“Killed?” she cringed.

“A Bosnian Serb,” he said. “He was beating a Moslem woman with barbed wire. I’m sorry I shot him. I would have preferred a much slower and more painful death, but at least I put him in Hell where he belongs.”

“Wade! Please! No!” she sobbed. “This is different. Put the phone down and let me explain.”

“How could anyone possibly explain treatment like that?” he asked. Still his voice didn’t rise, but he made no attempt to cover up the restrained anger.

“Wade, sit down,” she said, panting. “Let me explain. I … I can’t explain it very well when you’re acting like you’re ready to shoot somebody.”

“Very well, Miss Rose,” he said, hardly less angry, setting the phone down, and heading over to the living room chair. “Please explain.”

“Wade,” she said. “Do you know what a masochist is?”

“Miss Rose?” he said, incredulous.

“It got a little out of hand,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it got way out of hand, and it’s been out of hand. Oh, God,” she said, putting her face down into the sleeping bag and letting the tears roll. “I don’t know how to handle it anymore, I don’t dare tell my parents. They’d … they’d be as ashamed of me as yours are.”

“Miss Rose,” he said. “I do know what a masochist is. In fact, I have met one or two from time to time. But your back is appallingly far beyond any reasonable limits. I find it difficult to believe that you would seek such treatment, or that anyone would be so low as to give it to you.”

“I wasn’t looking for this,” she whimpered. “Please, Wade, please understand. It’s not simple, but I brought it on myself. I’m to blame.”

“Miss Rose, you are not the first battered woman to insist that you are responsible for her battering,” he said flatly, getting up and heading for the phone. “You could not have done that to yourself. It took others.”

“Of course it did,” she admitted. “But I wanted it. I mean, I did once. Wade, please. Let me explain. Don’t call the police, they’ll only call my parents.”

“All right, Miss Rose,” he said. “I’ll hold the call to the police in abeyance for the moment, but you’re going to have to explain.” He let out a sigh, and his voice softened considerably. “If you would like, while you’re telling me, perhaps I should inspect your back more closely. You have a number of serious abrasions there, several lacerations, and I did not inspect it thoroughly. I can treat some of them, and perhaps I can give you something for the pain.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said in relief, shaking her head.

He headed for the bathroom and returned with a handful of medical supplies – alcohol, sterile wipes, topical antibiotic, a couple bottles of pills. He grabbed a small glass of water, then set it before her, with two of the pills, then knelt down beside the sofa. “All right, Miss Rose,” he said. “You say you’re a masochist, and you would have to be to allow someone to put your back in this condition.”

“Actually, sir,” she said. “More than just a masochist. I’m what’s known as a submissive. The masochism is just a part of it. I – I don’t know where to begin.”

“I have found, Miss Rose, that it helps to begin at the beginning,” he said, lifting the sleeping bag so he could treat her battered back. “How in the world did you become a masochist, or submissive, or whatever it is?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, then flinched as he touched an especially sore spot. “I don’t think it’s a case of ‘become.’ I think it’s more ‘discover.’”

It took hours for the whole story to spill out, sometimes calmly, sometimes in a flood of tears. While it spilled out, she drank more soup, more cocoa, as Wade continued to bring it to her. From an early age, as early as she could remember, Acacia had been fascinated with being tied up, locked up, whatever. It seemed the most exciting thing she could imagine. At a relatively early age, she’d associated bondage with sex; perhaps, to be fair, it was the other way around – sex was a good reason to get tied up, chained up, or whatever.

Acacia wasn’t clear where those desires had come from. Once, she told Wade, she’d been poking around in the attic on a rainy day, looking for something to do, and had come across a couple of elaborately hidden bondage magazines in a box of things that were clearly her father’s stuff. She was well down the road by then, though; they did excite her, but more to confirm that there was more and better stuff like she was looking for out there than she’d ever dreamed.

Acacia had come from a fairly liberal family. A loving family, to be sure, but one that was rather lax with their kids, allowing them plenty of room to grow, with little discipline. Much of that came from her mother, a textbook ‘liberated’ woman who believed that any woman was the equal of any man in any way, if not his superior, an attitude she did her best to pass on to her daughters. While Acacia strongly suspected that her father might have a mild bondage fetish, witnessed by the magazines and by the odd comment from time to time, she was dead sure her mother had no intention of submitting to any man in any way, her husband or not, in any form, for whatever reason.

But, well before she was out of high school, Acacia had a list of things she was looking for in a college. Her parents were satisfied with that list, indeed, had helped her put it together, but they were never told of what was at the head of the list, although totally unwritten: an active BDSM culture, either on campus, or close by.

