Chapter 33

We went off to bed and Tuesday morning came way too soon for Beck and I both. Her welts looked angrier the next day as the bruising set in, but she was bright-eyed and bounded into the shower, squirming as I gently washed her back and butt. At breakfast, she was a little hoarse, but I’d half expected her to sound like a pack-a-day smoker with how hard I’d fucked her throat the night before. Patty and Mom looked like they were going to corner me to talk seriously about what I’d done to Beck, but she wrecked that plan by bouncing out of her seat and dragging me with her, saying we needed to go to baseball.

We left our bikes at home and walked for once so we could talk.

“Last night was so amazing!” she said when we were away from the house. “I love you so much for that. I know it was hard for you.”

“It was,” I agreed. “There were parts of it that I liked, but parts that I didn’t like doing. I’m glad you didn’t think it was too far. I worried about that a lot.”

She stopped and took my hand, turning me to look at her. “I got all of you last night. Not just the loving part, but the part that you bury. I got to see what you’d be like angry. That’s the most amazing thing I could have asked for. Like I said, you show me how much you love me when you can punish me like that without hating me. Making me suck you after you’d been in my ass! Where did you come up with that?!!?”

“Honestly? Your mom,” I told her. “When I was with her, I was gonna cum on her face, but she just stuck it back in her mouth instead. I figured that if there was anyone out there that’d get off on that, it was going to be you.”

“Wow!” she breathed, thinking about her mother doing something as dirty as that. “You think she’s gonna get into the whips and stuff?”

I shook my head. “I think her and Mom are going to tear a strip off me when they can get me alone for how I treated you last night,” I admitted. “I know you’re okay with it, but your back seriously looks like you’ve been tortured. They’re pretty angry and disappointed today by the looks they were giving me.”

Beck rolled her eyes. “Great! So now I have to worry about them being over-protective. Well, we’ll find them when we get home and tell them.”

I hoped she was right. I slipped my arm around her and she snuggled into me for the rest of the walk. I sat in the dugout and she went off to talk to the girls on the team, whispering and giggling while they waited for their turn at the plate.

The game was good overall and Beck’s team won. The girls kept shooting glances at me between innings and I wondered what Beck had told them. I asked her while she was perched on my lap and she laughed.

“I told them everything,” she said, wiggling on my lap. “Worried that they’re gonna be afraid of you or that they’re gonna want some of what I got?”

“Both,” I admitted, thinking that neither option was great.

When we got back to the house, we went to find the mothers and get through this. They were at Patty’s having coffee and talking when we walked in. Beck got a much warmer reception than I did and she blew her stack.

“DON’T YOU DARE WRECK THIS DAY FOR ME!” she shouted at both of them angrily, making all three of us start. They were sputtering and trying to get a handle on her temper when she continued to shout. “MATT DID EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED HIM TO LAST NIGHT, EXACTLY WHAT I HOPED HE’D DO! DON’T YOU DARE MAKE HIM FEEL BAD ABOUT THAT! I SWEAR IF HE BACKS OFF BECAUSE YOU PISS ON HIM OVER IT, YOU’LL ANSWER TO ME! I KNOW WHERE THE WHIPS ARE! YOU HEAR ME? I WILL TAKE IT OUT ON BOTH OF YOU IF HE STOPS BECAUSE YOU MADE HIM FEEL BAD!” She was fuming and practically screeching. Frankly, I found the whole tirade a little distressing.

I was glad to see the fight go out of the two of them and they looked back and forth between the two of us. I shrugged. “You should have known better,” I reminded them calmly. “Lilly said that you could all hear Beck clearly upstairs the first night we were together. You know what she likes in sex. Getting angry at me for making it exactly like she wanted isn’t cool. You can’t tell me it’s okay to have sex with her and then get mad at me for making it what she wants.”

“That’s not why we’re angry. The things you’re doing are dangerous. If they get out of hand, she could be hurt,” Mom pointed out.

