The Sun in Her Sky Ch. 01

Author's note:

Welcome to the first chapter in a three-part series about a relationship between two young women that, while technically "consensual", is NOT emotionally healthy, affirming or positive. The story contains strong themes of domination and emotional manipulation. All characters are fictional adults. Please let me know how you like the story – comments and emails are welcome. And thank you for taking the time to read!

**

It was well after midnight when Elaine Gatineau heard a gentle knock at the door of her Country Cafe.

It was a frigid Thunder Bay night and the sub-zero temperatures had discouraged foot traffic for most of the day. Elaine figured the visitor was a taxi driver or police officer – who else would be out in the cold and dark at that hour, and at a coffee shop no less? Regardless, she'd closed almost an hour ago.

She finished wiping down the table she was at, then glanced out the glass doors to see who might be knocking.

It was Gwen.

Elaine felt a flurry of emotion: longing, heartache, hope, but mostly annoyance. The two of them had broken up a week ago – why would she come back now? Seeing her again was re-opening the pain of loss she'd felt when she made the decision to end it.

Well, she couldn't leave her ex- outside in the frozen darkness – their breakup had been amiable enough, so why make things hostile now? Elaine put down the dish cloth, tried to arrange her brown hair into some semblance of order, and unlocked the front door.

"I certainly wasn't expecting you," she said, sounding guarded and a little tired – it had been a long day.

"Hey, babe. Um...could we talk? I wanted to explain myself and ask for another chance."

Against her better judgment, Elaine stepped aside and allowed Gwen to enter, then closed and locked the door once again.

"Honestly, I don't know what else there is to say. We've been dating almost a year. If you're not ready to get serious by this point – if you can't make that kind of commitment – then I need to cut bait and find someone who wants to be with me for the long haul. I'm thirty years old – I don't have time to chase illusions."

"No! You're the one I want. Now and always. I'm totally serious about you...I love you!"

"But you won't invite me to your house. You won't stay the night at MY house. You're not interested in living together. I ask you if you need more time and all you say is "it's complicated". What am I supposed to think?"

Gwen sighed and her shoulders slumped. "You're right. I realized that this week – you're completely right. I've been a jerk. You're the one I love and I should be honest with you. So I've come here tonight to do that."

"Okay. I'm listening." Elaine wasn't ready to accept her words at face value, after almost a year of trying to wring the truth out of her.

"It's...a bit of a story. Could we sit down? I want to tell it right...and from the beginning."

Elaine gestured to a booth in the back and the two of them sat down.

"I'd offer you a drink but I've shut down the machines. Maybe some tea?"

"Tea would be awesome," Gwen said.

Ten minutes later, Elaine sat opposite her ex-girlfriend, each of them cradling a hot mug of Earl Grey.

"So?" Elaine prompted.

Gwen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Look, this is going to be hard, so just sit back and let me get this off my chest. I promise to tell you everything – the good, the bad and the ugly. After that, if you still don't want me, I'll leave and not bother you anymore."

"I'm all ears."

Gwen took a tiny sip of hot tea. "I guess the story begins in my final year of high school..."

*

Have you ever met someone who just brought out the worst in you?

For me, that person was Rebecca Maple. I met her at the start of my final year of high school. She'd transferred from some private school in the suburbs and was trying out for our senior volleyball team. I disliked her immediately.

If I'm being honest, she wasn't a bad person. She was the only child of a wealthy couple, but she didn't flaunt her money or put on airs around the rest of us. She had a cute face, and beautiful, black hair that fell to the middle of her back, but didn't seem vain about her looks. Becca didn't gossip, didn't flirt with the wrong guys, didn't get in anyone's face during practice. On the surface, she was a good teammate and student, but she and I were like oil and water.

Part of the problem was how blatantly she tried to kiss up to Rachel Hodges, the captain of the volleyball team and my chief athletic rival. I didn't resent Rach – she worked hard, had paid her dues, and won the captaincy fair and square. Still, we were rivals, and it grated on me to see Becca laughing too loud at Rach's jokes, agreeing too quickly with everything Rach said, and going out of her way to compliment how she looked or what she was wearing. It was beyond annoying. I mean, I get that Becca was new at the school and probably wanted to fast-track some friendships, but sucking up to the team captain was just gross and undignified.

