Collared (Masters of Desires)

It was such a sorrowful day even God was crying. His howls were sharp enough to leave cuts. His anger crackled from east to west with vicious bolts.

Dead leaves fluttered in the air like a flock of migrating sparrows. A musty petal kissed the cheek of a woman walking on the sidewalk.

With both hands fastened on the handle of her umbrella, she shook her head. Strands of blonde hair throttled her neck. The fragrance of rain perfumed her body with an earthy scent of soil.

She closed her eyes and wished she had the will to teleport home. Although it was just five blocks away, the abandonment of the streets made her feel like the only human left on earth.

The loud engine of a car, a deafening honk, and the derisive catcalls from somewhere down the road burst her secluded bubble.

She paid them no attention, tightening her fingers on the umbrella as she sped-walked.

But malice often trumped good. And sadly, wheels were faster than her feet.

The driver soon caught up to her, lowering the window with a loud creak that sent explosions of bumps to spread over the woman’s arms.

“Looks like you need a ride,” the man said, jerking his head. “Hop in.”

She politely declined with a cemented smile and kept walking.

“You’ll get wet,” he said, his eyes peering down her soil-splattered legs.

To her dismay, a gust turned her only shelter upward. She tried her best to hold onto the metal handle, but the wind was too strong. With nothing left to cover her body from the treacherous rain, she was drenched within minutes.

The thin fabric of her dress glued onto her chest, molding the shape of her small breasts and strong thighs.

“Now you must come with us.”

She gnawed her bottom lip, running her hands up and down her naked arms. The man looked younger than her, probably early twenties. What harm could he really do? The town she lived in was so small, she knew the odds of seeing him again were high.

Shrugging her shoulders in an “I guess” manner, she opened the backseat door. As she placed a foot inside, she found out he wasn’t the only man who resided inside the car.

She counted three heads—the driver, a passenger, and another in the backseat.

“On second thought, I think it’s best if I keep walking. Need to keep in shape and all,” she said and made to remove her leg, but a hairy hand drew her inside.

By the time she knew what was happening it was too late. The damage had already been done.

She looked for beer bottles, a sign of drug use, anything that would impair the men’s judgment, refusing to believe people did this out of their own volition but found nothing but organic evil.

Hours later, the woman was thrown on the side of an unknown road like a wounded animal left to die. She had trouble standing as her limbs forgot all motor-skill. She closed her eyes and hoped the petrichor scent overpowered the monsters’ heinous crime.

It was morning when her eyes opened again.

The blinding light shone on her face.

The streets had dried.

The leaves had returned to most trees, and the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians and happy residents.

It was the complete opposite of the night before. Almost as if yesterday hadn’t happened. For a second, she thought it had all been a nightmare, but the soreness between her thighs and the bruises on her wrists advised otherwise.

She made one last attempt at standing. This time her feet complied. They guided her across the street, behind the dumpsters of a small taverna. Pressing her back on the steel side of one, she slid down, drawing her knees to her chest.

She allowed herself to grieve, rocking back and forth as she mourned the death of the woman she was no more. She mourned the death of a life she’d never have, a love she’d never receive, and the kids she’d wanted desperately, she knew she had to abort.

Her eyes, sore with tears of shame and repulsion, felt like a broken fountain.

In the midst of such misery, she heard an angelic voice that brought upon elevated hope. Fearful no more, she opened her eyes.

“Come with me.” His humanoid silhouette echoed the rays of the sun as he extended his hand. She accepted it without question, wanting badly to leave this wicked world and enter The Heavenly Kingdom.

Although her thighs were sore and her limbs were fragile, it wasn’t physical pain that made her want to say goodbye. It was the emotional turmoil living inside her that begged to give up.

It happened without preamble as fast and as furious as a moving train. For countless months and many years, the man took care of the woman’s external physique, but most importantly, her internal wounds.

He took her to therapy, fed her, gave her a shelter, a home she could call her own, one far from her past. He clothed her in clothes and jewels but most of all in his undivided attention.

He gave her every woman’s dream come true, but never what she desired the most.

To him, she was a refugee, a wounded animal in need of attention but to her, he was the world—her savior. Although it pained her to admit it, she knew her future with him was nonexistent.

Her needs weren’t his needs. His needs weren’t her needs.

He tried.

She tried.

Just as he could see the pain in her eyes when she offered her body, she could see the pain in his when he took it. Each was holding the other back, obscuring the person they truly were, preventing the other from growing.

Because she loved him fiercely, with all her mind, with all her heart, with all her soul, she gave him a very special gift. It was nothing compared to what he’d given her. After all, he’d given her life, but this gift was a close second. This gift gave him the tools he needed to live his life truthfully without reproach, without regret, without wonder.

