The Things Done to Me Ch. 10

Author's Note: All characters are above the age of 18. I want to thank my wife for editing and my friend Ann for her encouragement.

Persephone tied her surgical-style mask on at the back of her neck and head, then stepped into Vince's dark gray Dodge Challenger. Anxiety overtook her as she looked around the inside of the car.

"I'll drive safe; I promise," he assured her as he rubbed her shoulders.

"I know," she said. "I'm just a little nervous."

"You don't have to wear your mask until we get to the store," Vince said.

As they talked, a woman walked two dogs past the car. She glanced over at Persephone, her eyes widened, and she quickly turned away. Persephone let out a heavy sigh.

"I prefer to wear it. If I could have one that covered my whole face, it would be better." She buckled her seat belt.

"That would defeat the purpose of this whole exercise," Vince said as he started the engine.

The drive to the grocery store was uneventful, save for a few glances from drivers in passing vehicles. In Persephone's mind, these momentary glances felt like judging glares that analyzed her hideous scar down to the very last detail. By the time they reached the parking lot, she had slid down several inches in her seat.

Vince looked over at her. "We're here," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't want to do this," Persephone said. "I can't handle the staring of other drivers; how am I supposed to handle a whole store full of people?"

"With dignity and strength," he said. "I'll be right beside you."

"Vince, I'm not strong." Her voice cracked. "That's the real reason I'm a sub - the real reason I got caught up in all this conditioning bullshit. I'm weak..."

"Submissives are some of the strongest people I know. They have to be to put up with the bullshit Doms throw at them," Vince said as he rubbed her back. "I tried it, and I couldn't do it."

"You tried being a sub?" she asked.

"Aunt Billie said it was important that I understood what it was like. I've never been so uncomfortable in my life. It was supposed to be one week, but it ended after one day," he admitted.

"She didn't..."

"Peg me?" he interrupted. "No. We didn't get that far. The thought terrified me. And not because I'm opposed to anal stimulation, but because of the humiliation and emasculation that it would involve. You handle being a sub better than I did. You're stronger than I am, Sephie."

"Then that doesn't say much about you, does it?" Persephone spat bitterly.

"Goddamn it, Persephone! I will punish you - actual punishment - if you don't get out of this car and complete a grocery shopping run with me," he demanded. "You will sleep on the motherfucking sofa for three nights. I won't touch you or speak to you more than I absolutely have to until the fourth morning."

Persephone looked back at him, her lip quivering.

"Fine," he said as he pulled on his mask. Vince got out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and marched towards the carts.

Persephone thought, 'One to two hours, verses three nights alone. Utterly alone. I can't do that either.' She opened the car door and shut it behind her. "VINCE! Wait!" she yelled as she ran. He stopped with a grocery cart in hand and watched her catch up to him.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I can do this. Just don't leave me alone," she begged.

"Good," he stated. "You push the cart; I fill it. If there is anything you would like that we pass, you must ask me to buy it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she choked.

"If your fear becomes too intense, you may ask to use the women's restroom instead of your safe word. You can hide there until I'm done shopping." He sounded cold - colder than Persephone ever known him to be. It scared her a little bit. "Do not use it unless you have to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

His face softened, and Vince cupped her cheek. "I love you. If I didn't think this was important, I wouldn't push so hard."

Persephone took a deep breath. "I know."

"Come on," he urged her. Persephone followed Vince but already saw some of the people around her glancing her way. "Just ignore them. They're just uncomfortable."

"Because I'm ugly," she whispered.

"No. Because they're curious but don't want to be caught staring," Vince countered as they entered the store.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"Have you ever seen someone disfigured before? Weren't you curious? As children, we're told that it's rude to stare or ask personal questions of strangers. We struggle not to stare, and yet curiosity gets the better of us, so we glance. We catch ourselves glancing, so we quickly look away. It's an awkward dance between what society expects and our instincts," he explained.

"And what makes you such an expert?" Persephone challenged.

"Before we started, uh, dating, did you ever catch me looking at your chest?" he asked as he stopped at an apple display.

"No. You've always been the perfect gentleman," she said.

"Let's just say I was disappointed whenever you wore a bra." He winked at her over his shoulder.

