Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

I have read up on safewords, and I am good with green, yellow, red. If you want me to do anything before we meet, just let me know. My experience can be summed up by our night at the bar. You’re the first man I’ve kissed. Unfortunately, my hours aren’t very flexible. I pick up my daughter from school at three, and I’m there for her until she goes to bed at eight. But if you’re willing to see me before or after, I will make myself available whenever you want.

I dropped my phone and scrubbed my hands over my face.

I knew I was naïve and inexperienced; I knew I was coming off as needy and eager, but wasn’t that the point? If I wanted him to belittle me, he had to see all of me.

I was slowly discovering who I was. Countless hours had been lost online. And it was okay. It felt…good to get to know myself. So far, I’d decided I was fairly pleased with my appearance. I was objectively not awful to look at. I was assertive in my day-to-day life. I was a good father. I’d built my company from scratch. I was comfortable but not spoiled. I didn’t forget those who’d helped me get to where I was today.

I was extremely lonely, so that was probably the only button I didn’t want anyone to push. My parents were dead, I didn’t have any siblings, and I was currently divorcing my wife and all the so-called friends I’d made through her socialite behavior.

Other than that…let him do whatever he wanted. My newfound fantasies were definitely a source of embarrassment, and I wanted it exploited. Like Kingsley had told me, sometimes you found your sexual freedom in the filth.

I supposed he could also make me suffer for being a horrible friend to Tate.

I’d accept that any day of the week.

I had doubts there, though. For as guilty as I felt, and I truly did, I had no regrets. I should have regrets. I should feel that I would’ve preferred to have handled things differently, more ethically, but I couldn’t. It felt strange to admit that I carried an abundance of guilt yet very little remorse. How did that even work? Was it simply a matter of who triumphed over whom? Did that mean, after so many weeks of becoming friends with Tate, one night in a bar with Kingsley mattered more to me?

I drew an unsteady breath as my phone buzzed with his answer.

Always be this open with me. You don’t know how much that pleases me. I’m going to send you an address. Be there tomorrow at 9 pm and bring an overnight bag. If you’re a good little whore, I’ll let you lose your virginity on my cock.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “Fuck.” I stared at the message and read it over and over. My face felt like it’d caught on fire, so I knew I was blushing.

He knew how to make me squirm like a teenager. Virginity? For heaven’s sake, I was a father. But I understood what he meant, and I assumed he was going to be using a long string of words that made me uncomfortable.

I could barely believe it. I was going to see Kingsley tomorrow night.

Would Tate be there?

It was a good thing I skipped dinner the following evening. I was so nervous that I would’ve thrown up. Bad enough I’d shared a donut with Lily before her bath time.

The long, winding dirt load lined with tall trees confirmed my suspicions. Kingsley was leading me directly to the BDSM estate where he and Tate were members. The ghostly looking, black-painted Victorian Tate had shown me online.

It was pitch black outside. The headlights exposed the trees and cast shadows over the branches, making it look like I was about to set foot in a nightmare. Leaves were falling. An insect got splattered against the windshield. Gravel crunched under my tires.

At least I’d screwed my head on right since yesterday. I’d gone back and forth all day at work, getting virtually nothing done, and I’d made up my mind. It wasn’t a question of whether or not I trusted Kingsley; it was a matter of showing Tate respect. I had to know he was okay with this. Regardless of how I would choose between the two men, I missed Tate very much. I’d seen him from afar today when I picked up Lily. He hadn’t spotted me. But I’d been struck with a sharp pang of loss. I missed our coffee dates, or whatever I could call them. Even if we’d so far only met up to complain about our lives, he’d quickly become a safe port for me.

Maybe I had some remorse after all.

A minute or so later, I spotted the grand house up ahead, illuminated from the ground by spotlights. As if the place didn’t already appear haunted.