Fire Under Glass by Lizbeth Dusseau

Author:Lizbeth Dusseau [Dusseau, Lizbeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotica
Publisher: Pink Flamingo Publications
Published: 2015-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

My clothes changed; my mode of transportation was as often a Harley hog as much as my baby blue Mercedes; my free time was free, not a brooding wasteland of worry and senseless wondering. I fit my career into the spaces allowed. Thought about it less, and did a better job when I was working. I spent more time at the theatre, sometimes just watching KC direct, get angry, cuss and fight with his brood of malcontent fellow actors. When he was happy, the emotion seemed to turn the place into a Technicolor wonderland. If I’d have told him that, he would have turned up his nose and rolled his eyes. Black was still his favorite color. Because of that, I wore pink and yellow to the theatre thinking that as blatantly rebellious. I’m sure he understood and thought this little mutiny apropos—and charming.

Spankings? They were regular, lots of fun and mostly sexual. Though, there was one late in the spring, that jarred me loose from a mellow and contented mood of lazy bliss. I arrived at the theatre Friday afternoon with the intention of doing some freehand drawings of sets for a play KC would being doing in the fall. It was KC’s idea for me to do some design work, since his intern was quitting and he wouldn’t have time before the season ended to find another one. My mind was flying. I’d read the play, visualized the possibilities for several days, and nervously began putting down my thoughts as his actors were rehearsing scenes for a special performance of the final play. I could ignore them, I’d seen Shakespeare enough to make it background music along with the thoughts in my head.

“Gail!” I didn’t hear his voice to start. “Gail!” KC repeated with a decided urgency I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. I hadn’t been “bad” in so long that the mood of punishment and surrender had sort of drifted away. Yes, I would still shiver if I heard a reprimand directed at someone else. But his irritated tone—directed at me, suddenly turned my juices free, pursuing those other twisted paths of fantasy.

“Something wrong?” I looked up, seeing him standing below me on the stage floor—I was on a riser, a few feet above. He’d been working with two actors, who were now standing to the side.

“Tell me, what are you feeling?” His voice cut my core with knife-like precision.

“Bewildered,” I answered truthfully.

“What else, bitch?”

Oh, this was rare! “Frightened,” came immediately to mind.

“Front and center.” He’d never used that command on me, but I knew the required response. A little of Rossi’s dictatorial verve was recalled in that moment—almost like a flashback of feeling, though it was KC I focused on.

Putting my paper and pencil down, I moved to the theatre floor. “Get a chair,” he said immediately.

“Why?”

I sensed the tension in his right hand as though he’d slapped my face; and the skin on my cheek started to tingle as though he had.

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