Love's Wicked Craft Ch. 04

June 23, 2017: How Asperger's negatively manifests: a. Difficulty with social relationships, b. Difficulty with communication, c. Lack of imagination

Strategies for helping a partner with Asperger's: a. Don't put the blame solely on your partner, b. Learn as much as you can about AS, c. Reframe your partner's behavior, d. Be specific about your needs (Oh, if only that were enough.), e. Talk about how you'd like to connect with each other.

What have I done? I don't want to, connect with her! I was wrong. Fuck, I hate being wrong. She was never right for me. No pain, no gain. Chase thought about how she had barely pushed the envelope with Hannah. She had plans to exploit that ability, to see how much more deeply she could break the woman. It was tremendously thrilling to break someone. Oh Chase had great aspirations for her last sub, and she'd been confident in her.

But, that was all over now. Chase had been mistaken. Someone experiencing even high functioning Asperger's was way too much for her to handle and and that any break, at that point, should be a clean one. That last thought sent a twinge of pain rattling through her core. There was something very unacceptable about the idea that Hannah couldn't be properly broken.

Then it occurred to the domme. Maybe, given certain circumstances, the multi-sensory elements of a situation or scene that was impromptu, random and spontaneous, Hannah could do nothing but lose control. Chase thought of the woman's Asperger's as a portioned thing within Hannah, like a blind person's blindness, a thing that is other, yet inextricably part of the whole person, a separate identity within the identifiable person. Yet, a blind person could be trained, be given modifications, could be accommodated, to approximate her life and integrate herself into the lives of others. So then, given the logic...

Chase started to read through her notes again. Stop it, she told herself as she skimmed. It's over. Chase glowered, shut the journal, picked it up by one corner, and then flung it with such force across the room that she smashed her porcelain desk lamp, sending the shards bouncing across the hard wood floor. Then, picking up the pen, she threw it too, its flight spinning end over end until it hit the opposite wall, and then came to rest near bits of the lamp.

Why had Chase chosen Hannah and kept her as long as she had? Still being tossed upon a churning sea of thought, the domme remembered her first sight of Hannah, how plainly beautiful she was. There was her natural sense of humor, and then Hannah's need for dependence, for direction. Chase breathed in deeply and clenched her teeth, desire and rage clawing at each other, drawing blood inside her heart.

There had been the texts Hannah had sent her early in their relationship: You think it would be really fun to have sex with me. Because, I think you can tell from what I say, what I write, I'll do anything. But maybe you can also tell from what I tell you that it's a little bit weird. Because you know that I'll say anything, too, but sometimes, I make you cringe, though it's very very rare that you cringe. You are my tough kinky kinky kinky Mistress, unflappable, never flustered. You are my challenge. I am your challenge, not expecting me to blurt the naked truth or the totally wrong thing in public. I think I'm that way in bed too and that's how I can be in the scene room. So just give me the directions and I'll do it all, whatever you ask, whatever, and anything...Mistress.

"Yes," Chase whispered to herself as she finally stepped out of her bed, "But, you had to go and fuck it all up, you stupid bitch. You have no idea how hard it is to find a malleable lover these days. Fucking idiot."

She stepped across the room, to the chair of her desk. There, Chase removed her night gown and, naked, draped the garment over the back of the chair. Next, she opened the desk's top left drawer and, after laying reverent fingers upon a glass case that held her personal rosary, she withdrew two steel nipple clamps, each connected to a foot's length of a very small gage chain. Turning toward the clutter of broken porcelain, Chase clamped her right nipple and then her left. Then, looking down at the scattered bits and shards before her feet, she studied them until locating the sharpest and most jagged she could find.

Then, positioning herself, Chase fell to her knees and did not cringe as the sharp pieces pricked and sliced into her knees, shins and into the tops of her feet. Satisfied, indulging in the sting and the warmth of her blood flowing from her wounds, Chase prepared to pray, holding the ends of the chains between her thumbs and forefingers, tugging down slowly at first, and then thinking up something to pray for. Forgiveness? Of course. Redemption? It went without saying. Perhaps though, she would petition for another submissive, a loyal, dutiful, competent, and unfailingly acquiescent submissive.