“I had no idea there was anything like that around here,” Wade commented, still working on her back. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I didn’t know anything about it.”

“It’s not something that’s well known,” Acacia told him. “I had a dickens of a time finding it myself. My folks let me make a second campus visit down here by myself. There’s a couple of adult stores, and I went in and checked out the bulletin boards, asked around, talked to some people. There are several groups, it turns out, not real large, and people know each other pretty good. Once I cracked the door open, I found out what I wanted to know.” She sighed. “There may have been something like that at some of the other colleges I looked at, but I couldn’t crack the door open. So I decided to come here.”

Within days after her parents headed for home after dropping her off at college, Acacia had made contact with a fairly organized local group, and she celebrated her first week at college by being chained to a St. George’s cross in a semi-private “play party”, and receiving a relatively gentle whipping. Her response was an eager, “That was fun, but can you do it harder next time?”

“Not all it was whipped up to be?” he asked, trying to crack a little joke in the midst of this appalling story.

“Well, yes and no,” she told him. “I mean, I was real nervous the first time. I didn’t know what it was going to be like. I mean, I was just going to check it out, not do it at all, but the next thing I knew, there I was.” She let out a sigh. “Yeah, I knew it could have been better. It wasn’t all I’d been expecting.”

The next time it was harder, but even better. Although much of her action was in semi-private “play parties,” she fairly quickly gained a reputation as “Supersub,” a serious pain slut who could take a licking and keep on ticking – but she also gained an interest in some of the more formal forms of submission, real obedience to a master that went far beyond being bound, gagged, beaten, or whatever. By the time she reached the end of her first semester, she’d gladly come under the influence of a somewhat older master, a man she knew only as Sir Klingon, who was glad to teach her some of the formalities, some of the particular mindset of a person who wanted to give her life submitting to a master.

“I really don’t know where that came from,” she told Wade. “You were talking about your rebellion with your folks. Maybe that was mine, at least, the way I rebelled from my mother. But it doesn’t matter. I mean, everything I learned made sense to me. That was what I wanted to do, serve a master.”

“Do you still feel that way?” Wade asked.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I mean, even with what happened today, I still feel I need to serve a master. Not just any master, I realize now. Just the right one.”

“Not one who beats your back like this for the fun of it,” Wade commented.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said ruefully. “I mean, the right master, well, if that’s what it takes to serve him, I guess. I mean, I was taught at the Institute that I’m supposed to serve my master’s pleasure. I really believe that, Wade. God, they got so much right at the Institute, so much made sense.”

“Institute?” Wade frowned. “What’s this?”

“A special school,” Acacia explained. “It’s out east someplace, Connecticut, I think, but I never knew for sure. We were picked up at the airport, and taken there in a closed van.”

“How did this come about?” Wade asked.

“Sir Klingon,” she explained. “He was so impressed by my desire to serve that he offered to send me to the Institute. It’s sort of a finishing school for subs. It cost him several thousand bucks, I guess. I took him up on it, and I’m glad I did. God, I learned so much there.”

“Miss Rose, I’m getting to the point where I’m going to have to pull your pants down to work on your buttocks,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, no sir,” she said, loosening her pants and scrunching around to pull down her pants, giving Wade a view of a bruised and lacerated bare bottom. “My back feels better already. Thank you for doing what you’re doing.”

“What did they do there?” Wade asked, shaking his head.

Acacia began to tell him, and the more he heard, the more appalled he was. Wade had been through Marine boot camp at Parris Island; it was and is a hell hole that a man can be proud to have survived with honor. As Wade heard the story, his conclusion was that the “finishing school” had been sort of like Parris Island with manners instead of rifles, and considerably more brutal.

The school was located in a large house on the outskirts of some city – Acacia was not allowed to know the exact location and was even unsure of the state. It took virtually the full four months of her summer break – she presented it to her parents as an unpaid internship, which it was, but in a considerably different subject matter than she’d told them. Eight girls started the summer session with her. Six broke badly, just couldn’t hack it, and begged to leave; since it was obviously not a true vocation, they were allowed, although, of course, there were no refunds. The other girl and Acacia ate it up. Basically, it really was a finishing school, in which the girls were taught their manners – but in a specific way, in the art of serving a master; in a sense, they were being taught to be very well-polished slaves. The most minor transgressions were punished with savage beatings, being chained, or tied uncomfortably and painfully, and even worse horrors; words of kindness were few. For all that, the school was honorable, at least in its own way; the girls were in no way sexually assaulted, or even touched. A little to Acacia’s surprise, in fact, the school was entirely run by women; the girls did not see a man for most of those four months – and the women were all submissives, who had been through the school, and were considerably more advanced if more mysterious, as well. At the end of the summer Acacia dreamed of attending the more advanced schools. She’d found her calling and was as happy as she could be.

