textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/breakers.txt

                           _Breakers_



Phelan was just sitting there that night, on her porch, like it was the most 
natural thing in the world.  Waiting.  For her? Apparently.  She nearly 
turned away, walked back down the driveway to her car, to safety, away 
from him.  For the briefest moment she hesitated, and it was enough.  
Magnetic as ever, even if he was a careless bastard.

"Laura,"  he said.  Just that word, spoken softly.  It was enough; it 
thrummed in her head.  

The Celts used to believe that if you said a man's name three times, he 
was yours, body and soul. Once was enough for her. She would have made a 
very poor Celt.

"Hi Phelan," she replied, smiling slightly.  Nothing more was needed.  
Fumbling with her keys at the door, she led him inside --  her sometimes 
friend, many-times master, often worst enemy.  Words could heal the rift 
or tear it further.  Neither wanted to risk it.

+ + +

How they  ended up in bed that night she had no idea.  She never seemed 
to. It moved over them like it always did - powerful and furtive. Like 
being thrown by a breaker, driven to your knees in the sand. They crashed 
together, violently, and left with bruises, but neither of them ever seemed 
to be able to stop it.

He was gentle at first, kissing the top of her head as he guided her into 
a familiar position, kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands crossed behind 
her. She bowed her head instinctively as he slowly removed her clothes. The 
position itself pushed her deep; she felt herself trembling. Yes. It was 
right to submit. He still owned her, entirely, no matter what either might 
say on the surface.

When she heard the snick of his knife, felt the cold press against her back 
as he cut her bra from her body, she stopped even pretending to resist. 

+ + +

She rolled over, pulling the sheet over her protectively, and stared at him 
in the dim light from the bathroom.  He noticed her looking, traced a finger 
down her cheek.  "How have you been, pet?"  Pet.  She hated herself for 
melting inside at the term, but she did.  Like always.  Knowing it was so 
bad, unable to stop.  

"How long are you staying this time?" she asked instead of answering.

Phelan shrugged, pulling her close.  "I have a few days.  Who knows."

She buried her face in his chest and tried not to think. A moment later, the 
finger on her cheek traced down her neck, across a shoulder, maddeningly 
slow, and not thinking suddenly became a much easier task.


+ + +

Phelan drifted, it was what he did best. She didn't know, half the time, 
where he was between these unannounced visits. Hadn't always been like 
that - once he was stable, capable of staying, of building a life 
around. That was back in the days when she *wanted* to build her life 
around someone. Back before she grew into the awareness that her 
life was her own responsibility. She knew so little, when he and 
she collided for the first time.

He'd been bouncing around ever since that first disaster, when it ended. 
Traveling where his moods lead him, picking up enough work to get by, loving 
randomly, never settling. 

Phelan ran physically; she ran emotionally, hiding herself. People in love 
can make and unmake each other. It was a power that scared her. Once you 
learn what you really can do to another human being, it's hard to wander into 
a relationship lightly again. 

+ + +

Bacon smell woke her the next morning. Only Phelan would cook bacon at seven 
a.m. on the weekend.  She threw on a robe, splashed water on her face, and 
went down to the kitchen.  He smiled at her from the stove. "I know it's 
early.  But I was starving."

She grimaced.  "It's okay as long as I get to have some too."

Phelan nodded, whipping out two plates with a flourish.  "But of course, my 
dear.  Sit."  She sat, instinctively obedient to his slightest wish.

He sat down across from her, green eyes glinting a smile at her. "I have 
something for you," he said.

She swallowed. "What would that be?"

"You'll see."


 +  +  + 

How did she feel about him? What did she think of him? Two very different 
questions, with conflicting, contradictory answers.

She loved him tremendously. When he smiled at her, she got weak. She loved 
his laugh. When he touched her or looked at her, gently, she'd slowly turn 
inside out. He brought out such feelings in her, made her like a child. A 
little unsure. Fiercely devoted. She loved him.

And the submission she felt was equally deep, equally real. Something in him 
brought out her submissive side like no one ever had. Maybe because with 
other partners her heart was never in the act, not this way. With him, it was 
real. A submission of both will and love. Encompassing, compelling. She no 
longer had to reach to feel submissive. She simply was. 

What did she think of him? 

She thought he was kind, she thought he was weak. A strange combination. 
Good intentions but adrift, giving little thought to actions and 
consequences, making the easy decisions, trying not to disrupt his 
world.

And in spite of this, she thought he was wonderful.

If that wasn't an honest declaration of love, she don't know what was. Anyone 
could see perfection and love it. She saw him as he really was and was 
smitten to the core regardless, eyes open.

 +  +  + 

He took her hand after breakfast, led her to the living room. She was 
his, biddable, sitting where he showed her, wondering as she did it why she 
was so mindless around him, why his power was so strong. He leaned over her, 
pushing her back by the shoulders, and kissed her hard, effectively frying 
her brain to a cinder. She felt like fainting when he stopped abruptly and 
perched back on his heels.

