The air was cold
The night I fled
Your eyes were more
Than I could take
I ran so fast
I ran like hell
And still wasn’t able to escape

The picture’s still fixed in my head
The stage was all set at my request
You took the roll
You played it well
I knew it would be easy for you

Strike me harder now
Push me to the ground

Pain is sweeter
Coming from your hand
I love you
When you hurt me the most

So fell the lash, repeatedly
The icy words cut me deep, and still
I begged for more
You gave no less
Surrendering fully to the game
You took control
I took the blame
You had enough so you looked away
Deprived of love, deprived of pain
No choice but to keep on sinking

Stream of Passion – When you Hurt me the Most

---

Seattle, 2007

“Young lady, you are not going. Paris is no place for an 18 year old girl on her own.” Her father was actually starting to turn red. They had been arguing back and forth about this for weeks and getting nowhere. In the end, it didn’t matter what he said, the agency would get her out of the country but she wanted to leave with her cover intact. However, her father’s resistance was causing her a headache and his small mindedness was getting on her last nerve.

“I am fully capable of looking after myself. The cooking school has arranged accommodation and I will be so busy learning about the hospitality industry that I won’t have time to get into any trouble. I don’t see what your problem is. When Christian was my age you were happy to have him move across the country on his own, what is the difference?”

“The difference is that he remained on American soil. The difference is that he needed his independence.” His voice was escalating as it always did at this point. “The difference is that…’

“He is a boy!” They glared at each other angrily across the room. “Jeez, Dad. I’m surprised that you let Mom go out to work. Should I be learning to embroider doilies and paint watercolors with a private tutor for the next four years? Or do you think that the fancy overseas cooking school is just a little too much for a girl who will be staying at home and cooking for her husband and your grandchildren?”

“Mia, don’t be dramatic and unfair. Of course, I take your cooking seriously but you flit from one thing to another. This could just be another hobby that you give up on when it gets too hard. If that happens I don’t like the thought of you being in a foreign country on your own.”

“You keep saying this but it doesn’t sound very racially tolerant of you Dad. What is wrong with the French? I mean, it is not as if I don’t speak the language.” She knows why he is hesitating. She knows that he is hiding this hideous secret from the world. She could care less if revealing it to the world will hurt him or anyone else involved. As far as she was concerned, they had fucked her over years ago. He could rot in hell for all she cared.

“Don’t get smart, Mia. You are too young to move to a foreign country on your own. You have just graduated high school and that hasn’t been a roaring success. You can go to culinary school in America and that is the end of it.” There it was. The lawyer measured all of them by some sort of insane academic yardstick and found each of them wanting in some way, well, with the possible exception of Christian who was smart but simply chose not to complete. The almighty Carrick Grey nearly burst a blood vessel over that one.

The fact that her father had no idea just how smart she was didn’t really bother her. He had no inkling that she had just topped her year and graduated with honors in Mathematics and Computer Science from WSU because he was too self-absorbed to know how she had spent her days for the past three years. And that was because he had thought she was too young to attend college when she turned 15 in the first place. Always too young. He thought he had won that battle but she had defied him and taken the agency offer to cover her tracks while she attended to her college studies. She could hate them for a lot of things but at least they had prevented her from being bored out of her tree. Now her father seemed to have some archaic vision of her spending the next four years of study looking for a husband. Well, he could get fucked as far as she was concerned. He hadn’t wanted to tell the world that she was his legitimate daughter so he could rot in hell.

“I’m 18 years old. I don’t really need your permission anymore.” Technically, she could simply walk out and never look back. Just once she would have liked for him to notice her. To see the woman she had become. To realize that she was fully capable of deciding her own future. In the end, it wasn’t that important. He had lost any right to pass judgment on her a long time ago.

“No, you don’t need my permission but you do need my funding.”

“I’ll ask Christian.” Christian had just made his second million, he was good for it.

“You don’t have a current passport.” And that was why they were here. He wanted to protect himself and his big secret. Well, he could go fuck himself and use his big secret to do it.

