Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (55 page)

“Ah, many of
us long to please.
Oui, oui
, serving another transcends, inspires, and elevates
toward the divine. This desire, this
need
is what it is to be
submissive.”

— André
Chevalier

~~~

Renata
Koreman

Grant’s coming
home late tonight because he’s attending an AA meeting after work. Meanwhile,
I’ve had a fun, interesting and productive day despite his absence.

Maria came over for
a couple of hours this morning, we chatted and worked together. I love Grant’s
housekeeper—she’s a sweetheart who constantly tells me endearing stories about
Grant.

The woman knows
I’m madly in love with him. This has cemented our own easy friendship. Maria treats
him like her own son.

After Maria
left, Briley and I spent a few hours setting up a complex obstacle course for Mitten
to play on. It involved going over and under things, ringing a bell and such.
The idea was for him to get through the course, get his ball at the end and then
bring it back to me for a game of fetch.

Mitten did the
entire course perfectly. I captured it all in a digital recording and then upload
it onto YouTube.

I figure it’s
good for a few extra bucks a month.

Mitten has
become an Internet sensation. Thanks to him, I make over $1000 a month from
YouTube views of his tricks. I’ve decided to self-publish “Cat Coaching,” a book
André encouraged me to write.

Another event happened
today. Alex and his wife, Sky, came to visit their son for the first time since
they went to rehab. I didn’t get much notice from the court appointed
supervisor, or I would’ve made sure Grant was here too.

Alex visibly relaxed
when he found his brother wasn’t home. I’d assumed they were close since Grant
seems so fond of him.

Was Alex’s tension
caused by a guilty conscience? He was also abused by his father. I have to
wonder, are the police pursuing the wrong brother? Did Alex kill Chester
Wilkinson?

I liked Grant’s
brother very much. I’m sure he was putting on a brave act, but he was so funny,
congenial and lighthearted. He put me at ease, made me laugh, and Briley
giggle.

Sky was
introverted, shy and wary. Of course, I could relate, so we got on like a house
on fire. Neither of us are comfortable around strangers. Mutual discomfort is
an odd but valid trait for two people to bond over.

I act as nanny
and therapist to them both. I share stories about their son, while validating
their parenting skills. Adoring parents, they hung upon my every word.

Briley’s beginning
to crawl, which was both exciting and disappointing for them. It seemed to
highlight the sobering fact that because of their recklessness, they've been
robbed of time with their son. Every day is precious at his age. It’s sad they’re
missing these important milestones.

I felt so sorry
for them, especially for Sky who couldn’t stop crying when their time with Briley
was over.

Later, after
they left, when the baby was napping in his crib. I called Diana, my ex-landlord
and good friend. I used to rent Diana’s apartment above her veterinary office.
My stuff is in storage for now, while I’m a nanny.

Like me, Diana
works as a consultant for André sometimes, but not as a sexual surrogate. When
she works for him it’s as ‘Mistress Diana,’ an experienced Domme. She’s a
petite woman with bright bottle-red hair, and a feisty, no-nonsense personality.
She combines excellent control of her animal patients (and their owners!) with caring
good sense in her job as a veterinarian.

“Hello, Diana?”

“Renata! It’s
great to hear from you! How are you? How’s Mitten?”

“Mitten’s
perfect. I just posted a new YouTube video of him going through an obstacle
course. Want me to send you the link?”

“No,” she says,
“I’ll find it. How are you doing down there in Texas with that hottie you told
me about?”

“Oh my God,
Grant is amazing. He’s such a gentleman, and he’s so appreciative of my help. I’m
madly in love with him.”

“Really? So,
he’s good for you?”

“The best,” I
assure her. “I think he’s the guy for me, Diana. No joke. I want to marry him
and have his babies,” I add, in a teasing, yet serious tone.

She laughs. “Sure
sounds like love to me.”

I adore Diana. I
also respect and look up to her. Meanwhile, she mothers and supports me. At
first, I was suspicious and found her protective manner disturbing. What did
she want with me? Why was she being so nice?

As time went on,
as with André, I grew to trust her. I missed out on being mothered, protected
and nurtured during my formative years. Now, I adore Diana’s attention and
value her opinions.

“So what’s the
problem?” she asks.

“Why would you
think there’s a problem?”

“Because I hear
it in your voice.”

“Well,” I say, “there
are some issues. Sadly, most of them I can’t discuss on the phone—if I can talk
about them at all. But there’s one thing I want to ask you. I think Grant might
be a sexual dominant. How do I know if he is? And if he is, do you think in the
long-term I’ll have to act differently?”

“Are you asking
as a surrogate, or as Renata?”

“Hmm. Good
point. I haven’t even considered that.”

I hesitate, pondering
her question. When I don’t respond, Diana asks, “How’s your sex life with this
paragon?”

“Epic,” I breathe
reverently. “The best sex
ever.
”

“Wow, that’s really
saying something considering André’s taken you to his bed,” she says, amused.