To her credit, Rachel must have felt the same way, since she gave Becca a cool reception and kept her at arm's length without being openly rude. But Becca didn't take the hint and just kept putting herself out there, again and again. Talk about insecure and needy!

Things between us came to a head in mid-September after strength drills. We'd been doing chin-ups – never my best drill – and both Becca and Rachel had outdone me. I think my heavy breasts were part of the reason I lost – somehow, despite being tall and thin I ended up with this huge bust; it was the biggest on the volleyball team. They look damn good, I admit, but when you're hard into athletics, "big-breasted" maybe isn't the idea body type. Becca and Rachel were more 'streamlined', and Becca was practically flat-chested. No wonder she won!

Anyway, Rach was needling me about it – nothing mean, just garden-variety trash talk, when Becca decided to take a jab as well.

"Yeah...gangly girls have no upper body strength."

Gangly! Who even uses that word anymore? Plus, I was only two inches taller than Becca; it's not like I was all arms and legs.

I could tolerate Rachel's jawing – she and I had been on the team since grade nine and we'd traded shots for more than three years. But no way was I going to take shade from a fawning newbie yes-girl like Becca, especially with most of the team looking on! I rounded on her.

"Yeah? Care for a re-match?"

She shrank back a step, her eyes going wide as she realized she'd crossed a line, but she managed to compose herself after a quick glance at Rachel for reassurance.

"You'd just lose again."

"Want to bet on it?"

"Well...sure. How much?" she said.

I hesitated. I couldn't bet money. I was the fifth of seven kids in a blue-collar household. Money was one thing I didn't have. But that didn't mean I would back down.

"Not money. Let's play for REAL stakes. If you win, I'll be your slave for a week."

The other girls murmured and buzzed in excitement at the bold wager. I'd thrown down the gauntlet; there was no backing out now. I relished the look of trepidation on Becca's face.

"Wait...slave? What do you mean?"

"The loser does whatever the winner says for a whole week."

"What, like...anything?"

"Anything." I didn't hesitate because I knew there was no way I would lose.

"I can barely lift my arms," she said with a weak smile, "that drill pretty much did me in for today."

"Aww, poor snowflake. Not today, obviously. Three weeks from now. We'll have the re-match right before the Regional Tournament in October. Even your skinny little arms should have recovered by then, right?"

There was a long pause as Becca weighed her options. I could tell from her eyes that she didn't like the idea – she never wanted things to go this far. But she'd lose all her cred if she backed down in the face of a challenge like this, with the whole team looking on.

"Fine. Just don't cry when you lose," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Three weeks," I said, and that was that.

And for the next three weeks I was like a woman possessed. I trained. I lifted weights. I browsed websites, looking for tips on how to improve my performance. I upped my protein intake. My hands developed callouses. My muscles ached from all the chin-ups I was doing.

But Becca...something was up with her. For the first week she was her usual annoying self, but she missed a bunch of class the second week, and even when she was there, she seemed distant and withdrawn. Her game went south too – she wasn't sharp during the practices and almost a liability during matches with other schools. There were whispers that her parents were having the ugliest of all ugly divorces.

I was too focused to listen to gossip, and maybe I wouldn't have cared either way. I'd always been super-competitive, and I would have rather died than lose to Becca again.

The Friday before the weekend Regional Tournament, Becca and I faced off after practice. To be honest she didn't look like she was all there – her focus had been lacking throughout the practice and she didn't even seem to remember we had made a wager. Or maybe it was just a ploy to weasel out of the bet. Either way, I completely crushed her, easily doubling the number of chin-ups she was able to do. I had won, and she was my slave for a week.

I had her drop to her stomach and do twenty push-ups, counting "one, miss Bailey", "two, miss Bailey" all the way up to twenty. It was a bit of a power trip, I admit, as I stood over her and watched her working on the floor at my feet. In the end, she was blushing hard and my earlier humiliation had been avenged – a good afternoon, all in all.

I hadn't intended to go any further than that. I mean, it had been a stupid wager, really. It's not like she was REALLY a slave. Plus, we had the Regionals to prepare for that weekend, so there wasn't much in the way of leisure time.

