundredth. There was no telling how many you had. And that was the problem...you just never knew. Was she willing to run the risk of letting this one slip through her fingers? What if it was her last? Could she go as he had into whatever waited on the other side without knowing? Without ever tasting Him? Without ever knowing how it felt to love Him fully? 

She turned the handle and the spray came to a sudden stop. She reached for a white towel from the stack of neatly folded ones on the metal shelf next to the shower. She wrapped it about her body like armour. She girded herself to face whatever came. Possible rejection tiptoed like steel toed boots through her mind as she opened the door.

He stood at the edge of the railing. His back was to her. Those broad shoulders seemed stooped a bit. She saw His knuckles were almost white where they gripped the wood. 

She remembered His words. Naked. Though fear and insecurity raged in her mind, she dropped the towel. As vulnerable as she was, it felt right. It was all or nothing. 

The walk across the room seemed like some scene from a bad sci-fi movie. An endless corridors with aliens or monsters around every corner stretched out before her as she faced and slayed the demons of a lifetime. In the end, she stood just behind Him.

"I'll take you back now, Claire," He said without turning around.

Tears swam in her eyes. Her heart stopped. She could not breathe. Let alone find the right words. She sank to her knees. Not to kneel as she had planned but simply because her legs gave way in defeat. 

He turned around. She saw that His eyes were cloudy, but almost the pure green of grass after a spring rain. He shook His head slowly. "Forget it, Claire. I could have played meaningless games a thousand times over the years. They have never held any appeal to me." His thumb brushed her dripping wet hair back from her face. "And you are the last person on this planet or any other than I want meaningless games with."

She shook her head in denial, tried to find words that made any sense. For someone that made her living from them, they abandoned her when she needed them most. Her fingers reached out. She found the buckle on His belt and fumbled with it.

His fingers covered hers, "I said, STOP. I know that you need punishing. I know you need someone who can control you. Give you the pain and boundaries that you have been missing for too fucking long." He looked away. His voice broke as He finished, "But I can't be that man. I can't Dom you through this one, princess. I'm sorry."

"Take it off," she whispered.

He shook His head again. His face was a cold mask when He looked up again, "I said, NO, Claire. I can't. I won't," He protested.

"Not your clothes, James." He shook His head and opened His mouth. She continued before He could ask whatever question lay behind that look, "The collar. Take off the meaningless piece of metal as You call it." Her hand sought out His. "Free me."

Silence stretched between them. It filled every nook and cranny of His home. It was so loud that it drowned out even the sound of the surf crashing against the rocks. It hung like curtains, blacking out all light. The deepest darkest black hole that sucked at her very soul, until it threatened to consume all that she was. More than anyone else ever could. "Please," she begged.

He shook His head, "I told you to take it off, Claire."

She looked at the white carpet, wanted to sink into its woolen warmth. Simply disappear. Her voice was a mere whisper, "I can't."

His fingers lifted the locket, caressed it. Or perhaps He was trying to crush it, His face was so dark, His concentration so deep. He tugged at it. Then shook His head, "It isn't that hard, Claire. You can just fucking slip it over your head. If you want it off, take the damned thing off yourself."

Claire hesitated. Words abandoned her again. How could she explain it to Him? How could she make Him understand something that she was not sure she fully understood herself? But she had to try. 

"I don't mean 'can't' like that, James." She struggled past the lump that rose in her throat, "I can't because it is not a sub's place to do such things."

"What? What the fuck do you mean, Claire?" He demanded. 

"A collar is for life," she tried to explain.

"Yeah so you told me years ago, Claire. You did it. Your stubbornness won. You were his good little slave. You stuck by the bastard no matter what he dished out. So what now? You think you have to keep doing it until you die too?" He snarled.

She shook her head, "No. I know you are right. What you said...about it being meaningless. At least to him anyway. Well, maybe not meaningless, but it certainly did not mean the same thing to him that it did to me," she looked up at Him. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

He chuckled, "No, no, you aren't. If it is so meaningless, why can't you?"

She frowned and sought words that would not come. She shrugged, "I know it is silly but only a Dom should remove a collar."

"Fuck," He cursed so violently that the rafters seemed to actually shake. He paced the room for several long minutes until she feared He would wear holes in the carpet. He stopped suddenly just in front of her, "Did he know that, Claire? Did he know that you would not take it off yourself?"

The explosive way that the words burst from His mouth frightened her a bit. But she could not deny Him the truth. She nodded slowly, "Yes, he knew," she whispered.



In Loving Memory Pt. 06



"Fucking selfish bastard," James cursed as his fingers found the silver locket. He yanked hard. It hesitated for a moment before surrendering to his strength. His fingers folded around the cold semi-precious metal. He would crush it to powder if he could. 

Semi-precious said it all. That was all her love had been to that man. All she had been to him. And even then the bastard had sought to keep her bound to him...even after death. Just as he had kept his ex-wife in limbo all those years. Divorced but jumping at his peck and call. It was a good thing the bastard was dead because he would kill him for that alone.

But it was the self-loathing that ate at James's guts as he stared down at the offensive object. Eight years. Two worthless bastards that used and abused her. That took a special part of her spirit and heart with them. He had allowed that. He had hidden safely on the other side of emails and texts, afraid that he could never be the man that she needed. While assholes took what could have been, should have been his. 

He shook his head as he raged down the stairs two and sometimes three at a time. He flung open the front door, uncaring if he ripped it from its hinges. Doors could be fixed for easier than this type of damage. He covered the distance to the sea in a matter of seconds. He did not even feel the biting cold of the freezing rain that the heavens had unleashed with a vengeance. 

He longed for that type of power right now. The power to destroy. But perhaps that was the problem. His own part in her destruction. He waded into the surf, not caring for either his boots or jeans. The waves wrapped about him, tried to suck him down. For a moment it was exactly what he wanted. To simply disappear beneath the raging waters, to be no more. 

But she had had one selfish bastard that took the easy way rather than facing his responsibilities, he would not be a coward like that. If he had screwed up, he would find some way of making it up to her, of righting the wrong. 

He looked at the silver necklace one final time. He considered stuffing it in his pocket, keeping it as a reminder of his own failings. But just the sight of it turned his stomach. He flung it as far as he could into the surf and hoped that the tides drew it deeper out to sea, never to be seen again. 

He needed no physical reminder of what his insecurities had done to her. His first sight of her had been enough. The dark circles beneath those expressive green eyes. The hollow sunken appearance of her cheeks. Her ashen colour. The way that the corset hung from her thinner body rather than embraced and caressed it. The way that she moved about the room like a robot, talking and laughing with people he did not know, but the emotions never reached her eyes. It was a memory that was etched in his brain. He should have said something sooner. Done something sooner. Should have gone to her long ago. 

But he couldn't. No, he wouldn't. He had needed to become the man that she spoke about and not the fucked up little boy. The way that she talked about him as strong and intelligent, as special. He felt none of those things. He never had. Different. Alone. A mistake. Those were the only things that he was. 

Until they began emailing. James lifted his face to the heavens. Threw out his arms and embraced the storm that raged there even as a more violent one raged inside of him. The great sheets of rain that fell from the sky mixed with and hid the tears that seeped from the corner of his eyes. 

