DutyBoundARe (8 page)

Completely perfect.

Lisette thanked the woman and set up her laptop. She’d glanced at her email on her phone earlier after Mathieu left, and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her skull. There was at least one message from each person on her staff and a hundred-plus Q&A emails. The staff emails she read and replied to on her phone. They understood her situation and wouldn’t mind a few typos. The rest, well, she needed her laptop for those.

The waitress took her order, and Lisette plugged in her headphones, ready to get down to business. It was a pity the site didn’t make much more than what it cost to keep it afloat or she would have turned it into her full-time job.

She clicked through the Q&A emails, copying the repeat questions into a document. Every now and then a post sparked so many of the same questions it was easier to address them on the blog instead of through fifty identical emails.

The soup interrupted her composition, so she pushed the laptop to the side and greedily leaned over the bisque, inhaling the fragrance of seafood, spices and whatever magic was in that sauce.

Lisette shifted her weight and a slightly uncomfortable sensation, not quite pain, shot down her leg. She rocked side-to-side on the spot and grinned.

Mathieu had a gentle touch, but then again he hadn’t been trying for rough. In a word, their play was perfect. The banter, the laughing, he handled the flogger with ease and kept her on her toes. She was still completely wrapped in the warm, fuzzy endorphins nearly two hours later. There hadn’t been a single moment of panic or fear. Just—bliss.

She tucked into her meal, completely ravenous. There were some foods you only ate in New Orleans. Her mother’s gumbo, for example.

A pang of loss stabbed her in the chest. Her parents had been very clear about cutting ties with her when she refused to make up with Seth. They didn’t understand. He had them wound around his finger so tight, they’d rather take in someone they didn’t even know over their own flesh and blood.

Lisette placed her spoon on the napkin and leaned back in the booth, blinking rapidly. She’d always played third fiddle to her siblings and everything else. It’s what came with being the middle child no one expected anything from. She’d grown up in their shadows, but it didn’t change the ever-present desire for parental approval.

She knew the theories, the psychological reasons behind it, but right now they didn’t matter. She was a girl who wanted to hug her mom. And mom wouldn’t hug her back.

Down this path lay nothing but disappointment. She pulled her laptop toward her and clicked through messages with one hand, while spooning more food into her mouth with the other. By the time she’d eaten every drop and crumb, she had a document full of notes and questions to reply to.

Hello Kinksters,

First, I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. I have so many messages right now my limited internet access will not allow me to respond to each of you individually. Please accept my apologies and know I have heard you. You make my kinky little heart all warm and fuzzy.

Second, there were a lot of repeat questions, so to save time I’m going to address all of those here.

Question 1: Have I gone to the police?

Yes. Because of the sensitive nature of investigations, I will not be discussing this on the blog now or ever. I share my journey with you guys because it is my choice. I will not bring another’s life on the pages here out of my respect for consent, despite the flagrant disrespect for my consent.

Question 2: Have I sought medical/professional help?

Yes. I have seen doctors. I am very well cared for.

*Note: this next question will stir up a lot of discussion and perhaps be triggering for some of our readership.*

Question 3: Do I believe I deserved this?

No. I don’t believe anyone ever deserves such violent acts. What happened to me was wrong. I did not ask for it. There were several criminal acts performed during the instances of assault. I am a victim. I will always stand by this no matter what some in the kink community might choose to believe. Those who do believe a person deserves to be beaten within an inch of their life are not true Dominants, Tops or Masters, in my opinion. They are abusers, and not welcome on the Kinky Girl blog.

To those who emailed me and said I deserve what I got? Go away. Really. Lose this blog URL, forget my email. There is not space in my life for your nonsense.

Question 4: To those people who have stories like mine, find help.

In every community there are trusted leaders. Ask for help.

If you have been physically assaulted, go to the authorities. Get help.

Reach out to your friends and family.