We went to Toronto for the tournament, and boy did we suck. We lost all three games we played, and only scored in double digits once. We got completely annihilated, and it was a huge embarrassment.

For once, I was glad that my parents never bothered to show up to watch me play.

After the game, in the change room, Rachel was in full voice, chastising us for the weak effort and exhorting us to increase our focus and diligence. I mostly ignored her – I was used to her tired, old "drill sergeant" routine.

But man, did she ever lay into Becca, brutally deconstructing her game and counting off every mistake she'd made in the tournament, all while Becca stared at the floor miserably. Don't get me wrong, Becca had played like shit, but I'd never seen Rachel bitch a girl out this badly. It was like watching someone repeatedly kick a puppy.

I don't know why I stepped in. I guess I was tired, and bummed about the tournament. I really just wanted Rachel to shut up and get changed so we could get on the bus and go home and salvage what little was left of the weekend. It wasn't because I was feeling sorry for Becca.

"Jesus, Rach, give it a rest. You weren't perfect, either. FOUR foot faults? How is that even possible?" I growled. "We all sucked, not just her. Back off already."

That got her riled up even more and she started raging about how my sets had been too low, I'd floated my serves, blah blah blah. Whatever. At least she'd moved on, and before long she'd exhausted herself and we were able to shower and board the bus.

And to top off a perfectly awful day, Becca chose to sit next to me on the bus ride home.

I tried to ignore her. I played with my phone, looked out the window, even cracked a calculus textbook and pretended to study for a test next week. But it was a four-hour bus ride back to Windsor, and eventually I ran out of ways to look preoccupied.

"Hey," she whispered, leaning in close.

I resigned myself to a conversation and turned to find her looking at me with serious eyes. Why was she whispering?

"What?"

"Just...thanks. You know...for getting Rachel off my case."

I stifled a snarky remark, then smothered a scathing one, then bit back a couple of unkind observations. It was late, we'd all had a crappy day and were feeling low. Would it kill me to say ONE nice thing to her, after all she'd endured?

I forced the brightest smile I could manage. "Hey, I've got to take good care of my little slave, right?" I finished with a teasing wink, trying to keep it light and airy, maybe inject a little humour.

Instead she nodded solemnly, as though I'd said something deep and introspective. She still had that intense look in her eyes. It was more focused than I'd seen her in many days. She could have used more of that during the tournament!

I turned away and closed my eyes, figuring I could pretend to sleep for the last couple of hours.

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Huh?"

"You know...since I lost the bet."

"Oh, that. No worries. You're off the hook."

"No, really," she persisted, "I don't want the other girls to think I reneged on the bet."

"No one will think that."

There was silence, and I felt relieved that she'd finally dropped it.

"I could carry your stuff. Your books and things."

I sighed loudly, then faced her again. "Seriously, what is up with you?"

She glanced around to ensure my words hadn't been overheard.

"I mean, you won fair and square, right?"

"Alright, fine, whatever. Be at my house at six-thirty on Monday and you can carry my stuff to school. If you're late, I'm not waiting," I said, eager to have the conversation done so I could continue pretending to sleep. Becca was on my last nerve, and I hoped she'd lose interest in me and start sucking up to Rachel again. The sooner the better!

*

When I stepped out my front door on Monday morning and found Becca sitting on my doorstep, it took me a few moments to remember why.

"Right...the bet," I said with patient sigh. Bad enough it was Monday, now I had to deal with THIS on top of it.

I handed her my backpack and she shouldered it next to her own.

"I had to text Rachel to find out your address," she said, in answer to a question I hadn't cared enough to ask.

"Cool."

We trudged in silence for a few minutes.

"So how long have you lived here?" Becca asked.

"Uh...six or seven years, I guess?"

"It's not too far from the school."

"Uh-huh."

"I heard you have a big family."

I stopped walking. This wasn't going to work. Becca was way too chatty. I wasn't even fully awake yet.

"Hey, you're my slave for the week, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, of course. That was the deal."

"So you have to do whatever I say?"

Becca just nodded, seeming strangely eager, or maybe just pleased to have me talking.

I looked her in the eye. "Then you must not speak unless someone addresses you. That's a rule. Got it?"