"Fucking bastard," he screamed to no one and everyone. The words echoed back to him even as they were absorbed by the surf, the rocks and trees that surrounded him.

He had been no different. He had hurt her just as badly as the others. Perhaps not by callous acts of commission but by omission. What right did he have to hate and blame the spineless bastard for trying to hold on to her? He was no different. Worse even. 

He had held onto their friendship like the life line it was for him...no matter the fact that he knew, knew in his heart, that his very presence in her life kept her from ever committing fully to another man. Hell, her stubborn determination to stay with that man was nothing more than her trying to deny how she truly felt for him. And he had not had the strength to tell her that. Or to go to her.

He closed his eyes and just stood in the surf. Allowed the waves and rain to wash him, to cleanse him. He sought peace, quiet in his mind. It was the hardest thing of all to achieve. He had tried meditation. Tai Chi. Hell, he had even flirted with religion, reading the great books of several religions as he sat on the porch and thought of her. But none of it worked. None of it ever had. 

The wind whipped around him. It seemed to physically push him backwards. Back towards the house. Towards her. He had a choice to make. Another one. Go back inside that house and face demons that he had hidden from for a lifetime. Or hide away safely as he had tried to in this place for the past three years. 

He would never know now what might have happened if he had found the courage to go to her then. When his life started to finally come together. When he had achieved more than he ever thought possible. When he had more to offer than that other man did. But it had not been enough. Fear of rejection...again...perhaps worse than any other...had made him play it safe. Hide away in this paradise that was more tomb than palace. 

But he had gone in the end. Her emails and texts had reached out to him, drawn him out of grave that he had crafted for himself. Yes, he had known. Known what he was going to do when he left here yesterday. 

Yesterday. Was it really just yesterday? Almost twenty-four hours ago? So much had changed. He had changed. His course in life had changed. Just by meeting her. Then again the course of his life had been changed forever when he 'met' her eight years ago. 

He turned and looked back at the bungalow. He owned that. He would have never believed such a thing possible eight years ago. Hell, even five. He was just the geek. The loner. The screwed up little kid that everyone picked on at school. A nobody. He would have probably worked in that damned warehouse and lived with his parents for the rest of his fucking life. If he had not... It had been a long time since those thoughts assailed his mind.

He owed it all to her. Her fucked up belief that he was more. That he was special. That he deserved better. Could be more. As hard as he had fought it, she got inside his mind somehow. He had not even realised it at first. 

But slowly, imperceptibly, he had begun to believe in himself. Try to be what she had thought he could be. First he had learned to drive and gotten his first car. Then he had accepted her challenge to take an online course in writing code for the games he loved so much. 

He had even gotten a job as a games tester. While it was not much higher paying than the warehouse at least he did not hate it. The more games he tested, the more he thought...I can do better than this shit. He began to play around in his spare time with code and a few months later he worked up the courage to show it to some friends from work. They had loved it. Now the same assholes that had once picked on him at school played his fucking game.

And he owed it all to her. He sighed as he felt the wind shoving him more solidly this time. "All right, all right already. I get your message," he had lost his mind. He was talking to the wind. Or perhaps it was her stupid fate that she always talked about. It did not really matter. He knew what he had to do.

No matter what happened, he was going to be there for her now as she had been for him during all those years. He was going to get her through this just as he promised. He owed her that...and lots more.

The walk back to the house seemed so much longer. The squishing of his boots roared louder than the waves, making a mockery of him. He shivered, noticing for the first time, how cold it really was. He stopped for a moment on the porch, hesitant to spread this mess inside his home. He liked everything neat and orderly. He laughed at the thought, given the chaos that usually reigned in his mind. 

Just when he would have kicked off his boots and striped out of his soaking jeans on the porch, the wind shoved him through the door, slamming it closed behind him. He looked around the ground floor, but it was vacant. He heard a quiet sobbing and looked up at the loft. He could not see her from where he stood but followed the sound automatically. Once more he took the stairs two and three at a time.

He stopped at the top of them. She knelt naked still. Her back was to him and the perfect heart-shape of her bottom resting upon her heels was so strong a pull that not even the ice-cold of his jeans could keep his cock from swelling inside of them. Her shoulders were stooped and he could see that her hands covered her face as she cried. 

He hesitated again. Was he the reason that she was crying? It was the one thing he had never wanted. What had kept him from her for so long. He did not want to be another one of her mistakes, just another selfish bastard in a long line of them. He did not want to use her, abuse her and toss her aside...or worse yet kept her tied to him through her loyalty even when it hurt her. But he could be there for her now. He owed her that much. And whatever tomorrow held, he was going to find the courage to do what needed doing in this moment. 

"You think tears will get you out of your punishment so easily," he listened to the deep sound of his own voice carry about the house dispassionately. "I am a dacryophilliac. Tears just make my cock harder." 

She turned around and they glistened in her green depths like the sun glinting off the sea on a calm day giving it a glassy appearance as if you could actually walk on it. He found himself doing just that, walking on water across the room to where she knelt. 

"Naked and on your knees is a good start. But I told you that you had to take my belt off and offer it to me, remember?" Silence stretched out for a long moment, filling the emptiness that was his home with feminine power until every centimeter crackled and jumped with its electricity. 

In the end, she dropped those eyes once more. Her fingers came up and she began to fumble with his buckle. It was a new form of torture as her fingers brushed against the cool bare skin just above his jeans. But the doors of hell opened up and swallowed him when she whispered, "Yes, Sir."

How could two simple words hold such power? His cock was harder than it ever had been with the surge of power that accompanied those words. He wanted to rip his jeans open, push her back on the white carpet that was getting darker and wetter by the moment. He wanted to do the thing he had dreamed about for eight long years. He wanted to bury himself so fucking deep inside of her that a part of him would never come out. 

He felt the strong tug as his belt came free of the loops. He watched as she folded it neatly in half. She held one end of the circle in one hand and the buckle in the other. She lifted it slowly above her head. Her eyes were down.

"Look at me," James felt as detached from that voice as he did the life he had known before her. Like it was someone else and he was just looking on.

She lifted her eyes slowly. He smiled at how wide they got when she reached the bulging front of his jeans. The quick intake of her breath caused his cock to jump. It was both pleasure and pain...just as this woman herself. Her front teeth played with her lower lip, biting it until he feared she would draw blood. "Fuck woman! I said me. Not my damned cock."

Her head shot up then and their eyes met. A thought occurred to him. One that left a nasty taste in his mouth. But one that he had to know the answer to. "When was the last time you came, Claire?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor again. That told him all he needed to know. But still he pressed his point. "Look. At. Me." He waited for her to obey. Something inside of him knew she would. Even as hard as he knew this was for her.

Her bottom lip trembled as she stared up into his eyes. "How long, Claire?"

She started to look down again but stopped herself when she realised what she was doing. "I don't remember," she whispered.

His fingers laced through the long locks of auburn hair at the back of her neck. He knew he was tugging too hard. Knew he was causing her pain. But pain would give her something else to focus upon. "How can you not remember? Have you masturbated since he died?"

She tried to shake her head from side to side, but his fingers trapped her. "No," she whispered.

"Again? You let another of these fucking bastards do that shit to you? Get into your mind like that? How could you? You know how fucking hard it was to get them back after that first asshole. Why would you let this one do it to you too?" 

