MASTERED: (The Novel) (3 page)

Something was changed and irrevocably so. For
the first time that she could recall, Missy felt swathed in a blanket of sweet
serenity. Incrementally, it was taking the place of her chronic and frequently
overwhelming anxiety. The same anxiety that even medication failed to dull.

The combination on the vault containing her
deepest, darkest secrets had tumbled perfectly into place. Now, those secrets
were strewn hither and yon, exposed to the glaring light of truth and
consciousness. There was nothing left to hide. She was found out.

Submissive…

At long last, she understood that she wasn't
'bad' or ‘wrong’. Nor was she ‘defective’. She was
submissive
. She rolled the word around in her mind and on her
tongue. She tasted of its legitimacy as if it were the rarest of delicacies.

Smiling softly, Missy kissed her son good-bye.
She closed the door to her home, and to her past, gently but firmly behind her.

James Colton paced his office like a caged
animal. Lines of anguish were etched into his forehead and pangs of guilt
gnawed at his gut. Missy weighed heavily on his mind. His torment had naught to
do with any concern of her not arriving.
Just the opposite,
in fact.

He berated himself for not letting her be.
For not allowing her to walk away without learning of his
existence.
Most of all, he didn't feel it was his right to expose her
true nature; even to herself.

Or perhaps, especially to herself.

It was obvious that she struggled to deny it. A
struggle that was apparent to him in every nuance of her being. A struggle lost
forever the instant she looked into his eyes.

She had no choice…

And he knew it. James recognized her like a lion
innately recognizes the gazelle that is to be cut from the herd. He stopped his
pointless pacing in front of the fireplace. Bending, he instinctively began to
go through the motions of building a fire. Without skipping a beat, his mind
continued to replay the cataclysmic events that his own words and actions set
into motion.

He admitted it; he'd been selfish. He wanted
what he once had, fully aware it was nigh on impossible. He believed there was
a better probability of getting struck by lightning twice in the same lifetime.
He yearned for more than any man had a right to ask for.

And yet, only a few short hours ago and against
all odds, lightning did strike for a second time. The petite, harried girl in
the check-out line jump-started his heart and his imagination. She was
breathtaking as she scrambled to collect her change, her groceries, and her
wits.

Submissive...

And James knew it. A scowl crossed his face when
it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't lit a fire since Angeline, his
angel, died. Not once since burying the woman he loved more than he imagined
possible.
Was it really almost three years since that unfathomable day?
How could it be that every yesterday felt like a lifetime, yet three years felt
like only yesterday?

He would never forget the condemning eyes of
Angeline's inconsolable parents. They glared accusingly at him from the
opposite side of her freshly dug grave. They needed a scapegoat to assuage
their unbearable grief, and James was only too congenial in providing them one.
After all, they could never blame him as much as he blamed himself. Angeline
belonged to him and with him. It was incomprehensible that he wasn’t able to
protect her.

It didn’t matter that she died from a sudden,
freak asthma attack. Nor did it make any impact when the doctors assured them
there was nothing anyone could have done.

He was not anyone. He was her
Master
, and it was his responsibility
to keep her safe from harm. He failed miserably.

If Angeline's parents needed someone to blame,
James certainly wasn't about to deflect their anger. In fact, he was so
besotted with grief that he actually welcomed it.

Tom and Maxine were never able to understand
their baby's contentment with what they considered to be her lowly station in
life. They fretted over her apparent pride in a clearly ‘alternative’
lifestyle. They were unable to see past the ever-present choker, or 'collar', that
was pad-locked snugly around her dainty neck.

Exactly as it was on the day she was buried.

The bruises on her once-pretty knees were
another bone of contention. They could not understand why Angeline didn’t cover
them, at least. They were appalled when she made no effort whatsoever to hide
or disguise them.

Still, Tom and Maxine refused to accept the
truth.

From their perspective, it could only be
his
doing. It
had
to be his Svengali-like influence. Their baby girl would
never
put up with such obviously
demeaning treatment!

Angeline assured them again and again that her
‘station’ in life afforded her great happiness. They remained unconvinced and
unmoved. They considered him nothing more than a twisted deviant.
A deviant that somehow managed to brainwash their sweet and
innocent daughter.
What other explanation could there be for her
seemingly blind obedience? She literally worshipped the ground he walked on.

James snapped out of his reverie and stood to
stretch cramped legs. He glanced at the clock on his desk
. It won't be long now.

Deciding a drink was in
order,
he crossed to the sidebar and poured himself a generous cognac. Performing the
task by rote, his attention was drawn back to earlier that evening. In his
mind’s eye, he re-lived every incredulous, debaucherous detail. The rich,
caramel-colored liquid of the finest Remy Martin XO was left to swirl
unappreciated in its snifter.

Missy would never suspect that their fateful
encounter was as momentous for him as it was for her. She exuded a pure and
natural submissiveness that was like nectar to a bee. James had never
encountered such in forty-seven years on this earth.

Another man might have perceived nothing out of
the ordinary. Other than her obvious physical beauty, that is. But to James,
there was no mistaking what lay dormant deep within. Her attempts at
concealment were pitifully transparent.

Every step she took screamed out to him. Every
tilt of her head begged for his consideration. Every shrug of her shoulders
implored him to reach out and take what he intuitively knew was meant to be
his.

