The Meeting Point

 

 

by

 

Tabitha Rayne

 

The Meeting Point

Copyright © 2014, Tabitha Rayne

ISBN: 9781940744315

Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.

Electronic Publication: June, 2014

Editor: Leigh Lamb

Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs

 

eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

 

 

 

A story of love, freedom, and the future of mankind.

Deborah Regan has broken free from the prison where she's been unjustly held for the past eight years. The scale of the devastation to the land outside is overwhelming. Toxins have taken hold, and the planet is dying. Deborah vows to find her lover Marcus and flee to the safety of the hills where their story first began.

Marcus is one of the few remaining men left on earth, and Deborah finds him held captive at a pleasure farm where he is kept to service rich and powerful women. Escape for him is complex and dangerous. They can only hope that the trio who helped Deborah before will come to their aid. Marcus has heard from his clients over the years of a mythical place with its own microclimate that toxin clouds seem to miss. He is sure they can find it and will be able to build a future together.

Mae, Lena, and Angelo feel compelled to find Deborah and Marcus who they know have a special connection that might prove essential to their survival. They make haste to track the couple and realize the plan they have chosen is fraught with danger and conflict.

Will they make it to the utopia Marcus dreams of?

 

Content Warning: contains graphic sex scenes with multiple partners, including m/f and f/f sexual interaction, strong language, and end of the world shenanigans

 

*The explosive climax to Taking Flight and A Clockwork Butterfly.

 

 

 

my muse, 

 

 

Thank you so much, Pamela and Leigh at Beachwalk for all your care and attention in producing this trilogy.

And Fantasia Frog designs for making such lush covers and letting me in on the arty action.

Big love again to my fellow Beachwalk authors and my awesome Brit Babes. You all make writing so much more fun.

And finally, and most of all, a big thank you to you for taking the time to download and read my books. I hope you have enjoyed this journey with these characters—after all, without you, their stories would barely exist. It's only by being read that they can come to life, so thank you.

Tabitha x x x

 

 

 

Everything is so delicate and precious—sometimes I can barely think straight for the wonder I feel...

 

 

 

“I'm sorry if I treated you badly.” Deborah addressed the woman behind her, but kept her gaze ahead. The land seemed to stretch out forever. Grasses, trees, and moorland filled the view until it sloped gently into the horizon. It humbled her in a way that made her want to fall to her knees in both grief and joy.

“You never did what I didn't need, Mistress.” The words of Deborah's companion hit her in the back like tiny darts, reminding her of her actions. She turned.

“I am no longer your Mistress, Cheryl.”

“If you say so, ma'am.” Cheryl's voice threw Deborah. She spoke with the defiance she had been cultivating over the past few months. Deborah actually felt sad when she saw how her submissive had changed. She knew there had never been a spiritual intimacy between them, but there had been a strange companionship and understanding. That seemed to have vanished recently and a real disdain had grown.

“You may go your own way now, Cheryl.” The prison building loomed at their backs and Deborah was anxious to get moving—anxious to find her true love. The other horse drew up, shoulder to shoulder with hers.

“Would you mind if I rode with you for a while?” Cheryl said softly, with a hint of what used to pass between them.

“No,” Deborah said gently. “I wouldn't mind at all.” And with a flick of her heel, she kicked the great beast between her thighs into action. Her heart thundered at the same speed as the hooves that carried her. Adrenaline coursed through her and a lump of excited emotion grew in her throat as she smiled into the wind that lashed her face.

It was exhilarating to finally feel freedom, and she let out a whoop of joy, unashamed and untethered. Casting a quick glance over to her ex-assistant, Deborah was expecting disapproval, but was pleased to see the woman smiling too, her face shining in the afternoon sun.

They galloped until the galloping slowed, then they cantered until the canter became a trot, then trot became walk. The horses were exhausted and Deborah's backside was aching in that numb way—not altogether unpleasant. They picked their way slowly to the edge of a forest near the brow of a hill. They'd been riding for what felt like hours and Deborah was suddenly tired and cold.

“Let's tie them here and get our bearings.”

A small stream quenched the foursome's thirst and they caught their breath. Deborah felt the pull of the farm and Marcus as if it were a physical thing drawing her on.

“I'm going on alone from here,” she told Cheryl as they soothed the sweating horses, catching damp fur in their fingers. “Will you be all right?”

Cheryl nodded and finally looked up at Deborah. “I will miss you,” she said seriously and reached out to press her palm into Deborah's cheek.

