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He chuckles softly. “I’m already waiting for you, Mistress Sage.”
A smile appears on my face. Luke has everything a man can have; charm, good looks, money, and confidence; but they’re all outside the bedroom. When he enters the bedroom, he wants to let all the control go away, and it was fun the first time, definitely deserves a repeat.
“Good boy,” I murmur in my Domme voice and I can almost see him get into the role of a submissive.
After changing my clothes into some femdom outfit from the closet, I walk to the bar for a drink. He needs to wait; the best part of the domination is creating anticipation. Tonight, Channing – or Paxton as everyone calls him, everyone but Violet – is taking care of the bar. He comes once a week to take care of the bar like he used to do, and he even serves the drinks.
Pax and I go way back, he is the reason I got the job as a dancer in Club Nymph, and he’s the artist of my tattoo. He was right when he told me a tattoo can heal a soul. Since I got the tattoo, I’ve been wearing my pain proudly. I’ve been stronger and wiser. The best part? Pax has never talked about the day we met or how much of a mess I was.
“How is it going?” he says, lifting his chin up as a greeting.
“Same. How is your tattoo parlor?”
He puts a shot of whiskey in front of me, knowing damn well I like my drink strong. “It’s a dream came true. I wanted to open up my own shop since I worked in a tattoo parlor years ago,” he says, not giving away that I know the mentioned tattoo parlor. “And now, I own my own shop, do what I love, and people love my work.”
“I’ve never doubted that you’d make it. You’re too talented not to be successful.”
He smiles at me with a boyish smile and mutters thanks. After downing my buzz, I jump off from the stool. “Thanks for the drink. I better go and take care of the poor guy who’s been waiting for me for almost half an hour now.”
He laughs. “He’ll get the time of his life I’m sure, it worth the wait.”
Shaking my head, I walk toward the exit. No matter how it sounds, Pax and I were never a thing. He’s just a bright light whose weakness is to help broken women, and he’s just a friend, he’s always been.
With a light heart, I step outside and spot the black as night Bentley. Luke gets out of the car as soon as he sees me. He looks as gorgeous as the last time; too bad he gives me nothing but a short-lived pleasure and some satisfaction to my sadistic tendencies.
Since my soul has no chance at redemption, I gladly take and never refuse any kind of pleasure the ugly world can give me.
Chapter 3
Past
Age 6
There is a girl outside my window. She’s playing with her pink dress as her mommy ties her shoelaces. I don’t like shoelaces, they always become knot when I tie them. But the girl is lucky, she doesn’t have to tie them herself like I have to. Her mommy does it for her, mine doesn’t.
Her mommy smiles at her, caressing her hair as the girl pouts. I try to open the heavy curtains more. I hold my breath in fear, my mommy doesn’t like it when I pout. Will the girl be closed in the closet like me?
Please don’t, I whispered again and again. The girl looks like she is younger than me, I’m taller than her. I’ll save her if her mommy hits her.
I wait… nothing happens. The mommy kisses the girl and smooths her blonde hair. I wish I had blonde hair, too. She looks like the doll I’ve found next to a trash can in front of our house. But the girl’s hair is shiny and clean, not like the doll I found. It was dirty, and it didn’t have one arm, but that’s fine. That doll is the only toy I have. Mommy doesn’t know it, though. If she finds it, she would hit me and lock me in the closet again so I can ask for forgiveness. Because that doll wasn’t mine. I made a mistake then, and God doesn’t like kids who make mistakes.
I watch as the girl walks down the road in her pretty dress and even pret
tier shoes. I’ve never worn dresses like that. My mommy doesn’t like it when I try to be pretty. She says when you look beautiful outside it would make you ugly inside. I don’t know what she means, I don’t understand it. But, I know I don’t want to be ugly. As I look at the girl, I don’t find anything ugly on her, though. If she can dress up and be like a doll why can’t I?
I look at the bathroom door, mommy is in there. Slowly, I walk to her bedroom and look into her clothes. She doesn’t wear anything pretty, either. Her clothes aren’t like the girl’s pretty dress or her mother’s, but I still grab a t-shirt. It’s blue but looks white. I put on the t-shirt, it’s touching my knees just like the girl’s dress. I bring a piece of a mirror I found in our garden. It’s so small and dirty, but I can still see my face. Smiling, I take my crayons and start to paint my face. My lips become red, and my eyes are surrounded by green; it’s the same shade of green with my eyes. I like it. My hair doesn’t look good, though. I brush my hair, trying to make it like the girl’s pigtails but I can’t make it like that. It’s hard, and even if I could make it, my hair isn’t blonde like hers; it’s black. Still, after brushing it, that looks better now.
I swirl around myself, smiling at the small mirror. I look pretty, and that makes me happy. Just as I swirl, again I hear my mom’s scream. “Veronica! What are you wearing? What did you do to your face?” She grabs my hair, pulls it till I stand in front of her. It hurts and my eyes water because of the pain.
“I… I’m pretty, mommy,” I say, trying to show her that I’m not doing anything bad. I don’t want to be ugly.
“You’re disgusting. Look at yourself. You look like a horrible clown,” she yells at me. Making a cross on her chest over and over again like I’m evil. “Save her soul, my Lord. Save her sinful, selfish, disgusting soul,” she prays. I feel like an insect. Am I that bad?
“She’ll spread her legs at ten to all the boys at this rate. How can she be my daughter?” I hear her say to herself, shaking her head. I don’t understand what she means, but she gets angrier with every word she mutters.
She rips the t-shirt I’m wearing and rubs my face until the crayon comes off. Her hands hurt my cheeks, but she doesn’t stop even though I’m crying.
“I’m sorry, mommy.”