Abuse and rape are an unfortunate reality of the world we live in. Being in the BDSM lifestyle means we walk a questionable line to people who are not like us. But there is help. At the bottom of this blog I’m going to post a link to the kink-friendly list of doctors, therapists, psychologists and organizations that can and will help you, without judgment. I understand not everyone will have someone in their area, but I urge you to call some of the national organizations and talk to someone. These are professionals who can guide you in your road to recovery.

Question 5: How am I doing now?

Really good. Like, I cannot begin to explain to you guys how good today is.

I’m going to be vague on the details out of respect, but I have a really great Dominant friend in my life right now who helped me today. He is completely aware of the mess my life is in. I always say honesty is the best policy, even when it sucks. Anyway, after discussing my situation and limits, we did a flogging scene. It’s the first play I’ve had since before the vanilla boyfriend.

I was scared it would be triggering. That he’d brush the flogger across my skin and I would be a terrified, sobbing mess.

I wasn’t.

In short, we had a fantastic flogging scene and I got all the cuddles I could want. I knew going into this I was running the risk of having to shut the door on something that has become a huge part of my life. It was scary at first, but now, with a few marks on me, it was the most reaffirming thing I could have done. My kink hasn’t been stolen from me; I’m still me.

Now, I do not advocate this for everyone. I made the choice based on my mindset and physical ability, as well as my level of trust for my partner, that this was something I was willing to do. For some of us, jumping back into the saddle is the way to go. For others, that’s a bad idea. Again, seek professional help if you need it.

This post is getting really long, so here’s my signature picture of my toes. I had to sneak this in a café I was at, but don’t you like that new polish? It’s a festive shade of pink since we’re heading into the Valentine’s Day season.

Again, we here at the Kinky Girl blog have the best readers. You guys rock and keep bringing the kink!

Until next kink,

KG

Seth frowned at the coordinates
on his GPS, then at the café across the street. According to the coordinates he’d lifted from the last photograph, Lisette had been at the coffee house. The time code tags seemed to be overwritten to the time the picture was uploaded to the server where the Kinky Girl Blogs site was housed.

He pocketed the GPS device and strode across the street. Rain began to spatter the pavement in thick, heavy drops. The damn sky had been threatening to pour all day. He hated this place, with its rotting, humid air, so different from Miami.

Seth walked past the café, peering in at the handful of patrons out on this miserable evening, but none of them were his prey.

He stopped under the awning of the store next door to the café, where he could keep watch over the patrons. If he used the time the photo was uploaded and the GPS coordinates, then Lisette should have been at the coffee shop an hour ago. But even that was suspect. The truth was she could have been here a week ago and just posted the picture today.

The café would go on his list of locations to keep an eye on. Like the one before, near the college campus. If he used these locations as a perimeter, he could narrow down where his prey was hiding.

Seth clenched his hands into fists. He knew how to be patient. It was part of his job, what he’d spent his life doing. But such easy quarry should have died the first time. The little cunt just couldn’t let go of the breathing habit long enough to kick the bucket.

A woman with bleached blonde hair, wearing the café emblem on her shirt, pushed the front door open and lifted an umbrella to shield herself.

Fucking blondes. They all needed to die.

chapter six

Rope

Mathieu shambled down the sidewalk in the early morning light. Gator sniffed a small patch of grass with great interest.

He hated not having a yard for Gator to run around in. The house he’d lived in before and during his short-lived marriage had a decent spread that had worked for them. Someday, he’d be able to offer Gator better than stolen moments at parks they weren’t welcome at.

“Do your business, man. It’s cold out here.”

He pulled his jacket tighter around him and rolled his neck. Sleeping on the couch was not doing his back any favors. He missed his bed, with the thick foam top and the pillows his sister had given him for Christmas. The bed was more than big enough for two people, and he bet Lisette made a fine bedfellow, but down that path lay temptation.

To distract himself from where thoughts of bed and Lisette were going, he pulled out his phone and checked his work email. One marked important caught his eye. The subject merely read, Call Me. The time stamp was from an hour prior.