He shook his head as his eyes bore into hers, tried to look into her soul. She tried to look down and he tugged harder. So hard that tears swam in her eyes...whether from the physical pain or the emotional he did not know.

"Sex isn't everything," she stammered. 

"Bull shit," he spat. "Sex is a hell of a lot for a woman like you."

The tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes then. "You mean a whore. Go ahead. Say it. A whore. WHORE. Nymphomaniac. Slut. Slag. Say it, James. You think it, just like all the rest. Something worthless to be used and tossed away. Never good enough for anything more. Never worth actually loving."

"Fuck, Claire. You know I don't think that." His fingers loosened in her hair. Pushed her away as if he could push her words away as easily. But her pain hung on him. Wrapped about him. Ropes and chains tighter than any he had ever felt. They pulled at his mind and his heart. 

She did drop her head then, staring at the pool of dark sea water against the white carpet. "I know what I am. I hated those words you know. They were always hard limits. Except he never allowed me any hard limits. I used to cringe every time he said them. But he would tell me they were just words, nothing more."

She looked up at him as tears swam in those green depths, "Except I don't have to tell you how much words can hurt. Eat at your soul." She sighed, "Especially when you know they are true."

James dropped to his knees in front of her. His fingers laced through her hair once more. This time more tenderly as he lifted her face to his. "No, Claire. You are no man's whore. You are a woman. With needs all your own. There is nothing wrong with that. It is how it is supposed to be."

"Needs that others used to control me. To use me." She shook her head, "No, no more. I would rather never come again than be used like that again."

"Don't be stupid, Claire. It doesn't work like that. You know your body has needs." She shook her head so violently that his hand dropped from her face. 

He stared eye to eye with every insecurity he had left. Every demon. He was afraid of disappointing her. Of failing her when she needed him most. What if... 

Those words rang in his mind. Bounced off his skull and echoed through every neurone in his brain. All the what ifs of the past eight years were rolled into this one. 

But he had to try. His arm wrapped about her as he drew her against him. She shivered. Was it from the cold wet of his clothes and body? Was it from fear? He could empathise with that one. Was it from the feel of his still rock hard cock pressed against her? He wanted to think it was from desire. Even a fraction of what he felt. What he had fought for eight long years. 

"Open your legs, Claire." 

She shook her head and brought her hand up between their bodies. She shoved at his chest. "No, James. Not you too. I know what I said. But I can't. Not with you." She looked up. He saw the pleading in those eyes, "I can't. Please understand. I can't."

He knew. The words just came then. "You made another promise once, Claire."

She frowned as if trying to remember. There had been so many empty promises between them over the years. But this one was not going to be one of them. 

"You said that if I found the courage to meet face-to-face you would make me a man. Teach me all I needed to know to please a woman." His hand on her waist drew her closer. He lowered his head slowly. This time she did not try to pull away. "I'm holding you to that promise, Claire."



In Loving Memory Pt. 07



Claire opened her mouth, a thousand questions in her mind and on her tongue. But it was not to be. His mouth covered hers. His tongue plunged deeply inside her mouth once more. It challenged her own, fencing. His expertise at this game of sword play belied His words. 

It brought to life needs that she had tried to deny, to bury with him. But James was igniting them all. Sending her body up in the proverbial flames. She tried to fight it. Deny her needs. But it was futile. She needed what she needed. Especially from Him. 

She leaned into His embrace. Her tongue sought His out this time. Challenged Him. 

The loud clap of His sound blow to her bare bottom brought her up short. She froze. Her nipples that were already eraser hard, tightened even more. Harder than diamonds now as they scraped against His chest. Her eyes flew open as her mouth formed an almost perfect 'O.' Her whole body strummed, right on the edge of a release. The pleasure He gave her was mind blowing enough. But combined with the pain it was the one-two punch of a World's Heavy Weight Champion. 

She looked up and saw the recognition in His handsome face. "For a good little sub, you are sure good at trying to weasel out of your punishments, Claire." His face split with an even wider grin. The playful little boy danced in the depths of His grey-green eyes. "I promised you twenty-five with my belt. So that does not count. Consider it a warm up if you like."

He stood up slowly, until once more she was face-to-crotch with the very real evidence of His arousal. "I think we got as far as you offering me the belt like a good girl. So now finish what you started earlier. Undress. Me."

Claire froze at His words. How many times had she fantasized about this very thing? Undressing James like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. She willed her fingers to obey. They shook as they fumbled with the button on His jeans but the pressure behind it aided her task. But that same pressure impeded her next task. The zipper seemed to drag on endlessly. She could hear each tooth give way as it struggled like a dam to hold back flood waters. But in the end it was fighting a losing battle just as she had been in trying to deny the control This Man held over her. 

She had barely slipped her hands inside the sides of His jeans when His cock burst forth, practically hitting her in the face. She was hypnotized. It had been eight years. Eight incredibly long years. So many mistakes. So much pain. Since He had sent her that pic of His cock. 

But her reaction to the reality of it was stronger than it had been then. She licked her bottom lip. Her hand was incredibly steady as it reached up and wrapped about its girth. She began to pump slowly up and down its length. Her tongue snaked out further as she bent forward.

But He stopped her. Strong fingers in her hair tugged her back. His head was back. His eyes were closed. His breathing ragged. She could watch His heart beat quickly bouncing in His cock. He was as aroused as she was...and that kind of feminine power felt good. Damn good! It had been too long since she felt it.

His eyes came open. He bit His lower lip as he tugged harder at her hair, drawing her back further. "You are doing it again, sweetheart. Trying to weasel out of your punishment. Ten more for that." 

He pulled her slowly up His body then. Her heart stopped at the feel of His heated flesh against hers. She had thought she would be mortified, being naked around Him. But it was Him. She had been naked with Him for eight years in far more important ways than this. 

When she stood up fully, she did not even reach His chin. His arm placed about her waist made her feel safe. It was a new sensation. He drew her slowly to the edge of the bed. He sat down but did not pull her down with Him. 

She frowned when she saw the belt in His hand. Not because she wanted to avoid her punishment as He accused. He was right; she craved pain from Him as much as she craved pleasure. She frowned because she did not remember Him taking it from her hand. Let alone holding it all this time. All this time? What were mere moments versus eight years? 

"Thirty-five with My belt, Claire?" His voice wrapped about her as she nodded her head. He stared into her eyes, "Why are you being punished?"

She shook her head, coming fully awake for a moment. She thought back. It was just this morning. Just a couple of hours ago. But it seemed another life time. She honestly could not remember. She dropped her head and shook it from side to side in embarrassment. 

"Look. At. Me." She obeyed instantly though she felt her skin heat with a blush at her lack of recall. 

"Good girl," He said though she was not certain what she had done to deserve His praise. "Punishment is not effective if you don't know why you are being punished. Twenty-five for being mouthy in the car. 'Or what?' is not the proper way to address your Dom." He chuckled again, "Or even a good comeback but that is beside the point. The other ten are for trying to distract me and delay your punishment."

"But I wasn't. Honestly." She protested. 

He lifted His brow and met her gaze. "You want twenty-five more for arguing with me?"

