tagBDSMBreaking My Own Rules Ch. 10

Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 10


Randy had sent me a text that my friend Crystal was in the hospital, but not which hospital. I was frantically texting him back when Francois looked down at an arriving text on his phone. He tapped and swiped until he could read the message. "It's from Randall," he told me calmly.

"What? Does he say what hospital?" I asked, reaching for his phone.

He held it away from me. "He says I am to keep you here and not let you go looking for your friend. That he will keep us informed."

"What! He can't do that."

Francois shrugged. "I can. To keep you safe."

"That's, like, kidnapping or something," I protested.

"Think about it a minute, Skylar. If this man did something to your friend, and we don't know that he did," he added sternly. "But if he did, it could be just to lure you into the open. Whatever happened to Crystal, she is getting the help she needs. Your presence won't change that."

"I have to see her. I have to know that she is all right."

"No. You don't. You have to wait for Randall to call."

I stared at him for a minute, trying really hard to be angry, but it wasn't working. I looked at Jessica's number, written on the palm of my hand and began typing her number into my phone. He pulled it from my fingers. "Who are you calling?" he asked coolly.

"Jessica. She was looking for Crystal. At least she can see her." I added a pout at the end just for effect.

"Randall already spoke to Jessica. She is on her way to the hospital."

"So everybody gets to know what's going on but me?" I was playing the drama queen to the hilt, but Francois wasn't buying what I was selling.

"Nobody knows what is going on yet," he answered calmly. I began to suspect that he had a lot of experience with drama queens. "They do not even have a - what do you call it - a positive ID. We will hear as soon as they find something out."

His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. "Put it on speaker," I begged.

"Skylar, it is a business associate. Please be patient."

"Sorry," I muttered. I headed back to his kitchen to do some stress eating while he took the call and chatted in French. When I couldn't stand to sit still anymore, I paced. When I got tired of pacing, I laid on the floor with my feet up on the couch. Through it all, he watched me intently, his computer forgotten, though he took and made a number of calls, some in English and some in French. When he finally came to stand over me, I thought it was perhaps to chide me for laying on the floor, but instead, he just smiled indulgently and held his phone out.

"It is your friend, Jessica. She had this number in her call log from earlier."

I snatched the phone and rolled over. "Jess, where are you? What hospital? How is Crystal?"

"They won't tell me anything, because I'm not family," she complained. "I called her brother, though, and he's on his way down. He should be here in a couple of hours. I overheard somebody say she was mugged, though."

"But they're sure it's Crystal?"

"I guess so. I mean, when I asked for her by name, they did tell me she'd been admitted."

"Okay, just tell me what hospital. I'll come wait with you."

"Um, Randy told me that if I told you, he'd put the nastiest virus he could find on my computer."

"So then you just get that cute blond IT guy to come remove it. The longer it takes him, the better, right? Come on, Jess, tell me. I'll pretend to be her sister, so maybe they'll tell us what's going on."

"Well, the guy that answered this phone said he'd have to tie you up if I told you." Then, "Is he really French?" she whispered, for no discernable reason.

"He did not say that. I would have heard him," I argued.

"He said it in French," she explained. "Is he as cute as he sounds?"

I rolled on my back and glowered at Francois, who only smiled coyly. "Not at the moment," I snapped. "This is about Crystal, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I promise I will call if I hear anything."

"You'd better," I warned, disconnecting the call.

I threw the phone at Francois. "I'll parlay voo fronsay your ass," I snarled as he easily caught it.

"You need a distraction," he offered. "There is a little bistro on the corner. We can have some lunch."

I grumped, but I sat up and put my shoes back on. He helped me to my feet. "I'm paying you back for all of this," I said, waving vaguely.

He simply shrugged. "Okay," he agreed.

I was pretty sure he was humoring me.


We'd been to the bistro and returned, and Francois had graciously poured me some wine, which I had graciously drunk. I was pacing again and feeling pretty proud of getting my ten thousand steps in for the day, before we finally heard anything. Francois was working on his computer when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then answered and called me over as he put it on speaker. I heard Randy's voice and had to remind myself to breathe.

"So here's what I've been able to find out," he said. "Crystal was found last evening a couple of blocks from her apartment."

"She must have been at her Sunday evening book club," I interrupted.