“I was a little concerned the sexy Frenchman would ruin you for anyone else.
Most lovers would pale in comparison to that masterful man. André is God's gift
to the aroused, the frustrated, or in fact any woman with a pulse.”

“That’s only funny
because it’s true,” I reply with a laugh. “But don’t forget how many men, couples
and polyamorous couples he’s helped. He's incredibly gifted and intuitive to a
degree that defies description—plus, he's
André!”

“
Ooh là là
,
baby,” Diana replies. “I get it. André is his name, sexual fulfillment is his
game.”

“Amen to that,”
I agree. “I think it’s his life’s mission.”

“As Shakespeare
says, some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness
thrust upon them,” Diana says. “But the
truly
great men do the thrusting.”

We both snicker.

“Yet,” I tell
her. “André, for all his perfection, is too independent and self-contained for
me. I love him dearly, but he doesn't touch my heart and soul the way Grant
can. Grant
needs
me. I’ve come to realize being important to someone has
been missing all of my life. It’s as though both of us, in our own way, have
been hollow. Yet, when we’re together, we’re complete. We fill each other’s emptiness.”

“Wow—that's
really something. So…," she pauses. "You’re saying he fills your
holes?”

I burst out
laughing again. “Trust
you
to bring our conversation down into the
gutter.”

“And what’s
wrong with the gutter?” she asks with a sardonic snicker. “Staying on the
sidewalk gets boring. If you don’t go off-road, you miss out on the fun.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Please don't
tell me you're getting all prissy on me.”

“Never,” I
assure her. “By the way, I miss you.”

Diana sighs. “Me
too. Life isn’t the same without you here. Anyway, back to the issue at hand. This
is the way I see it. You as a surrogate is one thing, but you as Renata is
another. Since André believed Grant needed a sexual surrogate, I guess your
hero is working through some issues. I’m not keen on labels, but what makes you
think he’s a dominant?”

“He bosses me
around in bed. When it comes to sex, he has to be in charge. Honestly? It’s
seriously hot.”

“So you like
it?”

“Diana, I love
everything
he does.” I sigh in a love-struck,
‘I-don’t-need-to-sleep-or-eat-as-long-as-I’m-with-him,’
way.

“Mmm, you’ve got
it bad. Sure sounds like some serious sexual chemistry. Lucky you.”

“You have no
idea. If you caught us fucking each other in the dark, I swear, you’d see
sparks flying.” This vivid mental image cracks us both up.

“I’ve always
thought you were submissive,” Diana says conversationally. “I also suspected
that your air-thief, prick of a father destroyed your natural submissive
inclination.”

“Air-thief?” I
ask.

“Yeah. You know,
someone who doesn’t deserve oxygen, but steals it anyway.”

I laugh hysterically,
certainly a bit louder than the joke deserved. Probably because I agree. My bastard
father, who is doing hard time for murder, is definitely an oxygen-thief.

“Your father’s
behavior was unpredictable and irrational. How could you trust being under
anyone’s control after him? Because of his random violence, submission probably
symbolizes abuse to your mind. You need to find what’s right
for you.
I
hate it when the screwed up actions and behaviors of an abuser prevents an
individual from enjoying a person’s natural desires.”

“Oh,” I say,
uncertainly.

I never thought
of it that way before.

Am I
submissive by nature? Is that what Grant does for me, makes it safe for me to
be myself? Do I long to surrender? To trust someone enough to let go?

Yet, it isn’t
only about trust. I trust André with my life, but I never felt comfortable
submitting to him.

“Renata, you
have an instinctive desire to please. From what I can tell, you experience your
greatest pleasure by pleasing others.”

“That’s true,
but I don’t like the idea of giving in so easily,” I tell her. “I want to be
strong and stand up for myself. I never stood up for myself as a child. I vowed
never to let anyone make me feel so helpless again.”

Diana laughs.
“
Giving
in to a violent, abusive asshole is completely different from sexual
submission. A good Dom isn’t a bully, and submission has nothing to do with
weakness. Some of the strongest people I know prefer to bottom.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. By
the way, I wasn’t the only one who saw this inclination in you. I’m pretty sure
André recognized your submissive nature right from the start.”

I cringe with
the memory. “Diana, being dominated by André freaked me out,” I tell her. “I
felt trapped. I panicked at the thought. I don’t like anyone having power over me.”

“Except for Grant,”
she says with certainty.

“Except for
Grant,” I agree.

We’re both
silent for a few heartbeats while I think this over.

Diana adds, “And
your relationship is built on honesty, respect and good two-way communication?”

“Oh, yes.”

“So what’s the
problem?” Diana asks. “I think the question is
not
whether he’s a sexual
dominant, but whether you are a sexual submissive. Perhaps you’re submissive because
you care for him and
that’s what Grant needs.
You obtain fulfillment by supplying
him the sexual control
he
craves. Maybe you are submissive, but only
to
him
.”

“We cannot
change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it
oppresses.”

— Carl Jung

