Page 15 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

I stumbled out onto the porch, saw them, and my mouth took off on its own.

“Did you know that if you fell into a black hole, you’d burn to death? People used to think you’d stretch out like spaghetti but they proved that wrong a few years ago. And also, there is probably one in our galaxy, but we can’t see it or haven’t found it. We’ll have one eventually, though, because the sun will explode one day, and turn into a black hole. So even if the earth lives through that, and it won’t, we’ll still fall in. Or whatever is left of us.”

They both looked at me in confusion for interrupting their conversation.Whatever. Black holes are awesome, okay?

“And also, you can’t directly see a black hole, because it absorbs all the light and color around it. So we can only see the effects of one, meaning it isn’t actually black, it just absorbs light and color!”

Cat pursed her lips and nodded, lifted her whiskey glass, and finished her shot. Mister Weston topped her off before she had a chance to set her glass down.

“And, it’s basically a hole made of gravity, so it doesn’t suck stuff in, stuff just falls in on its own. Also, because there is a black hole, there has to be somewhere for it to go, so—”

“Alice,” Mister Weston interrupted. “Is there a point to this?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice low.

“Yeah,” I said, sticking my hip out, because I was fucking cute like that. “Black holes are cool. Unlike you. Can I have some?” I nodded to the whiskey.

“I get the feeling you wouldn’t like it,” Cat said. “It’s rye.”

“I like whiskey!” I drew my head back, insulted. Screwball was my favorite. That shit was like liquid candy that was also forty-five percent alcohol.

“Okay,” Cat said, and handed me her glass. “Try this and if you like it, I’ll get you your own glass.”

I took a sip. It was absolutely horrible, but I drank it anyway. Because I said I drank whiskey and I wasn’t going back on that shit now.

“Also did you know that Sirius isn’t just one star, it’s actually two that are really close together?” I coughed on the afterburn of the whiskey.

“Alice.” Both of them stopped my verbal exposé on space, and I took another sip of the alcoholic poison in my hand.

“Fine, whatever,” I said, handing the glass back. “Be boring.” I turned to go back inside. Sophie was cooler than Mister Weston anyway, and Cat was clearly in one of her grumpy moods.

But Cat’s voice stopped me. “Alice. Sit, calm down, and shut up.”

I huffed, but sat, and tried to shut up while I listened to them talk without being too much of a bitch. I did feel a little less like I was falling into my own black hole.

“As I was saying,” Mister Weston said with a hint of irritation in his voice, “an unexpected hard limit like thatshouldn’t be unexpected. That’s something that should be vetted for before the dynamic even starts. The situation shouldn’t come up, because the conversation should have happened before ever participating in a single scene. Though I’m finding that vetting is becoming a lost art form... I might do a class on that...” He trailed off in thought.

“In a perfect world, sure, but it doesn’t always work out like that. So how do you deal with it when you’re already in a committed relationship, married or collared, and something like that comes up? Someone has a need that the other can’t meet? Or maybe the sub experiences trauma and a new trigger forms?”

“Sacrifice and negotiation,” he shrugged. “You should always renegotiate when needs change. If you want to maintain the dynamic, someone is going to have to make a sacrifice to protect their partner’s limits. Unless they’re Master-slave, in which case the Dom’s decision is final, and the conversation is moot. But if you’re in a Master-slave dynamic without having had that conversation or creating a contingency plan, you may not be ready for that kind of dynamic anyway.”

“Doesn’t matter. Masters don’t care what the slave wants anyway,” I muttered under my breath.

“In a proper Master-slave dynamic, it doesn’t matter what the slave wants, because a slave’s highest desire is to please their Master. But a good Master will still take into account their slave’sneeds,” he argued. “By the time a submissive agrees to be a slave, they should be willingly giving up their safewords and their limits because they trust their Master and choose to serve them with their obedience and sacrifice. But even with their limits removed, a Master will always keep the wellbeing of their slave as their priority. Otherwise you break your most prized possession.”

“Isn’t that the point of owning a slave?” I asked.

“What?”

“To have someone to break?”

His eyes flashed in anger.Damn, I thought.That’s the first time since the pool he’s actually displayed any emotion other than complete apathy.

“No,absolutely not. Anyone who purposely tries to break their slave isnota Master. They’re an asshole.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away. Mister Reuben Weston, know-it-all of the BDSM lifestyle, had never met my Master or his associates. That was for damn sure.

What would that be like, I wondered, to trust a dominant so much that you were willing to give yourself over to them completely? To have someone who valued you and your needs and limits, and respected them, even with your limits lifted?

My hand went to my neck, and I rubbed at the red scar that hadn’t quite healed yet. It had been several months, but it was still there. I knew if I put some cream on it, it would probably go away. But I’d left it there as a reminder not to fall victim to the same lies as before.

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