Page 17 of Road Runner's Ride
Chapter Sixteen
Bound within a relationship
Kevin stood near the wall, body angled forward so he could lean both elbows on the back of a chair. He had been positioned here for nearly an hour, observing. Aurelie knew he was here. The minute she’d seen him, she had immediately tried to change assignment sections, but Sid had stopped that in its tracks. From the stretch of her neck as she bent her head, the scolding was well delivered.
It was late. The meeting at the clubhouse had taken hours, with no real resolution at the end of things. Mason had spared the St. Louis chapter from closing several years ago and tonight had made it clear that decision was being reconsidered. Pike, always a bit of an asshole, had blown up and there had very nearly been an end to the chapter’s president. It took three of the national officers to get him under control, and even they couldn’t stop his mouth from running. He was midrant when Road Runner had looked over to see Mason studying Pike with an expression of distaste.
In the end, Pike left to go home with his men and an ultimatum: Give national a reason to keep him. No “or else” was needed, because every man in the room understood. In the unlikely event Pike actually came up with something, Mason had indicated he would at least listen. Afterwards, talking to Road Runner and Gunny, Mason had provided insight into why he hadn’t just terminated the chapter then and there.
“Gotta give him the chance. Let his men see how hard he tries to keep things or let them see Pike for what he is. A lying piece-of-shit loser that I never shoulda patched, and should not have given reins to.” Mason shook his head. “He’s gonna flog that chapter, flog and kill it. It’s not the location, because God knows St. Louis is perfectly placed for what we need, and I’ll be looking to roll a new one somewhere close. No, it’s the man, and always has been. So we let him expose himself to the men who have let him lead up to now. Then we see who we can salvage from there.”
Bear walked up, beers dangling from his fingers. Road Runner shook his head, not wanting to drink before going to the club. Without any lead-in, Bear started talking, launching into his take on the evening. “Mistake, Mason. Letting him ride off the lot.”
Mason’s head tipped to the side, and Road Runner saw him raise an eyebrow in a silent question.
Bear shook his head. “You and I know, more than most, how much shit he’s brought and stirred over the years. He steps down, you get to keep the chapter. He doesn’t, you lose St. Louis for now. But Mason, letting him roll is a mistake. Say the word, and I’ll head west in a heartbeat. You set on taking his plate, he’s gonna be hunting for supporters, and we can’t afford splinters, man.” Bear was referring to the president patch, something Mason had nearly cut off Pike’s vest tonight.
“If I take his plate, and he doesn’t handle himself right, then I’ll take his center. Bust him down, see how he handles that.” Mason shrugged, pulling in a deep breath. “If it comes to that, we’ll beatout if we need to.”
Road Runner sighed, deciding to weigh in, even if it wasn’t his place. “I’m with Bear.” He thought back to the way the man had lorded himself over the mother chapter members outside. “He’s puffed up, Mason. Pride in himself, not the club. You take his plate, take president off his vest, he turns into a big, fucking wildcard.”
“Wait and see.” Mason shrugged. “I aim to head back to the Fort tonight.” Directing a questioning look towards Road Runner, Mason asked, “You good to roll out to where you need to be? It’s late, brother.”
With a grin, Road Runner responded, feeling blood beginning to fill his cock at the idea of the fetish club and Aurelie. “Oh, yeah, brother. I’m good.”
Pulled from his thoughts at movement from across the open area, Kevin lifted his head. There was a small commotion near one of the reserved scene rooms. Already hyper alert, his nerves still on edge from the combative meeting earlier, he felt the vibe in the big room begin to warp and change. Heard from a distance, the sound of Aurelie’s voice quietly pleading struck fear deep in him. Without caring how it would look, he strode across the room, marking that Kris was already headed in the same direction, angling in from the side.
Aurelie stood, shoulders rounded, head tipped down as if the weight of whatever was happening was more than she could bear. Circling Aurelie, a masked Domme conveyed anger in her gait, the short, stalking strides edging in on the already narrow space Aurelie occupied. The Domme appeared to be with a group standing nearby. It looked as if they had just exited the private area, and through the door, Kevin could see two figures stretched out on the floor, blankets carelessly tossed to cover female torsos. There was a suspension frame in place above one of them, and he thought he could see cabling still leading from her ankles to the metal above her.
