Page 10 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

Sophie: He’s very kind. I have a lot of respect for him.

Kind? That wasn’t the word that came to mind when I heard Reuben Weston’s name.

I knew he’d started a club in DC, and I’d attended it a few times. It was geared more towards beginners or soft players rather than edge players like my community, but I also knew he was popular for his books, articles, and instructional videos. I searched “Reuben Weston BDSM” and found a few links.

Holy balls was right.

The content I found was a few years old, and he looked much younger. Scary, sexy, clean shaven, and a little less chubby around the tummy, but still intimidating as hell. In the first video I found, he was talking about consent while he flogged a pretty blonde strapped to a Saint Andrew’s. In another, he explained orgasm control and brainwashing, and consensual mind-fucks, whatever that was. In another video, he demonstrated different spanking techniques on a faceless girl with short strawberry blonde hair and a chain tattoo down her back, calmly talking with a cold, low voice, a subtle smile on his face, oozing confidence.

He’d made appearances onLeather and Lace,a popular kink podcast. He’d appeared in YouTube videos, demonstrating Shibari techniques. He taught workshops. He had a blog. He spoke at conferences around the country. He owned multiple BDSM clubs around the eastern states, not just the one in DC. He lived and breathed this stuff. At least... he had.

The message boards on Reddit were a little more enlightening. One conversation talked about how several years ago he’d released all his subs and linked a video clip of an interview. Reuben sat and stared at the camera, dismissing the idea that his submissives and slaves had done anything wrong to warrant their release, and it was solely his decision. The conversation in the comments varied between supporting him, and bashing him.

A few other threads I found were about the aftermath of playing with him. Many of his former subs and playmates had jumped on to support him, saying they would scene with him again if the opportunity presented itself. But all of that was fairly old.

I couldn’t find any recent content or discussion regarding him at all. In fact, the last thing I found was a blog post he had done explaining that he would be answering questions, teaching, speaking as requested, but that he was stepping back to focus on his jobs and his personal life. Which I was pretty sure was secret code for, “something happened and I’m scared.”

It made me curious. What happened to Reuben Weston, a man who was fully invested in kink culture and total power exchange, to make him drop seven submissives and a slave, and disappear from the scene for almost six years?

And for a brain like mine, that was a dangerous thing.

Don’t get involved,I told myself.You’re not his type.After reading his articles on consent, negotiation, respect, and submission, I’d gathered he was old-school in his thinking. He liked service subs and slaves, the kinds of girls who would drop to their knees and worship him with a glance or a snap of his fingers, who got off on serving him, who were thrilled to be ignored because it meant they knew their place.

Not my jam at all. We’d piss each other off and both just get hurt.

I needed someone silly and laid back, someone willing to play my games. Someone who was excited about reminding me that he was stronger than me, that he was in control of me. Someone who showed me love by forcing me to accept their decisions, whether I liked them or not, because they wanted the best for me, even when I wanted to self-destruct. Someone who wouldn’t let me go when I went a little crazy.Someone like Daddy.

I miss my Daddy.

The thought invaded my brain before I had time to stop the mental train wreck that was about to happen. I closed his blog and switched to YouTube, searching for something funny or cute to distract me from the immense pain that welled up inside.

It’s not real. It’s just emotions. It’s just brain chemicals. This is what happens to you. Too much emotion, too high intensity. It’s not real.It doesn’t fucking matter!

I said the words over and over again, hoping I would believe them, trying to stop the inevitable crash and burn.

It didn’t help. I ended up throwing my phone across the room, screaming into my pillow, and beating it with my fist until it broke open, leaving feathers everywhere. I held my breath until the only thing I could focus on was oxygen, and then gasped and panted, hoping to overwhelm my system so I would pass out.

It was an old trick I learned.

Took me a few tries, but it finally worked. Memories and horrors temporarily locked back down, I fell back into darkness.

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