“Which is why I chose things that have very soft impact. I tested how hard they hit on myself to make sure that they’re not going to break skin. I tested how hard to swing to get results I wanted without doing damage. You think I’d just pick up something and swing like I’m trying to hit a home run? I thought you knew me better than that. Everything I used last night was used on myself first to make sure I wouldn’t be hurting her.”

That seemed to mollify them some, but they still seemed troubled. I turned to Beck and took her face in my hands. I kissed her lightly. “I think you need to tell them what you told Manda. They don’t get it.”

We sat at the table and for the next hour we explained Bad Matt and how Beck felt like she had all of me when she was able to coax him out of hiding. She talked about how she felt about pain and how she felt about the degrading things we did. Over time, they both came to understand what she meant, but I don’t think Mom liked it in particular.

The rest of the week passed in something of a blur, with all of us chasing down the last details before school started. I made a point of spending time with all of my girls through the week, making a night available for each of them.

Tabby and I were very tentative in our approaches to each other during this time. We were closer in some ways than even Lana and I, bonded together by our mutual breakdowns. People talk about being blood brothers and taking blood oaths, but vows made in tears wept from the soul are stronger than anything borne in blood, in my opinion. We kept our love-making slow and sweet and tender. I knew she’d known violence and force and rape and I wanted to show her my love for her, her value to me.

After the first time I made love to Tabby, Beck claimed me the next night, demanding that I be rougher with her for every gentleness I had shown to Tabby the night before.

On Thursday, Tabby and I found ourselves at Dr. Spencer’s office separately instead of together. I had a new sketch for her of a tiger half-hidden in tall grass done in colored pencils and she was appreciative of the work.

“Matt, I’d like you to try your hand at something a little more abstract. For next week, I want you to pick an emotion and make that the focus of your art. Use whatever medium seems appropriate and paint, draw, sculpt or create a piece of art that expresses not just that emotion, but how that emotion fits into your overall thoughts.”

“You don’t believe in bunting, do you?” I asked dryly. “Express an emotion and its place in your life? Isn’t that what art has been trying to do for millennia? And never quite getting there?”

She nodded. “No art is perfect. No expression penultimate. I just want you to try.”

I again looked at her dubiously. “A ‘make your own Rorschach blots’ project? You’re better than this.”

She smiled. “Fair enough, but Rorschach blots are a useful diagnostic to try to figure out what preoccupations a patient may not be verbalizing. If they weren’t useful, we wouldn’t use them. I figured if we were going to try something like this, better to have you challenged with a project than trying to say the first smart-assed thing you could come up with. We both know you would have used the exercise to flirt with me or deflect your emotions with humor. Those are two of your defense mechanisms.”

She saw the grimace on my face and continued. “I’m not criticizing. Sex is high on Mazlow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Humor protects your Esteem from damage it might suffer under direct scrutiny and sex falls into the Love and Belonging category. One could argue that as a teenage boy, sexual imperative falls into Esteem as well ... especially with the amount of it that you’re getting,” she finished dryly.

“Dr. Spencer! I’m shocked! SHOCKED! Was that a joke?!!? Next you’ll be flirting with ME!” I laughed. “I can hardly wait.”

She chuckled slightly, a smile touching her lips. “Well at least now I have something to hold out to entice you back for more sessions when you’re feeling uncooperative.”

“Now who’s delusional?” I asked dryly. “You’ve never needed anything more than your smile to draw me back in after you tell me something I didn’t want to hear. If you’re going to flirt, flirt. Don’t hide it. Saying it’s to help me come back after a troubling session is beneath you and I had that spot all picked out for little old me.” I grinned at her insolently.

“Carl’s right. You ARE spending too much time with me,” she said with a frown, but the corners of her lips were twitching with the effort of not smiling.

“I’ll tell you what I told him. Impossible. There’s no such thing as too much time spent with you.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say,” she told me, allowing the smile to blossom on her lips. “Your case has called for a slightly less detached manner than I usually adopt in session though. Treating you like I’d normally treat a patient your age would have been disastrous.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m far more professional and far less personal with my patients normally. After Jake Collins, you needed something else. You wouldn’t have trusted me if I hadn’t relaxed my normal demeanor. We’d never have talked about Miranda or at least, I’d still be trying to navigate through that issue to reach you. We certainly wouldn’t be exploring your abilities and you wouldn’t be living up to your potential. Those are all important benefits of you getting to talk to me closer to the way I’d speak to Carl or another acquaintance.”

