… solipsubmissive …

“Forgiveness is the fragrance left by the violet on the heel that crushed it.”

Mark Twain

Author’s aside:  i remember a time when i always wanted to be pretty for you.  Never a hair out of place, my makeup lightly and perfectly applied, always poised, always serene.  That time existed before i knew you.

***

It was the sort of night she could do nothing right.  The sort of night that both terrified and thrilled her.  Or was it that the terror thrilled her?  (Mm.  Something to ponder, that.)  Regardless, she sensed it the moment she felt his presence, there in the door to her bathroom.  She turned her head and smiled tentatively.

“We have unexpected guests, elise.  I trust you’ll be presentable shortly.”  There was a vague note of reproach in his voice.  It lingered with her even after he turned and walked away.

“Of course, Sir,” she murmured to the space he’d occupied.  Guests meant friends of his, people with whom she could be somewhat relaxed.  Her lips quirked upward in a little smile.  As relaxed, she amended to herself, as was possible in his company.  She stood reluctantly, sorry to leave the relaxing, mandarin-scented bath before she’d completed her nightly routine.  She stepped out of the tub and reached for the enormous terry robe she preferred to toweling off.

The distant sound of men laughing reached her ears as she stepped out into the bedroom she used as a dressing room.  He called it her room, and it contained a bed, though she never slept there.  Even when she’d displeased him enough that he banished her from his bed, it was to his floor, or, worse, the cage downstairs.

She thought again of the reproach she’d heard in his voice, and felt a pang of fear.  That he wanted her there while he entertained his friends did not bode well, especially as she’d already displeased by not being present when he’d arrived home.  Never mind that she hadn’t expected him or his guests.  She’d be on display, and he’d be watching her, assessing every move, every word, every gesture.  She opened the closet door and walked inside.  It would begin with her appearance.

Twenty minutes later, she gracefully descended, the picture of poised serenity, despite the knot of apprehension at her core.  She’d chosen a sleeveless summer dress of cool white cotton, fitted enough to just skim her curves without overly enhancing.  The dress was short, striking her legs at mid thigh, and she hoped she’d managed to achieve the balance between sex and class that she knew he preferred.  Not that everything in her wardrobe hadn’t already been chosen by him.  It was simply a matter of gravitating to the proper end of the spectrum.

There would be many such decisions ahead this evening.  That much, she knew.

When she entered the den, the conversation halted, and his friends rose politely as she approached.  She smiled at them each in turn, but didn’t speak.  Instead, she waited until she reached Erick’s side.  He bent to kiss her cheek, placed a hand at the small of her back.  “elise, you remember Matthew and Caleb, of course.”

“Of course i do, darling.”  She smiled warmly at both men.  “i apologize for my delayed arrival.  May i offer either of you a beverage?”

“Scotch, please,” said Matthew.  “Rocks.”  She looked at Caleb, who nodded, then back at Erick.  His eyes narrowed slightly, and her stomach flipped.  Softly, she excused herself to make the drinks, and moved to the antique sideboard near the wall.  The men sat down and resumed their conversation.

When one is on edge, waiting, if you will, for the other shoe to drop, the tiniest things swell in importance.  Ice clinking into a glass too loudly could displease, but so could the delay in producing the drinks if she took the time to place each cube carefully and quietly.  elise’s heart pounded as she grasped the tongs, her back crawling as she wondered if he watched her.  She slipped three pieces of ice into each glass then shakily poured the scotch.  Likely not, she decided.  His attention would be on the discussion.  The drinks poured, she placed them on a teak serving tray and carried them back to the men.

They didn’t stop talking as she served, though Matthew smiled and nodded his thanks.  Caleb, as always, barely acknowledged her existence.  She was never completely comfortable around him.  His sense of humor was biting and sarcastic, and he was fond of laying verbal traps into which one innocently waded.  elise had long regarded him with polite wariness.  He was Erick’s best friend, the person he trusted above all others, and elise knew that displeasing him was no different than displeasing her Master.  She waited a moment to see if there would be further need, then quietly returned the tray to the sideboard.  She bit her lip, confronted with another decision.  She poured a glass of Merlot for herself and considered.

The problem was Matthew.  He was a friend who had been here before, though not a terribly close friend, and elise wasn’t entirely certain what was expected of her with regard to him.  Should she return to the low stool to the left of Erick’s club chair and sit quietly, her legs demurely curled to the side?  Or should she occupy the seat to his right, as though she were their equal.  Had it simply been Caleb, there would have been no question.  He knew, quite well, her status in the relationship.  Matthew was an unknown entity.

She hesitated a shade too long, didn’t notice the conversation had ceased.

“elise?”

Startled, she looked over her shoulder to find Erick regarding her with raised brows, his eyes inscrutable.  Caleb smirked, and elise felt a momentary spurt of annoyance quell the gnawing fear.  It was short lived, as Erick’s voice tugged back the trepidation.  “Would you care to join us?”

“Of course,” she answered, and walked back across the room.

part two

“Keep the candle burning, elise.” 

For you  … forever.