“Me too.”

Cheryl's hand smelled of thick, hot horse and it heated Deborah's bones. It fell slowly to her chest and Deborah resisted the urge to slap it away. It was the first time that Cheryl had been so bold and they were both shaking. The trembling in Cheryl's fingertips filtered through the cloth covering Deborah's breast, and the fluttering caused her nipple to peak. Deborah's mouth began to water as arousal swept through her. She was remembering the fucking Lena had given her with the strap-on, weeks before while Cheryl had assisted. It had been hard, fast, and angry, and she'd come quickly around the thick rubber shaft. The image played over and over as Cheryl grew braver, rolling her thumb over the tip of Deborah's nipple.

“Stop,” Deborah whispered with no intent. She was softening, her body liquefying at the thought of surrender. She'd been the dominant for too long. She needed this. Her knees buckled slightly as Cheryl brought her other hand up, kneading both of Deborah's breasts. Fingers squeezed the nipples softly at first then more insistently until sharp pain buzzed through her flesh, settling as pleasure between her legs.

Blood surged into Deborah's riding-numb buttocks and she quivered anew at the pleasure-pain sensation. Cheryl's eyes were dark and determined. Deborah suspected she'd long wanted to do this to her Mistress and now she had the chance—the permission—free from any of the consequences set up at the prison.

Pushing Deborah roughly until she stumbled into a tree, Cheryl continued her seduction. She reached down, grabbing at Deborah's robes, sliding fabric filled fists between her legs, and balled them up into her crotch. Deborah spread her thighs as the woman clutched her hands together and rubbed her pussy hard with the material.

It was hot and erotic, and the dry fabric pulled and puckered her dampening folds, roughly and crudely riding her sex. She caught the glint of lust and hatred in Cheryl's eye—or was it just lust? Whatever it was, it was making her horny and Deborah felt herself fall into that slick channel of darkness just as Cheryl almost lifted her off her feet and she came, convulsing and clutching around the hands and robes. Just as abruptly as it started, it stopped, leaving Deborah cold and empty.

“I'll be going then,” said Cheryl, and Deborah couldn't read her tone at all.

“Where?”

“I'm not sure. I might start with my old home, see if anyone's still there.”

Deborah felt a pang of sadness for them both—for everyone on this poisoned planet. Who knew what either of them would find in this barren, toxin-riddled land?

“Well, good luck then, Cheryl.”

The woman slowly picked up the reins and untied them, bowing her head into the beast's nose and breathing hard, sharing a moment. She rested her head gently on the horse's before turning to Deborah. “Goodbye, Mistress.”

Deborah nodded once to Cheryl then watched her spring up into the saddle and ride off into the woods without a backward glance.

* * * *

Unsure of what she'd find, or how long she'd be, Deborah tied her steed loosely to a half-rotten fence post. She could see the building below and was sure this was the place. A steady stream of finely dressed women arrived in beautiful carriages and entered the building. Deborah was in awe, and thankful for the furs and pearls that adorned her own body—yes, she'd gain easy entry into this place. She silently thanked her horse, twisting her fingers into her fetlock and breathing in her grassy scent for perhaps the last time. She checked to make sure the reins were just loose enough for the horse to break free if she needed. What Deborah hoped for was that she would dash into the farm, find Marcus, free him, and they'd ride off together.

Almost as an afterthought, she reached into her robe pocket and picked out the peculiar clockwork butterfly that Lena had pressed into her hand as she had left the prison. She remembered how skeptical she'd been when Lena had assured her that her man was coming to free her, this tiny piece of his craftsmanship the key to their escape. Lifting it to her face, Deborah was astonished at its beauty and intricacy. Pulling out another precious item, Marcus's notebook, she sighed and tore off a tiny fragment, writing the words
join us
with her worn-down pencil. Rolling up the paper, she secured it to the belly of the butterfly and wound the key gently. To her amazement, the wings opened as smoothly as if the creature were alive and slowly began to beat then flutter. It tugged between her fingertips as if dying to get free and fly, so she released it with a silent prayer that the little homing butterfly would carry the note safely to Mae, Lena, and Angelo, and show them the way to she and Marcus. She'd only just met two of them, but she sensed they'd be important to her future.

She looked down to where the ladies' horses were stabled and was glad of her decision against putting her mare in there—she would only arouse suspicion if she didn't return to pick her up at decent time. Besides, the horse wasn't in the best condition, having ridden flat-out for the last few hours.

