She settled into the little yellow house easily. Her favorite things had been placed with care, turning the house into a home. Nooks and shelves held treasured items, a ceramic butterfly, a cobalt vase, a bronze unicorn. Each day she woke up, knowing that she’d made the right choice to come here, that this place felt like home to her. Other than a few distant cousins, there was no one on the East coast for her to miss, or miss her.
She walked into town every few days, and explored. There was a great antique shop, a bit too rich for her blood, and a nice “reclaimed” shop on the other side. Ronnie and Pete, brothers, shared the space, often taunting each other over their selections. Although she couldn’t afford most of the treasures on Pete’s side, Ronnie’s “Flea Market” as his brother disparaged it, was a wonderful source of inexpensive treasures. There she’d found several nice pieces for her home, things that she could freshen up with a coat of paint, or leave “as is” and enjoy the feeling of history that came with it. One or the other would load her find into their battered pick up truck, and drive it, and her, back to her house, and wrestle the piece into her house for her.
She became familiar with the ins and outs of the small town. Bert at the grocery store who could talk the ears off a brass monkey. Arnie who pumped gas and had a soft spot for older corvettes which he lovingly restored in his garage on weekends. Annalise, the hairdresser who seemed to know the intimate goings on of all the residents of Port Harbour, Oregon. She had a nodding acquaintance with just about all of her neighbors, and wasn’t it nice to feel a part of the community? Boston was a great city, but everyone had been isolated, living in their own bubbles. She had often wondered at the feeling of loneliness she carried with her, surrounded by so many people. But here? Here everyone wanted to know you. Ironic that she found that here on the West Coast, rather than at that bar in Boston where “everyone knows your name”!
After a few months, she began to get a feel for the ebb and flow here, and felt a bit less like a total outsider. People returned her shy greetings, and waved to her when she walked into town. For the first time, ever, she felt like she was “home”.
Her favorite by far was Miss Susan, who lived next door. Against the picket fence that separated their two properties was the most incredible country garden. Echinacea, Brown-eyed Susan’s, Coreiopsis, and Daisies bloomed in profusion. Roses framed the southern end of the fence, while the largest blueberry bush she had ever seen took over the northern end. Stems and flowers poked through the fence, overspilling their confines, and adding a bit of life to her yard. It was obvious that Miss Susan had spent many years working in her gardens, and Chloe considered herself lucky to be neighbors with her. She was definitely a dabbler in the dirt, and hoped Miss Susan would guide her as she began planting her roots deep into the land of her new home.
Noting that the inside of her little house was in order, working on her side of the fence was becoming a priority. She had time to putter now that the fast-paced insanity of packing up her household on the east coast was over. She’d moved all the way across the country, sight-unseen, into the little yellow house that she’d found online, and fallen in love with.
The settlement from Uncle Richard’s estate had been extremely generous. His one admonishment had been to “go, live your dream, and write.” She missed his gruff love, and no-nonsense way of looking at life. And he accepted her, fully and completely. He’d been uncle, father, and mother to her after losing her parents at a young age. He’d listened to her, guided her, and didn’t blink twice when she’d called him from a dungeon after her Dom boyfriend had driven off and left her there. He’d come, taken her home, held her as she’d cried. He’d given her the advice to follow her heart, but don’t shut off your brain, girl. She’d never managed to shock him, even the time she had to have him cut off the handcuffs she’d locked herself into. She smiled at the memory. His eyebrow had raised, and had admonished her to make sure he had a key to any further devices. She’d always wondered if he… she shook her head. Not going down that road. She missed him, fiercely.
She had perused the online offerings for BDSM in her new home, but as yet hadn’t dabbled in the community here. Innately shy, it was really hard being the new fish in the pond. There was no Master left behind, never having found the “one” that she’d been willing to serve forever. She played, usually, on the edges of the BDSM scene.
She fell into a routine, of sorts. Up early in the morning, as soft breezes moved through her house, the scents from the garden stirring her to wakefulness. A 30 minute yoga stretch, then tea and some sort of muffin to begin her day.