"Um...okay," she said, sounding a little subdued.

I resumed my pace, and we walked the rest of the way in blissful silence.

When we got to school, I made a point of mentioning to a few of the girls that Becca was carrying my backpack like a good slave, just like she agreed in the wager. There were giggles some mild teasing. Becca blushed but was not allowed to respond. I figured at least now no one would accuse her of reneging on the bet, and she could go find someone else to pester. I took my bag from her and went to class.

Any hopes I had that Becca would forget the whole thing were dashed when she met me after last class, wordlessly hefted my backpack and followed me home in silence. The next morning, she was on my doorstep again, and again Wednesday morning.

To her credit, she never spoke out of turn. I guess she took our wager pretty seriously. Just to be polite I'd give her a few moments of idle chat as we walked – asking her if she slept well, was she ready for the chem test – boring stuff like that. But only a question or two. The rest of the time it was silence.

Finally it was Friday – seven days since she'd lost the bet. Her week of slavery was over, thank God. I figured the decent thing to do after she carried my bag home for the final time was to invite her in for a snack or something, kind of a bury-the-hatchet gesture on my part. Really, she wasn't TOO annoying when she didn't talk!

"Come on in. Take off your shoes," I said as I unlocked the door. Of course everyone was away and the house was empty. Why would today be different than any other?

She silently did as I asked.

"You can talk now. It's your last day, so why not?" I said, giving her a tolerant smile.

"I know! The time has gone so fast!" she said, voicing the opposite of my thoughts on the matter.

"Yeah. Well, a deal's a deal. After today, you're free at last." I led her into the kitchen.

I took my phone out of my back pocket and set it on the counter, then sat on the floor and looked through the cupboards for cookies or something that would make a passable snack. Pop-Tarts, maybe? Nothing that involved cooking – I wanted something that wouldn't delay Becca's departure too much.

"Hey, is that the Peach ePhone Ultra? I haven't seen one in a while."

"Yeah, it-" my words were cut short by the awful sound of my phone thumping down onto the linoleum floor, then skittering to rest against my hip.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I just wanted to see it!"

I grabbed the phone and stood up. A crack ran diagonally across the glass surface, distorting the picture and text on the password screen. For a few moments I was stunned, then I fought to reign in a rising fury.

"It just kind of slipped! I'm sorry. I'm so, SO sorry, Gwen."

I could hear the fear and anxiety in her voice. The distress. The anguish. I didn't care. I didn't say anything for a long time, certain that whatever came out of my mouth would be hateful and enraged. I was better than that. I wouldn't swear. I wouldn't punch her. I closed my eyes and fought to control myself as Becca doused me with abject apologies again and again.

"Becca...just go," I said, my voice a whisper. I didn't open my eyes.

"Gwen, please...it was an accident. I just wanted to see it...they don't make those anymore."

"It's fine. Just. Go."

"I feel awful...I feel terrible about this."

I opened my eyes and narrowed them at her.

"You're sorry! You feel awful! So what? What am I supposed to do about that? Punish you? Is that it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at my words, but I think I saw something else there too. Just a glimpse, perhaps. Interest? Yearning? Or maybe I'm just remembering it that way to justify what came later.

She stared at me for a few moments, speechless for maybe the first time in her life.

"Fine. Grab your ankles. I'll show you sorry," I said, glaring angrily into her wide, dumbstruck, brown eyes.

"W-what?" Her voice was a squeak.

"You heard me...slave." My emphasis on the final word was both pointed and mocking.

She looked at me a moment longer, then dropped her gaze and slowly bent at the waist and grabbed her ankles. Gripped by both anger and impulse, I stepped behind her, hooked my fingers into the waistband of her track pants and yanked them down in one stroke, taking her white panties along for the ride. I'd make this painful AND humiliating, then erase her from my life once and for all.

"Hey!" she cried, righting herself and looking back at me accusingly.

"Ankles!" I screeched, pointing down at her feet.

I sometimes wonder how things would have been if she'd just pulled up her pants at that moment and stormed out of my house. Would life have turned out differently for her? Would that single act of defiance have set her on a better course and led her to a brighter future? I suppose we'll never know for certain.

With a final, nervous glance, she lowered herself again and gripped her ankles.