Pride was not allowed, something that she’d been carefully taught, but still, she couldn’t hide it all, for she knew she’d done well in a very tough school. A little to his amazement, Wade could almost understand. He’d survived Parris Island, had done well there. It was something to be proud of. A very different thing, but …

“Then everything fell apart,” she said sadly. “I got back here, expecting Sir Klingon to be waiting, so he could be my master. But I got back here, and he wasn’t around, and no one seemed to know what happened to him. It was like he’d vanished one day.”

Privately, Wade thought it likely that he might have vanished while wearing cement overshoes after a father of some girl like Acacia got hold of him. If that was the case, well and good. But by now he’d learned enough about Acacia to keep a thought like that to himself. What in the name of God would possess a woman … “So what happened?” he asked.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I mean, I came back from the Institute, just all excited about the chance to serve my master. I … I don’t know how to describe it, Wade. It seems like such a noble thing, such a right thing, to serve my master. I mean, it wasn’t just that I wanted to serve my master. I needed to! But I had no master to serve. The group here is small, Wade. There aren’t many unattached masters around. My roommate tried to help. She’s a lesbian, and a domme, and well, it helped some, but it wasn’t the same thing. I mean, she’s not a man, and while she’s a domme, she didn’t seem like the master I was prepared to serve. But she knew this guy, Sir Phillip, and he proved to be a bastard. But … but … but at least he was a bastard who could treat me like I wanted to be treated. He just overdid it. A, uh, a couple of people I knew in the first group I’d been with said to stay away from him, but Wade, I had to have something. He and a couple of his friends, Sir Lawrence and Sir Charles … Wade, I could serve a man like Sir Klingon gladly, but all these guys did was use me. I mean, they came up with stuff that even I think is sick.”

“They were the ones who beat you up this morning?” he asked.

“No,” she said, now in serious tears again and she relived the experience. “Just Sir Phillip. He came for me this morning, and my roommate told me to go with him. So I went, and God, he just kept hitting me and hitting me and hitting me …”

“Miss Rose,” he said sharply. “You’re all right now. You’re with me.”

“He just kept hitting me and hitting me,” she continued, barely hearing him. “I was chained up, I couldn’t do anything about it. I finally came to, I was back in my room in the dorm, I don’t know how I got there. I mean, I knew I couldn’t stay there. I can’t take it anymore, Wade,” she said. “I still want to serve a master, but I want to serve him properly, the way I was taught, not just be something for somebody to whip. But my God, I can’t go back to my dorm room, or Melissa will just turn me over to him again. I can’t go home and admit what I’ve become, and I can’t even lie about it, with the whip marks on my back. And if I don’t let it go on, Melissa will call my folks and tell them anyway. I don’t see any way out,” she whimpered. “Maybe I should just kill myself.”

Wade thought a word that he would not allow himself to use with a woman present – even with the hell this woman had been through. Especially not this woman. What a mess this girl had made of her life!

She was now bawling nearly as bad as she had been when he found her on the sidewalk this morning. What a pack of trouble, he thought. But he knew as he had known then, that there was no way he could turn his back on her, not when she was in this state, anyway. But she was a hurting woman, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and if Acacia had an insatiable need to submit, he felt like he had an insatiable need to care for her.

“Acacia,” he said slowly, his hand on his shoulder. “I told you that if they come for you, they will regret it. I will not let them hurt you,” he said flatly.

“But … but what am I going to do?” she sobbed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think the best thing you can do right now is to not worry about it. Let’s get you healing some, first. Once we do that, we can confront the other issues. But,” he said as he stood up. “Them coming for you is not an issue. Now, let me think about this a bit. You just lie there and try to sleep a little if you can. It’ll help you.”

“But … where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he promised. “I just need to get some things from the closet, and I’ll be sitting right next to you.”

He was back in a minute; he sat down on the floor next to her, his back up against the couch. She had to scrunch around a little to see what he was doing, and was just a little shocked to see a large knife in one hand; he was working on it with a whetstone.

“What … what are you doing?” she said.

“Thinking,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“With a knife like that?”