“I understand. You’ve even made a few off-hand comments to me. I usually return your serve with a sexual backhand, but not always. I’ve said before, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and I consider you a close friend. I’m coming to treasure friends.”

She nodded and looked at me shrewdly. “Tell me about your new friend, the one from California?” she asked ... or ordered. With her, that line was always blurred.

“What’s to tell? She’s starting her freshman year at Harvard, same as I am. She’s new to town, so I gave her some pointers on how to dress for the cold winters. I get the sense that she’s terribly lonely. She said last week that I was the first guy on campus that talked to her and not her chest. We make good conversation together, she makes me laugh seemingly at will, she listens when I talk without judging me and she gives good advice. When she gets her degree, she’s going to be the best in her field unless a certain someone starts power-lifting her A-Game.” I looked at her pointedly.

“You’re falling for her,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve already resisted changing our relationship. I need friends. She’s listened to me talk about everything this summer and she’s taken it in stride. I admire that level of poise. I admire it in you too. I’m sorry I didn’t say that to you before, but there’s so many things about you that I admire, that it sort of got lost in the shuffle.”

“Oh, I can probably think of a few things you’re admiring right now,” she said dryly with a smirk.

“Touche,” I said with a smile. “For an irony, I was being completely sincere and your mind was in the gutter. Now if only we could arrange our schedules to meet there at the same time.”

“Fair is fair,” she said with a laugh.

I treasured these moments with her. She was so reserved of necessity with so much of her life that the peeks into what she was really like when she could just be Victoria were precious. I told her so and thanked her again for trusting me enough to let me see her in that light.

We talked about my week and the encounter with Beck. I talked to her about Bad Matt and Beck’s attraction to that part of me.

“I wouldn’t call that a cause for concern,” she said lightly. “Most people have some vivid fantasies that they hold dear. She’s found a way to indulge hers safely without risking more than she’s willing to give. If she told you to stop, you’d stop. If she actually got hurt, you’d be devastated. In that way, she’s putting you in more peril than she is herself. We both know how you handle guilt, especially when a woman getting hurt is involved.”

I nodded, understanding the parallel. “I suppose, but in this instance, I have the comfort of knowing that this is what she wants. I know it’s not a matter of abuse. I just have to take care to keep on the safe side of the line. I also intend to take some first-aid and medical training. I’m told there’s books on how to treat common sex-related injuries. I’m in the process of chasing some of them down now.”

She nodded. “Those will help some, but I’d also recommend taking formal training at some point. Carl would be pleased to know you were going to pursue some degree in medicine as would I. I think you have an outstanding capacity for empathy and you have enough of a therapist’s manner that YOU could be the best in your field if you decided to get an office with a couch. Just keep your pants on with your patients.” She smirked.

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Then send me some of YOUR patients to misbehave with,” I countered. “Maybe we can trade some.”

That made her laugh. “Get the degree and the practice first and then we’ll see,” she said lightly. “On a related note, I have news for you about your father. You asked me to see if there was someone that I would recommend as a good fit for him and I have a few ideas.”

“Patients or colleagues?” I asked, suddenly all business.

“Two of them are colleagues. One of them is a patient. She’s a distant third choice though because of her being in therapy. I assume you want a mentally stable relationship for your father.”

“That and I was hoping to have someone I could turn to as a potential mentor if I have questions about my dynamic with the girls. I’m not so arrogant to believe I know it all,” I added. “Have you approached them about the possibility?”

“I have spoken to my first choice. I explained your dynamic without going into details other than to tell her that through a bizarre set of circumstances, you’re now your father’s keeper until you can find him a home. She was ... intrigued. Would you like to meet her?”

I nodded. “What can you tell me about her?” I asked lightly, figuring that we’d arrange a meeting for next week during my solo session.