"You little perv!!" she admonished him. He laughed at her, and they drew the attention of a few shoppers in the produce department. She suddenly felt self-conscious, but Vince was looking over apples as if nothing had happened.

Persephone scanned the produce department. The shoppers quickly resumed looking at whatever vegetable or fruit they were considering. However, one boy - age 8 or 9, by her estimation - stared directly at her. It wasn't a stare of fear or disgust but curiosity. Pure, non-judgemental, curiosity. It was still uncomfortable, but it seemed to confirm what Vince had told her.

The boy's mother caught him staring at Persephone, gave an apologetic wave from across the floor, and said something to her son that Persephone was too far away to hear. The son and mother turned away, but not without a quick backward glance from the child. Persephone smiled despite herself.

"Maybe you're right," she muttered as they passed the tomatoes.

"Of course I'm right; your tits are fantastic. They should never be constrained," Vince responded.

"Not about that!" Persephone hit him in the arm. "About coming here."

"Oh, good. Feeling braver, are we?" His eyes twinkled with a devilish gleam as he showed her his list. "Go order these from the deli for me, and make sure to ask for the pepperoni and mozzarella first."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?!"

"Yes," he stated. "You forget that I'm a bit of a sadist."

Persephone sighed. "This is because I compared my scar to pizza, isn't it?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny that. Give me the cart and get moving."

She groaned, took his list, and walked to the deli counter. Three other customers were waiting in line, including the young boy and his mother. A squirrely man in his early twenties and a very determined woman in her fifties worked behind the counter, quickly slicing cheeses and deli meats with little pause. Persephone took a number.

The mother edged closer to Persephone. "Hi. I'm Mary," the woman said with a bright smile. Her eyes flashed to Persephone's left. "I'm sorry about my son; he gets curious."

"I understand," Persephone replied with a smile behind her mask.

"What, uh, caused it, if you don't mind me asking?" Mary asked.

"Car accident." Persephone became uneasy and shifted away from the woman.

"It isn't, you know, because of him?" Mary asked as she nodded towards where Vince was shopping.

A flicker of rage crossed Persephone's face as deep-seated conditioning to protect her master surfaced. "No," she whispered to Mary, "and keep your motherfucking insinuations to yourself, bitch."

Mary's jaw dropped, which pulled her mask away from her nose.

"Ma'am - your order is ready," the man behind the counter said to Mary.

She stepped up and quickly collected her lunch meat, then scoffed at Persephone as she left. "I was just concerned for your safety."

Persephone glared at the woman, then felt the weight of the eyes of the other customers on her. She tried to ignore them by keeping her eyes facing forward. Tears threatened to fill her eyes until she felt a hand on her lower back.

"Is everything okay?" Vince asked from behind her.

"It is now," Persephone said as she grabbed his arm. "Nosy woman insinuated that you were the cause of my scar," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you know, we're all criminals and rapists, so her concern is completely understandable," his voice dripped with acid.

She shook her head. "I love you."

It wasn't too long before it was Persephone's turn. She ordered her lunch meat from the deli clerks without further incident. They then made their way through the grocery aisles, one by one. Although they occasionally would catch a glimpse of Mary, she would quickly exit the aisle anytime she saw them.

Finally, they were down to two aisles; the frozen aisle and the beer & wine aisle.

"Ooh - my favorite two aisles!" Persephone said with a bounce. "Ice cream and booze." She looked around to see if anyone else was in the aisle and then turned to Vince. "Please, Sir?"

"What do you want?" he asked with an amused look in his eye.

"Ice cream - the really good stuff. And vodka," she said.

"The really good stuff?" he asked.

"Plastic bottle is fine. It's vodka - it has no flavor. OH - and beer!"

"Okay - new rule: If we buy alcohol, we always buy the good stuff. It does make a difference. We keep vodka in the freezer and beer in the refrigerator - no more warm liquor. If you violate those rules, I'll cut you off," Vince warned.

"I like my beer like I like my pizza - cheap and warm!" she countered.

Vince responded by raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Dulce de Leche Ice cream okay with you?"

"Sounds great," he said as he watched her skip to the premium ice cream section.

"Vince?" A voice from behind them asked.