“Give me my birth certificate and I will get one.” I dare you.

“No. I will not.” What followed was unavoidable and the train was well and truly on the way out of the station. Her last thought before launching into her tirade was that he had brought this on himself.

“Is that because you’re afraid that I will discover who my real parents are?” She watched as he stepped away, physically blanching at her words. The color drained from his face and a real look of fear replaced the look of anger that had been there before. “Don’t worry yourself about it. I already know, I’ve known for years.”

Their bodies stilled as they eyed each other off like feral cats about to strike. “What exactly do you think you know, Mia?”

“It’s alright…Dad…I already know that you are my real father, although I will never understand why you hated me enough to want me to think I was adopted. Quite frankly I don’t care if you think you’ve had good motive, I don’t care if it is the best damn motive in the world. The point is that you chose to make me believe that you and Mom adopted me as a baby. But that isn’t the truth is it? Do you have any idea what a mixed fucking message that one is Daddy dearest?” His color goes to a deep purple as she spits the endearment out sarcastically. “What was it? You wanted to see how I would turn out before you told the world? Just in case I was a colossal fuck up? Or was it just too hideous a thought to admit that you fucked your wife’s best friend all those years ago?”

As quick as a flash his hand snaked out and slapped her across the face. The tears came unbidden and she fought to force them back as she clutched her reddened cheek. They froze in action, her glaring with disbelief while he stared at her in horror. If anyone had been looking they would have seen how much the daughter looked like the father right down to the mirrored stance and body language. Mia felt like she was looking at some hideous stranger.

“Mia, I’m…” He made as if to pull her into an embrace but her hands shot up in front of her body, defensively as she back away.

“Don’t…touch…me.” Pure unadulterated hatred filtered into her eyes taking the wind out of his sails. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”

With as much calm as she could muster, she walked over to the safe and opened it while he stared on in agony. Taking out her birth certificate and her expired passport she tucked them both into her pocket before turning on her heel and walking out of the study. Carrick Grey sank down onto his knees in the middle of the floor. His body held in defeat at the thought that he had just hit his own child. Bowing his head in despair he let his tears flow knowing that Mia would never forgive him and he would never forgive himself. With his head bowed he missed the angry tears that Mia wiped away with the heel of her hand and her sorrowful glance back at him as she closed the door.

---

Sirens Club, Seattle 2011

Walking into the club complex is not the worst part of the evening although it is still very confronting wearing the costume that Elena has chosen for me. No, the worst part is seeing my husband standing at the bar as he recognizes me and knowing that at some point I am going to have to turn around and walk away.

He straightens away from the bar as he sees me and I give a quick shake of my head. Elena has me firmly in her grasp as she issues her instructions.

“I am going to have to mingle for a while. I don’t want you present for that part of the evening. The less you know about the identities of the people here tonight the better. I want you to lay low and wait by the bar for me. In an hour I will take you downstairs for your first training session.”

I watch her as she walks across the room toward a power table. Having already seen a first draft of the guest list tonight I know there are at least two senators on that table as well as a couple of high profile CEOs, a high court judge and someone who looks like a foreign sheik. One of the senators stands and welcomes her to the table where she takes a seat and accepts a drink. It looks like she isn’t going anywhere for a while and the boys in the van outside will give me a relay of the conversation if there is anything I need to immediately know. Of course, that is if they can get any reception with the constant noise of her pvc evening dress.

Taking the opportunity I wander over to where Ethan stands. He is giving every impression of being totally hammered so I keep a little distance being careful not to turn around.

“Tell me, is that what they’re wearing in the smarter sets this year.” The slurred words barely hide his anger. I can understand why. When Elena had first shown me the outfit I had railed against it. Here she is in a fairly normal, apart from the pvc element, evening dress that while figure hugging at least would have been acceptable at the usual public gathering. Here I am in what could loosely be termed a black pvc cat suit – probably my fault because given the choice of a dress and pants I had foolishly chosen pants – that go from full leg coverings to bare scraps of material that criss-cross my torso and strain to keep my breasts in check.