Instead of answering me, she got up and went to her desk to pick up her phone. She punched in an extension and invited the person on the other end to her office.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before there was a knock at the door and a statuesque woman with blonde hair pulled up in a bun on the nape of her neck let herself in. She was beautiful, I decided, but I still preferred my girls or Victoria over her. She had a pair of “nerd glasses” on and she joined me on the other end of the couch before extending her hand.

“Dr. Samantha Forester,” Dr. Spencer said, introducing us, “meet Matthew Russell.”

We shook hands and I could feel her squeezing my hand rather harder than necessary. “Pleased to meet you Doctor,” I said politely.

She inclined her head, but didn’t otherwise return the pleasantry. I arched an eyebrow at Dr. Spencer questioningly, but didn’t get an indication of what the problem might be.

“So, Dr. Spencer tells me that she’s discussed matters with you in very general terms. Did you have any questions?” I tried again.

“Victoria,” she said crisply, “is this what you were talking about the other day? I was under the impression you were serious.”

Dr. Spencer blinked, clearly surprised by the reaction and I sat by, watching the two of them stare at each other in incredulity.

“Clearly some things were best left to be discussed in person,” I interjected. “Perhaps in the interest of civility you could refer to me as ‘who she was talking about’ instead of ‘what she was talking about’. That might pave the way to a less adversarial dialogue.” I kept my tone polite and friendly, but I didn’t particularly like the way I’d been dismissed.

The woman shot me a withering look before turning her attention back to Dr. Spencer. “Seriously Victoria, if it was just a joke, why involve me of all people.”

I rolled my eyes and sat back, pulling out my sketchpad and starting to work on something at random. For a challenge, I set the pad in my lap and sketched with both hands, working out from the corners and building a scene of a cemetery. I made it a military style scene, with all the grave markers identical and a funeral on the hilltop with marines carrying carbines for the salute.

“It was no joke, Samantha,” she said quietly. “I fear it may not matter though. Insulting Matt was not the wisest choice you could have made to start the introductions.”

“Are you out of your mind?!!?” she spat. “He’s a child! You can’t possibly be pimping out for this infant.”

I’d heard just about enough from this woman. “Samantha? Leave. I can tolerate your snide remarks about me, but you don’t insult friends of mine. For the record, of the two of us, I believe I’ve conducted myself with more maturity than you’ve been capable of mustering since the door closed behind you.”

That finally got her attention. “What would you know about anything?” she sneered condescendingly.

I looked questioningly at Dr. Spencer and waited for her nod before I put down my pencils and turned toward her. “Well, Dr. Forester, I know that you’re aware of how attractive you are and you dress to accentuate what you have going for you while trying to minimize what shortcomings you see in your figure. You’re very well-dressed, but your blouse is loose. You want to draw attention to your legs and away from your chest. Normally, I’d suspect that it was because you’re poorly endowed in that respect, but I think it’s more calculated than that. You draw attention to your legs so that men have to bow their head in order to objectify you. You like that petty charge you get from forcing them to bend their neck to you even if they’re undressing you while they do it. Your handshake is much firmer than it needs to be. You’re trying to establish dominance with it, crushing fingers just enough that people aren’t sure whether you’re doing it on purpose or if you just have greater than normal hand-strength. You wear glasses and pull your hair up in signs of severity in the work place. You want to be taken seriously and worry that if you’re soft and feminine, people will see you as less than you are. Your heels are ridiculously high. You crave the extra height even though you’re already tall. You hate the thought of having to look up at anyone. If I were to wager, I’d say you were educated at Berkeley or Stanford and minored in women’s studies. You consider yourself superior to men and resent their power in the workplace. How am I doing so far?” I asked lightly.

She glared at me like she wanted to attack me, but held her tongue, choosing instead to cross her arms angrily under her breasts. They really were quite lovely. Possibly a D-cup. I was becoming better at recognizing the distinctions in size.

