She shrugged. “It was interesting.”
I waited for a moment, focusing on the mingling unfolding in front of us. A few people waved to me, and I acknowledged them, then turned my shoulder towards Mara, to signal that we needed privacy.It was interesting.Interesting didn’t mean good or bad; it meant that it was different than the usual. Different than what she expected. Mara wasn’t giving a clear opinion.
“What?” she said, feeling my tense body language.
“Interesting can be interpreted in multiple ways,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything positive or negative. And I know you have specific feelings about it. Tell me.”
Her gaze wandered to the garden, her mind at work. “I still have a few scabs,” she said. She looked at her hands, ripping tiny pieces from a napkin. While I had not made blood drip from her skin, the redness showed that her skin would scab over, tiny speckles marking where I had been, where I had marked her. With only three strikes, the scars would be minuscule and would disappear within six months. But it wasn’t easy to have someone mark you like that. Especially for the first time.
Especially if you didn’t actually want it. When you had to scream the safe word to make it stop.
“I shouldn’t have used that paddle,” I said.
She put a hand on my arm. “Don’t,” she said. “That’s not what I meant.”
I stared at her, willing her to say exactly what she meant.
A hulking presence came to the entrance of the backyard, then announced loudly, “If you would please join us for the collaring ceremony.” It was Grant.
Should I point out to Mara that Grant was Hazel’s protector, that Hazel might be here? I would bring it up after the ceremony. There was no point in telling her now. Not when the ceremony was about to begin. Not when my mind was wrapped up in making Mara tell me exactly what she wanted.
The audience sat in the wooden chairs, some bottoms and slaves preferring to rest on the ground at their master’s feet, while others sat beside them, scooting the chairs closer to one another. Mara took the seat next to mine, but didn’t move it closer. Her eyes were searching the group, dissecting the event. Zaid and Grant stood at the front of the make-shift stage area, beneath the flowered beam.
Heather walked down the center in gym shorts and a tank top, completely different from Zaid’s suit. As the two of them took hands, facing each other, Grant began the ceremony. He was calm, lecturing on the meaning of dedicating one’s life to another, and how the two of them had done that long before this ceremony. Zaid and Heather’s matching wedding bands gleamed in the light.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Heather said, looking up at Zaid. He motioned with two fingers towards the ground, a high protocol gesture. With their eyes locked on each other, she kneeled before him, then lifted her hair. He bound her neck in the eternity collar, binding that loyalty to him forever.
All of us clapped and a few stood to cheer. Heather blushed, rising to stand next to her husband and master, while Zaid held her hand. I had attended a few collaring ceremonies: some with physical endurance demonstrations, others with metal branding to the flesh. With this ceremony, there was a reason for Heather’s lack of dress; perhaps the gym outfit represented an earlier time with them. The only actual kink represented in the ceremony was the high protocol gesture, in which Heather knew to kneel. The look in her eye said that this was where she was meant to be.
Mara clapped, like the rest of us, but her eyes were vacant. Lost. Somewhere else. Heather had said that she had never been so sure of anything in her entire life, as she was of being collared to Zaid. Had Mara ever felt that way about us? Positive that she knew what she was doing? Of the reasons why she was with me?
As we made our way back into the garden area, I asked in her ear, “Your thoughts?”
“It was interesting,” she said again, with a tone of annoyance.
“Mara.”
“What do you want me to say?” She put a hand on her hip. “That I loved it? That it was exciting to see a couple promise themselves eternal devotion, when I know nothing about who they are or what they want or what lies in their pasts?” What lies in their pasts… That was a strange way to phrase it. She continued: “Why should I trust that they love each other? Maybe he’s using her. Have you ever thought of that?”
Her bottom lip was pulled tight in tension, and her brow was furrowed. Her arms crossed. She was not discussing the newlyweds. Again, avoiding the topic she actually wanted to discuss. How she felt.
“That’s for them to decide,” I said. “The idea of a master and slave relationship makes you uncomfortable.”
“No,” she said, sighing. “The idea of trusting someone that completely does.”
And those words said more than the rest of it, burning through me. She questioned her trust in me? “You’re having a hard time relating to that level of trust?”
She paused, looking around. In a quiet voice, she said, “You left marks on my ass. You broke the skin.”
“You wanted to use it,” I said, though my own voice was unsure. I shouldn’t have given in to the temptation and let her select that paddle. It had been my job to protect her.
“I don’t know,” she said.
My mind flashed to that night, seeing her legs shake with anticipation, the desire running down her legs, the way she nuzzled into me afterward, tears on her face, and asked me to make love to her. And I did. But sometimes, that wasn’t enough aftercare. Safe words had been said. Scars lingered. They could leave a mark on the soul.
“I said ‘red,’” she whispered.
“And I listened,” I said, more defensively than I had intended. Damn it. I was being an asshole. But I was frustrated. I wanted to know how she felt. Even if she hated me. “Say it,” I said. “You know how you feel about it.”
