The Blooming Season

Master ushers us through the confusion and din of the crowd to a room on the far side of the stage. I haven't had the opportunity to explore the labyrinth of rooms and dark corners of the club before. I've never been in this room. It's a beautiful space with richly glowing ornate woodwork cabinetry and a high arching stained glass window that rivals the one in Master's private chambers.

The space is intimate and cozy, intended for privacy and perhaps a bit of solace from the craziness going on out on the main floor. I'd say I like the room, simply furnished with an antique red velvet fanning couch, two matching claw footed wingback chairs, and a thick, plush wool patterned rug on the floor, but Annabelle Leigh's presence utterly spoils the genteel atmosphere.

Master settles almost too casually into one of the wingback chairs and motions for Annabelle to have a seat in its twin. I follow his lead through the subtle tug on my collar and take my place on the floor at his feet. With the heavy oak door closed, the noise from the club is almost inaudible. I can feel the deep bass of dance music thumping through the wood floor matching the wild pounding of my heart.

Now that I've put a face with a name, I know this woman. Decades ago her husband was a political VIP, a congressman, I think? At the time, just starting high school, I had other things on my mind than politics. I really don't remember him, but who could forget a face like hers? Annabelle was pretty, refined, vibrant, and well spoken. The public might of liked her husband well enough to vote him into office, but her, they loved. If they'd only known the private side of her very public face, they would have locked her up and thrown away the key.

Well, her fifteen minutes of fame have come and gone. She still manages to make her way into the social pages, occasionally. But except for a rare appearance at a high profile fundraiser, her days in the public limelight are over. Though she is spry for her age. Annabelle must be in her seventies by now. She can't harm anybody, not anymore. I want to scratch her eyes out for what she's done to Dane. I want to cuss her and slap the artfully applied foundation off her face. I want to expose her for the wrinkled up, sadistic, old bag of bones that she is.

After all these years, she still has the power to hurt. Master would never let her harm him. The younger version of him, the part so enamored and trusting of her that he'd endure her torments is still there peeking out from beneath his cool exterior. I sense it, the pain, in the quaver of his fingertips against the back of my neck and the way he maintains constant skin-to-skin contact with me.

It has been said that sooner or later we all must confront the demons of our past and expose the skeletons in our closets to the light of day. I've seen enough people on their deathbeds to realize it's true. I don't know if she has sought Dane out for that purpose or if she's just here to torture him one last time. An apology might go a long way for both of them. It certainly would help Dane to finally heal some old and festering wounds. As for what his forgiveness would do for her. I could care less. Perhaps, I've got a sadistic streak myself because I want to see this woman suffer.

"You've done well for yourself, Pet," Annabelle says. Master's fingertips stop their stroking motions and his nails dig into the base of my neck. Though the stinging bite hurts, I don't move a muscle or offer any complaint. I accept his pain as mine and allow him to channel his agony into me.

"I ceased to be your pet a long time ago. What is it that you want, Annabelle?"

She smiles and it's the wicked grin of a cobra about to strike. It sickens me to think that this woman is somebody's grandmother, perhaps great grandmother. I press my body weight against Master's shins, doing my best to anchor him through the contact. Her eyes travel the high ceiling beams. "To be quite honest, I want my piece of the pie.

"Back in the day, the things we did. We hid in dark corners and camouflaged ourselves from the rest of the world. We didn't have a place like this where we could play. I want to play again. Oh, not with you, don't worry about that. You've grown way too dominant for my tastes."

"Get. Out." Master clips out the words and makes it quite clear to even a woman as obtuse and self-centered as Annabelle that she isn't welcome here.

"You would deny a dying woman her last wish? I am dying, Pet. Cancer. The doctor says I won't last out the year. For now, I'm still healthy. I haven't found another submissive quite like you. Nobody ever took to my particular proclivities the way that you did. I need that again. Something to make me feel alive one last time before I die what is most likely to be an excruciating death."

Annabelle rises to her feet and paces the periphery of the room. It's difficult for me to know that she is suffering with cancer and not feel any sympathy. I know the road that lies ahead of her and it isn't one that will take her anyplace she wants to go. My nurse brain is on duty twenty-four/seven. I want to ask for details. What kind of cancer does she have? What is the doctor's treatment plan? Perhaps, her disease isn't as fatal as she thinks. People do live long and healthy lives despite having a supposedly terminal diagnosis.

