Pleasure Unbound

I was barely in the Westonwood waiting room before Mom hugged me fiercely, all defiance and no affection. It was amazing how much strength was in that tiny little bag of bones.

“It’s fine, Ma.” I looked over her shoulder at Dad, his Drazentrademark red hair just beginning to turn grey.

His hands were in his pockets and his shoulder was against the wall. I rolled my eyes at him, but he just turned to look out the window. He always tried so hard, and I always failed him.

Everything in the room was designed to avoid upsetting the patients and their families. Round table in pale blue Formica with matching water pitcher and three plastic glasses. White molded plastic chairs with chrome legs. The windows were barred in the same decorative pattern overlooking the expanse of the Topanga Canyon, which was covered in grey, misty rain. The seasonal decorations were non-denominational. The best seat in the house, for the benefit of the people writing the checks.

Mom squeezed me, and I felt something hard and breakable between us. She pulled back and handed me a wrapped gift. Dancing snowmen.

Gold ribbon.

“I had it in case you came to the house.”

I popped the tape and unfolded the paper, revealing a framed photo. “Snowcone.” I pulled it from the wrapping completely. I stood in my riding gear, all of fifteen, next to my beautiful grey stallion. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Lindy says you haven’t been to the stables in a long time, at least not before the other day.”

I hadn’t ridden Snowcone in how long? Was it measured in years already? The last time I’d gone to the stables, I’d gone with two guys I’d promised to fuck on a hay bale. I was so high, Lindy kicked me out. Told me I wasn’t worthy of the labor animals. I cursed her, knowing she was right.

“We’re going to get you cleared of all this,” Mom whispered. She looked me in the eye, squeezing my shoulders. “Ten years ago, we could have made it go away. But the internet-” She shook her head. “You’re a

good girl. Your father and I know you didn’t do this.” Daddy didn’t look so sure.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m fine.”

“We’re going to get everyone on this. This man? This Deacon Bruce?

We’ll get so much dirt on him, pressing charges would ruin him.”

“Eileen,” Dad said, “it’s not like pushing a button.”

She turned to Dad, giving him the fire-eye. The power struggle between my parents had always been epic. One day, one of them would die in a pile of crushed bone shards and twisted skin.

“What’s it like then?” snarled Mom.

“Quentin’s dealing with the other matter right now-”

“He can do both.”

“No.”

A staring contest ensued. I didn’t know if they were going to kiss or scratch each other’s eyes out.

“Guys?” I said, but I had no effect on their stare. “I’m going to get out in a few days. Can we-”

Without breaking their staring contest, Dad said, “Don’t bet on getting out.”

“But-”

“She’s getting out, Declan,” Mom said. “I’m calling Franco. And if it all goes wrong, you can look in the mirror for who’s to blame.”

“You won’t. She doesn’t need the kind of help you’re offering.”

I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I knew that if Mom wanted to call Franco, whoever that was, she was calling Franco. My part in the conversation was pretty much over. “Thanks, guys. Nice visit. Merry fucking Christmas.”

I turned on my soft, suede heel and strode out. Halfway down the hall, Dad caught up to me.

“Thanks for defending me,” I said. “I think.”

“Hold up.” He stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

The security guard stood from his station. My father looked at the two-hundred-pound refrigerator of a man, who carried a gun, and with just a look, made him sit the fuck back down.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Dad turned his blue eyes to me. “This pleases you? What you’re doing?”

“I’m not here to shame you.”

“The effect is the same, but I know that was never much of a concern for you.”

“Just tell me what you want.”

He held his hand up before I could finish. “Your life is out of control. You’ve wrecked more cars than I’ve bought. You’ve used your body shamelessly. I can only imagine what your blood is actually made of. And you’ve never faced a single consequence. You have a classic case of affluenza.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t know if he was making a joke or not.

“You’re saying I’m a bad person.”

“You’re dissolute, and you don’t care.”

“And you do?” I stiffened, and my extremities tingled. You didn’t challenge Daddy. You just didn’t. If I never faced any consequences in the outside world, inside his fiefdom, I certainly did. Yet there I was, feeling safe enough to do just that.

“I do. This family, Fiona, this ten-person unit, is all that matters. How we’re perceived is important. How we act is important. And if you don’t get control of yourself, I’m taking control.”