“Don’t get on your high horse. All the important parts are covered.” Like my face. Elena had had the good grace to allow me to wear a half mask and a blonde ponytail wig. I don’t think my own mother would recognize me if she had been the one to choose the outfit in the first place. Please don’t look behind, please don’t look behind, please don’t look behind.

“Turn around,” he growls. He is fuming.

Fuck no! “What?” Oh God, he is going to kill me, or her. Or both of us.

“You heard me, sweetheart. Turn around, I wanna see what I might be buying later.” Oh, heck.

“It’s just a costume. There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist.” I place my hand on the bar in an act of defiance but he sweeps it off and growls again.

“Turn around.” Very slowly I turn away from him and I hear the sharp intake of breath from every man with in twenty feet of me. “What the fuck is that?”

“My ass. What did you think it was?” I reply defiantly. Knowing what he is looking at, what they are all looking at I bend forward slightly and arch my back so that they can all get a good view. There is very little to the back of the costume. What there is is a big gaping cut out that reveals the top half of my ass crack. I could kill that bitch Elena but right now I have to play this so as not blow our cover. “Do you like what you see…Sir.”

Looking back over my shoulder I bat my eyelashes a couple of times before lowering my gaze to his crotch. Yeah, he likes it alright. When he notices the attention we are getting he moves closer in behind me.

“I am going to kill her. And then I am going to take you over my knee and give you a spanking that will make your skin red and my hand ache. Do you understand me?” I have never seen Ethan this mad before. It’s kinda hot.

Just at that moment the lights go down and a Pretenders song booms through the speakers. I focus on the stage as the lights come up to see a couple in full body leotards that make them look nude, lying in the middle of the stage. Their routine is mesmerizing as they go from an erotic dance on the ground to an aerial hoop routine that stops just short of mid-air sex.

“Wow. They’re breathtaking. And so hot.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too excited. That’s your brother and my sister up there.”

“Ew. I was just thinking about switching sides for her. Now I think I can taste a little sick in my mouth.” I pull a face and he laughs as he moves in behind me and places his hands on my hips. The hole in my costume gives me a very clear feeling of his erection pressed against me. “Ethan, don’t, we shouldn’t be seen together.”

“It’s okay, baby. The room is dark. No one can see us,” he whispers in my ear. I suck in a breath as his hand strays to the naked flesh, well, let’s face it, large parts of me are naked. My hardened nipples are doing weird things to the material and I wonder if it will go back into shape when I calm down. “You look fucking amazing, Mia. You have no idea how much I want you right now and I wish none of these pricks could see any of this. Promise me, always mine.”

“Always.” I murmur letting my head tip back against his shoulder. “Always you, always yours.”

His lips are on my earlobes driving me insane and we almost don’t notice the act drawing to a close and we are standing way too close as the lights come up. At that moment Elena storms over to us with a face like a thunder cloud.

“Get your hands off her. She is not for sale.” The words sound like icicles falling off her tongue. I could almost feel that she cared but I’m not delusional. Instead I step away from Ethan and lower my eyes.

“Hey look, lady. Not my fault. She certainly looks like she’s on the market. Pity.” Ethan begins slurring again and swaying a little on his feet for good measure.

“Well, she’s not.” Elena turns from Ethan to me, almost presenting her back to him. She is nothing if not the height of rudeness and disdain. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun. Can I come?” Ethan moves to get in her face.

“You couldn’t afford her, little man,” she says dismissively.

“I can afford to pay.” He pulls out a large wad of cash and starts to thumb his way through the roll of notes.

“Please, sir.” I place my hand over his and allow him to look me directly in the eye. To anyone else he looks unfocused but I can see that he is shrewdly trying to assess what I want him to do. “I have work to do. Perhaps another time.”

