The Right Thing (3 page)

Their choice of lifestyle was eased by the inordinate amount of
money made as financial wizards in real estate and other investments. Michael
was never totally sure if McKenzie came on purpose or truly hadn’t been able to
control herself. It was a time to remember and he’d had to cut the laces in
order to fuck her pussy because they were so wet he couldn’t untie them. Come
to think of it, he felt something that day he now recognized as jealousy, at the
boys using his sub. He hadn’t let any of them fuck her in any orifices other
than her mouth. That alone should have given him a hint of his true state of
mind, but he was so fucking certain then that Cupid traveled on a whole
different plane than he did. Talk about being dense.

Popping out of the elevator like a veritable jack in the box,
Michael strode up the hall to their apartment.
Theirs
. He needed to get a
prenup
in
place and update his will because McKenzie couldn’t be left unprotected in the
event something happened to him after they were married. His family would try
to fuck her over. He came by his selfish tendencies honestly. Fumbling for the
keys, touching the little ring box again as he did so, he jammed the correct
one into the lock. Anticipating McKenzie kneeling by the door as usual, hoping
for his return, elicited incredible disappointment when her gorgeous form
wasn’t where it usually was.

Well, he hadn’t been away very long. She had probably gone to say
goodbye to her birds and then to wash her face free of tears. Likely still in
the bathroom. Michael could pop the question in that room just as well as in
the foyer. The place didn’t matter, just the content, and his cock was so hard
he had to adjust himself before making his way to that little space. He broke a
rule by lately refusing McKenzie her own room, but found he couldn’t keep away
because of his own conflicted emotions. And she hadn’t seemed to mind. But then
she accepted anything he did, anything he wanted, because she placed herself in
service to him. That meant he had her trust. So he needed to put some protocol
back in place and live by what that inferred. He owed McKenzie that, for being
so fucking selfish simply couldn’t continue. That epiphany made his head spin
and he wanted to run again but manned up.

Hesitating at the door to her room, debating if he should knock, he
listened instead. Not hearing anything, he raised his hand and made a fist
before realizing the door wasn’t totally shut. He eased it open and sensed the
emptiness. His gut clenched and he fought for air. It couldn’t be. McKenzie was
somewhere else in the apartment and he just needed to find her. That was it.
Any other possibility was unthinkable. He tore through the rest of the space,
even taking a ridiculous look in the closets and in the pantry before returning
to her room to get a clue. Something caught his eye, glinting on the bed.
Making one foot move forward, then the other, a puppet on someone else’s
string, he came up to the little narrow cot he’d thought sufficient for a sub
to be banished to, sufficient to sleep on when needing time alone. Even in that
he’d been selfish, hoping McKenzie wouldn’t ever want her own space, although
he’d sent her there from time to time just because he could. And maybe when he
knew she needed time away from him, his desires and kink and expectations. He
dared hope that was actually true, that he was a better man, the one McKenzie
insisted he was.

The engraved platinum cuffs worn by every sub he had ever lived with
were reposed on the girlie pink comforter, a color McKenzie despised, not that
her opinion and feelings had fucking well mattered enough to him to change the
color when he’d inadvertently found out. And now he was in denial, trying to
distract himself by thinking inane thoughts. McKenzie had taken off those
cuffs, availed herself of the fucking key he’d tossed at her two days ago after
caning her into a puddle of tears. He told his sub to stop the unnecessary
caterwauling or take the cuffs off and get the fuck out. He announced she was
hardly sub material. Oh, he was a real gem all right. How could she love him
when he wasn’t worthy of her? It’s said a good woman is the making of a man and
Michael dared hope that was true, but perhaps he was too late.
No.

Prodding one cuff with a finger he flinched back when it snapped
shut. Fucking symbolism. His brain was a spongy block of black matter but
asserted he’d finally managed it. He had pushed McKenzie hard enough to make
her flee. Not losing the birds but the threat to give her to the twins. That
would have scared the crap out of him too, but surely she didn’t think he was
capable? Except he hadn’t given his woman any reason to doubt it after what
he’d put her through these past weeks, and she’d already had a taste of what
they had to inflict. A surge of rage rose up from deep within him. His vision
narrowed and black spots swirled around the edges. He wanted to howl and pull
his hair out, and set about him like a madman. After expelling the fury and
terror, a semblance of sanity returning, he stared around the room in awe of
what he had done.

The blinds were torn from their mounts, the dresser top cleared of
its contents, drawers yanked clear and upended, the mirror smashed. The
offensive pink bedding was torn into strips and the mattress was upended
against the far wall. Still panting with exertion, he studied a shallow cut on
his left hand, right at the base of his knuckles, seeping slow crimson, mocking
the state of his heart. The cuffs, those symbols of servitude, passed down from
sub to sub, but never good enough for ’Kenzie when he thought about it now, lay
untouched side by each on the carpet at his feet and he stomped them flat, one
by one, the final dregs of self-hate expended. What was he going to do without
her? Who would he be? And who would she?

Chapter Two

McKenzie looked ruefully at her hands. The French manicure had long
since succumbed to the chemicals used at the drycleaners, and they were
reddened and cracked from hard use. Gloves were worn when possible, but some of
the fabrics were hard to handle with a layer of material between them.

“’Kenzie! Time to lock up, gal!” Mr. Lee’s Asian face was belied by
his southern
Texas
accent and complete command of every American idiom known to mankind, including
those used in the twentieth century and before. Her boss and his wife worked to
rule, Mr. Lee’s work ethic. The cleaners opened on time and closed to the
minute, eight to five with half an hour for lunch and two ten minute coffee
breaks. She wondered where her boss learned this work style, expecting his
employees to work hard but not abusing them. She felt eternally grateful to
both Lees for hiring her in this economy, when they really didn’t need another
pair of hands, and was only too happy to take cash under the table. Mrs. Lee
worked the front, Mr. Lee did the actual dry cleaning, and McKenzie, Lisa and
Donna did the pressing and repairing. They had a loyal clientele, but many
people were pinching pennies where they could, including not buying expensive clothes
requiring dry cleaning. She nearly smiled to herself, realizing all those
clothes in the closet at his place were dry clean only and could have kept the
Lees busy a day a week. The smile died before being born as she purged that
memory from her frontal lobe.

