Sunday Sin: Melody

A little short-short fiction for your Sunday evening enjoyment…

Their safeword was a melody. In those rare moments during their six years when they weren’t in a scene, they hummed it to one another to keep it close at hand. Softly, over dinner. Loudly in the car, freeway wind in their hair. They’d never needed to use it, either of them.

Almost a decade after she’d walked out, she stepped onto the subway platform and heard the familiar strains, and it took her back to them immediately. Her heart began to beat a nervous tattoo. She could almost feel the weight of the crop in her hands. The glint off the retreating subway became the light gleaming on the cuffs around his wrists.

She swallowed and turned towards the only other person in the tunnel.

He wore a heavy coat, the collar hiding his ears and chin, but his eyes threw sparks at her across the gap. His thin lips pressed tightly together, amplifying the defiance with which he hummed their safeword.

The low, buzzing melody filled the subway tunnel until her ears and her face burned with it. Her hands clenched at her sides. Her whole body betrayed her, tilting towards him, thrusting her the way she refused to want to go.

He froze, realizing it would not keep her at bay, and she saw fear flicker and dim the flames in his gaze. It turned her spine to iron, as it always had. Her high heels punctuated her steps as she neared him, but did not touch him. Instead she hovered, just close enough so he would have to breathe her air.

The safeword died in his throat and he parted his lips ever so slightly.

“Please,” he said.

“Please what.” No trace of a question. “‘Please stay’ or ‘please leave.’ Be clear. Or I will walk away.”

His throat bobbed, and she resisted the urge to dig her fingers into it. She kept her expression as impassive as she could, let his eyes slide across and around and over her, weighing her authority.

As if a puppet-master had released his strings, he sagged, and she knew she had won.

“Take off your coat.” She sharpened the edges of the words as she flung them at him. “Kneel on it.”

The black wool fell to the tiles, and him after it. He folded his hands behind his back, on his heels, head inclined: the picture of submission. She placed her hand ever so lightly on the crown of his head, relishing his full-body shiver as she circled him with slow, clicking precision.

When she was behind him, she raised one leg and rested the sharp tip of her heel against the small of his back. He winced and gasped, but managed to absorb the shudder and remain almost perfectly still.

His hair was so soft. It took everything in her to resist running her fingers through it.

“Good boy,” she granted him, granted herself.

This time he couldn’t hide his relief and gratitude, wilting against the point of her shoe, folding down onto himself. “Thank you, mistress,” he whimpered into the grout. “Thank you, mistress.”

It brought everything back, rushing to spill over her emotional dams: the reasons they’d been together, the rushes of power and love. The reasons they’d fallen apart, the weeks of arguing and angry love-making.

She closed her eyes to hinder the tears. The safeword melody sprang to her lips, summoned by the thought of trudging through those arguments again. She could stop this now with one tune, walk away again, this time forever. She could avoid pressing their pain points all over again.


Her hands rose over him, her every muscle rejoicing in the familiar patterns again, falling into them without her explicit consent. Or she could press his paint points all over again. The way they both loved.

She knew she could take him right here, make him strip down and fuck her against the shuttered fare booth. Right now, shivering at her feet, awaiting her whim, he was completely hers again. Whatever had passed in the last decade, it had brought him back to his knees before her.

No, she corrected herself, he had always been hers.

Might as well take him home.

She snapped her fingers. “Get up. Come with me.”

He scrambled to his feet, clasping his coat to his chest, his shameful excitement pressing very unprofessionally against his fitted trousers. He fell into step just behind her and to her right, keeping his head bowed, as she swept up the stairs and into the chilling rain. Her apartment was blocks away—she knew he knew that. He had come to see her. He had returned to her side.

The safeword swelled to a crescendo in her mind, an anthem for her triumphant conquest…and all the conquests to come.