Mathieu shoved down all the what-ifs and found the phone number he needed.

The line rang once, twice.

“Hello,” a woman’s too-chipper voice said over the line.

“
Ça viens
?”

“Mouton. What are you doing up this early, detective?” Amber Petit was a desk jockey of the first order, with skills that rivaled any officer on the beat. Her ability was patterns. Analyzing the crime fresh off the streets and looking for connections. It was a wonder some federal division didn’t snatch her up.

“Walking my dog. What’s so important I needed to call you?”

“It might not be related, but you did ask me to look for cases involving women and assault. There was a coffee shop girl found dead in a dumpster by the morning pick-up crew. First responders reported ligature marks and bludgeoning to her head and chest. No sexual assault. Cause of death is unknown, but do the math.”

Mathieu stopped seeing the street, his dog or anything. His body went cold and he tightened his grip on the leash.

“Mouton? You there?”

“I’m here.”

“You want to tell me what this is about?”

“Where did this happen?”

“You aren’t going to answer my question, are you?”

“At this point, it’s better if you don’t know.”

For the span of a few moments Amber didn’t reply. She would be within her right to report him. Which, if these assaults were connected, would mean losing this case if Lisette was connected. Another officer would take it over, and if by any chance what Lisette claimed was true, the bastard would go free, blood all over his hands.

“Just tell me you’re doing something good with this information,” Amber said, her voice low. There was something behind the bubbly analyst, some hidden motivator Mathieu had never dug into.

“I’m just looking at a bigger picture here. I don’t know if these are connected, but if they are, I am doing some good.”

“Okay. That’s all I need to know.”

“We’re the good guys.”

“Hey, I need to run. If I see anything else or if any leads come in, I’ll pass them on.”

Mathieu ended the call and began walking once more, Gator ready to move on.

If Seth was responsible for all of these assaults, it would give Lisette’s claims a lot of merit. He wasn’t ready to believe her. There was absolutely nothing to link the two cases together except dental floss and chewing gum.

He needed another set of eyes on the situation, and for that, there was only one other person who qualified.

Lola.

This whole mess got dumped on him by a well-meaning sister anyway.

He brought up his sister’s number and called, ignoring the early hour.

It rang and rang.

“Brother mine, there has got to be a better time to chat than seven in the morning,” she growled. He doubted she used that tone in a court of law, but maybe she’d have faster results if she did.

“Morning to you, too. I need to talk about Lisette without her around, which means there’s not a lot of time or opportunity to make that happen.”

“What happened?” That seemed to wake her up.

“Nothing I can prove, but I want to know what you know.”

“Did she tell you?”

“She told me a long story I can’t verify without potentially putting her in danger if this whole thing has even a shred of truth to it.”

“It’s real, Mat. I did some digging I was going to bring to you, but there’s proof this Seth is a psychopath.”

“You really believe her?”

Lola paused. He could imagine her sitting up in bed, her hair a wild riot of curls, face creased as she figured out how to word something just right. “You know how you’ll talk to a victim and you just know they’re telling you the truth?”

He did. He’d seen it a hundred times if he’d seen it once, but where Lisette was concerned, his barometer was haywire. So for now, he’d have to trust his flesh and blood.

Lisette’s jaw dropped
and she sucked in a breath. It was a kinky show-and-tell, and there was a hell of a lot to show.

Mathieu pulled two large rolling suitcases out of his small, walk-in closet. She’d thought his toys were all in the bins under the bed. She’d been so very wrong.

There was excitement mixed with more nerves inside her. Their first play session yesterday was such a warm, fuzzy memory. Was she ready for another so soon?

Mathieu peeked inside each of the suitcases, muttering to himself. The more beaten-up and worn piece of luggage was pushed up against the wall. He placed the second on the floor between the bed and closet. He unzipped it and flipped the top open.