She opened her mouth but closed it quickly. He was right. Not about delaying her punishment but about arguing with Him. She needed this discipline. She had craved firm boundaries for a long time. Almost the full five years she was with him. He had said that she was a big girl, did not need him to tell her what to do. But the truth was that he simply could not be bothered. He wanted the benefits of being her master with none of the responsibility. Had she known that all along? Probably. 

"Tell me what caused you to frown just then," He commanded.

She wanted to sink into the sea of white carpet again. Did not want to reveal her stupidity to Him. But she knew she had to. "I was thinking that he did not punish me because he wanted all the privileges of being a master and none of the responsibilities."

He nodded His head and took a long breath. "So why did you stay, Claire?"

She really wanted to sink through the carpet, the floor and deep into the earth at His question. "I don't know. I made a commitment to the man. I felt I ought to keep it. He did not have anyone else really. And I cared for him. No one should die alone."

He stood up. His fingers under her chin, forced her eyes to meet His then. "Do you hear yourself, Claire? He had family. He had his wife and kids. If they were around when he died they would have wanted to be there when he was alive. The man pushed them away. Just like he did you. The truth behind all those pretty words is that you stayed because you were sorry for him. Pity, Claire. Five years of pity fucks. Do you think that was any more to the sorry bastard than what he did to you?"

His words hit her hard; another knockout blow. But He was right. She had stayed for all the wrong reasons. Stayed with the wrong man for the wrong reasons for five years. 

"Stop. It. Now," His voice broke through the storm clouds of her mind. "Stop blaming yourself. We cannot change the past, Claire. Only learn from it. And part of that process is punishment. Stop trying to delay. Again." 

He sat back down and tugged gently on her arm. She fell and landed across His lap. Her bottom over His knees and her hands on the soft carpet at His feet. "You will count. If you lose your place we start over. At one. Am I understood, Claire?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered over the pounding of her heart. 

The sound of leather whizzing through the silent air was louder even than the pounding of her heart. The two combined to make music all their own. She jumped a bit as the belt connected with her bare bum. It had been a long time. Too long. Since she felt the release of pure pain. She took it in. Inhaled it like the scent of roses on a spring morning. 

The next blow fell rapidly in succession. And another. And another. She got lost in their rhythm. Lost in the music. Then they stopped as suddenly as they had begun. She moaned a bit, whimpered in need.

"Dammit woman. I said count."

She chuckled at her gaff. "Yes, Sir. What number was that?"

"Don't work like that sweetheart. I said we start over and we start over," He replied.

She sighed. She could definitely live with that. Her mind sought that space. That place where she was completely free. Where she connected with the pain. And with Him.

She smiled as the next one landed firmly across both cheeks. "One."

"Two," His rhythm was so intense that the numbers flowed. One after another. "Three. Four. Five. Six." She barely had time to catch her breath, did not really. "Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." Each blow of the leather blended with the next. 

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen." She was almost certain that He snuck a couple of extras in there. His arm was much faster than her mouth. She could not think that fast. Let alone process them and count aloud.

She felt the fire burning in her practically virgin bottom. It had been so long since she had any real punishment. Any real pain that she craved it. "Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty."

"Twenty-one." She began but she was certain that He had gotten in at least two additional blows before she could open her mouth. In desperation, she said "Two. Three. Four. Five." Her bottom was on fire now. Flames licked at her skin. The muscles beneath ached. Taut as they awaited the next blow.

She waited. And waited. And waited. She started to run around. Tried to twist around to see Him. But His hand on the small of her back stilled any movement. 

"Do. Not. Move," He commanded. She could not have disobeyed the throaty, deep sound of His voice if she wanted to. 

She nodded her head and pain shot through her bottom. The nerve endings there seemed linked directly to the bundle between her legs. Her nipples brushed against the hairs on His leg and she moaned aloud. 

"You smell incredible," she heard His throaty whisper but was beyond comprehending. "Spread your legs, Claire." 

They dropped open without thought. Her movement was so sudden that she might have fallen from His lap but for His hand on her back, holding her firmly in place. "How long, Claire?"

Her mind sought an explanation, an answer, some meaning behind His words. But the burn in her bottom was the only thing that registered. That and the aching need between her legs. 

"How long since you came?" He demanded.

She shook her head as she tried to remember. "I'm not sure. A year. Maybe more."

"FUCK!" the expletive exploded like a nuclear bomb. "What do you mean? A year...maybe longer? I thought that the bastard was at least capable of giving you that. I thought the two of you fucked."

Claire's cheeks matched her bottom. She was glad that she could not see Him as she stammered out her explanation. "At first. But as things got worse. As he got sicker. Well..."

"That is still no excuse, Claire. Even if his fucking cock wasn't working anymore. There are other ways. He could have, should have still seen to your needs. Or you could have." 

She was mortified when He turned her to over. She lay across His lap. Her neck ached from the odd angle as she stared up into those grey-green pools. "You fucking know how hard we had to fight to get your orgasms back after that other bastard got in your head. What were you thinking?"

She shook her head, "It wasn't like that. I could if I wanted to. I just didn't..." Her voice trailed off as she realised how lame her excuses sounded, even to her own ears. How could she make Him understand?

"Didn't what, Claire? Didn't want to? Then why does this whole fucking room smell of you? Your need?" His hands caressed her inner thighs and she arched up to meet His touch. Her bum protested at the sudden movement. Its pain put her right on the edge of the release that she had been denying herself for so long.

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. "Look. At. Me." He demanded. She shook her head. Squeezed her eyes shut tighter. 

"Look at me, Claire," His voice was quieter. Almost a plea. It was more than she could resist. 

She could barely see His beautiful face through the tears. "Why?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Like I said before. I am tired, so fucking tired of being nothing more than a whore. Tired of having my body used against me," she whispered.

He shook His head. "Oh, sweetheart. The problem was never you. The problem was the assholes you kept choosing. Can't you see that?" He wrapped His strong arms about her. He bent a placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"They gave you what they could. But they weren't worthy of you. Of the love you gave them." He sighed, "None of us probably are. You always give too much. You give your everything, Claire. You hold nothing back. And in the end, others just take."

"Not you," she whispered as she caressed His cheek.

"Yes, me too, Claire. Look around you. I owe all this to you. Your faith in me. Just meeting you changed my whole fucking life. And still I could not find the strength to come to you. Knowing you needed me I could not do it." 

"You were always there when I needed you, James. Always helped," she soothed.

He shook His head in denial. "Stop it, Claire. Stop making excuses for me the way you always made excuses for them. You deserve better. Better than a coward who hid away from the one person he wanted the most."

"But you came in the end. I never thought you would, you know. But you did. That has to mean something?"

He stared into her eyes for several long moments, "You know I might hurt you too? As much as I wish I could promise you the love and forever that you deserve, I can't. I don't want to think that I might be using you too, but I don't know. I just don't know if I have the strength to be the man you think I am. The man you need."

Claire heard the pain and insecurity in each word, every syllable. It ate at her soul. Long ago she had faced the mirror into her own heart. She was a giver, a nurturer, a true submissive. She gave completely of herself just as He had accused. And through that giving she comforted others. She healed them. Perhaps not his body that had betrayed him. But his soul. She gave of hers so that others could live. 