Eventually, he nods and puts the money back in his pocket. “Pity. We could have had a good time, little one.” He has straightened his stance considerably and is presenting a force of will that I don’t often get to see. He is trying to project something to me and to Elena but I don’t understand what this is. I am just hoping that he will let me go. His hand is under my chin, he is dominating the space and his eyes flit back to Elena with a hardness that is almost unrecognizable. She gives the barest of flinches back then quickly recovers her equilibrium. “If she comes on the market, I want to know.”

His voice is so hard that I find myself involuntarily cowering even though his hand is still gently under my chin. I keep my eyes lowered to the embarrassing scene of my husband facing off against my mother.

“Come Mimi. Your lesson begins soon.” She holds her hand out to me. Before I can take it, Ethan lifts my chin so that I am looking at him. He slides his hand to my cheek and caresses it softly. I can’t help but lean into it slightly.

“Go, little one. But if you change your mind, or if you need me, I will be here for you. In spite of all appearances, I will always be good to you. I will always take care of you. Always.”

I hold his gaze for a moment before turning to join my mother. As we walk away I turn and mouth the word ‘always’ to him.

Elena drags me through the room towards a door marked private on the other side. We step through and walk across a small space to an elevator. Once inside we descend two levels. This must be the bowels of Club Orpheus. When the doors open we are faced with a plush reception area that is swathed in red suede from the square shaped sofas to the cushioned walls. The ceilings are draped with sheer black fabric, matching the highly glossed reception desk. There are two bouncers on the doors even though there is no one coming and going like the upstairs clubs. A very professionally attired and stunningly beautiful red head is manning the reception desk and greets us with a smile.

“Good evening, Mrs Lincoln. Your room is waiting for you, no. 21. If you would swipe your card here please.”

Elena swipes a black and red credit card through a machine and then presses her thumb against a small screen. A light in the corner turns green. I look over the shoulder of the young woman for the technology that runs this system but there is nothing else on the desk except a phone.

We walk past the bouncers who step back almost in deference to Elena and soon we are heading down a dimly lit corridor. There are sconces low on the black walls and pin spots on tracks on the high black ceiling that are spaced evenly down the long space. They are not so much for lighting the space but for highlighting a series of white sculptures dotted along the wall. As I look at them more closely I notice that they are series of plaster cast vaginas, all unique and different. I’ve never thought about the differences between women’s vaginas but I am totally intrigued that out of the twenty or so that hung down this corridor, not one of them is the same to any other.

We arrive at room 21 and walk into a small entry foyer. To the left is a viewing booth. We go through a second door into a cavernous space. Around the room is a variety of equipment that I recognize and which quite frankly scares the shit out of me. In the center of the room is a large four poster bed that is angled with the head higher than the base. I have a vision of satin sheets and a lot of gravity that almost makes me giggle but I hold it back. Sitting in a reading chair in the corner is Isaac, Elena’s current partner, reading Dostoyevsky by reading lamp. He is wearing black jeans, no shirt and bare feet, his reading glasses perched on his nose.

Isaac smiles and looks ready to greet me when Elena walks into the middle of the room and snaps her fingers. Immediately Issac is on his feet. He walks into the center of the room where she is standing and drops to the floor at her feet his head bowed and his hands on his knees.

“Mia. Behind you is the viewing room. I want you to go in there and watch the scene. You are not to leave there under any circumstances no matter what you see. Do you understand?” I nod and turn to leave the room. Part of me is hoping that I can just shut my eyes through her damn scene but I know I have to learn.

Once inside the room I settle into a chair to watch the show. What occurs over the next hour is mind blowing and not at all what I expect. Elena, who I have always seen as so cold and hard treats Isaac with an uncommon kindness even while inflicting pain. But what I see isn’t really about pain, it is about sensation and this incredible amount of trust. I have no doubt that he is pushed to sensory limits and I can certainly see the evidence of the session on his skin but Elena appears astutely aware of his state of mind. She reads him like a book and even at times when he begs for more she pulls back and changes direction. It is like she knows what he needs better than he does.