Persephone turned to see a tall black woman with cranberry red curls cascading down her shoulders. Her eyes were cat-like light brown gems set just above her face mask. She wore a dark green pencil dress and a cream-colored blouse. She looked professional and yet still oozed sex.

Vince turned. "Kassandra?" he said in shock.

Persephone marched back towards them with a determined look in her eyes.

"I never thought I'd see you again," she professed. "I'm glad to see you're well."

"Uh... what do you want?" Persephone asked.

Kassandra turned to her and cocked her head to the side. "Persephone? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. Now -"

"What happened to you?" she gasped.

"I think I have to insist you answer Sephie's question. What do you want?" Vince demanded.

"I guess - I guess I wanted to apologize. What you did was wrong, but not as wrong as what I did first, so I don't blame you. Still, I would like your forgiveness and perhaps to see if we could be friends," she confessed.

Vince raised an eyebrow. "I honestly never expected to hear you ask for forgiveness."

"I was stupid; I screwed up a very good thing, and after all was said and done, I had nothing to show for it," Kassandra said. "I don't expect a second chance with you -"

"You're right. He's already moved on," Persephone interrupted.

Kassandra took a deep breath. "...but if I could at least have your friendship, it would mean the world to me."

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Thank you - that's all I could hope for. Do you still have my number? It's still the same," she said.

"I still have it," Vince stated.

"Well, if you don't, I always shop here..." Kassandra choked. Her eyes suggested a sad smile behind her mask, and she walked past them, her head down.

"Go get what you want," Vince muttered to Persephone, "and let's get out of here."

_____________

A woman with graying brown hair held back in a ponytail appeared on Persephone's computer screen. She wore a leather jacket and an old Metallica teeshirt.

"Hey. You must be Persephone! I'm Demi," the older woman said.

"Demi Tanzer, right?" Persephone said.

"I reserve that name for my fetishwear collection, now. I'm not too fond of formalities, but if you really must, you can call me Mrs. Tanzer. Otherwise, Demi is fine."

"So, what did Scarlet tell you about this meeting?" Persephone asked as she silently kicked herself.

"Only that she would like to propose a collaboration between our two companies on a fetish-styled line of wedding dresses," Demi said.

"Right. Sort of. I proposed a line of Goth and Fetish-themed wedding dresses to my boss, Scarlet. Something edger than what we currently offer. It was her idea to bring your expertise into the project not only to help in the design of the line but also to bring name recognition to the project."

"But wouldn't my 'name recognition' overshadow your contribution?" Demi asked with a pained smile.

Persephone grimaced and nodded.

"Hmm. That puts you in a tight bind, doesn't it? Either help bring me on board, have your work attributed to another designer, or discourage me from joining and risk upsetting your boss. Do I have the situation right?"

"Yeah. That's the gist of it," Persephone admitted. "I asked to meet with you first, designer to designer, to see if there was a middle ground where we would both be satisfied. Although, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how we can accomplish that."

"Luckily for you, I know nothing about working with lace, silk, or tulle. My designs favor leather, latex, PVC, and chains."

"Does that mean you're not interested?" Persephone asked.

"Oh, I'm interested - this opens new markets for both companies while sharing the risk. I just disagree with Scarlet's approach to the collaboration. The best way forward is for each company to create complementary pieces for the line and have two or three signature collaborative dresses that incorporate style choices from both designers," Demi explained.

"We could do a mix and match dress - tops and bottoms."

"Now that's an idea! What color scheme were you thinking?"

"White, Black, Blood Red, Midnight Blue, and Deep Purple," Persephone said.

"Five colors. Three of them are relatively expensive dyes if we want good quality. Perhaps we should limit blue, purple, and red to accent pieces?" Demi asked.

"I was thinking of offering our most popular dresses in these colors and cycle them as fashion trends change."

"Makes sense. By the way, what did you want to name this line?"

"Night Bride," Persephone said. "I wanted something that said elegance and edge."

"I like it, but I like Elegance and Edge better," Demi suggested with a chuckle. "It says elegance and edge better than Night Bride, don't you think?

Persephone stifled a laugh. "Point taken."

"I also think the various pieces should be identified as either 'by Red Belle' or 'by Demi Tanzer,' to maintain our separate identities as companies but keep them under the same umbrella. And you should be named as the lead designer."