As she bled and as she held her rosary, two streams of thought meandered through Chase's consciousness. Hail Mary, full of grace, I would like a simple woman. The Lord is with Thee. She should be pretty, of course, blessed art Thou among women, but, let's try, oh, one who speaks very little English, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus, someone who's Spanish I can understand, a Dominican, Puerto Rican, holy Mary, Mother of God, maybe a Peruvian. Yes, pray for our sinners, ah, a younger woman from Brazil, I've heard wonderful things about girls from Brazil. Now and at the hour of our death.

A young Brazilian woman who can cook well and do all that she is told, and a God fearing young woman at that, one who will come to me, already devoted to the Queen of Heaven. Amen. Yes, that will work. In the Lord's name, in Heaven's Queen's name, I pray. Please? Thank You. Amen.

2

It was mid-morning when a voice on Cat's car radio warned of extreme heat. Bring it on, she thought, driving along with the air off and her windows down. I love it hot, humid, sweaty, wicked sweaty, until my clothes are glued to my skin. It became a welcome, comforting, thing for Catherine, the heat, whether born of impact, resistance, and cardio work out, friction or sheer temperature. It calmed her, the feeling, its effect on her body, its transmutation of fat cells into ever smaller fat cells, cooking Cat to her current state of hot.

Self-satisfaction, Cat knew, was really at the root of how she felt. Sure, she relished the feeling of baking inside the soft, supple skin that wrapped the firm flesh of her lean and shapely body. But, thanks to her decisiveness, her commitment and to the not so conventional support of her physical trainer, Cat had come to realize a level of fulfilment she hadn't thought possible.

Watching as the lush green summer landscape passed by, Cat luxuriated in the golden beads of sweat that gathered across her chest and dripped down her sides. She found herself reflecting on that morning's workout, the sixth workout cycle she'd completed entirely without being coached or having been given even the briefest consultation by her trainer, The Sarge, as she had been nick-named by her fellow gym staff.

Bailey, had moved on to other clients, a few of them women, chubby, as Cat had been, a little round around the belly and the rump. Up until their last session, Brusso had been very generous with Cat, with her time, her attention and the unconventional quality of them both. Baily was quite the expert physical trainer and she had also taught Cat, a certainly unanticipated fringe benefit, what it really meant to desire and to reciprocate and create real, mutual, sexual fulfillment.

Yes, Baily had been Cat's first female lover and the abrupt possibility, the immersion of it, the woman's sudden, casual, sexual advance, had been positively unsettling to say the least. But, Cat realized in retrospect, it had all been exactly what the doctor ordered. The prescription, the medicine, had integrated nicely into the rest of Cat's workout program and Brusso's, special touches, earned her the status, in Cat's mind, of midwife to the birth of the new and improved Catherine Wisneuski.

She was looking and feeling better and better every day with Baily's influence, and her sexual appetite had broadened and had come to warm more quickly to whet. Her true animal heart had been awakened. Love, or more specifically the pursuit of love, for Cat, had become, just as her outlook and health, newly fleshed and redefined. However, all good things too had to end. Maybe Brusso was a serial chubby girl groupy. Perhaps it was her custom, her fetish, to pick a pet plump possessor of potential and work her out in the gym, as well as in her bed, until she helped the plump melt away to reveal the attractive, self-respecting, vibrant sexual creature that had been hidden inside all along.

Ultimately however, Sergeant Brusso had increased her distance, first as Cat's lover, and then as her physical trainer. As a result, Cat could do nothing but carry on independently with her training program as well as with the more carnal lessons the Sergeant had instilled in her. Which, either theatre of operation, was fine with her, though she could have enjoyed a few more sessions with her in the latter capacity. A long term sexual relationship had not been Baily's point. That was clear and Cat was okay with it, and she was also okay with having been one in a series of chubby, self-conscious, insecure women who needed, just as much as she had, exactly what The Sarge offered in a "physical training program."

But, was Cat really okay with it? Truth be told, Brusso had allowed her to realize a level of fulfilment she hadn't thought possible and Cat was smart enough to know that a rebound was still a rebound and that getting attached for the sake of emotionally medicating never did any self-respecting woman any good. So, Jilling off, especially with her catalogue of mental images of Brusso and the sex toys she'd donated to Cat's cause, had become a very regular habit.