She stops and places a hand on Master's shoulder. Perhaps, it's the way she does it, as if she still owns him, that has me on my feet scrambling to protect him. Master tears at my lead, trying to bring me to heel. I won't have it. Dying or not, old woman or not, Annabelle and I are going to come to blows. I will kick her ass and probably break her hip and end up in jail. Annabelle laughs and it's a chilling, soul sucking triumphant chuckle. "Well, isn't she a little spitfire? Can't control your submissive? Let me have her, Pet, for just one night. I guarantee she will know how to obey when I return her to you."

"Never!" Master shouts.

"I made you what you are, never forget that, Pet. Do you like this club? I have connections. The same wheels I secretly greased to get you the permits you needed to open it could close it just as easily. Don't doubt that. You see. I've always kept my eye on you. I know everything there is to know about you, your dogs, your club, and your new submissive.

"The public is nothing but a flock of sheep. They'll believe anything. A few words in the right ears and it will be over for you. A rumor will be all it takes to start an investigation. It won't matter that you haven't broken any laws. I've used my connections to keep this club under the radar. Not everybody on the city council board appreciates the work you do. Difficult to believe, I know. But, there are some who would rather not have this club in their city at all. Zoning laws change all of the time. I could arrange it. Believe me on that. By the time a lengthy investigation ends and finds you innocent. Your club will cease to exist. This building will be nothing more than a parking lot when I get through with you."

"I give you what you want and I keep the club. Is that what you're proposing?"

"You always were a smart boy, Pet." Annabelle reaches out to cup Master's face. He grips her by the wrist and viciously thrusts her hand away.

"Annabelle, you always were full of shit. You speak of investigations and rumors. I don't mind my name being dragged through the mud, but you might. Think about that. What would the public think of their dear Annabelle Leigh, if they knew the truth from a more slanted point of view? You almost beat a nineteen year-old boy to death. I have the scars to prove it."

"Touche, Pet, touché." Annabelle sinks into her chair and stares at Dane pensively. He is no longer the desperate boy she once knew. He has grown and matured, become a man of reckoning. "For what it's worth. I am sorry about that. I didn't mean to lose control. You could have ruined me back then."

"I know."

"Why didn't you?"

Master shrugs and with the rise and fall of his shoulders, he shakes off the dominant he is and Dane begins to emerge. "I thought I loved you."

"Ah, and love makes fools of us all."

Dane's eyes flick from Annabelle to me. His expression softens and the pain she once caused fades away. "I used to think so."

Annabelle's eyes follow Dane's gaze. "You don't anymore?"

"Not now. I know better. Annabelle, I think you should leave." Dane's voice is soft and resolved. Whatever demons haunted him have been banished from his heart. He harbors no resentment over what she did to him any longer. There's only resignation and acceptance of the past he cannot change. His eyes roam over my face and travel up to Annabelle. "I am sorry you're dying."

"Me too." Annabelle rises from her seat and gathers her purse over her arm. "Your club is safe and will remain so as long as I have the influence to help. After I'm gone, who knows?"

"Annabelle, I can take care of myself and the club."

"I know. You have friends in high places too."

"And in the lowliest as well."

"That's the difference between the two of us. You care. I never did. As for my whip, I think I'll leave it in the past, where it belongs. Your subjects are safe from me."

"They would have been no matter what you threatened to do."

Annabelle walks to the door. Her gait is that of a broken woman, no longer that of a regal queen. Her throne is nothing more but a decaying ruin crumbling into dust. With a nod she opens the door and dips her head in deference. "Master Dane."

"Goodbye, Annabelle Leigh."

Master Dane

I'm usually the last person out of the door. After the last straggler has left. I'm the one who makes sure everything has been restored to proper order. It's my job to make certain that my kingdom is secure. The encounter with Annabelle has left me somewhat shaken. On the other side of the trauma of confronting that particular ghost from my past, there is calm. I didn't expect to feel relief or to finally come to a piece about all the things I can't change. Perhaps, peace isn't the right word. Acceptance might be a better word to describe my mental state. It's as if a storm that has been brewing in the distance finally hit land and this calm is the calm afterwards.