She sat on her deck, finishing her first cuppa. Today was a gorgeous morning, blue skies, soft midsummer breeze teasing her hair, and the scent of flowers a sweet lure. While she very much wanted to dig in the dirt, she needed the discipline of sitting at her computer and writing, first. Carrying her mug and plate in from the deck, she moved into the den, and tapping her computer awake, began typing.
At His look, she slid to her knees, lifting her breasts as He had taught her He liked.
That didn’t quite carry the force her Dominant would portray. She crossed out, and began typing again.
likeddemanded she offer herself to him. Her heart beat thickly in her chest
Thickly? Who’s heart beat thickly? She sighed, back spacing to correct that, and became aware of the oddest noise. She’d been in many a dungeon in her sexpliots back east, and the sound of some sort of implement striking flesh was unmistakable. The moans were soft, and sounded far away, but they weren’t all that far away.
Curiosity burned. Was someone into kinky sex in her neighborhood, or was someone close by being victimized? So many of those crime novels were centered here in the northwest, likely for good reason. She went out to her deck. The sounds were coming from Miss Susan’s house!
She was alarmed, and dashed around the fence to the gate that separated their backyards. Through the gate, across the yard and up the back porch to Miss Susan’s door. Her hand on the knob, she froze for a moment at the next yelp. She turned it softly, then stepped in.
As in her house, the cellar entry was in the kitchen. The sounds weren’t coming from the basement, however. She moved through the kitchen and into the hallway. From above, she heard a muffled thump. Heart pounding, she bolted up the stairs, swinging around the newel post and heading for the one closed door. Flinging it open, she froze.
Miss Susan, dressed in a leather corset and thigh-high boots turned, scowling. Tucked under her arm was a short leather crop, as she lifted a heavy leather bag up onto the bed. At the top of the bag she could see a thick coil, which she knew was a whip. And on the cross in the corner of the room was Mr. Caruthers, the manager of Union Bank, Port Harbour branch. His shock of snow-white hair was unmistakable despite his current, naked, state. His body was covered in red welts, from his calves to his wrists.
She blinked, shocked to her core.
Miss Susan strode up to her, eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
Chloe leaned back, away from the force emanating from the woman. And stuttered out her explanation. While she wanted to look more at Mr. Caruthers, her gaze remained locked on the Domme in front of her.
“And you just barged in here to “rescue” me?” Her tone could have shredded paper.
“Well…I…yes, yes Ma’am. I did. Don’t…don’t worry. I …I understand what is happening here…I’m a submissive, and …”
The tone brooked no argument. Chloe fell silent immediately. Miss Susan pointed at her feet with the crop. Chloe fell to her knees. The smile on Miss Susan’s face chilled her, more than a bit.
“I’ve always wanted a girl,” she said softly, tapping Chloe’s chin with the end of the crop. “In here I am Suki, but you may call me Ma’am. You are not to speak unless directed, understood?” At Chloe’s bemused nod, she smiled again.
“What is it you do over there all morning, huddled over your computer? Speak.”
Chloe swallowed, hard. “I ….I write erotica, Ma’am.”
“And have you published it?”
“Yes Ma’am. I write a blog, and I’ve had four books published, under the pen name Star Williams.”
“I’ve read some of those!” This came from the blindfolded figure across the room.
Suki crossed the room, and administered a dozen hard blows across his pale bottom. There was, in that little bit of respite, time for Chloe to admit that she was feeling nervous. Her white-haired, gardening elf of a neighbor had transformed into a fierce Dominatrix. She struggled with the duality. The woman before her, likely more than twice the large man’s age on the cross, and half his size, was very much in control in this space.
Watching the scene, more than a bit mesmerized, she didn’t feel embarrassed. She didn’t feel out of place. Maybe a bit weirded out by the sudden transformations she was privy to. Then again, she was considered the odd duck in her family. And this sort of thing was…it was like an erotic fairy tale come to life. She felt Mistress’s eyes on her, assessing.
“Tell me, girl.”
Her eyes rose to meet the intense gaze of Suki.
“Are you wet?”