To show him how much she loved him— Lauren stopped mid-sentence, hearing a small moan escape Abigail’s lips. She always made the sound when she fell asleep. It was as arousing as it was adorable.

Against the dim light of the moon, she saw Abigail’s tranquil face. Her lids were closed. Her lips were pouty like the petals of a blooming flower. She connected every light freckle on the bridge of her nose and along the top of her cheeks with the tip of her finger.

Abigail was the personification of beauty and perfection.

Lauren had known since the moment she saw her she’d be perfect for Preston.

She took a deep breath and said the words she’d kept a secret for months, “To show him how much she loved him, she gave him a woman.”

Preston had spent the last years making sure Lauren’s needs were met, whether by him or Elliott. At times, he’d go as far as to neglect his own to please hers. Today, Lauren returned the favor, forgoing the needs of her heart to appease his.

She meticulously removed the covers from her body and made her way to the walk-in closet where she got dressed. Her body felt light as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Yet her heart felt heavy with saddens, feeling the loss of another family. Tears escaped her eyes. She let them roll down her cheek. This family was worth mourning.

She watched Abigail from the comfort of distance, afraid if she were close, she’d find herself lost in the serenity of her sleep.

Although Preston helped Lauren expecting nothing in return, she’d felt indebted to him. Because of this, she searched every BDSM club in the state of New York looking for a woman like Abigail. The moment she saw her gray eyes roll toward the heavens when a man flogged a woman, Lauren had known her search had come to an end. She’d finally found a woman stoic enough to handle Preston Trice’s desires.

And she’d gotten her right.

Preston was the happiest she’d ever seen him and so was she, feeling absolute for the first time in five years. Although it broke her heart to have to leave the couple behind, she was ready to start her new life as Mistress Lauren.

Through her exploration in finding Master Trice’s perfect masochist, Lauren became acquainted with her dominant side. She found inflicting pain on men was as much a psychological thrill as it was a coping mechanism.

As Lauren waited for the elevator to ding, she replayed quick memories of her time with Preston and Abigail, knowing it would be the last time she’d see them again.

“You’re leaving?” Abigail’s voice was strained, almost fragile.

Lauren simmered the urge to reprimand her for walking on her injured soles. She told herself it wasn’t her place anymore to order her to her room.

Why did the elevator take so long?

She wasn’t a fan of confrontation. Had she known Abigail wasn’t in REM sleep, she would’ve ended the story with the woman giving the man a bouquet of flowers. Talk about unconventional romance.

“It was you, wasn’t it? At the club that night? I knew I had seen you somewhere, but I was never able to place where.”

“Yes,” Lauren said, her voice low and soft. Her head was down, not quite able to meet her wrath.

“What the fuck is this? Are you some kind of pimp for him?”

At the accusation, Lauren turned around. She worried she’d break her if she got close to her, so she made sure her feet were firmly planted on the floor before she spoke.

“If you think of yourself as a prostitute, then there is nothing I can do. I, however, am no pimp. Had you listened to my story, you’d know I’d never do such a thing to anyone, let alone another woman. I picked you, out of all the women in that club because you were the only one who wasn’t satisfied with what the dominants were doing. You wanted more. You were eager to learn, and I saw the submissive in you the moment you saw me.”

Abigail let out a long sigh. Lauren saw her anger disperse with every breath. “I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes I speak without thinking. I—I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry, Lauren. I don’t understand why you’re leaving.”

“There is no secret that I love Preston and I have become very fond of you, Abby. What I am not fond of is your reluctance in accepting Preston’s love because of my feelings toward him. I am not your dominant, he is. He should be your number one concern, not my unrequited love.”

“What you seem to forget in your many questionnaires is that you were my first dominant and I will never do anything to hurt you. You asked why I accepted your love so easily, that’s why.”

Lauren pushed her emotions aside as she channeled Mistress Lauren. With a snap of her finger, she ordered Abigail to kneel by her feet.

Mistress Lauren raised Abigail’s chin with a tap of her finger.

“Now I am telling you not to deny yourself of his love. I want you to accept it and find it within yourself to offer it back. Never, ever break his heart because if you do, you’ll have to answer to me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Lauren kissed the top of her head, inhaling Abigail’s unique scent. “Now stand.”

“This isn’t goodbye, is it?” Abigail asked with a mist of hope.

Lauren gave her a solemn smile, not wanting to hurt her feelings with fraudulent words. The last thing she saw before the elevator closed was Abigail’s back as she walked down the hallway to Preston’s room.

In the safety of the enclosed space, she gave reality a fairytale ending, “And though it pained her to see her lover love another, she knew they’d live happily ever after because their souls were meant to match.”