"Huh. I thought I was going to have to fight for that!!" Persephone smiled.

"I'll end up following your lead anyway; dresses were never really my thing."

"I have to admit, I was dreading this meeting, but it's going a lot better than I thought it would."

"Why? Because I'm a former BDSM porn queen turned fashion designer?" Demi said with a wink.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"Relax. It was a joke," Demi said. She looked at Persephone for a moment and then cocked her head to the side. "You're new to this, aren't you?"

"No. I have a degree, and I've been designing professionally for four years now."

"I meant new to the scene - to BDSM. You're on pins and needles. You're a new sub, aren't you?" She smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Persephone shifted in her seat. "I think that's a bit personal."

"No. I think a bit personal would be asking why half your face is scarred, which is why I've put off bringing it up. However, I do like to know more about the people I'm working with, Ms. Persephone Winther," Demi said, enunciating the syllables of Persephone's name.

Persephone glared at the computer screen. "I don't think that's necessary."

"I think it is," Demi countered.

"What do you want to know? That I'm a new sub? You've guessed right so -"

"No need to become defensive," Demi interrupted. "I used to be a sub, too, you know?"

"Used to be?"

"I got tired of it long ago and switched to Domme. You have to be able to stand up for yourself if you're going to do porn. After a while, I found I got a thrill out of being in control and started to switch, eventually completely embracing my identity as a Domme."

"So, your husband?" Persephone raised an eyebrow.

"Mmhmm. He's my sub. You'd be surprised how many testosterone-fueled professional sport types are submissive," Demi chuckled. "But don't you dare tell anyone," she added.

"Uh, of course not!" Persephone said. "The first rule of kink club: don't talk about kink club."

"Good. He thrives on being the bad boy in public; it would upset him if everyone knew the truth," she admitted. "How did you get that burn scar, by the way? It looks new."

Persephone frowned. "I thought you said that was too personal."

"I just told you something very personal. Now it's your turn."

"I ran over my dog when I was learning to drive."

"And that's how you got that scar?" Demi asked.

"No. But it's something very personal that very few people know, so it fulfills this obligation you think I have," Persephone spat.

"But it does have something to do with cars, doesn't it? An accident?" she teased.

"That's none of your business!"

"Seeing as you've changed your last name recently, I'm guessing that you were suicidal and ran yourself off the road."

"You have no fucking right -"

"NO - you weren't suicidal, were you? Hoping the crash would kill him?" Demi taunted.

Persephone hit the computer screen with her fist. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I WAS HIT BY AN OIL TANKER, YOU FUCKING BITCH! HE WAS CHEATING ON ME!!"

"There she is," the pixilated and broken image of Demi said on the screen. "There's the real Persephone - the woman I'm working with..."

"Are you fucking psycho?" she yelled to the camera, still clipped to the broken screen.

"No. If you want to know someone, you have to know their pain. We're all little moments of acute pain wrapped in the haze of time and little bows of pleasure. We identify ourselves with pretty wrapping and bows, but who we are is that pain. Until you know another person's pain, you don't know shit about them."

"And what's your pain? HUH?!" Persephone spat.

"My first fiance thought I was cheating on him and got jealous. He pulled a knife on me in the middle of a fight. During the struggle for my life, it ended up in his chest. He died before the ambulance arrived," Demi said with a smirk.

"Oh my god," she gasped.

"The funny thing is, until then, I hadn't even kissed another boy. He was it for me - my whole world. After that, I got hooked on cocaine and began acting in porn. I must have told this story thousands of times. It still hurts a little."

"Why?" Persephone asked, not entirely sure what she was asking.

"Because I want people to know who I am and what I am capable of. Because I want to be understood."

_____________

"And that's why I have to replace your monitor?" Vince asked as he wrapped Persephone's bloodied knuckles in gauze.

"Yeah. I can't believe I have to work with that psychobitch," she spat. "I wish I never had this idea; I would have been happy designing wedding-themed COVID masks."

"I seriously doubt you would have been happy," he said. "I'm pretty sure you would have been bored out of your mind."

"Can't I have one day without drama? Just one day where I'm not talking to my ex, or your ex. One typical boring day," she asked.