“Missed seeing you, subbie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t like me.” The woman’s voice was soft, velvet and rich, and Kevin watched Aurelie’s skin quiver as the Domme reached out to trail a finger down one arm. “You should come back. Maybe, just maybe, if you were good, I’d keep you this time.”
Stopping a respectful three feet from the group, Kevin cleared his throat and unobtrusively gestured at Kris to send him into the room to see what had happened there. Before he could speak, Aurelie had turned to him, gracefully folding to her knees. “How may…?” Voice quivering, she tried again, “Sir, what can…?” Her voice trailed off into silence, unable to bridge the gap between where she was and safety. She was held back by the same overwhelming fear he’d seen the first night. This Domme was tied up in that emotion somehow.
“What are you doing with this one?” Confident, just shy of arrogant, the Domme stepped up beside the supine Aurelie, nudging her with the toe of one boot as she commanded, “Up, subbie.”
Kevin discreetly looked the masked woman up and down. Her voice was somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might know her from. One of the Lycra crowd, the Domme was dressed armpits to hips in a skintight corset with straps of leather, while a pair of thigh-high boots completed her outfit. On one wrist she wore a novelty flogger. With leather strips only about ten-inches long, it was good for little but show.
She had stopped urging Aurelie to her feet and was considering Kevin. Apparently coming to an understanding that he was with Aurelie, the Domme shifted, aggressively widening her stance. Hands on her hips, in a distant and cold tone far different than the one used before, she asked, “Is this yours?” Impersonal now, she appeared hurt at some imagined slight. A Dominant did not earn the adoration of a submissive by demanding it, but by working for it, something she didn’t seem to understand.
Respect and worship could not be demanded. Could not be ordered to exist if it didn’t already live and breathe within the relationship. Something Aurelie had taught him years ago, and he hadn’t realized the worth of the lesson until much later, watching couples as they painfully tried to find the same kind of balance he and Aurelie had effortlessly and naturally achieved.
Respect is not owed. Adoration not guaranteed. A relationship based on scening alone did not entitle the Dom or Domme to anything more than they had earned. At most a few hours here or there, carefully negotiated exchanges fully satisfactory to many.Not me, not after knowing what it could become.
Thatearnedpart was difficult for a lot of Dominants to understand. So caught up in the power of command, they failed to see the value of investing the relationship with the devotion needed to find a connection. Instead, they felt compelled to demand and order emotional commitment, as if from a menu. Their behavior and expectations askew from a reality in which they were never entitled to anything.
To accept the yielding of another soul was beautiful, never a burden. As beautiful as the dedication to give back homage, resulting in the stability and safety a submissive needed to just be. That was the essence and embodiment of the Dominant and submissive relationship.
Kris had summed it up one night over beers in his apartment. He maintained that a Dominant was bound within a relationship where they held only the illusion of control. Their every action condoned by the submissive, a Dom forever rode an edge of rejection and dismissal. For the Dominant, the truth was with every session—every scene—they said to the submissive,here is my spirit, treat it well. Accept me as I am, allow me to care for you.
From the submissive, the gift of their genuine yielding told the Dominant they were trusted, their judgment valued, and their care priceless. The submissive said,here is my body, give me rest. Understand my needs, help me reach safety.
That was what Kevin wanted again. Wanted with Aurelie. That beautiful balance of trust; the give and take of a true relationship. Bound to her by desire.
This Domme’s attitude said she needed a healthy reality check, but right now Kevin didn’t have time for that. Not with Aurelie quivering in fear on the floor. Certainly not with two abandoned subs possibly needing attention. Anything was more worthy of his time than this Domme. Brusque and curt, he nodded once, leaving no room for interpretation when he said, “Aurelie is mine, yes.”
Kris came out of the room, gave a sharp tip of his head and then turned on his heel heading back inside. Whatever had gone on in there, the ones left behind needed assistance.
Fuck.