James took a long pull at his drink. He was
forced to admit that even Angeline didn’t elicit such sharp pangs of instant
recognition and desire.
Certainly not on such a deeply
subliminal level.

Contemplating the veracity of subjecting a
second innocent girl to his demandingly Dominant ways was now a moot question.
It was no longer worthy of either his time or his energy. The deed was done.
The only direction available was forward.

In truth, James relished the journey. He could
almost see Missy kneeling motionless at his feet. Her back would be arched and
her shoulders pressed back, impelling the chest respectfully forward. He could
almost taste of her desire for his attention and approval as it emanated from
her every pore.

His desire would be for those full, velvety lips
to remain exposed for his viewing pleasure. Or any other pleasure he saw fit.

His cock hardened far too quickly at these
delectable images. It came as quite a surprise after years of self-imposed
celibacy. To him, the act of sex was simply a natural by-product of a properly
orchestrated Dominant/submissive relationship. It was never the primary focus.
For James, and men of his mindset, the key lay in the mental and spiritual connection.
In their domain, this is known as the 'power exchange'.

The ultimate goal?
To establish a mutual trust so profound that
inter-dependency was something to be aspired to; not feared and condemned. A
trust so multifaceted that if the act of physical sex was, for whatever reason,
no longer available; the mind/spirit dynamic would remain vibrant and intact.

A soft tapping at the front door heralded
Missy's arrival and caused his eyes to turn to the hands of the clock once
again. The minute indicator was just turning over to thirteen. Thirteen minutes
past
the hour. He was sure he
told her to not be late.

His displeasure was evidenced only by an almost
imperceptible tightening of his brow, and a slight upturn at one corner of his
mouth. An observer might assume it to be the beginning of a smile.

The observer would be wrong.

Thirteen was
not
going to be her lucky number…

She was late.
Again.

The only sound besides the ringing in Missy's
ears was that of her breathing, which was coming fast and hard. Chest heaving,
she observed her hands begin to tremble as they gripped the steering wheel. She
was known to suffer from panic attacks in the past. This was not a panic
attack.

She squinted beyond the windshield and through
the darkness at his large, imposing home. She had been doing so well, too!
Having gathered what remained of her wits about her, she was somehow able to
focus on the GPS instructions. Missy navigated the unfamiliar streets of the
upscale neighborhood without incident.

That is, until a sudden and blinding flash of
clarity struck, forcing her to pull the little Infinity to the curb. That had
been her final opportunity to turn back. She realized then that the ‘path’ she
was on would offer fewer and fewer exit opportunities.

She was in unfamiliar territory, traversing
untested terrain. She didn't need a GPS to tell her that.

Then why was it that she felt her only course of
action was to go directly to him? What was compelling her to throw caution to
the wind and hurtle headlong into the dark and the undiscovered? She was
speeding towards a mysterious man of whom she knew nothing, yet identified with
on a level she had hoped never to explore.

Deep down, Missy knew the reason: Luke Terrence
Weaver, her ex-husband and Christopher’s father.
Well, sperm donator.

She did everything in her power to walk the
straight and narrow path that society kept impeccably groomed. She was the
proverbial 'good girl’; marriage and babies and happily-ever-after.

The stuff of fairy tales.
And, doesn't every little girl adore a good fairy
tale? She poured every ounce of herself into a life that never quite fit. She
wanted desperately to don the 'one-size-fits-all' existence and have it suit
her to a T. Instead, it was more akin to wearing a pair of pantyhose two sizes
too small.
For
ever!

Not impossible. Not even life-threatening. Just
unrelentingly irritating and confining. Missy determined that she could, and
would, endure the discomfort. There were worse things in life. She counted
‘being different’ amongst them.

Yes, she was more than willing to bend. But,
Luke did his damnedest to break her, and over time – almost succeeded. The
high-school football hero that made the young girls swoon didn’t even attempt
to fulfill his potential.

Once upon a time, he was capable of more than
just scoring touchdowns. He was also reputed to be a miracle worker when it
came to fixing almost any make or model of vehicle. Luke had big plans to
become a master mechanic, and no one doubted he possessed the skills to make it
happen. He spoke of franchising cutting edge repair shops from sea to shining
sea.

Ironically, that dream turned into just another
nightmare, washed away in a shining sea of vodka.
The same
‘sea’ that stole his looks and once-impressive physique.

Yes, he could have grown into the kind of man
that women dreamed of. Instead, he chose to simply grow into an older, meaner,
and pathetically unemployable version of his former self.

Missy was more than a little afraid of him,
although she would never admit it in front of their son. When they were
married, Luke was a five-foot-nine, hundred-and-ninety pound drunken bully. In
the years since the divorce, he devolved into an intimidating
two-hundred-and-twenty pound drunken stalker.

Too often, Luke came around for money to buy
booze.
Ten dollars here, twenty dollars there.
Grabbing her here, shoving her there. She learned the hard way that it was
easiest to just give it to him.

Twice, she called the police. Twice, they
politely took her report - and filed it
.
“
Terribly sorry ma'am, but until you
or your son are threatened directly, or your property is damaged, our hands are
tied. Of course, this report will be filed along with the first. At least then
they're both on record, just in case something more serious occurs.”

“Here's our contact information and some
pamphlets. Don't hesitate to call if there's anything else we can do. Have a
nice day, ma'am.”

Missy resignedly accepted the pamphlets. She
never called again.