“I’ll continue then, shall I?” I asked politely and then kept my litany of calm observations up. “You got into bondage and domination while in college and saw it as a way to get back at men for the centuries of oppression that your sisterhood has suffered, but deep down, you’re aware that the men you dominate have done nothing to you and part of you feels guilty about the way you treat them. Your hostility is at least partly to cover up that guilt because you’re certain that some day, some man is going to recognize what you are, expose what you’ve done and you’ll have to face it all in the cold light of day. After college you decided to get breast augmentation surgery and you love the new breasts you have even though you don’t flaunt them. In private, they’re your pride and joy. You have them both pierced and prefer to wear flashy jewelry in them. Your sexual encounters have always lacked something and you find yourself increasingly isolated from traditional relationships because you gain little satisfaction from them. You don’t particularly like most men. You find them boorish, uncouth, rough, low, common or otherwise beneath you. You like to tell yourself you don’t think of them as inherently inferior, but deep down, you know that’s a lie. You see them gaze longingly at your body and you consider them weak, easily led by their penis. You know men who are your equal intellectually, but that sexual component still makes you sneer a little at them for their failings. Feel free to stop me and correct anything you feel I’m getting wrong or treating you unfairly about.”

“Are you done?” she asked snidely.

“Almost. I would say you’re a surgeon, but a specialty like cardiac or orthopedic or trauma. You can’t abide being normal even in the field of study that you choose. You also feel deeply inadequate right now. Not because I’m calmly making fairly accurate observations about your background and personality, but because you’re aware that I find Dr. Spencer far more attractive than I do you. As much as you hate the male psyche, part of you still measures your beauty by the attention that you receive from it. Sitting here with me and Dr. Spencer, you’re aware that if I was given the choice to have sex with one or the other of you, you wouldn’t even have the top button on your blouse open before I hit her like a hurricane: hot, wet and furious. Now I’m done.” I lowered my head to my drawing and picked up a pencil in each hand to finish it off.

There was silence in the room for a long time as I finished my drawing and penciled in my name on one of the head-stones. I detached it and passed it to Dr. Spencer, looking up for the first time. She looked quietly amused as she took the drawing and looked it over. “Is this Arlington?” she asked, ignoring everything that had just been said.

“Yeah. I figured you might have a couple of colleagues in the armed forces who might appreciate that.

“Why this scene?” she asked, waiting for Samantha to return to normal.

“I dunno. Maybe because you challenged me to create something based on emotion. A funeral is a sad event, filled with loss and pain. A hero’s funeral has to balance that with honor and sacrifice. It’s an image that serves many emotions.”

“Interesting.” She paused and glanced at Dr. Forester. “I think you may have broken her,” she said wearily.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t out to do that. She just kind of pissed me off when she accused you of pimping for me. Not for me really. I can do my own pimping if it comes down to it, but you had no dog in this fight. You were just trying to help out. I, for one, appreciate the effort you went to in trying to find us a suitable match. I’m sure Donald does too.”

“She really IS a nice woman once you get to know her,” she said gently. “Unfortunately, we may have given her more than she could handle in one sitting.

I looked over at her and sighed. Now I had to fix this. Well I could talk her back out of her catatonic state or I could try giving her a slap to reset her breakers. “Samantha. Can you hear me?” I asked, deciding to try gentle.

She nodded mutely, her face strangely blank.

It was a start. “Can you tell us how you’re feeling?”

“Shock,” she said numbly. Her eyes looked glassy.

“What’s shocked you?” I asked, turning to look at her directly.

“No one’s ever...” she trailed off, unable to articulate what she’d been about to say.

“No one’s ever told you you’re not the most attractive woman in the room?” I supplied for her.

She nodded. I could understand that. She really was a good looking woman, but as well-built as she was, I had better waiting for me at home. “It happens, believe it or not. With Dr. Spencer working in the hospital, I’m surprised that it doesn’t happen more often. She’s uncommonly gorgeous. Don’t feel too bad about it though. I’m sure there are guys out there that think you’re far more attractive than Dr. Spencer.” I picked up my sketchpad again and started to work on something while I gave her a bit of a pep-talk. “There’s really no shame coming in second to someone who’s at least a 15 out of 10.”

“Fifteen out of ten, Matt?” Dr. Spencer asked dryly.