And He was right. She got very little in return. It was why she was so tired. Each piece of her heart, her soul, that she gave away cost her so much. She was used up. She had retreated because she was not certain there was anything left to give. 

Until she had looked into those grey-green eyes and seen her destiny. She knew that He meant every word. Knew that what He said was true. But it did not matter. There was one piece of her left. The piece that had always been His. 

And if He took that piece and left, she would survive. She always had. But He needed it. Needed Her. "I know, James. And it doesn't matter."

He shook His head, "Why, Claire? What the fuck do I matter? Why have you always been there? Why are you willing to put yourself through this shit again? Feel used by another man?"

She smiled up into those eyes. Her hands framed His face. She held Him still as she pressed a long kiss to His lips. "Because I love you, James. I always have. And I always will. No matter what does or does not happen after this. My love is the only thing I have to give. And I chose to do so freely. Without strings."

Silence. Sometimes more was said by the silence than words could ever convey. They stayed like that for several long moments. Each lost in their own thoughts. She watched Him battle. He did not even realise but the very fact that He knew, that He recognised how much this cost her, that He hesitated, set Him apart from all the others. 

He would never hurt her. Could never. Not really. Even if He left. If this was all they ever had. It would be enough. More than she had ever thought possible. More than she had ever dared to hope or dream about. Something that was nothing more than a simple fantasy that she held close to her heart when days were darkest and nights longest. 

"So I thought you said thirty-five. And I only counted twenty-five. Did you change your mind? Your arm too tired to finish what you started?"



In Loving Memory Pt. 08



He chuckled and brought his hand down on her hip, being certain to wrap around and assail the hot, red, tender flesh of her bottom. "Fifteen more for that cheeky mouth. Don't top from the bottom, Claire. It is so beneath you."

She smiled up at him and he swore that he would give it his best shot. No matter what the future held, he would not be just another one of her assholes. He would not use her. He would give back. As much as he could. For as long as they had. He would be different. Beginning with the simple stuff. 

He smiled down at her and she tried to turn over on his lap. But his hand stilled her. "Who said anything about your bum, sweetheart?"

The way her brow arched at his words was priceless. He fought to keep from breaking out in laughter. Instead he held a stony stare for a long moment as he watched her brilliant mind play over possibilities. "Open your legs, Claire."

Those expressive green eyes widened in shock. She shook her head from side to side. But her legs fell open automatically. He cupped his hand and brought it down hard over the tender flesh of her Mons Venus. She jumped, moaned and wiggled a bit as the bare flesh took on a pink glow. But she did not close her legs as his hand remained motionless, cupping her most sensitive parts.

"That does not count because it was not the belt." His finger caressed lower, slipped just inside the folds to find a fountain that wept and flowed. It was he that fought distraction this time. He could so easily slip his fingers deep inside of her. Give her the release that she had been denying herself for so long. He could force her body to surrender what it had fought for so long. 

But she needed more from him than just sex. Than being used again. She needed boundaries. She needed to know that when he said something he meant it. She needed punishment, because as she had said...punishment meant he accepted the responsibilities of being her Dom. As well as the privileges. He picked up the belt with one hand as the other held her down. 

"Twenty-five with the belt, Claire. Twenty-five more. On your bare, wet pussy. Do you understand me?"

She shook her head, "Please, James, I can't. I haven't...not in over five years. I won't be able to take it," she pleaded.

"You have always been stronger than you knew, sweetheart. And I will decide what you can and can't take. You don't have a safe word and I am not giving you one. But you have my word, if I feel it is too much then the punishment stops." He met her gaze full on, "I won't ever hurt what is mine. Not ever, Claire," he made the sacred promise that he had every intention of keeping. Not just physically either.

Then he brought the belt down between her open legs. She jumped when the leather made contact with the moist flesh. She moaned but James could not tell if it was pain or pleasure as the smell of her need assailed his senses once more. "One, Claire. Count for me."

She whimpered and those green pools looked up into his face. Her mouth hung open just a bit. He was tempted to taste her sweet kisses once more, but there would be plenty of time for that later. He would drown in her kisses if he could. But punishments came first. Responsibilities before privileges. Just as it should be. 

He watched her face as he brought the leather down four more times in quick succession. "Two. Three. Four. Five," her voice trembled and her body shook, arching upwards to meet each stroke. 

Now that he had begun the task, he would not delay. Five more this time. Her eyes closed and she moaned low as her flesh went from pink to red. But still she counted. "Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." He knew that she was with him. 

"Good girl," he praised with genuine awe for her strength. She faced her punishment with the same quiet strength that she faced life. It humbled him. It was the same strength that she shared with him. The same that she gave so freely to those others. The thought angered him. Why? How could she let them take so much? He steadied his nerve. Anger had no place now. Punishments should never be in anger.

Ten this time. He would not prolong it needlessly. She stumbled a bit on the words, "Eleven, twelve, thirteen." A tiny sob escaped her throat as the belt connected with her sensitive flesh, she moaned but continued on, "Thirteen."

He lightened the blows just a bit. But he was sure that as raw as her flesh was she would still feel them just as much. "Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen," she was breathless and her whole body trembled as she thrashed side to side over his knee. "Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen," she cried out, arching higher with each blow. "Twenty," she screamed out.

He lowered the belt to his side. He stroked her hair back from her face. "Open your eyes, baby girl," he demanded. Even through the foggy haze of pain she obeyed. Especially through the pain, when everything is clearest, she obeyed him instantly. 

He looked into her eyes. They were hazy. A bit glazed over. He knew, just knew in his gut what that meant. "Fuck," he spat. She was in subspace. She should not be. Not this soon. Not this easily. But he knew that her body had always been responsive in more ways than one. What's more she had not played, really played in so long that it was not accustomed to the drug that it needed the most. Like someone who had not had alcohol in a very long time, she was drunk on a single glass of wine. 

He debated. She was deeper, way deeper, than he had meant to take her. He had only read about this level. He was not sure how to handle it, handle her. Not really. He was in way over his head. He chuckled at the irony. He had been in over his head since he rashly followed his heart and got in the car twenty-four hours ago. He had been in over his head since he sent that first email eight impossibly long years ago.

But she needed him. Needed him to be what she needed. What she needed. Not what he wanted. Not what he was comfortable with. What she needed. As no other man ever had been. And he knew deep down that she needed him to finish this. She needed to know that when he said twenty-five, he meant twenty-five. 

"Listen to me, Claire. Five more. You are such a good girl, but you have five more to go." His heart broke when she whimpered and shook her head from side to side. The single word, 'no,' ate at his heart and guts like acid. Slowly melting and burning away his resolve. How could he keep hurting her? The woman he loved.

He drew a deep breath, he had to. She needed this. Needed his strength. "Yes, baby girl. You can do this. Just five more. I will go slowly, but you know I have to. Have to do this. Have to finish your punishment."

She nodded her head at his words. She sniffled a bit and tried a weak smile, "I know," came out a mumbled jumble of a single word. But it was enough.

"You have to keep your eyes open, baby. I need to know you are okay. Do you understand me?" He waited what seemed hours for the slow nod of her head. "Good girl. I will count for you. I am going to count backwards, sweetheart." 

