M Sellars - The End Of Desire

“You look great. Just like you did five minutes ago when you asked me the same thing.”

“I already asked?”

“Uh-huh. Twice actually… This time makes three.”

“But, you’re sure I look okay?”

“Yes,” I told her with a nod then looked back down at the comics. “You look wonderful.”

“I was thinking maybe I should wear a skirt instead of slacks. What do you think?”

“Okay.”

“Well, do you think that would be too much?”

“I don’t know. I guess that would depend on who you’re meeting with and how short the skirt is,” I chuckled.

“I’m serious, Rowan.” She offered the words with a heavy note of exasperation in her voice.

I folded the paper and laid it aside then brought my eyes up to meet hers, giving her my full attention. “All right… What’s up? I’ve never seen you this nervous about work before.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, fine. I’m a little nervous.”

“Why?”

“I’m not usually dealing with the stigma of an arrest and a stay in a psych ward.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve done several jobs since you got home. Why is there a problem now?”

“Those were established accounts who already knew me. This is the first meeting I’ve had to pitch to a potential client since all that happened, you know. It’s different.”

“Yeah, okay. But, I really think you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing, sweetheart,” I reassured her. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”

“I wish I had your confidence about that.”

“Okay, let me ask you this-Did you approach them looking for work or did they call you?”

“They called me.”

“There you go.”

“There I go what?”

“If anything that was in the news about your bogus arrest was going to affect their decision, I doubt they would have even called you in the first place. Obviously it isn’t a factor.”

“Maybe they just haven’t heard about it yet.”

“Only if they were living under a rock.”

She frowned hard. “Thanks a lot.”

“Seriously, Felicity. I really think this is a non-issue.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“I hope so.”

She took a sip of her coffee while staring thoughtfully into the space just over my shoulder. I watched her for a moment then picked up the paper again and unfolded it.

“Black, maybe?” I offered as I began to scan the cartoons.

“Black what?” she asked.

“Black skirt,” I replied. “Understated, professional. And, black goes with everything, right?”

“So you think I should change, then?”

“No, but you do. I can tell by the way you’re staring off into space.”

“I’m going to go change.”

“What a surprise,” I mumbled.

She didn’t reply to my last comment. Instead, she simply placed her coffee cup on the counter then turned and headed out of the kitchen. Her footsteps hadn’t even faded around the corner when the dogs began barking in the back yard. The chime of the doorbell followed quickly, as if to add urgent punctuation to their ruckus.

“I’ll get it,” Felicity called out.

I heard her as she shuffled quickly to change direction, and that was soon followed by a click when she unlatched the deadbolt on the door. Before I had a chance to find where I had left off on the comics page, however, a somewhat disturbing noise hit my ears, and it took the form of my wife’s voice wrapped in an altogether annoyed tone.

“Damnu!” she exclaimed. “I thought I told you to leave me alone!”

I had already tossed the paper onto the counter and was out of my seat when I called out to her. “Felicity? What’s wrong?”

I hadn’t even taken my first step when I heard a heavy thud on the floor along with a muffled male voice. Both of these new sounds caused my heart to jump in my chest, and I darted out of the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find, but my brain was so conditioned to the horrific that a sense of semi-contained panic had already set in. In a fraction of a second, it had taken it upon itself to fill in the blanks with all manner of possible unpleasantness.

What I did see when I rounded the corner, however, was the last thing I had imagined, and it gave me enough pause to stop me dead in my tracks. My wife was still fully upright and was trying to back away from the now open door. Unfortunately, her ability to affect the maneuver was being severely hindered by an altogether familiar looking man who was bowed down in front of her, arms locked around her ankles as he murmured half intelligible praises in between each fervent kiss he bestowed upon her feet and shoes.

“What are you doing?!” Felicity barked as she tried to pull her foot out of his grasp. “Stop it!”

My initial fear for her safety immediately shifted to annoyance. Brad Lewis, the man currently molesting my wife’s feet, was the same individual she had almost trampled to death while under Miranda’s control. Fortunately, he hadn’t pressed charges over his injuries, primarily because he was beyond just your average submissive fetishist who got a thrill from the abuse. So far beyond in fact, that by all indications, he was psychologically addicted to it.

Unfortunately, however, that which saved Felicity from both criminal charges and a civil lawsuit had quickly turned into a very different sort of problem. Lewis had fixated on her, and for a period of several days made a major nuisance of himself with repeated telephone calls. She had finally stopped trying to reason with him and took advantage of her repressed persona along with his desire to serve a Domme by literally ordering him to stop calling. The tactic had seemed to work, as the unwanted contact stopped cold following that one-sided conversation.

Until now, that is.

Calls were one thing, but this was a whole new dimension. Prior to this point, he hadn’t been bold enough to actually come to the house-at least not that we knew of. Now, not only was this frightening in a sense, it made me angry.

My momentary bewilderment wore off, and I started forward, but Felicity was already taking her own measures to deal with the groveling stalker.

“Damnu! Get… Off… Me!” she shrieked, yanking one foot free as he was focusing his attention on the other.

Squatting quickly, she grabbed a handful of his hair and began pulling his head upward as she stood. Given the burning glare in her eyes, if I hadn’t been as angry about his intrusion as was she, I would have almost felt sorry for him.

Before I covered the few steps between us, she had him back up into a kneeling position in front of her with his head held back so that his face was upturned. In a flash the open palm of her free hand struck his cheek with a loud crack. I was just grabbing him by the shirt collar when she slapped him hard again.

“Felicity!” I barked. “Don’t you think that might just be encouraging him?!”

“Is cuma liom sa diabhal! ” she shouted. “I’m pissed off!”

The spate of Gaelic was a new one on me, so I wasn’t entirely sure what she had said. However, the English portion of the sentence left nothing to the imagination, not that her actions hadn’t already spoken volumes.

“All right, get out!” I demanded as I hooked one hand under his arm while keeping the other twisted into the back of his collar. I was trying to pull him toward the door, but Felicity still hadn’t let go of his hair.

“But, Mistress…” he whined.

“Dun do bheal! ”

He was obviously completely unfamiliar with Gaelic as he half whimpered again, “But, Mistress…”

“I am not your Top!” my wife shouted back into his face. “I thought I made that clear!”