Annabelle seemed so much larger in the mind's eye of memories. I remember her as she was. Time passed not only for myself but for her as well. She is just a small person, so small in so many ways. I can't imagine I've allowed her to have so much power over me out of my longing for her. For so long I've dreaded the day we'd finally come face to face again. Now that it's over I am an empty vessel, perhaps, a man reborn, waiting to be filled and find my purpose in life once again.

I suppose I owe Annabelle a debt of thanks. She helped to mold and shape me into the man I've spent the last thirty years becoming. She made me a king, but I built the kingdom. I've despised the parts of myself that need to inflict pain. I thought that drive to hurt others stemmed from the harm I suffered at Annabelle's vicious whip. In part, it did. But there's a deeper reason. Seeing her again and finally expunging her ghost from my past made me realize it. I don't need the pain to survive. I like it.

Someplace deep inside of me, a submissive still exists. This deeply rooted man who lives to serve is there embedded into my psyche. Perhaps, dominance is just another version of submission and submission is simply dominance in disguise. A good dominant will push a submissive, but only so far. A good dominant knows a submissive's limits and respects them. The submissive has the power. The dominant has none.

Amaryllis kneels on the floor looking pretty as a picture in the corset and hose. My leash dangles from her collar. I don't feel weak or exposed because she witnessed this final showdown between Annabelle and myself. I feel empowered, perhaps even grateful that she was here by my side. Amaryllis has done well tonight. She braved the stage and Annabelle for my sake. She has earned the pleasure I have every intention of giving her in return.

Pleasure isn't currency. It isn't a tit for tat kind of exchange. I don't view Amaryllis as weaker than myself because of her need to submit. I see us as equals. These games we play are simply games we enjoy playing. She submits because she wants to. I dominate her because she wants me to. As for loving her, I think I'd love her no matter what games we played.

There it is. The truth that is more terrifying than the ghost of Annabelle Leigh. I love Amaryllis, my blossoming Wallflower, my queen. When we first met, I planned to expose her to the light. I wanted to introduce her to my world and to watch her bloom in it. I never thought I'd get caught in the tender trap of love instead. I foolishly believed that I had already had my growing season. I was wrong. I might be a prickly thorn bush, but I'm blooming as well, thanks to her.

Amaryllis tilts her chin allowing me better access to the collar around her throat. I finger the stiff leather and the soft supple skin beneath. She deserves better than a slave's collar. She is mine, my queen and as a queen her throat should be adorned in gold and precious gemstones. I, however, am a simple king and my kingdom is not a wealthy one. I could never afford the collar I envision for her in my mind's eye. But there is something I can give her that costs not one dime. Tonight, she proved she's worth it. She already has it. Perhaps, she has since the first time I laid eyes on her. This woman owns my very soul.

Around us, the party continues. I should go out and mingle. Do my kingly duty to my subjects and continue the introduction of Amaryllis into her new realm. But I'm feeling selfish tonight and I want to keep her to myself. "Come." Amaryllis shifts onto her hands and knees and begins to crawl after me. Going wherever I lead her. Trusting in me. "No. Walk."

I avoid everyone by leading her down the long hallway that runs behind the stage and goes straight to my private rooms. I send a quick text message to Ginger, leaving her in charge. Doing what I've never done before and turning my kingdom over to someone else. I have my own entrance into the club and my truck is parked mere feet from the door. I find my keys and hit the automatic start. I help Amaryllis to dress as the truck warms up. I want away from this place. I want away from the din of noise. I want to escape my kingdom for the night. "Where are we going, Master?"

I shake my head in response to Amaryllis's question. "Not tonight." She looks at me in confusion. "I'm not your master tonight, Amy." I kiss the top of her head before settling the hood of her massive parka carefully over her mound of artfully styled curls. I plan to pamper and spoil her. I'm going to have fun freeing those lush dark locks from the pins and brushing them into loose soft waves. I'm going to enjoy prying her body out of that corset and massaging her silky warm skin. Tonight, I'll be exactly who I am. The man I've been too afraid to be, before now. Her dominant servant, a man, a man in love with a woman, and not just any woman, a man in love with a queen.