"She was unconscious," Randy continued, "Presumably mugged, because her purse was missing. Someone called 911, but didn't give any details and took off before the police arrived. They couldn't find any witnesses or evidence at the scene, but they seem to think she was hit with the proverbial blunt object.

"Since she was out cold and didn't have any ID on her, they didn't have much to go on. At the hospital, they discovered she had a subdural hematoma and put her in a coma to control the swelling. Last I talked to Jessica, the brother wasn't there yet, so she hadn't been able to get any more information about how she was doing.

"So anyway, after I 'borrowed' Crystal's HR photo and sent it to the police, they were able to move on it as a tentative ID and put a trace on her credit cards and cell phone. Turned out the 911 call was made with her own phone. Anyway, the phone had been turned off not long after, but they picked up a credit card charge at a fast food place, rolled on it and found a meth head having a feast. He led them back to the dumpster where he'd found her purse, but her keys and cell phone weren't there."

"So Jessica was right?" I asked. "He had been in her apartment?"

"We don't know that," Randy warned. "But they are processing it for evidence."

"But what would he want in her apartment or with her phone?" I asked. There was silence on the other end. "Did we lose him?" I asked Francois. He only shook his head.

"It's possible," Randy said slowly, "That he was looking to see if she had your new number somewhere. Or some information about where you were staying."

I must have gone white as a sheet, because Francois leapt up from his chair and lowered me into it. I stared at the incomprehensible French on his computer screen as if it made sense to me. "I don't understand," I said after a moment. "She always used a passcode on her phone. It wouldn't do him any good. I mean, even the FBI couldn't..."

Francois' eyes darkened, even before Randy explained. "That's probably why she was mugged, hit. He may have followed her until she was using the phone, so it would already be unlocked."

"You said he may have been hoping I'd go to the hospital, but Blondie, I mean, Jessica is there now. Randy, you have to do something!"

"Already have. Maurice is keeping an eye on things. By the way, he says your nickname for Jessica is most apt," he added, trying to lighten the mood. "Listen," he continued. "I have to go, but Sky, you've got to stay where you are. Do you hear me?"

"I have to do something," I moaned.

"It's being done. If this is him, he's gone over the top. The police are involved now. You just need to lay low and let them do their job. Promise me, Sky," he said, using his secret weapon; the Dom voice. Francois was nodding encouragement at me.

"I promise," I said softly.

Francois picked the phone up and disconnected. I went back to my pacing. It was a couple of hours later when Jessica finally called with an update on Crystal. They'd told her brother she was doing better and that they would start to bring her out of the coma tomorrow, but wouldn't be able to say how long before she would wake. When she told me she was going to head for home and return in the morning, I was texting Randy frantically. He texted back in his usual terse way, at least with me. "Maurice is on it. Quit worrying." With Francois, it seemed, he wrote whole paragraphs. Maybe even epistles. I sighed, feeling so far out of the loop.

Francois gave me a hug, smoothing the hair I'd been running my fingers through all day. "Let's order in for dinner. What would you like?"

"Something French," I said, with my own weak attempt to lighten the mood.


That night, Francois led me to his bedroom, his hands on my shoulders, steering me like a bumper car. He didn't even ask if I wanted to sleep with him. I wasn't sure if that was because he knew I needed his support, or if he wanted to keep an eye on me and be sure I didn't make a break for it during the night. I gave him a pass, though, because I didn't remember ever meeting someone who was so patient with me. Even my little brother, who, for reasons that totally escaped me, seemed to idolize his big sister, would reach his breaking point and give me a no-holds-barred noogie when I got too carried away. Usually - well, always - when I went into one of my drama spins it was all about me. And, if I were to be completely honest, when I did pull one of my drama rips, it was to control a situation, make sure everybody around me knew it was all about me. I felt totally helpless now that it was all about my friends and the danger they were in.

I shyly asked Francois if I could sleep in one of his tee shirts again. What can I say? I don't know what the smell of him consisted of, maybe it was just the unfamiliar French toiletries, but it had come to represent the smell of comfort to me. He smiled like he understood, and pulled a freshly laundered tee from a drawer. I took my time in his luxurious bathroom, and spent a good deal of that time staring in the mirror. Francois had met a woman dressed to the nines and made up like what my dad would have called a vamp. Now, I stood there with no makeup, dark shadows under my eyes, hair a tangled mess, wearing a man's tee shirt. Why in hell hadn't he kicked me to the curb? I mean, even apart from my baggage that may or may not include a homicidal maniac, I was a hot mess. There was just no spinning that, in English or in French.