Yet the fact remained: after a while, one's own, solitary, carnal trip from dry to wet was much more fulfilling when you ventured there in the company of a fairly significant, decently mindful, and other. As for Frank's significance, his mechanical practicality as a lover and his general lack of humanity had become a distant memory and, as for doing it with a same sex partner, fucking for Cat had been elevated to a Club Med vacation, first class flying round trip, hallelujah!.

Cat coasted along route 139, took in the familiar views, and continued to reflect on how good that morning's work-out had been. She remembered how, as soon as she'd stepped out of the gym, the magnificent sun, with its constant invisible kiss, drew Cat's own heat from her own fiery core, raising molten beads of sweat from her pores. The sweat made her think of getting that work-out high again. Working out reminded her of how successful she'd been, how quite hot she'd become and thinking about how hot she'd become made her very, very horny.

There were other routes to take, between the gym and home. However, on this particular late morning, Cat took the route that took her onto Hannah's road, where Hannah's house would be, whether Hannah was there or not, but most likely not, which was also where the garden they'd planted together was likely overgrown, in which Cat would hopefully find a suitable eggplant.

It would have to be of the Japanese variety of course, which she did recall planting, with just the right girth and length, which she intended to transport back to her place, give Mr. Japanese Eggplant a nice bath, thought about something that got her juices flowing, insert the thing into her vagina and fucked the shit out of herself until she was ready to bring some heavy focus on her clit while her special friend spent the ride's climax in Cat's tight little asshole. It was a great plan, which was exactly what Cat had told herself right after she'd come up with it while showering off in the gym.

It would be nice though if she was home, Cat thought. The idea had been lingering in the back of her mind lately as she thought of Hannah, how utterly surprised she'd likely be to see how much Cat had changed. Sure, catching up would be alright. Heck, it would be great, of course, as long as Hanna wasn't as cool, inconsiderate and as nasty as she'd been during their argument that morning four months ago.

Had Cat ever known her to be the kind to remain embittered? No, not her Hannah. But, maybe there was a different Hannah just as there was now a different Cat. Less than a mile from Hannah's place, she thought of Frank then, of how she could have let herself remain a prisoner of their relationship and how, exactly, she'd shown him the door. Maybe Hannah had become, like Cat had been until she'd quite literally invited Frank to eat her shit, so embroiled in her relationship with that Chase person that she wasn't seeing why the relationship might be the wrong place to be; that is, if it was really, the wrong place to be.

Fuck it, she thought. The new Cat didn't care. The old Cat had never been this confident. When their friendship was as normal as Hannah's autism would allow, she used to point out how slumped Cat's shoulders were or how low her head hung when they'd walk together. Cat realized that she was just showing how ashamed she was of herself, keeping herself from looking at the assessing eyes of strangers, limiting her view to the baggy sweaters she always wore, the ones below which she could barely see the toes of her shoes.

Their fight that morning in the Lenny's parking lot was a more critical event than Cat had initially understood. Hannah had goaded her, which wasn't unusual, since that's how she played, but Hannah had brought up a time in their youth when they'd experimented with mutual masturbation. However, subsequently, Cat was caught by her father one afternoon, alone, doing unto herself and had gotten a good beating for it. So, since a beating does not a positive reinforcement make, Cat had avoided further self-entanglements, or mutual ones, from that point forward.

But then, Hannah had added insult to injury by announcing that she was, right at their very table, being aroused by a small vibrator her girlfriend or mistress or whatever had instructed her to turn on. Then Cat became even more infuriated when she'd deduced that Hannah's girlfriend had to be nearby, getting off on watching Hannah getting off while in Cat's presence, using her, essentially manipulating her, exploiting her for their own carnal ambitions.

That, had sucked, royally sucked. And of course, Hannah was, due to her inability to really understand and be sensitive to other people's feelings, further enflamed the rage boiling inside Cat's gut by smacking her ass in the parking lot. Had her mistress seen that too? She likely had and, so, Cat could not conceive of ever speaking to Hannah ever again.