A thought occurred to him. He knew that her body knew the trick. But it had been many years since she had been trained to that level of response. Another man that had been able to pull those strings. Make this woman dance like a puppet on his strings. The thought of another man holding that power ate deeper into James's gut. Dare he try it? What was he trying to prove? To whom? To her? To himself? But in the end, it was simply a temptation he could not resist.

He got close to her face. Made certain that her eyes held his gaze. Though they were still foggy, he could see that she heard him. "When I get to the final one, Claire, when I say 'one,' I want you to come for me. That orgasm you have been denying yourself for so long, I want you to let it out. No holding back anymore. Do you understand me?"

Tears collected in the corners of those green eyes and spilled over the edges as she nodded her head, "That's my good girl," he said as he picked up the belt again. He watched her face as he ran the rough leather over her soft flesh. The heat from it practically burned his skin. He stared into her eyes again, watched her face closely as he drew his arm back and brought it down slowly. The sound of leather meeting wet flesh echoed through the room and his soul. "Five."

She jumped on impact. Her eyes started to flutter, "Look at me, Claire. Just me. Do you hear me?" 

She nodded as she shifted side to side. He pulled back his arm, "Four," as the belt whacked once more. 

She clutched at his arm about her waist with both of hers. But her eyes never left his face this time. "Good girl," he praised her.

"Three," he pronounced as the next blow fell on the now flaming red flesh. 

"Two," he hated himself. For a moment, he remembered his father telling him, 'this hurts me more than it hurts you,' as he spanked him for some infraction. 

But he knew it did not. Though the belt felt like a vile weight that he wanted to toss aside, he could not. And he knew that his pain was nothing like hers. 

He stroked her auburn locks back from her face. It glowed with perspiration. He kissed a drop of it away. Tasted the saltiness of her pain. Took it inside of him as he whispered, "Remember, sweetheart. When the belt meets with your skin this time, hold nothing back. I have you now."

He drew his arm back. He hesitated as he looked down at her. One part of his mind demanded that he stop. Stop the stupid game now. How could he hurt her? But another darker part, a seductive voice, whispered...'look, she is holding nothing back from you.' It was the stronger as he gave into its seduction.

"One," he said as he brought the belt down between her open legs. As hard as he ever had. 

She arched. She screamed. It was a sound that would stay with James forever. Pure pain. Like a baby placed under scalding water. Like a man dipped into a vat of hydrochloric acid. Like the doors of hell itself had opened wide and swallowed them both alive. 

Then the timbre changed. The scream stretched out for eternity, but it was different. Her body arched and stayed arched. Her abs were taut as they held her whole body suspended just inches from his bare upper thighs. His cock stood at full attention immediately. The wet material of his jeans that remained about his lower legs provided a strong contrast, a reality check as it were, to the demands of its heated steel. 

Her keen was just as loud. But higher as it stretched out. Like tendrils of a sea monster it wrapped about him. Pulling him under with her. The red that was between her legs spread across the rest of her body. But still the orgasm stretched on. 

"Fuck," he spat as hot liquid squirted from between her open legs. Squirted was the only word. His mind fractured as he remembered the super soaker water gun that he had gotten one summer. His hand slipped between her legs. There was no point in trying to stem the tide. Its current too strong. But he did not even want to. 

He merely wanted to feel it, touch her. His fingers found their way between the folds of her inner lips as well. He felt the strong contractions of her release on his fingertips. Then like a vortex, a black hole in space, her muscles drew him deeper. He was not certain how it was possible. How his fingers could even fit inside her tightness, but they did as he began to move them back and forth. Imitating the very thing another part of his anatomy craved.

"Yes," she screamed as her body tightened even more, as if that were possible. 

James was fascinated. It was like an out of body experience as he watched himself lay her back on the bed softly. She clutched at him. Did not want to let him go. One hand spread her legs open as far as they could. Even as the other disappeared deeper and faster inside her body. 

The clear fluid gushed out now. Wetness spread across the white sheets, making them darker just as the white carpet was stained in several places from his wet jeans. And he did not give a damn. Just as she always had this woman turned his nice, neat, sterile universe on its head. 

His own head lowered slowly. He had to. Had to taste her. The salty sweetness assailed him as his tongue found the hard nub that jutted out like a miniature cock just above his fingers. He had always known she would be sweet. How could she be anything else? But like a man set afloat on a life raft, surrounded by water for a lifetime, but never any fit to drink, he inhaled as much as he could.

First he simply licked it back and forth a couple of times. She thrashed mindlessly on his bed. Her fingers clutched at the duvet until her knuckles turned white. She screamed out as she lifted her hips off the bed, smashed them against his face.

Something deep and primal inside of him wanted to master her, needed to conquer her. His teeth found the morsel and captured it. He held it firmly as his tongue circled its throbbing flesh. His own flesh that jutted between his legs throbbed in time to its mate. He suckled upon it, just as she had tried to do to him. And she convulsed. Her whole body shook so violently that for a long moment he feared he would kill her.

Then she collapsed lifelessly back into the pillow like clouds of his bed. Her skin was almost as white as the bedding. But darkened in patches with pink and red blotches. Her eyes were closed. His heart stuttered for a moment. What had he done? Had he truly killed her? He should not have pushed her so far, so hard. He knew that she had not been seen to properly in a very long time. He knew that he lacked the experience to play at these games.

Then he saw the steady rise and fall, the rapid shutters of her chest. Her magnificent tits that he had fantasized about for so long and completely ignored bounced with each breath. "Fuck," he cursed as his cock throbbed against the wet heat of the bedding were he knelt on the floor between her still open thighs.

Her eyes opened then. If they had been cloudy before, they were fixed and wide now. She stared at him. Her breath was ragged as she clutched at his shoulders. Her short nails sank as deeply as they could into the muscles there. He was certain that there would be moon-shaped crescents on his skin for several days. "Yes, James. Yes," she pleaded as she looked at him, trying to draw him up, closer.

He pushed at her hands as he tried to climb onto the bed next to her. He tried to scope her into his arms. But her hands were fighting him. Reaching for him. Well, his cock to be specific. He was the one moaning as her fingers found the throbbing traitor. He gritted his teeth and cursed again, "Fuck. Stop. It." He tried commanding as firmly as he could, given the situation.

But she did not. Would not. Her soft hands moved up and down the steel length. He tried to still them. Tried to scoop them up. But he could not. How did she know? How could she possibly? It made no sense. But still her fingers about his cock were the perfect pressure. Her rhythm was exactly the one that he would have used. Had used thousands of times. While he thought of her. Thought what this moment would be like.

He moaned and arched up. His brain fought for supremacy over his body. But it was battling alone. His body...and hers...had different ideas. "Stop. It." He commanded again. 

Still she did not obey. "Fuck me," he cursed more violently as he felt his mind losing the war.

"Yes, yes, James," she pleaded as she tugged strongly at his cock. This time it was almost painful. He rolled so that he half covered her; just to relieve the pressure, the pain. 

His hand tried once more as it covered hers. "Stop it, Claire. You don't know what you are doing. You are too deep in subspace. I need to bring you down," he tried to reason with her.

Her green eyes caught his, "Yes, I do, James. I know exactly what I am doing. And maybe I did get a bit spacey. Maybe I still am. Maybe I will get even more spacier. But stop fucking teasing me. I have fantasized about you fucking me for eight years. Stop playing games and do it."