“At least. Beauty, brains, compassion, ethics and I doubt sex is your weak point in the scale. Unfortunately, you still resist my mind powers so I have to speculate, but this isn’t about you and me. It’s about helping poor Samantha recover from a paradigm shift.”

She seemed to be coming around some and was looking back and forth between the two of us, not really following the discussion.

“Samantha, what’s your favorite flower?” I asked.

“Um, orchids,” she said weakly and I looked up.

“That’s disconcerting,” I said.

“What’s disconcerting about it,” Dr. Spencer asked, surprised at the response.

“It’s been so long since someone sent her flowers that she’s not sure what her favorite ones are,” I pointed out. “No wonder she’s pissed at men. Is there anywhere you’ve always wanted to go on vacation, Samantha?”

“Hawaii,” she said, more certainly his time and I nodded.

“How long is your hair when it’s loose?”

“Halfway down my back,” she said. She was starting to look at me with more suspicion, the questions drawing her attention as she wondered what I was up to.

She looked at the sketchpad as I drew with both hands, putting the image in my head to the paper quickly. I was proud of this little sketch. It hadn’t taken me very long to get it where I wanted it, but it was surprisingly life-like. I put my pencils behind my ears and carefully detached the finished sketch from the pad, tilting it so that Dr. Spencer could see it. She arched an eyebrow in surprise at what I’d done and allowed me a small smile.

“I hope this makes you feel a little better,” I said, passing the sketch to Samantha. It was a drawing of her, but it was barely recognizable. Her hair was loose and flowing with an orchid pinned in it and a lei around her neck. In the drawing she wore a bikini with a sarong and was lounging on a deck-chair with the sun setting on the water behind her against a tropical island scene. She had a cocktail in her hand and a flirty smile on her face as she held the straw between her teeth. It was a scene that belonged at the end of a perfect day.

Samantha looked at it in shock for a long time before looking up at me and then at Dr. Spencer. “Matthew has an incredible aptitude to make people’s lives better,” she explained to the stunned doctor. “He’s done some work for me and I’m told the family portrait he drew has created more than one tear from people who were shocked to be included in it. Matt is also more intelligent than you or I. That’s how he’s able to pull large observations from small details. I suspect that he picked up on some small remnant of a California accent and combined it with your stance on men to figure out what campuses you likely attended.”

I nodded in agreement. “They’re both known for liberally progressive curriculum and their socially radical student body leanings.” I tapped my pencil on the side of my sketchpad idly as we gave Samantha a chance to recover.

Finally she seemed to come out of it. “I’m really sorry,” she told us both. “This really took me by surprise.” She turned toward me. “You ARE really too young to be discussing things like this,” she explained. “When Victoria told me that she had a patient that was looking for help locating a Dom to place his father with, I assumed you’d be much older. Certainly old enough to be experienced in these matters.”

I shrugged. “I’ve become more experienced than I would normally have had to be,” I told her. “My father was paired with a deeply abusive Dominant. I had to take steps to remove him from her possession. Unfortunately, that’s left me in the unenviable position of being my father’s keeper. My hope is to find him a home where he can be cared for, loved, respected, but ultimately from a dominant woman. That’s what he needs. Given my age, I have no in-roads into whatever BDSM groups there may be around here, so I asked Dr. Spencer to help if she could. That’s what brought us to here.”

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I thought she’d mentioned that you had charges of your own.”

I nodded. “Four of them. That is the other reason I was interested in meeting whoever I was going to be putting in charge of my father. I’m passably well-versed, but, as you can imagine, resources are reluctant to make themselves available to a fourteen year old, regardless of how many collars he has in his care. I was looking for a woman who could not only give Donald the kind of environment he needs to thrive, but also provide me with advice as a mentor on matters related to that aspect of my current relationships. I’m already involved in something of a dilemma regarding my resident pain-slut.”

“What’s the problem?” she asked, seemingly more comfortable now that we were talking about her area of expertise.

“She doesn’t seem to have limits. She would be perfectly content to let me whip her bloody. The further over the edge she can push us, the better she likes it.”