That was close, too close. I heard his words in Deacon’s voice, and I squirmed.

He continued, poking at my core insecurity. “Whether or not you ever leave here can very easily be up to me.”

“I’m of age,” I whispered, but I knew I had no way of enforcing my emancipation.

“Indeed you are. Something to think about. The dew is off the petal, and you’ve gone from wild child to aged curiosity. There are younger and wilder taking your place as we speak.”

Maybe my medication was wearing off or maybe I was raw from recalling my first meeting with Deacon, but something about him calling me old and washed up frightened me. Something about the look on his face, as if he’d stepped in a hot mess on the sidewalk. I respected my father, respected his opinions and beliefs even if I didn’t follow them. I had consistently thwarted his will, and he’d consistently bailed me out because I had such respect for him. What would happen if that respect went away? Would he stop protecting me?

“What about you?” I shouted, though he never flinched. “What about what you did? You shamed this family with Mom.”

“I married her. No one’s marrying you.” He didn’t bat a fucking eyelash.

The only reason I didn’t lunge for him was he was telling me the truth.

Instead, I walked toward the hall. Like a cat, he moved so quickly and silently, I was surprised when I felt a yank at the back of my collar. The security guard did exactly nothing when Daddy took my jaw in his hands.

He whispered in my ear, “When are we going to stop playing at this same drama, Fiona? It’s tiresome. And I don’t like disruption.” There was only one answer.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“We understand each other then?”

“Yes.”

“You will get control of your life?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because if you don’t, I will. And you will not like it.”

***

I couldn’t bear the common room, the patio, the garden. Couldn’t stand a conversation. My parents confused me. I always left their company wondering what the fuck had just happened. So I took my meds as prescribed and went to lie down.

You’re controlled by your cunt. Who controls your cunt, controls you.

The ceiling of my grey and white little room was a dull shade of neutral. The shade was drawn over the open window, and when the breeze came, it slapped against the sill as if angry.

I control my cunt.

Deacon in his suit, smiling that godawful devil of a smile, looked at my face even though I was naked and tied to hooks in the wall. He didn’t believe me. He was right. In the battle for control of my life, my cunt won every time.

I’ll control it, kitten. And you’re welcome. He put the riding crop to my lips, and I kissed it. It’s three days. You’ll be good, or this is what you’re getting.

I put my eyes all over his handsome face, which I wasn’t supposed to do. I was supposed to look at the floor as a symbol of my submission. He drew the crop back and whacked the side of my face with it. The sting felt wet and deep.

That’s to keep you in the house. He said it without cruelty or emotion, then backhanded the crop over my breasts. That’s for looking me in the eye.

The next ten came down in a rain of blows over my belly, my hips, the tops of my thighs. Then, with an underhanded swat, he slapped my clit with the leather. I ground my teeth. I wasn’t supposed to scream.

That’s three days of control I expect.

I remembered the welts when he touched them, the way they burned as he unhooked me and threw me on the bed, lashing me face down to the bedposts so that the mattress rubbed them when he fucked me. I remembered the orgasm spilling out of me, and the welts bleeding over the next three days, reminding me of how hard I’d come that day. And how without him, I had no control over my cunt.

You can touch yourself if you want, but that’s it.

He smirked like Satan. I didn’t even address the joke of it, I was so aroused. I didn’t touch myself for pleasure, even when he tormented me by giving me that as my only option.

Thinking of him in my Westonwood bed, my clit felt like a hot, throbbing marble. I crossed my legs under the covers, listening to the rain in the palm trees outside. I played the memory over again and again. The pain all over my body, the sweat in the wounds as I danced at Dabney’s with who-even-knows. Earl’s fingers digging in them as he fucked me from behind. I took his friend Tammy’s pussy in my mouth, the sting of flake hot on my tongue. I knew he’d punish me when he got back.

When Master Deacon came home three days later, the beating had been relentless, and joyful in its way. He’d tugged and twisted on my nipple rings until I came, then made me come again and again. It was the beginning, and a game. Our hearts hadn’t dropped out of us yet.

Yet.

I pressed my thighs together, rotating my hips slightly. It would take forever to come, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My lips parted, and heat washed over my hips, my heart beat between my legs, and I felt that relief, that joy, that release.