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I learned the truth of such surrender, what had escaped me with Rossi. I could be deep inside this singular lust without losing myself completely—as long as there was someone to take me there and bring me back. I could enjoy the fire, and set it free.
KC watched the ending as I finally spilled the waters that so thoroughly cleansed me. There was an unexplainable satisfaction in this ritual—a quivering burst of sensation, of flesh trembling from the inside out—and humility in letting go—and even more, exposing this elemental act of nature before an audience—even if it was an audience of one. My humility was more poignant still because KC knew me so intimately. The love I felt for this young wise man matched the masterful love he tendered me.
“You amaze me, Gail.”
“I do?” I stared in wonder from my humble pose.
“That you would share yourself with me this way.”
There were tears burning my eyes, but a relinqui
shing smile on my lips.
“You’ve denied yourself too many days,” he added.
“Too many years,” I replied.
In the aftermath, his arms were warm, and his cock fully rigid and unmerciful as he took me. Home had a new definition in my heart. KC a place inside it.
The ritual over, I figured it was time to leave The Refuge and head west.
KC mirrored my thoughts, and we left two days later.
Epilogue
KC and I split our time now between his tiny apartment at the theatre and my loft, since we are unsure which home we like best. Maybe we’ll keep both. I freelance my art—finding work surprisingly plentiful, if not as financially productive as Ripley & Wingardt. Doesn’t matter, neither money nor a prestigious career served me well. Instead, I’ve discovered my own visions again, and an absorbing fascination for set design—to which KC happily gloats. He says he loves my quirky plans, although we often fight about my interpretation of a play when it differs from his. But they are good fights, fueled by an art we seem to share and I grow fonder of each day.
I’ve also started painting—oils, but I’m only getting started. I’ve even allowed the family trust to make a major improvement in the ACT Workshop Theatre—its philanthropic duty. There will be more soon.
KC remains the boss in my life, in charge, the wizard of the theatre—as well as being the wizard of my sexual unfolding. He’s taken my fire from under glass and held it before my eyes so I can see it clearly. Its permutations are enormous, but they are not fixed in one tiny sphere, as Rossi would have led me to believe. While they center on submission, and spanking seems to be the one constant—these are just the center of a vast sea of sometimes frightening desire. KC gets me over the rough spots. And once I settle, we only dive into that sea for more.
Today, the black box is cool after an unusually warm October sun. I walk in not apprehensively as I first did, but not without a tingle of excitement rushing up my spine. I suppose I pissed him off—he was furious over the phone. I know I was stretching my authority, changing the stage formation without telling him. But I knew he’d argue if he didn’t see for himself how well my design would work. I know I’m right about this one, and I know I’ll win. But I have a feeling that I’ll only get my point across after I’ve been over his lap for long while, and turned into a squalling brat, kicking and screaming and begging for mercy. The way by body feels, though? I can’t think of anything I want more.
Once swallowed by the familiar darkness of the theatre, I take the hall quickly, hearing the sound of KC’s actors rehearsing the play. As I turn the corner, he has his back to me, but he turns abruptly like he has radar in the back of his head. Seeing the menacing look on his face, I know I’ll be getting it hard and hot on my naked ass—and very soon. My only question is: will he take me into the privacy of the scene shop, or do it right here in front of the whole cast?