There was no way around it. It had to happen eventually and then, was the time. But, it was a good thing, a catalyst to a chain of other reactions. Unnerved, infuriated and saddened, Cat had driven home afterward, slumped in front of her mirror and took a good look at herself. Studying her face, peering into her sorrowful, bright hazel eyes, knowing that the rest of her was there, like a dirty pile of clothes or a bursting bag of garbage, Cat watched her tears as they cascaded down her cheeks. Hannah just does what she wants, she'd thought. Hannah just gets what she wants. Sure, she lives pay check to pay check, but she's always on top of her world. My world, my world is...

Frank, had become Cat's world. Three years, six months and fourteen days of Frank had become her world., Frank's wants, Frank's needs, Frank's perspectives, Frank's opinions, Frank's siblings, Frank's parents, Frank's dirty clothes and Frank's lunch every day, every day, day after day. Then, finally, that strange night, almost two months after the fight with Hannah and no word from Hannah, no call or a single text, Cat had understood, no, let herself understand.

While she'd scraped the dinner she no longer had the stomach for into the trash, as Frank left the dinner table to spend another evening falling asleep in front of the TV, A thought came to cat. It had come unbidden, from where exactly she couldn't tell, somewhere, anywhere, between the space of universe between everywhere and her three or so pounds of brain.

Why give a shit about anything if you can't be okay with zero?

Due to what Cat perceived as either the notion's peculiarity or its profundity, it took her a moment before she paused to consider the notion, to evaluate and paraphrase it for herself, so that its significance could be broken down and absorbed into her consciousness. Through the instant of seconds that followed, the last straw became the last straw, the last line in the sand was the last line in the sand, the notion of "zero" became a plan of action and so the proverbial match was finally dropped into the powder barrel. It was later that evening when Frank found her reclined naked on the bed, presenting him with silverware, a napkin and a hot, steaming plate of her shit, offering it as both dessert and his invitation to leave.

So, Frank left and Cat became the mistress of her world. Her temporary insanity led her to a new and lasting clarity. Her new beginning begun, her freedom found, she made her future manifest. Now, these days, when Cat walked, she sauntered and, when strangers, men or women, boldly stared or smiled at her, she met their gazes and smiled in return or eyed them with brazen arrogance, her back straight, her head held high. So, as Hannah's place came into view, the new Cat didn't have a second thought as she pulled into the driveway.

She slinked out of the car, dressed in one of the new Cat's summer ensembles, a very brief, snug fitting, pair of denim cut-offs, an equally snug bubble gum pink tube top and a pair of white track shoes. . Glancing around the property and into the neighbor's windows, she saw that there wasn't anyone in her immediate view. Cat would have checked the garage windows if Hannah hadn't painted them black two years earlier. She checked the front door, mocking, waiting, ringing, waiting, but no answer came. Hannah was likely at work anyway or, if it was her day off, she was at Chase's place wrapped up in chains or whips or something.

She stepped around the corner and paused to regard the weed choked lushness of Hannah's garden. Pacing along the back of the house, she peered into the windows and saw only dusty furniture. Wow, thought Cat, I hope Mrs. Skitters is getting better treatment than everything else around here. Skipping lightly up the steps to the patio, Cat went to the sliding door to find it also locked and its blinds obscuring any view of Hanna's kitchen. Then, crossing the patio, she descended the steps and strolled toward the garden.

Hannah's back yard was baking in full sun and that full sun shimmered over Cat, like the memory of a lover's hot, comfortingly resolute hands and body upon her. It was the height of summer and, though in terrible need of weeding, the edible plants thrived. Cat carefully weaved her way into the garden and found the tomatoes she and Hannah had planted together, and the squash and the cucumbers, all climbed upon with weeds, embraced, all up close and personal, sharing nutrient filled soil she herself had helped in amending.

Cat noticed the eggplants, three rows of them, beckoning, seeming to wiggle at her from sprawled branches, waiting beneath their dark velvety green leaves.

Ah, there you are, she thought, Japanese, all aubergine, slender and gently curved, like a respectable cock, no man attached, no gooey after drippings of semen. Cat drew closer. She knew she'd find a good one, long and properly curved and hot from the late afternoon sun. Plucking a pocket knife from the back of her cut-offs, Cat spied a choice specimen, and then sawed it just above its spiny like little umbrella cap. She blushed, scanned again for on-lookers, and then studied her prize for a moment. Oh yeah, she thought, you'll do nicely.