~~~

Renata
Koreman

I’m dressed in
only a bathrobe and a sexy, silk nightie. The nightie is new, although I doubt Grant
will get a chance to notice it. I don’t expect to be wearing it long.

I haven’t seen him
for over ten hours. It feels like an eternity. We talked on the phone three
times today, and we’ve texted each other volumes, but it’s not enough. I'm
suffering withdrawals, itching for my Grant-fix.

Grant ended up
going out to dinner with his AA sponsor, so Briley, Mitten and I all ate dinner
without him. I have so much to say to him when he gets home.

A thrill of
anticipation rolls through me. Mitten is outside and Briley’s asleep, so I’m
going to have Grant all to myself.
Woo hoo!

I hear the sound
of the automatic garage door opening, then closing, and I know he’s finally
home. Excitement makes my breath catch. My stomach flutters, tightens.

I move to greet
him, but when he opens the internal door and steps inside—my brain
short-circuits. Grant’s dressed in a casual suit, his shirt open at the neck,
but nothing can hide his powerful, muscular body. The man looks divine.

His sad eyes are
gone. He no longer has the lined, furrowed face of someone with insurmountable problems,
a man who can find no peace.

For one
breathless moment, I freeze, just drinking him in.

His face lights
up when he sees me, his intent gaze sweeping over me like a caress. I feel as though
it’s Christmas morning and I’m a gift he’s astonished and delighted to find under
his tree. He unwraps—or in this case, undresses me with his eyes.

“Renata.” My
name on his lips sounds like poetry. I can’t get over how much I crave the low rumbling
sound of his voice.

“Grant,” I
murmur, while my heart melts and my chest aches.

I suddenly
remember the first time I saw him at André’s house. Angry and frightened of his
past, his face scarred, I’d immediately recognized the loneliness and
vulnerability behind his slate-blue eyes. I could see him so clearly, right
through his defenses.

It had been like
looking at myself.

André’s words
echo in my mind,
‘I have chosen to place two damaged people together, in the
hope they may heal each other.’
My mentor was dead-on accurate, as usual.

Now, as he
stands before me, Grant’s molten gaze reflects hope, love and lust.

It’s exactly what
I feel.

Our actions are
instantaneous. In two strides, he reaches me, sweeping me into a crushing
embrace. I push up, leaping into him, throwing my arms around his neck. I
shudder as the feel of him floods my body with liquid heat.

Already aroused,
his thick shaft presses hard against me. I melt into him, sighing with
pleasure, inhaling his masculine scent—breathing him in.

His large palms
cup my face, his lips capture mine. His possessive, open-mouthed kiss thrills
me. Holy hell, the man is a fast learner. Dominant and demanding, his tongue
presses inside.

A soft moan
escapes from somewhere deep in my throat. So intimate, so personal—holy hell, I
love his kisses. We merge together, devouring each other hungrily.

Still kissing
me, his hands travel from my jaw, my neck and down my back. His fingers slide up
under my bathrobe and nightie where his heated palm grips the curve of my ass. I
revel in the sensation.