I finally concluded that Randy must be blackmailing him, and I was ready to march out into the bedroom and demand to know what dirt Randy had on him that was making him pretend to be nice to me, when I remembered that I had no idea why Randy would possibly care about the fate of a co-worker who couldn't ever remember where - or if - she'd saved a file. I mean, he'd been specifically threatened with bodily harm. Why in hell would he continue trying to help me after that?

Then there were my three friends from work, who I'd always suspected only invited me out to party with them in order to look good by comparison. In one of those head-slapping epiphanies, it suddenly dawned on me that none of them needed an ugly ducking to look good by comparison. They were all gorgeous and knew how to use what the fates had gifted to them. So why on earth did they bombard me with invitations and threaten bodily abduction if more than a week went by without a night out? After my mother died when I was just a kid, I'd developed what I liked to call my pity radar. One of the reasons I really liked my girlfriends at work was because they didn't set off my pity radar.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Skylar? Is everything okay?"

"I'll be out in a moment," I said, though I was seriously considering hiding in there forever. Where were all my voices to help me sort this out? Even the annoying ones had gone silent. I was all alone. Except for Francois. And Randy. And Crystal, Jessica and Shawna. And Maurice and DeDe. What gave?!? I wasn't thinking of people as descriptors, my voices had moved to Tahiti permanently, and I was doing my best to figure out how to send all of my baggage to the South Pacific, too. Maybe I could even buy Tom Whatisname a ticket.

When I finally slunk back out into the bedroom, Francois was waiting patiently, but watching me with a touch of concern. I smiled bravely and climbed onto the bed, but sat with my back against the headboard and my knees pulled up to my chin. He rounded the bed and tenderly kissed the top of my head before taking his turn at the bathroom. What was the matter with these people? I'd drug them into danger. Why weren't they kicking and screaming? Maybe my drama queen ways led them to not take me seriously, like that fairy tale about the boy and the wolf. But Francois hadn't witnessed any of my Oscar moments. And Randy, DeDe and Maurice had only gotten a small taste - maybe more Emmy than Oscar. And of course, Jessica, Crystal and Shawna, while well acquainted with my drama chops, had no idea of the danger that lurked. I'd totally succeeded in talking myself back into full-on self-doubt in the short time that Francois had been in the bathroom. I think he recognized it the moment he came out, because he came to sit next to me on 'my' side of the bed and put his arm around my shoulder.

He was such a calm, quiet man. So totally in control. And I was so out of control. Opposites attracting? I wasn't sure I was ready to buy that, but two words kept repeating in my head. 'Dom' and 'sub.' "Do you have a sub?" I asked, mumbling into my knees.

Apparently, he was able to hear me despite that, because he answered. "Yes. Back in France."

"Oh," I said softly. "Does she know about the club?"

He laughed softly at me. He seemed to do that a lot. Maybe that was why he let me hang around. For comedy relief. "She is not my wife, Skylar. But yes, she knows that I am not celibate when we are apart. She is not, either."

"No?" I looked at him instead of mumbling into my knees and he gave me one of those beautiful smiles.

He shrugged. "It has been my experience that people like us, people in the lifestyle, if you will, enjoy sex too much to abstain for any length of time. Don't you agree?"

I rested my chin on my knees, thinking about that. I had my BOB - battery-operated boyfriend - at home, and I'd had boyfriends before, though eventually they came to the realization that I was pretty high-maintenance, emotionally, or I came to the realization that my BOB was there when I needed him and left me alone when I didn't. Until Dr. Tom. Since I'd met him, it seemed like I'd become insatiable.

I tried to sound off-hand. "Maybe."

He chuckled and I rolled my eyes. I hadn't fooled him for a minute. "Part of being a Dom is looking out for the welfare of your sub," he explained. "I wouldn't be doing a very good job of that if I didn't allow my sub to satisfy her hunger in my absence. It is as real to her as the need for food. I do require that she confine her partners to members of a very private club we belong to, so that I know she is safe."