McKenzie hung a white coat up carefully on the rack. The coat
protected her clothes from the chemicals, if not from the smell permeating the
shop, and there wasn’t enough money to easily replace them. The highlight of
each month was the bonus of being able to look through the unclaimed items and
find as many in the right size to take home. Apparently the Lees usually sold
the clothing around the corner at the thrift shop, but were generous and offered
first pick to their
girls
. Donna was
a big woman and didn’t find much to take, although when she did she would
choose a man’s shirt, saying she needed a
shortie
nightgown, which made them all giggle. McKenzie and Lisa were much the same
size and played rock, paper, scissors for different items. In any event, she
now had an eclectic mix of high-end clothes to choose from, and sometimes,
advantageously, items would actually match, not that there was anywhere to wear
them. The clothing budget was spent on underwear, and on good shoes made for
standing for much of the day.

Ensuring the equipment was shut down, she stretched. And she had
thought her body well inured to pain. But then this kind of pain didn’t elicit
arousal and wasn’t in service and…crap, thinking again. All roads led to
Rome
, and he was her
Rome
.
She’d make herself crazy if she kept thinking about him, even if she didn’t let
herself think his name, not his real name nor his title. It had been nearly two
months since she left and he still tried to pervade her thoughts, her dreams,
and her life. Well, it didn’t matter how much time it took to get over him,
because there simply was no other option, and McKenzie had the rest of her life
to do it in. Satisfied everything was shipshape, she snagged her hoodie in case
the weather had turned. Soon, purchasing a winter coat would be a priority and
the thought of the expense was anxiety producing.

“Want to grab a drink or something?” Donna watched with an
expression that expected her to say no, but ’Kenzie figured there was enough
money before next payday to treat herself. Spending money would detract from
the budget for a winter coat, but maybe she could splurge on a glass of white
wine. Lisa shook her head. Having two little kids at home and what sounded like
a dragon of a mother taking care of them curtailed her time. Lisa accounted for
every minute of time away from work ‘so she wouldn’t spawn another brat’, to
quote her mom.

’Kenzie sometimes thought about babies in a wistful, fairytale kind
of way. In her prime baby making years, mid-twenties, the urge was there, but
if she couldn’t manage her own life, how could she raise a child? Besides, it
would take somebody to fertilize her eggs and even the
idea
of becoming intimate with anyone other than him, was totally
repugnant. For someone who had been given multiple orgasms each and every day,
at least when not being edged or denied, ’Kenzie had gone cold turkey without
vaguely understanding why that was or allowing herself to puzzle over it
because, she reminded herself, doing so would lead to self-awareness, and to him,
and to remembering. And if she led herself down that path, she would end up
like one of those crazy, sad women sitting in a shelter somewhere or eking out
a living on the streets instead of a crazy, sad woman who’d been blessed enough
to find employment and a safe place to live and have enough to eat. And maybe
even garner a friend or two.

McKenzie went to tell Mrs. Lee about going for a drink with Lisa,
and then asked Mrs. Lee to pass the message on to the new landlady, Mrs. Wu,
who spoke only Mandarin. Sharing her plans this way, like telling a mom, was
something she had never done in her first life. McKenzie’s mom didn’t give a
royal rat’s ass about what any of her kids did as long as they didn’t interfere
with her narcissistic lifestyle. McKenzie was forced to look after herself from
an early age, which probably led to the incredible need to be taken care of and
dominated by…she flicked the mental switch to off.

Mrs. Lee had found her a room with a family in the neighborhood and
in doing so ’Kenzie actually experienced a sense of belonging. Initially on a
careful, cautious path, always expecting the bottom to fall out of these
strangers’ kindness, she now accepted their benevolence as real and realized
she could be independent again. A choice. Except life with mom didn’t suit, with
no one really giving a shit. Eleven months under him, under complete and utter
control, feeling safe and content, wanted and needed, and yes, even loved…did she
want the choice? Was there a balance? She was so conflicted.

This new life was taking some getting used to, and ’Kenzie knew
she’d assigned Mrs. Lee, and Mrs. Wu by extension, a kind of house mother
status. It was important to her to feel someone cared enough to want to know
where she was going, and with whom, and knew what her plans were. Conversely,
the Lees never inquired about her past, never pried, and she was everlastingly
grateful for that too.
   

Walking that fateful day, unable to lift her feet anymore, she sat
on the curb in front of the drycleaners, sneakers placed in the gutter, the
cold and grit of the concrete evident against her tender bottom, even through
the covering of denim. The place wasn’t that far from him, really. She could
see the building where he lived, looming on the skyline, but had gone as far as
she could until her strength failed, more emotionally spent than anything.
There was little money in her purse, but there seemed no ability to figure out
where to stay, or even where she might find something to eat. It was as if her
brain stopped working that day.

’Kenzie thought she might have just sat there until the street
sweepers swept her up like trash when Mr. Lee looked out as he put the closed
sign on the door. The man told her afterwards, maybe a week later, she looked
different from most of the urchins who littered the streets, and he’d been
curious about her total immobility. She didn’t tell him keeping a certain
stance, a positioning of her body regardless of what was being done to it or what
going on around her had been an expectation in his world, making the crouch on
the curb effortless and in fact a balm to sore feet.