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“Sadie, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you decided to talk to a therapist. I’m so proud of you. It’s a huge step towards healing, and I want you to know that I am here for you every step of the way, and I know Thatcher is, too.”
“Thank you, love. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to get in so fast.” In truth, part of me had hoped that getting an appointment would take weeks, or even months. My gut instinct was still to hide and bury my trauma. But the therapist I had found, highly recommended by several friends at Haven, had offered to have a trial session on video chat the very day I called. That had been yesterday, but Jamie and I hadn’t had a chance to really talk about it before now.
“I know you weren’t, Sadie-bug, but I’m proud of you for going through with it. How did the call go? Did you feel comfortable with Dr. Jiménez?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Camila is absolutely lovely, Jamie. You would love her. She made me feel comfortable in a situation that was anything but. She accepted everything I said without judgment or preconceived ideas about how tofixme, you know? I’m going in for our first in-person session next Tuesday. I think… I think it’s really going to help. Honestly, I’m sorry for fighting you on it. I should have listened to you and found help long before now.”
“Healing happens in its own time, love. Nothing to apologize for.” Jamie hugged me gently so as not to mess up my outfit. “All that matters is that you are getting help now. And I could not be more proud of you.”
Just then I heard the doorbell ring, signaling Thatcher’s arrival. I gave Jamie a final squeeze, then let him go answer the door while I checked my makeup one last time before heading down the stairs.
“Sweet Jesus.” Thatcher swore as I descended the stairs in one of my favorite outfits. A black, front lace under-bust corset with gold touches that brought out the caramel highlights of my dark hair cinched my waist into a perfect hourglass figure. Above that, a black lace bralette held my breasts in place, not even pretending to cover me as my hardened nipples showed through the delicate fabric. A steampunk style black skirt covered my lower half, the front of it finishing just low enough to cover the lace panties I wore beneath, while the back of the skirt hung to mid-calf, giving the look a decidedly Victorian feel. The bright red Louboutin heels finished the look to perfection.
I straightened my back, feeling confident, sexy, and dominant in the look I had put together as the two men stared at me: Jamie with love and pride, Thatcher with a raw sexual desire that made my pussy clench with anticipation for the scene I had planned for us.
“I will be the luckiest man at Haven tonight,” Thatcher said quietly, as he took my hand to help me from the last step onto the foyer floor. “And the luckiest submissive,” he whispered directly in my ear before kissing my temple.
“You two have a good night tonight. I should be home before you are. Valen and I are going to an art exhibit.” Jamie explained.
“Not the Chavez exhibit,” Thatcher said, staring at Jamie with awe and perhaps a little jealousy.
“The one and only.” Jamie chuckled lightly.
“You lucky dog! I’ve been dying to go, but just haven’t made it over yet.”
“If you two weren’t already scheduled for tonight, I had planned on inviting the both of you, actually.” Jamie admitted.
“That’s a great idea. Why don’t we all go later this week and have dinner after?” I suggested.
“I would love that!” Jamie exclaimed. I felt my heart swell. A double date with both of my partners and Jamie’s new partner, my metamour, in polyamory terminology.
“Let us know which day, and it’s a date!”
With that, Thatcher and I were on our way to Haven, both abuzz with anticipation and excitement for the night ahead.
* * *
“One.”Septus’ voice rang out as he counted the strikes of the flogger against his back.
“Two.” A groan fell from his lips.
“Three.”
The hits continued to rain down on his skin, one right after the other, in rapid succession. The flogger was heavy in my hand, my wrist more tired than normal. After the twentieth strike landed, I stopped. I walked up to his bare back, where he was shackled to the St. Andrew’s Cross, facing away from me. My nails ran down the length of his back, running over the reddened welts, feeling the heat of each strike beneath my fingertips.
The scene had been going on for nearly an hour now. We had ramped up slowly, moving from teasing to torture, from light touches to a paddle, and then to the flogger. I circled him slowly, my hand never leaving his body as I moved to the side of him. My hand ran up his back, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck and yanking it back firmly.
“Had enough, pet?” My voice was only loud enough for him to hear. Where we had normally drawn quite a crowd during our scenes here at Haven, tonight was different. Only a few stragglers remained, though that was largely due to the fact that Max and Erin were doing a rather incredible rope scene on the other side of the large room.
“No, Mistress,” he said, but his voice sounded strange. I pulled his head to the side, so that my eyes met his.
“Are you sure about that, pet?” I reiterated. I searched for any clues that he was in distress. Something was off, but I began to realize it wasn’t with him. The worry and tension I had been feeling all night rose to a fever pitch, my stomach twisting and turning itself into a mangled mass of misery. The issue was with me. I had ignored those feelings, and it was affecting our scene. I knew what I needed to do.
“Red.”
It was a soft word. Not a whisper, but softly spoken so that only he could hear me.
Thatcher looked up sharply, catching my eye, but then quickly nodded acceptance of my safeword. I quickly released the shackles at his hands and then at his ankles until he could step away from the wooden cross. I ran to the table where the items from my toy bag sat neatly displayed, finding the robe and wrapping him up in it.
