Page 41 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

“Oh myfuck. Do I have to say it?”

“Please don’t say it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. I knew she was going to throw that line at me, the one that we’d joked about within our friend group for years...

She didn’t listen. “Karma’s a bitch,bitch!” She laughed again.

Her laughter was bubbling and contagious, and I couldn’t help but join in. After a few minutes, we both calmed and caught our breaths.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What I always do.”

“Okay... do you need anything else from me?”

“Do me a favor, please don’t mention this to anyone else yet.”

“Okay,” she said, “but you should talk to Michael Lewis before you do anything drastic.”

“Don’t worry, I plan on it. I just got into town this afternoon... I need to talk to Lindsay anyway.”

With the free timeI had left that week, I read up on brat taming – or as some people called it, bratwrangling. My research was enlightening, and I was left with a basic idea of how to deal with someone who needed to be forced into submission instead of asking for it. The more I read, the more I understood why it was attractive to some people.

There was a crucial moment in almost all dynamics where the submissive tests the Dominant. It’s usually after the newness has worn off. The submissive will sometimes break a rule, push a boundary, or act out just to make sure their Dominant will continue to hold fast to the rules they’ve put it place. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes it’s subconscious. In my dynamics, I was very aware of this behavior, because I knew that allowing those moments to pass without punishment was always the beginning of the end.

And as a sadist and an asshole, they were some of my favorite moments, because it allowed me to let loose just a little bit more than normal. It allowed me to take charge, to prove myself, to make those lines abundantly clear thatyes, I am still in charge here, even when I give you what you want.It was one of the things I loved most about kink and power exchange: taking charge and clearly reinforcing those boundaries.

Apparently for brats and tamers, they lived for that moment of push and pull. And even though I still wasn’t sure about how bratting and topping from the bottom all fit together, I understood the appeal on a conceptual level.

I joined some Facebook groups and Discord channels, staying quiet in the background but reading a variety of posts and messages. I concluded that there was a spectrum of brats, ranging from the ones that did actually want to obey and please their Doms, to the ones who just wanted to fuck around and cause trouble, regardless of the damage they did along the way.

I was praying Alice was more the former than the latter.

There were more tidbits and valuable things I gathered, and I compiled it all into a document in the cloud that I could access from my phone or laptop. I added to it often, plotting and planning, so I would be prepared. I wasn’t sure how long it would take before Alice caved to the challenge that I’d given her, but I was going to be ready when she did.

The rest of my time in DC was busy, as always. I met with Becca and some of the newer girls at The Weston House, did an interview for a new chef, and visited a new restaurant in town that looked like it had potential.

I spent one evening at The Lounge and the two people I needed to see walked in. I had a feeling they would. Michael Lewis and Lindsay Murray worked with me regarding The Weston House, though they also did some other things I didn’t ask too many questions about. Part of their work related to IT and security, and they somehow always had information on things they shouldn’t.

I’d learned early on not to ask too many questions. The answers usually just pissed me off.

Lindsay had a habit of spending most of her free time in The Lounge. She was close to many of the regular members, and we were still a small enough community that it didn’t draw too much attention to her. Which was good, considering she was technically a fugitive.

Michael settled across from me, and Lindsay headed to the bar to get drinks and food. While she was occupied, I took the chance to catch up with Michael.

“I need to ask you about someone,” I started.

“Alice Benson,” he said. “I know.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “How. How do you always know?”

He shrugged and swirled his whiskey. “Part of the job.”

“What can you tell me?”

He studied me for a minute, then set his glass down. “She’samazing. Took everything I threw at her, no matter how fucked up, and kept coming back for more. I adored her, she was one of my favorites. I’m still pissed about how it ended.”

“How did it end?”

“I was wanted for being a serial killer,” he raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his whiskey. “Lindsay and I had to go on the run. You remember.”

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