He shook his head. His hand over hers managed to still it at last. "You don't know what you're saying," he repeated. 

She shifted beneath him. The tip of his cock felt the sucking wetness that had engulfed his fingers only moments before. "Claire," he choked out. "Please." 

But he was not certain what he was pleading for. His mind said stop. His body begged for a green light. Tried one more time, "Please, Claire."



In Loving Memory Pt. 09



Claire was beyond caring. She heard him call her name, plead with her. But it simply did not register. Her body was afire. Her whole being strummed with energy. She felt more alive than she had in...forever. 

She looked up into those grey-green depths as she lifted her hips higher, opened her legs a bit wider. He slipped deeper inside of her. But still it was not enough. She needed more, wanted to feel Him buried deep inside of her. It had been her favourite fantasy for so long. 

His earlier words toyed with her mind. His first. The idea that hers was the first cunt he had felt wrapped around his hard cock fuelled flames...naughty, dirty infernos in her mind. Of course, she was not surprised eight years ago to learn that the insecure and wounded young man was a virgin. She would have been more surprised if he were not. 

But this man? He wore confidence and dominance as well as he wore those too tight jeans. It just did not make sense. He could have had his pick of women. Young women. His earlier question of her echoed in her mind, "Why?" she whispered through the haze as she arched a bit higher, taking another inch of him deeper inside her body.

He shook his head as if to clear cob webs from his brain. His breathing was ragged. His face showed the tension that she knew was mirrored in her own. "How could I with anyone else, Claire?" He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. "You spoiled me for all other women...from that first email," he whispered as he took the lead, plunging fully within her as she arched up in ecstasy.

How many times had she played with her toys imagining it was His young, virile cock plunging into her? How many orgasms had this man given her over the years? Well, the fantasy of Him anyway. But that was not what she wanted now. No, what she wanted, needed, was the reality. She needed to feel Him buried balls deep inside of her...if only this once.

She shoved at his chest, rolled them so that she on top. On top, it was the position she had assumed for five years. The only one his health permitted...when he was well enough, when the little blue pills worked. When he could be bothered. Before he stopped trying altogether. Mistakes of the past were not what she wanted to think about in this moment. He had no place here. Held no power over her anymore. 

This moment was His. Had been so long in coming. She had even given up. Thought it would never really happen. Perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was all just a dream. If it was, then she did not want to wake up. Tentatively she held out her hands. As if afraid she might break the magical spell, she began to run her hands over His shoulders and chest. 

So smooth. So Strong. So healthy. She bit her lip as she sank down fully upon His hard cock. It throbbed and twitched inside her. James bucked beneath her like a bull at the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. But it was as futile now as her attempts to fight this attraction between them that had been smoldering for eight years. 

His hands came up to grip her hips. At first she thought He meant to dislodge her. She stared into those eyes, pleading. Then His hands began to guide her movements. "Slower, Claire. I want this moment to last as long as it can," He gritted His teeth and shut His eyes. His breathing was ragged and His hands faltered for a moment in the rhythm. "Fuck," He spat as His eyes popped open again. "Fuck that feels good. You are so fucking tight."

Claire laughed and she felt Him tremble as her muscles tightened with the action. "What's with all the fucking, James? You really should watch your language. It is very naughty. I might have to wash your mouth out with soap like a naughty little boy."

There was no warning. He simply overpowered her. Rolling them so that it was once more Him on top, He pushed deep inside of her. She tried to suck in air, but there seemed no more room for oxygen in her lungs than there was for Him in her cunt. The sensation of fullness sat right on that delicious border of pain and pleasure that she had become addicted to for so long. 

She closed her eyes and arched her body up to meet Him. She moaned as He miraculously managed to push even deeper somehow. She felt her body spiraling. The old familiar tension was building deep inside of her once more. And it felt good. No, it felt like life itself. 

Her hands gripped the taut muscles of His shoulders. She ran them over the heated surface as He began the ancient dance, the pounding of their hearts like drums in their heads keeping tempo with their bodies. In and out, she felt each long, forceful stroke. She was beyond words but her body remembered the song. Even through all this time, the music was so familiar that it took up the beat, sang along with each note. 

Then there were no words. No thoughts even as her body did that for which it was intended...took pleasure, even as she gave it. She soared like a giant crane, gliding and dipping her wings into the refreshing water that had been denied her body and soul for so long. The flight went on forever. Just when she thought that she would land with a bump, her body caught another updraft of wind. His body fanned the winds, blew over her and through her. He pushed her to higher and higher peaks. Then when she thought she would lose her sanity, He deposited her safely back in her nest.

His nest actually as the soft white down of the pillows and duvet enveloped her. She laughed out loud, very loudly. He jumped, pushing up on His elbows to look down at her as wave after wave of mirth washed over her. It cleansed and renewed with each wave. He stared at her. Held impossibly still deep, deep inside of her and just stared down at her. His eye brow was arched, the questions expressed as clearly in His eyes as any words could.

It took her several minutes for the laughter to drain away like the tide escaping back out to sea. She just went with it, allowed the relief to wash over, the giggles to cleanse her. The laughter to feed ancient tidal pools of joy deep inside her soul that had been dormant for too long. Some that had never felt the life giving waters. He gave her that...and for once she simply took. 

"Mind telling me what's so funny? It's a hell of a time to start laughing on a guy," He demanded.

Through the giggles, Claire managed somehow to spit out two simple words, "You lied."

James stared down at her for a couple more moments as the giggles quieted, "Lied about what?"

"That was NOT your first time," she shoved playfully at His shoulder.

It was James that laughed this time, driving His still hard cock deeper inside of her. "I think that might be about the biggest compliment a guy could have in the situation." He stared down at her for a long moment, brushed hair softly back from her face. "But yes, sweetheart, it was," His hips made a slow drawn out circle that had her clutching His shoulders even tighter as she felt the pressure building again. "Is, baby girl. I'm nowhere near finished with you yet."

His hand moved slowly up from her hip to cup her breast. He lifted the flesh, weighted it in His palm. Squeezed and played with it like a beach ball for a long moment as He moved inside her in those slow, torturous circles. "You know I always loved the tit pics best, Claire. They always made me hard instantly," He punctuated His words with a deep reminder of just how hard He was at the moment. 

"I loved those damned maxi-dresses of yours. Especially when you did not wear anything under them." He bent and kissed the rosy tip of her breast. She watched hypnotized as His tongue licked at it like a little boy tasting the sweetness of a lollipop for the first time. 

"But you didn't pack any clothes, did you? So I guess you are going to be stuck wearing nothing but my shirts for a while," He smiled at her like a cheeky child. She felt Him swell even more inside her at the words. "My shirts, Claire. Not his. Not your sons' that they left behind when they went to uni. Not your ex-husband's. Mine, baby."

Claire felt her throat tighten at that word. That word sprang and bloomed in her mind. Though she tried with all her might to stamp it out like a wildfire, still it flamed. 

He held her gaze for a long moment. Dared her to speak, to deny it. But she could not. Could not make the words come. 

He smiled once more. This was no cheeky grin of a child. It was the arrogant markings of a man. "Mine, Claire. And you want it that way too." 