I try very hard not to notice how deeply aroused he is and several times I think that she is going to make him orgasm and orgasm hard. In the end, there is never a time when she directly touches him or allows him to directly touch her. I have no doubt that what I am watching is their version of foreplay but there is nothing overtly sexual in the demonstration for which I am extremely grateful. In fact, as it progresses, it seems as if Isaac had gone into some kind of pheromone induced trance.

After an hour Elena stops the scene, walking over to the phone on the wall. Within moments the young woman from reception arrives in the room beside me.

“Miss Grey. Mrs Lincoln has asked that I escort you to the bar. She has asked you to wait for her there. She won’t be long.”

I didn’t want to imagine what Elena and Isaac were doing right now and I am happy for the distraction of the bar. The bar itself is empty and there is very little visible movement in and out of the rooms. I guess that most of the members are upstairs taking part in the slave auction. Instead of waiting I make out that I am looking for the bathroom and given the state of this suit I figure no one would suspect if I take a little longer than usual.

When the coast is clear I walk back down the corridor listening for the telltale hum of a server room. It doesn’t take long to locate what I am looking for, a low even noise and a cool door. I quickly pick the lock and move inside the air-conditioned room. There is nowhere on this costume that I can store any equipment so I have to go old school and hack into the server. Luckily, whoever set up the security isn’t very sophisticated and it doesn’t take too long to get to where I need in the hard drive. Once there I set up a hidden process to copy data across to a remote server whenever the system runs a backup. This way we will get updated data on membership and video surveillance at the end of every day.

I get back to the bar before Elena and Issac arrive. This time Isaac is in a very stylish suit, looking every inch the business man. He smiles when he sees me.

“Mimi, how are you, my darling?” Isaac still has the hint of an accent even though he has been in Seattle for the last fifteen years. He is of Russian Jewish descent but raised in Israel by his Russian grandparents. His fluency in several languages are his bread and butter as an independent immigration consultant. I really like him and I have often wondered what he is doing with someone like Elena. However, the scene I just witnessed gives me a different dynamic.

“Isaac, it is good to see you. I missed you at the house earlier.” Elena and I had had dinner and then prepared for the evening. Isaac phoned as we were about to sit down to say he was held up and would meet us at the club.

“Yes, a client needing some urgent advice. I apologize. You know I would never blow off dinner with my best girl.” His broad smile sparkles behind his eyes. He is only twelve years older than me but he acts like he is already my benevolent stepfather. I wonder if he knows about my relationship with Elena. “So tell me, did you find our scene… informative?”

“I am almost embarrassed to talk about it but yes, it was not what I expected.”

Taking my hands he drags me down to a couch as Elena, strangely confined, sits in a winged chair across from us. She observes as Isaac takes charge of the conversation. “Now tell me, in what way was it unexpected?”

I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I didn’t expect to see that level of…care. The scenes that I had witnessed in Paris were overtly sexual and almost violent. I sensed something else between you. Some stronger emotion.”

They look at each other with warmth. I have never really seen that from Elena. She looks at Christian like she owns him, not like she loves him or even wants him. With Isaac there is a depth. I hesitate to call it love, even in my head. Isaac on the other hand is easy to read. His heart is on his sleeve and it is clear that whatever the physical side of their relationship might offer, he is deeply in love with her. A little kernel of hope sows its seed in me but when I look at her again, her eyes go cold and she almost turns away.

“What you saw is a deep respect and trust for what we offer each other. Elena and I have particular needs but we both know how to care for those needs on behalf of each other.” Oh my friend, you have it bad. Perhaps it is the emotional aftermath of the scene. “For me to have those needs fulfilled I have to trust Elena completely, and I do.”

He reaches over and takes Elena’s hand. For a fleeting second the emotion reaches her eyes and then it is gone again. “Can I ask something personal?”

“My sweet, you have seen us at our most vulnerable. I think you know that you can ask us anything.”

“Is it the only way that you can have a sexual relationship? Is there nothing vanilla?” He looks a little startled by the question but not offended.

“Our sexual relationship is decidedly vanilla. We enjoy our play regularly and it can lead to sex but it is not the only way for us.”