"You're still mine, aren't you, Laura." It was more a statement than a 
question.

She met his gaze, honestly perplexed. "Well... Phelan... it ended... how can 
I be yours when you..."

He put a finger over her lips, silencing her, shook his head. "I want to hear 
you say it. Say it Laura. You're still mine. I own you."

And for a moment, she tried honestly to fight it. They'd ended the 
relationship. She knew the danger here. She couldn't go back. It didn't 
have to be this. But then he pinned her hands to her sides and kissed her 
again, with more force, bruising her lips against her teeth and forcing a 
yelp out of her.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I'm yours," she agreed, voice very small.

+  +  +

He brought out the collar shortly after that. Her collar. She hadn't seen it 
in nearly two years. A well-worked strip of blue leather, with tiny white 
stones set in at intervals around it. The sight of it stunned her; she figured
he'd long since gotten rid of it, or spent it on some other woman, somewhere
else. It was nice in a way to know that there wasn't someone in another town
or state or even country who was wearing what she would always think of as
*her* collar. 

He wanted her to have it again. Wanted her to take it back. Wanted her to 
really belong to him again, officially his slave. Property. His.

Although she was reeling, she didn't say no. She said she'd think it over,
trying inside to be strong. He asked her to wear it while she thought it 
through, and she agreed, even knowing that once it was on her the decision
was as good as made. 

As he fastened it around her neck, its familiar weight settling onto her once
more, something clicked into place. She knew who this was, this woman who
wore Phelan's collar. She knew how to be this woman. It was simpler, in
some ways, than being who she was now.  Surely couldn't be wrong, not with
the power between them... 

 +  +  + 

Over the next few days, it began to no longer seem so simple as she watched
him settle in, work himself into her life again. He gave all appearances 
of being content. But that was Phelan's way. She knew better.
 

Why was she even considering this? She knew him. She knew he was emotionally 
unavailable, someone who wanted her but would leave at a whim. It hurt worse 
than she would have believed, and felt dangerous. She wondered how long it 
would take to untangle herself if he left again. 

But when she'd start to back off, he'd do something perfect and sweet and 
loving and her heart would close in on itself, and she just couldn't do it, 
couldn't make him go. So unhappy, and so completely in love. She'd sacrifice 
almost anything for him. Except, maybe, herself. 

She had a feeling that if she accepted the collar, in the end she'd take her 
heart back and leave, hurting them both again. She knew she would have to, 
finally, to survive him. His control over her was like some sort of storm. 
He tore her apart, without malice, almost impersonally. 

 +  +  + 

One morning, he bit her till she screamed, repeatedly, seemingly 
every inch of her. Hard, savage bites, frightening in their intensity,
powerful in their effect on her. 

She was still panting from the last of them when he told her. Business 
to attend to. Had to go for a while. Heading down to Dallas. She stared at 
him dumbly, trying to process it. He was leaving already.

"Don't worry, I'll be back this time," he told her, touching a finger to the 
now swollen teeth marks. She shivered but managed for once to avoid the 
plunge that his slightest touch could send her on. 

"When?" she asked, all too aware of the scent of leather drifting up from the
collar.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Soon. Once I get things taken care of. Cmon... 
don't look at me like that..." Leaned down, kissed her throat, right on the 
pulsepoint. She shut her eyes. 

"Kneel for me," he whispered. 

She knelt. And it began again.


 +  +  +  

But this time it was different. When he packed his truck and went to take a 
shower before he got on the road, she sat in front of the bedroom mirror, 
looking. An attractive woman. The flush of sex was still on her, her nipples 
jutting out against the thin fabric of her tee shirt. His collar circling her 
throat, linking them. She stared at it as she heard the water start, heard 
him step in and start to sing some off-key song.

It was time and she knew it. Her hands trembled as she unbuckled the 
collar - she had to sit down and concentrate to work the clasp and get it 
off. Then she just laid it on her knee for a minute, staring at it blankly. 
The leather was worn now, not crisp like when he first gave it to her, years 
ago - worn in, softer, shaped more to her neck. Hers. The little stones 
winked in the light. Easy to just sit here and stare at it all day.

But it was time to go, to move on. Looking around the room, everything she 
saw reflected him. It was her furniture, yes, but every piece was shaped 
with his presence. She looked at the bed they had shared last night. 
Carefully made now, smoothed free of wrinkles and lumpy blankets. His 
pillow on the right, hers on the left. A perfect scene.

She brought the collar to her lips one last time, just breathing it in, 
really, more than kissing it, then laid it across his pillow. He would find 
it when he got out of the shower. She wondered if he would even be surprised.

She would not be seeing him off today.

That was it, then. She picked up her backpack and walked out of the room, 
down the hall. At the front door, she paused for a moment, head against 
the doorframe, squeezing back thought for now, letting just one 
through. *Goodbye, Phelan* . Then out into the sun.