Deborah walked out of the cover of the forest and climbed over a dyke onto the moor below. Memories of childhood Sundays bouncing among springy heather hills lifted her spirit and she leaped out, expecting a soft landing.

Crunch.
Her legs crumpled in self-preservation as she fell through the brittle, jagged stems and into the ground. Cursing herself as she picked out shards of dying plant from her clothing, she was overwhelmed at how the toxins seemed to have torn through everything. Sadness threatened to overtake her, so she took a breath and reminded herself of what lay just down the bottom of this hill—Marcus.

The farm was another rather austere building and Deborah's eyes craved the characterful little cottages from her life before. There must still be some, she just hadn't seen one for so long. Just as she was about to reach the entry gate, she caught a glimpse of herself in a window. Disheveled and shabby. She'd never be allowed in—especially smelling of horse and lust. A pang of irrational guilt tugged at her chest. She didn't want the first thing Marcus smelled from her to be another woman's sex, lust, and horse sweat. As she sneaked into one of the stables to wash herself as best she could in the trough tap, she mused that he would probably be smelling of the exact same thing—minus the horse sweat.

She would have to do. Fear and excitement bubbled in her chest as she peered out of the stable, stalling as much as she could. What if he didn't recognize her? What if she didn't recognize him? Worry circled in her mind as she put one foot in front of the other and finally arrived at the door.

 

 

Two uniformed women barely registered Deborah as they swept open the surprisingly lavish doors and ushered her inside.

There were women everywhere. The place vibrated with the excitement emanating from every single one of them, including Deborah, who was almost nauseous with the thought that somewhere in this very building, her lover breathed and lived. It had been a long eight years, and emotion welled in the pit of her solar plexus as she remembered the nights of longing and loneliness. The trips into ultimate unity to find her lover on that perfect spiritual plane of orgasm where their souls had collided on occasion. It had never been enough, and Deborah's knees began to give way as the enormity of what was about to happen overwhelmed her. Blackness oozed into her peripheral vision and she felt her physical self ebb away. She was used to leaving her body—ultimate unity had made sure of that—but this time she didn't want to surrender into the oblivion. This time she needed to feel the reality of the physical. She tried to fight as her eyelids fluttered and closed, but it was no good, the sensation of falling took over.

Hands and cold water closed in around her face, and it took a moment or two before she realized what was happening. A group of women were sponging her with a wet cloth, trying to rouse her.

“Come on now, there you are, there you are,” a gentle yet stern voice kept repeating.

When she could focus properly, Deborah could make out a nurse type uniform with an old-fashioned hat.

“Don't you worry now, lots of us ladies can become overawed by the occasion.”

Arms around her back pulled Deborah to sitting and she took the cloth from the nurse and mopped around under her hairline at the nape of her neck. She shivered and tried to smile at the nurse.

“Sorry, I…”

“Oh, come, come, nothing to apologize for. If I had a cake for every time a lady fainted in here...well, I certainly wouldn't look like this!”

The nurse was being overly jokey and it made Deborah uneasy. She hauled herself to standing and tried to shrug herself free from the help.

“Would you like to lie down somewhere?”

“No,” Deborah said a little too quickly. “I mean, I'm fine. I just want to, you know…”

“Yes, I do know,” the nurse answered, winking at Deborah. After all, this was the place to come for sexual stimulation, the place to breathe in the sex musk of a real live male, and if you had enough money, to actually have sex with one yourself.

Deborah let herself be rubbed down and righted before being pointed toward the restrooms to freshen up. Deborah was delighted for a retreat and practically barged her way to the door.

She crashed into a stall and collapsed onto the toilet, breathing hard and heavy, pulse racing. What was she up to? She was supposed to be keeping a low profile, not making a complete spectacle of herself. News of the prison break would soon be spreading and she could not draw attention to herself in any way. She held the nurse's cloth up to her face and gritted her teeth right into it.

“Relax, relax, relax,” she murmured over and over again while grinding her fists into her eye sockets. It would be just like her to blow her cover now and get caught.

At last, her heartbeat slowed to as normal a rhythm as it would under the circumstances and Deborah righted herself and went out to the washbasins.