“Isaac. I am not sure we need to talk about this. She is here to be trained as a sub. She doesn’t need to know the sordid details.”

“She is here to learn about the lifestyle. How can she learn if she doesn’t hear about the nuances. There are so many misconceptions it would be unfortunate if we didn’t let her know the un-sordid details.” There is some sort of standoff going on here that has nothing to do with me. Once more I wonder about the fact that Isaac is doing all of the talking. Elena is not known for her retiring nature.

“So tonight was not about sex?” I wonder about what happened after I left the room. I had simply assumed that they had done the deed and then come to join me in the bar.

“Not at all. What did you see when you watched me?”

“You seemed to respond positively to Elena’s attentions.” I think back at the use of the flogger and the cat. She had worked up and down his body, never hitting the same point twice, deadly accurate but firm. But what had I seen in him. “You seemed to be feeling the pain for a long time and then something changed. You went from intense to serene. Like you were in a state of meditation.”

“You are very observant. That is exactly right. I went into subspace.”

“I have heard of that. Do you have a more intense sexual experience with subspace?”

“Sometimes. The longer we have been together, the less we need the sexual experience at all.” This I had not expected and Elena looks decidedly uncomfortable. “Subspace is exactly as you say, a trance. A meditative state. It is blissful and addictive. It does however preclude sex. It is impossible to orgasm when in subspace and quite frankly it is unnecessary. The chemical release in the brain is more than enough.”

“So when I left the room tonight…”

“Elena stayed with me to assist me to come back to consciousness. She has a certain patience that is necessary.” Once more I am completely confused. This is not the Elena I assumed I knew and I can see from her body language that it is not what she wants me see. I think back to what I saw the night I followed Christian here. He did not look anything like Isaac. There was no love there. Respect yes but not the look I see in this man’s eyes.

“Thank you Isaac. Thank you for your honesty.”

“You are welcome, darling girl. Now I must go back and retrieve my book. It is a first edition, I would hate to lose it.” He stands to leave but leans over Elena, planting a gentle kiss on her head. She smiles. “I will see you at home, my love.”

After he has gone Elena leans back in the chair, her legs crossed, her hands clasped in front of her face. She stares at me with curiosity and I almost feel myself crumbling under her regard.

“Are you going to tell me why you want to know all of this? Why do you want to know more about this lifestyle?”

“What makes you so sure I am not interested in the lifestyle?” Her eyes are hard again. The old Elena is truly back in the room. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“You are not cut out for it. When that dom at the bar had you pinned you were ready to stand up to him. You don’t have what it takes to be a domme yourself but you certainly don’t have the humility to be a sub either. You’re still too flighty, too strong willed. More importantly you don’t trust easily.”

“What do you expect, Mother? At what stage do you and my parents think that you had instilled trust in me?”

She smirks at me. “See, no humility. Who is he?”

“I beg your pardon?” Not that I am not grateful for her not taking the bait but this just got weird.

“The only reason why you would be wanting this for yourself is because you have fallen for some man. Someone in the lifestyle who you want to impress. This isn’t a game Mia. This isn’t one of your little whims. If he wants you to be submissive then you are going to have to commit and you my dear have never committed to anything in your life. So I will ask you once again. Who is he?”

I hesitate. Shit, now I am going to have to…

“It’s him isn’t it?” Now what the hell is she talking about? “The man at the bar.”

What? “I don’t…” She means Ethan. She thinks Ethan is a dom.

“It was obvious what he is but now it makes sense why he was so interested in you.”

“Yes. It’s him.” Oh, crap. Ethan is going to kill me. “I…I’m in love with him but he…”

“I didn’t ask if you love him. That will only complicate things. What is his name?”

“Ethan. Ethan Kavanagh.”

She taps the arm of the leather chair for a moment with one of her long talons and then smiles. “Well. It would seem to me that if you really want to learn then we are going to have to work up to a demonstration for Mr Kavanagh that will peak his interest.”

Oh fuck!