When he clutches
my thighs and lifts me, I wrap my legs around him.

Fiery arousal
blasts through my veins. I buck as the iron heat of his cock presses between my
legs.

“God, I need
you,” he growls, his warm breath gusting over my ear.

“Yes,” I gasp, matching
his need.

Primal urges
take over.

Like a match set
to gasoline, our passion explodes—scorching us to ashes.

In a heartbeat,
Grant pushes me against the wall, his mouth ravages mine. Demanding. Plundering.
Hands, fingers, skin and mouth; we wrestle into each other’s bodies, as raw
need claws and stabs. Like a real fire, we blaze to life, consuming each other.

Overwhelming
pleasure sweeps me away.

I’m mindless
already. My fingers tighten into the solid muscles of his back. I’m weak with
desire. If the man wasn’t holding me, I’d probably slide onto the floor.

His all-encompassing
strength, his potent scent and taste fills my senses. I dig my heels into his
back and buttocks.

I long for his
hard male thickness to push into me.

Urgent and
hungry, I feed on his heat. His teeth scrape behind my ear, nipping my earlobe
and traveling down my neck. A rush of erotic sensation tears through me, all
the way down to my curling toes.

Panting, I
whimper, “Oh God.”

My spine arches,
my body bows. I want his hands, his mouth—his cock. I long to draw him inside
me. He’s so strong, he holds me with ease while his solid arousal teases me.

When he unexpectedly
pulls away, I yelp a half-cry, half-sob at the loss.

Eyes shut, Grant
rests his forehead against my own. His lungs heave, his breath tickles my ear. My
heart pounds, my skin flushes pink with arousal.

“What?” I ask
breathlessly, once I’m able to form words. “Why did you stop?”

“Jesus Christ.” He
inhales a deep breath, opening his eyes and angling his head to meet my gaze. “I’m
an animal with you. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his voice gritty and low.

“Don’t be,” I blurt
out, intentionally scraping up a hint of playfulness in my tone, trying not to
sound as desperate as I feel. Leave it to Grant to take sex so seriously. “The desire
you have for me is seriously hot. Don’t hold back. Be what you’d like. Do what
you like. I love it all.”

“But it feels…
disrespectful.”

Wow. Talk about
banking the embers of the fire! I lick my lips, trying to gather my thoughts. Half-drunk
with the need to come, I try to switch gears.

“Trust me, it
isn’t disrespectful. Sometimes rough, no-holds-barred,
‘gotta get in me,’ ‘pound
me hard or die’
sex is
exactly
what a woman wants—maybe even what
she needs. I was every bit as frenzied as you were.”

Our ragged
breaths sound loud in the silence, while his guarded features demonstrate
uncertainty.

What he
doesn’t
say
in answer to my remark, speaks volumes. He’s not impulsive—Grant’s a
thinker. Acting like an ‘animal’ in the bedroom feels wrong to him. In his mind,
women should be protected and treated with respect.

His own
sexuality is an emotionally charged topic he's had trouble accepting throughout
his life. He's viewed sex as a slavish loss of control, submitting to it
periodically, only when he gave in to his 'weakness.'

He never wanted
to be like his father, so he felt guilty for every climax. His decision as a
teen went something like this:
My dad is bad and my dad enjoys sex. I don’t
want to be like my dad, so I can’t let myself enjoy sex.

I completely understand
this conflict of emotions, but humans
are
animals, and sexuality is one
of our most primitive drives. It's who we are deep down, at least a part of us.

I want Grant to
be true to himself, to accept who he is and to fully let go. In that way, he
can allow himself the ultimate pleasures that uninhibited sex can offer. He
deserves it.

I don’t want him
to hold himself back, stifling and denying his inner nature.

He's done that
for far too many years.

On a selfish
level, I crave that part of him. It's exciting and sexy, feeding my own primal
needs which I whole-heartedly embrace. Unfortunately, the wild male animal won’t
become liberated overnight. It’s a process, but there will come a day when he
sets himself free.

I study the
conflict on his beautiful features. I know Grant so well. I told him the animal
in him is OK by me. Later, he’ll think about that. Much later, when he’s ready,
we’ll talk it through.

Much,
much
later,
when he begins to accept his instincts and himself more fully, maybe he’ll set
them free.

I sure as hell look
forward to that.