"But what if she..." I broke off, suddenly afraid that he would laugh at me again for being silly.

"What, Skylar?"

I shook my head. "Nothing," I muttered.

"You cannot learn if you do not ask questions," he said quietly, and I thought about Tom Whatisname who forbade me to ask questions.

"You'll laugh," I said sadly, pained by the memories.

He turned suddenly on the edge of the bed, so that he was facing me and cupped my face in his soft hands. "I laugh at you because you delight me. In many different ways. When you are embarrassed about something, I laugh because there is a genuineness to your embarrassment. Because you don't try to hide your embarrassment behind anger or haughtiness. When you ask a question that you think is stupid or silly, I laugh because there is a authenticity to your innocence. Not because you are stupid or silly. I laugh when you are being funny, because there is a purity to your humor. It is not at someone else's expense or calculated to advance an agenda. It is simply you, seeing your world in unusual and invariably delightful ways. Now ask me what you want to know."

"What if she fell in love with somebody?" I was touched by his explanation but I still couldn't meet his eyes. He lifted my chin.

"Then I would let her go," he said with all seriousness. "I would never keep any sub against her will. A sub gives up control in certain matters only, as agreed to beforehand. He or she never gives up the right to consent." His hands fell to his lap, but he held me pinned by his intense gaze.

"What if..."

"Skylar," he said warningly, when my question stalled out.

"What if she fell in love with you?" I forced myself to keep eye contact. I wanted to see his reaction. He remained serious and calm. Very Dom-like.

"That would be difficult. I am not in love with her, though I am very fond of her. It would require challenging conversations, as a man and a woman, not as Dom and sub. I do know many married and committed couples who continue the lifestyle, some monogamous, some not, though with each other's knowledge and consent. Are you worried that you won't find love and a satisfying sexual relationship in the same man?"

"What if I find someone and he thinks I'm kinky? Or nuts," I added, thinking of my voices. "Or shallow," I went on, thinking of friends who seemed to care about me while I was busy caring about myself. "Or..."

"Enough," he commanded in that Dom voice. "I don't think any of those things. And I know at least some of your friends who don't either."

"You don't know me, not really," I said mournfully.

"Then I shall have to get to know you better, but in the meantime..." And just like that, I was across his knee, his other leg pinning my legs, and one hand firmly pressing the small of my back into the mattress where he'd angled me across it. I yelped, belatedly, as I realized what position I was in. His other hand was caressing my ass, where the tee shirt had obligingly ridden up.

"Do I need to spank the self-pity out of you?" he asked, his very serious Dom voice, complete with French accent, in full force.

I was still trying to figure out how I'd ended up in that position so his words were slow to sink in. Until he gave me a swat. "Answer, Skylar."

"Um, maybe just a bit," I suggested, using my little girl voice.

I could feel the chuckle rumbling through him, even though he tried to smother it. "Now be very still," he commanded, pulling my panties down to my knees. The first one landed with a resounding smack. It sounded worse than it felt, though I did gasp. He did about ten all together, then he asked, "Now, do you feel better about yourself?"

By that point, the only thing I could focus on was my needy pussy. When he gave me another swat and commanded me to answer, I replied, "Not yet, sir. I think I need you to fuck me."

He didn't even try to hide his laugh that time. "Let me see if you are telling me the truth," he said, once he could recover his serious voice. His finger trailed down my ass crack and to my entrance, which was beyond wet already. Apparently, that didn't satisfy him, though, because he probed deeper inside and 'hmmmed' thoughtfully. Another finger followed the first and both explored thoroughly as I squirmed. He returned a hand to the small of my back, holding me in place as one of the fingers searched farther south to rub my clit. I was moaning and squirming as much as he allowed, until he finally announced that he agreed I needed a good fucking.

He managed to straighten me up and remove my tee shirt at the same time, then he set me on my feet and pulled my panties the rest of the way off. After that, he sat me on the edge of the bed, and I avidly watched the show as he pulled his own tee shirt and pajama pants off. I was licking my lips as I fell to my knees. I engulfed his cock with my lips while my tongue went to work on the underside of it. He moaned in appreciation and toyed with my hair as I sucked and licked, until he finally pushed me away and lifted me onto the bed. He quickly donned a condom, and examined me critically as if trying to decide the best solution for a puzzle.

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