Amaryllis

I'm glad I no longer have to contend with the ghost of Annabelle Leigh. She wasn't as large in real life as I made her out to be. She is nothing but a pitiable old woman filled with bitterness and regret. Dane seems at peace now. Happily puttering with the fireplace, trying to coax a few sputtering sparks into a roaring fire. I'm not surprised that we're here, at his place instead of the club.

He needed this confrontation with Annabelle. Sometimes, I guess you have to take one last look backward in order to move forward. I've done a fair amount of it myself, looking over my shoulder at my past. Taking stock of all the things that should have and could have been and running from them instead of accepting them for what they are.

I envy this inner peace that Dane seems to have found through the expunging of his demons. I know sooner or later I'm going to have to confront my personal demons as well. For over a year I've tried so hard to be the better woman. Not to be angry or bitter and to simply handle my failed marriage with grace and dignity. I never said one unkind word to Bob even when things were at their worst. I never once said exactly what I was thinking. Call me a coward if you will. I am. I walked away and have spent the past twelve months making excuses for him and for myself, looking backwards, and dreading the day this building storm inside of me finally hits land.

The truth of it is. It took the two of us to build the marriage and the both of us to destroy it. There are plenty of things I could have and should have said. Things I could have done. Primarily, been honest not only with myself but with him. Dane was right. There is freedom in bondage. Bound and collared, I have more freedom than I've ever had in my life.

I've known joy. Raising my kids was joy. Is joy. But, it's a different kind of joy than what I feel when I'm under my master's command. I am empowered and that's something I've never been before. I am free to say exactly what I think and to tell him exactly what I want. That doesn't mean if he's feeling a particular way. I'm necessarily going to get what I've asked for. In fact, sometimes I get the opposite of what I want. And that's ok too because sometimes, it's what I need.

It's difficult to explain how being a submissive could achieve such a feeling of empowerment and freedom. I let Master collar me like a dog. Yet, I've never felt so valued. I crawl after him on my hands and knees. I beg. I kneel at his feet and thank him for the privilege of kissing his boots. He spanks me and I'm the one that revels in the pleasure. I debase myself in every way imaginable, but I'm the one empowered. He ties me up, yet I've found my freedom.

I've never been a card carrying member of NOW. The idea of burning my bra to prove a point hasn't ever occurred to me. I suppose, looking back, I had a very narrow view of the world. One I saw through the slats of the mini blinds covering the windows of my suburban universe. Dane has torn down the blinds and shown me the magic of his kingdom. It's a big place filled with beautiful and empowered women and men who make no excuses for what they are.

Dane finally manages to get a decent fire burning in the fireplace. The warmth of the flames tickles my bare shoulders. I stand, waiting for him to choose what kind of game we're about to play. The glamour of the corset has worn thin. The steel bones dig into my skin and the lace edging chafes. But, I don't take it off. I endure the discomfort. It's my choice, not his. I enjoy the bite of rigid steel and the itch of unforgiving lace far too much.

He sits down in an overstuffed and very comfortable looking lounger. Patting his knee, he says the one word I've been eager to here all night. "Come." The word is a loaded gun in its multiple meanings. The pearl strip on the g-string has rubbed and teased my most sensitive parts all night. I'm antsy and on edge. I could use a good orgasm to relieve all this tension wound up inside of me tighter than a watch spring. I want to come.

My feet ache from the high heels, but I do my best imitation of a sexy stroll. The corset holds my posture erect and back rigid as I sink to my knees between the cage of his long legs. Dane frowns and I'm confused by his expression. I want to ask what the matter is. Nothing means more to me than his absolute satisfaction. I don't utter a word and decide to wait for him to tell me what's wrong. "This isn't what tonight was supposed to be," he says in disappointment.

I'm happy in my position between his legs, sitting on my butt and resting my cheek on his knee. I love the feel of his hands in my hair working the pins loose and freeing the curls to tumble over my shoulders. I want to protest. Everything is exactly how it's supposed to be. I have no idea what he's talking about.