She stood on her tiptoes to get a view of her whole face in the wall mirror. She looked crazed. Her hair was long and wild with bits of heather still clinging to it. She pulled her fingers through the knots, trying to gain some sort of control over the crow's nest that adorned her head. Washing her face properly, she wondered if she dare give her body a quick going over. Being clean for her lover suddenly seemed very important. She pulled down one of the towels from the bales on the shelving. She filled the basin and used the wet cloth to rub away what dirt she could, nervous that someone might come in as she stood with her legs akimbo, attending to her intimate areas. She wanted to be pretty, alluring, and beautiful for Marcus.
Eight years.
She arched up on her toes once more and examined her face for signs of aging. Her hair, though still wild, didn't seem to have any gray filtering through it, and her role in the prison had made sure she didn't get cursed with many laugh lines. There was, however, a deep frown carving its way between her brows. She was dismayed to see it and tried to smooth it away with her fingertips.
Never mind
, she thought,
I'll replace it with smile lines soon
.

One last twist to check her profile and she left the sanctuary of the restroom. The throng of women, all ages and sizes, seemed to have increased in the time she'd been away. This was good. Deborah made her way through the bundles and knots of excited females over to what looked like an information or reception desk.

“Welcome to Crester Farm. How may I help today?” A very pretty woman smiled in the plastic way Deborah remembered people used to in the years before the terror began. It was disconcerting. The weight of her escape bore down on her and she began to feel alien. She'd been out of society for so long she had no idea what was expected, how she was meant to act.

“Yes, I want an appointment to see a male.” Her voice was steady enough, she thought, a good start.

“Don't we all?” The receptionist laughed and Deborah felt stupid. “I take it you have booked. The waiting lists are long.”

“Oh, I…” Deborah's cheeks heated.
Stupid.
She decided to be honest...well, to a degree. “It's my first time. I have no idea about the procedure.”

To her relief, the woman smiled kindly.

“Don't worry, we have lots of first timers every day.” The woman opened up a large ledger book and dipped her pen, ready to write. “So, I'll need some details. And we take payment up front.”

Damn. Deborah fondled the near empty coin pouch in her robes.

“Oh, I'm only here for the day. Are you sure there's no way you can squeeze me in? I've traveled such a long way.”

The woman must have seen the desperation in Deborah's eyes and her expression softened, something flashing across it—familiarity? Deborah shook the thought away. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized.

“Well, I'm afraid I really can't give you an appointment, but I could let you into the oxytocin bars. There isn't an official time book for there, just a sort of queue.”

“What kind of bar?”

“You know, where the pheromones are piped in from the servicing chambers.”

“Oh yes, of course, forgive me. I've had a long journey and could do with some refreshment.”

“Listen, please don't mention I helped you in this way,” she said, opening her drawer and taking out a thin leather strap with a green bead on it. “It's just...I saw you faint earlier in the crowd, and reckon you really are in need of a little oxy-boost.”

Deborah couldn't believe her luck and held out her wrist for the woman to tie the leather band on.

“Now, this will get you into the bar and the viewing chamber.”

Deborah had to hold in a shriek and steady her body which had started to shake. “Thank you, thank you,” she gushed. “But why are you helping me?”

The woman leaned in, casting a shifty glance around the female filled room. “You look different. You seem different to all these other rich bitches,” she said in a low voice.

Shit. She did stand out.

“And besides...” The woman held tight to her wrist and breathed the words right into her ear. “I know you.”

The chill started at the spot where the woman's breath tickled her hairline and spread through her body. Deborah pulled away as the blood drained from her face. Taking in the woman fully, the flicker of recognition formed.

“Katja?” she whispered softly, tears threatening to well in their ducts.

“Shh,” the woman snapped, and Deborah suddenly couldn't imagine how she'd missed it. This was the very first prisoner she'd rehabilitated all those years before. This was the woman who'd mouthed
I know Marcus
while Deborah had watched from her cell as she was led away through the prison gates back to where she had come from. Here. Deborah was overwhelmed.

“Is he here?” Deborah asked as her heart seemed to stop dead in her chest.

Katja nodded once, and Deborah's body kicked back into action. “Now go. I never met you.”

Deborah fought hard to resist the urge to leap over and kiss this woman, and she turned away, shaking anew, to where the signs for the bar were.

Taking a deep breath, Deborah simply walked past the queues of excited looking women and up to the security, flashing her leather bracelet as she walked right past. It was an empowering feeling. She kept walking straight to the bar and took a seat on one of the high stools. She fought to keep hold of her dignity as she had to hop her bum up onto the leather and keep her balance without being able to reach her toes to a rung.