He did not give her time to confirm or deny His assertion before He bent His head and captured the hard nub between His teeth. He bit her nipple. Harder than she liked. Harder than she thought she could endure. He pulled His head back with the tender flesh still between His teeth. Her whole breast lifted and stretched off her chest wall. She cried out. Tears came to her eyes. When she would have sworn she could take no more, He released it as suddenly as He had captured it. 

She shuttered at the foreshadowing...was that what He would do to her in the end? Capture her completely, enthrall her in His spell, and then just dump her. She knew that pain would be far worse than the physical one still throbbing in her nipple.

He bent His head once more. He licked softly at the throbbing bud as if a kitten licking its wounds after a fight. She moaned softly at the tenderness in this touch. That had always been her James; pushing her, demanding things she was not certain she wanted to give, cold and distant at times, then in a moment soft and tender. Always there for her. 

Her hands came up and buried themselves deep in His hair, holding His head to her breast. Offering herself up to Him. Giving whatever He needed. Freely. Yes, if they were going to play this game, He would not need to take anything. She would give. Give it all. Freely, no strings attached. And when tomorrow came? She would look back on this moment with bittersweet joy. 

"And here I thought you wanted me naked," she teased.

He looked up and laughed, "When I punish you, sweetheart. But you forget...CFNM."

Those four little letters hit her like a brick wall suddenly appearing from nowhere. They were a reminder of that first teasing email. He had asked her about dating. Why she did not date, to be exact. She had said that she simply could not imagine getting naked with a man, any man, ever again. He had replied...'Good for me you won't need to...CFNM.' She had not known what those words meant, but was a bit shocked that this young man, only a bit older than her own sons would tease her like that.

Of course, she soon found out what CFNM meant. And quite a few more of His kinky fantasies too. 

His kinky fantasies? She wanted to be the one to make them come true. If not all of them, then enough that He would never forget her. Enough to repay His kindness over all these years. Because it was certain that she would never ever forget Him. 

Her fingers threaded deeper into His soft hair. She liked it longer like this. It softened the hard angles and planes of His handsome face. Made Him look a bit boyish still. But it had practical purposes as well, she discovered as she drew Him closer. Her lips caressed His softly. "What do you want, James?" she breathed the words against His.

His lips crushed hers. His tongue invaded again. Like the Viking conquers that had invaded these shores, set up footholds that the Celts could never uproot, she felt it wrapping about her heart. The kiss went on and on as He began to move inside her again. 

She felt His fingers wrap about her long hair. Felt His fist tug at it, pull her head back as He plundered her mouth and body even more. She felt the need rising afresh inside of her at this latest mastery. She felt His wind beneath her wings lifting her, throwing her onto the updrafts, forcing her to ride its unleashed power. And she unfurled her wings, wings that had almost atrophied from unuse, she flew. Flew long. Flew hard. Flew higher than she ever had. She soared as she held tight to Him.

Then she was drifting back safely into His arms. His lips softened as He teased and tasted hers. His cock slowed inside of her, but those slow circles were their own form of hell. Fast and slow, He played her. Played her body like a violin, an ancient pipe organ than had lain dormant for too long. He blew out the cob webs and coaxed tender notes and loud bellowing symphonies from her. 

"Everything, Claire. I want everything. Everything you gave them and more. I want it all, baby," He whispered against her lips.

Her heart stuttered behind her breast plate. Did He know what He was asking? Did He understand how much that hurt? Giving it all...then losing everything? She shook her head as tears began to gather in her eyes. She did not think she could do it. Not again. Not ever again. It was the vow that she had made as she closed the door to his house that sunny summer day. Never again would she allow herself to be used like that. 

Yes, she had known. Known all along. That the man who should have loved and cherished her gift of submission was in fact only using her. She was a convenience. Better than being alone. Better than admitting that he had made a mistake. That he should have never left his wife. And Claire had been nothing more than second best. 

She looked up at Him. Her head stilled in mid-shake. This was James. Her James. All of this might be nothing but a fleeting moment, but she knew one thing: she would never be second best with Him. She was His first. And she was going to make damned sure that every woman who came after had huge shoes to fill. She was going to crawl so deep inside of His head that none of them could ever fully displace her. 

She smiled and inhaled deeply. Clean. Fresh. Young. Healthy. All of it hit her senses in that moment. He was right. She had tried to crawl into the grave with him. But not for the reason He thought. She had not wanted to mourn the man who had died, but the one that he never could be to her. It was simply easier to live the rest of her life in a makeshift grave than to risk being hurt like that again. Used...and used up. 

But she was not. There was still some of her left. That piece of her that had always been His. And she was determined to give it to Him...all of it. She began to move beneath Him. Her hips lifting to meet each downward thrust, drawing Him deeper and deeper into her web. Her hands ran unimpeded over His head, shoulders and back. She stoked and fanned the flames. Her soft purrs and moans building even as another powerful release was. 

As she felt the cord tightening inside of her, she gripped His shoulders tighter. Her short fingernails bit into the corded strength as she cried out. She arched higher and drew Him deeper than before. "James," she cried out His name and it fanned the flames into another inferno.

He jerked her head back hard. Tears gathered in her eyes as He held her immobile against the pillow, "That's right. James. And you will never forget it. Forget who truly owns you." He plunged so deeply inside of her that she swore He had fused some part of His soul to hers. "You are mine. You always have been...and you fucking always will be." He punctuated each word with maddening thrusts.

"Mine. Damn it. Mine," He spat as His pace quickened. She clutched Him tighter to her body. She did all that she could to match His frantic pace. To give Him the relief He sought. To fill the void. To be what He needed. "MINE," He billowed as He thrust inside of her. She felt Him trembling as He came inside of her. 

She held Him tight to her. She felt the tension drain from His body. His even breathing seemed like the soft sea breeze after a storm. She thought that perhaps he had even fallen asleep as she turned her head and pressed a tender kiss to His cheek. "I still say you lied," she whispered.

He turned to her then. His eyes were the greenest calm of a field of Irish clovers as He spoke. "Two words for you, sweetheart." He kissed her nose, "Internet porn."

They both laughed then. He brushed hair back from her face and smiled. Those green fields of clover covered with dew, "It can teach you everything you need to know except the most important thing of all...how it feels to make love to someone you care about."

Her own eyes covered with tears then. It was not the undying admission of love that she would have hoped for...but it was honest. And she would not spoil the moment with sentimentality. "Yeah well show me those porn sites."

They laughed and they loved. Neither knew what the future held. She was old enough to be His mother. He was only slightly older than her son. He had been a virgin. She was the old whore, used by too many men for too long. Both had huge pieces of their souls missing. Pieces that only the other had ever seemed to fill. 

And in that bungalow on the rough Welsh coast they were free. Free to be and explore...one another's bodies, minds, and hearts. Did it last a day? Did it last a week? A month? A year? A lifetime? 

Does it matter? The truth is that they were there for one another when they needed it most. They gave their all and they took in return. Like I said...they laughed. They loved. And they lived. 

Isn't that all that any of us can hope for? More than anyone deserves? No matter how long it lasts...a moment or an eternity. All that matters is that it is real in that moment...and given freely. 

I hope you one day find what James and Claire found in that bungalow. Hell, I hope I do. Goddess bless us all with such honest emotions. The end...