“Good day, miss.” A bartender in rolled shirt sleeves and a waistcoat smiled broadly at her. “What will it be? A drink first?”

As Deborah wasn't sure what came after the ‘first', she nodded.

“Liquorice root?”

“Perfect.” Deborah smiled, thinking it sounded like the most hideous libation imaginable.

As the sloshing brown liquid landed on the bar in front of her, a lump of nausea rose in her throat. She thanked the bartender and reached for her pouch, spilling some of the coins into her palm.

As she went to pass them the bartender stopped her.

“No need, miss, you have your VIP pass, remember?”

“Oh.” Deborah twisted her wrist to see the bead glinting. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” She began to put the coins back and the bartender laughed.

“You wouldn't get too far with those in here, would you?”

“Sorry?” Deborah picked one of the coins between her fingers and examined it. She'd found the pouch hidden in her chamber years before and had squirreled it away for her escape. “What do you mean?” Nerves stirred in her stomach again.

“I haven't seen one of these in...well, forever.” The bartender took the coin and held it up, shaking her head and laughing. “That's a good one,” she said as if Deborah had made a very funny joke. “You're brave all right, flashing that around.”

“What do you mean?” Deborah tried to appear like she was sharing joke and was relieved when the bartender explained.

“The Archmatrias banned our currency, remember? No images of the previous government allowed now. I thought they were all recalled and destroyed. You could get in serious trouble for that.” Something flashed over the bartender's eyes and Deborah had to think quickly.

“Well, good for you that you didn't accept it.” She smiled and held out her hand for the coin then put the pouch away. “I can put it on my report that your farm is straight and true.”

“You mean...” the bartender gasped and smiled. “You're an inspector?”

“Yes,” Deborah said, and she watched as unnecessary guilt passed over the bartender's face. “But don't worry, this facility has been squeaky clean so far.” Relief washed through the bartender's expression. “Just don't let on for now. I need anonymity to carry out my duty effectively.”

The bartender looked cagily around the room and nodded gravely. “I won't tell a soul.” She hauled a long, corrugated pipe with a rubber facemask attached out from under the bar. “Here, try some of Crester's very finest oxytocin.”

Deborah froze as the woman offered her the mask.
Try and act natural
, she repeated to herself again and again. There were other customers with the mask clamped to their faces and Deborah watched intently to quickly acquaint herself with the inhalation etiquette. It looked like only a few breaths were taken then the customers would let their head loll back momentarily before lustily bringing it back into place with a sleepy, sexy look filling their eyes.

Deborah took the offered mask and drew it to her face with shaking fingers. What if she caught the scent of Marcus? She almost hoped she didn't—it would be too much. Too intense. By the look on the faces of the other clientele, this was strong stuff, and Deborah had to keep her wits about her. As the rubber engulfed her nose and mouth, she held her breath, aiming only to take the slightest whiff, just get an idea of how it felt.

She breathed in a little and her body slumped with the heady pheromones of sex. The mask fell from her grip as her peripheral vision dimmed, her spirit pulling her free of her physical self.

“Woah there.” The bartender reached over and grabbed Deborah's shoulder, holding her on the stool as she lost herself. With the other hand, she grabbed a piece of lemon and squeezed in under Deborah's nose. The mist of sharp citrus brought her immediately back to her senses and Deborah composed herself.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, her mouth dry as feathers. “I don't know what just happened. I just—”

“Don't worry, happens all the time.” The bartender smiled, though she still looked concerned. “I just assumed, you being an inspector and all... I should have gone through the usual precautions.” Panic forced her eyes wide. “You won't write me up in your report, will you?” she said, her voice an octave higher.

Deborah was delighted by this turn of events, because now she could really trust this woman. Her fear made her an ally.

“No. No, I won't. Just so long as you don't let on about me.” She took a sip of her liquorice root, thinking she ought to say something else to cement her identity as an official. “Just make sure you always inform clients of the risks from now on.”

“Yes, of course.” The bartender hung her head a little, then spotted a customer that needed to be attended to and hurried off.

Deborah was pleased for the alone time. Events seemed to be going in her favor. Even the things that seemed to be going wrong, somehow turned right. And Marcus was here. She could sense him, taste his pheromone, unique and all his. Yes, it was mixed with others, but it was his. Distinct as a thumbprint.