“It’s a combat knife,” he replied seriously. “Marines call it a K-Bar. Miss Rose, I smoke a cigarette once in a while, but I will not do so with a lady present. This is just something that I do to help me think.”

“Sharpening a knife?” she said.

“A knife can never be too sharp,” he replied enigmatically. “I doubt this Phillip creature knows where you are, but if he comes here for you, he will regret it.”

“Wade, I hate him with all my soul,” she said, “but I don’t want you killing anyone for me.”

“Miss Rose,” he said quietly. “Do you remember me telling you about that Serb?”

“Yeah …” she said thoughtfully.

“I learned one thing from that,” he said. “Sometimes just killing isn’t the right answer. Now, you relax. Get some sleep. I’ll give you a pill if you need it. But you may be confident that you will sleep safely.”

It did finally take a part of a sleeping pill to drive her down, lying there on the couch, which Wade opened up into a bed so she’d have some more room as evening was falling. But soon, the sleeping pill and the gentle but unending whick-whick-whick of the whetsone on the K-Bar began to get to her, and uneasily, her mind blinked out into the gentle arms of sleep. It was a troubled sleep, to be sure; the memory of the pain, the helpless screaming as the whip bit at her backside again and again filled her dreams, and plenty of times she wasn’t sure whether she was asleep or awake.

“Nooooooooooooo!” the anguished scream broke the silence of the darkness of the room. “Oh, My Dear God, Noooooooo!”

Acacia came to wakefulness instantly at Wade’s voice. There was a moment of confusion, this wasn’t the dorm room – and it wasn’t Sir Phillip’s dungeon, either. In a rush, the events came over here, and she realized she was sleeping on Wade’s couch, still fully dressed. In the darkness of the room, lit only by a street light filtering through the window, she could see him across the room, in the armchair, screaming and crying. “No! Oh, Dear God in Heaven, Noooo!” she heard again, an anguish and terror at least as bad as hers had been, coming from Wade.

Instantly, she threw the unzipped sleeping bag back, scrambled from the couch, her body aching, her back hurting, but that didn’t matter. “Wade!” she cried, rushing over to him. “Wade! What is it?”

“I killed her,” he wailed in an agony unlike anything she could have imagined. “Oh Dear God, Our Father, who art in Heaven, Noooooooo!” She could see that his body was wracked with sobs, drawn from the ultimate sadness of the world. A nightmare, obviously …

“Wade, Wade!” she cried, totally at a loss to what to do. “It’s all right,” she said. “You’re having a nightmare!”

“Noooooo! It was just a Goddamn fucking mop handle. Nooooooo!”

“Wade! Please!” she pleaded. “It’s me, Acacia. Miss Rose. You’re all right, Wade, it’s just a dream. Wade, Wade, please, it’s all right!” For lack of any better ideas, she sat down on the arm of the chair, and took him into her arms. “Please, Wade,” she pleaded. “It’s just a dream. I’m here, I’m real,”

She could feel his arms close around her, tightly, holding her to him, as he buried his face in his shoulder, his body wracked with sobs and cries. She’d never seen a man cry like that, never thought it could happen, especially with a man known as “Hardass.” The grip of his arms around her made her back cry out with pain, but she knew instinctively that it was only her body in pain, and that was nothing compared to the torture his soul was going through.

How long she lay there, half bent over, with Wade’s tears wetting his utility jacket that she still wore, she had no idea, but now she realized that “Hardass” was just a very hard shell that covered up a gentle and sensitive man with pain worse than hers had ever been, pain that wouldn’t go away easily. After a while, the grip relaxed, and the crying started to go away. Somehow, she urged him to get to his feet, and led him over to the studio couch, got him to lie down, then lay down beside him, his face buried in her chest, his arm around her as he continued crying softly. “It’s all right, Wade,” she pleaded softly. “It’ll go away. Mommy will make it better …”

There was light coming in through the curtains when Wade became aware of his surroundings. They were strange. There was an arm cuddled around him, and his head was resting up against the camouflage of his utility jacket. He could feel hair lying on him, and, as he opened his eyes, could see it was long, black hair. What in the name of … “Miss Rose?” he said softly.

“I’m right here, Wade,” she whispered. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”

“Miss Rose?” he frowned, wondering what was going on.

“You had a nightmare,” she said. “I let you cry yourself to sleep on my shoulder.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Rose,” he said, lifting his head to look up at her. “I always take a sleeping pill, but they knock me down pretty bad. I thought I should try to stay a little more alert for your sake.”

“So you didn’t take one?” she asked.

“Perhaps I should have,” he replied. “That was … I don’t remember, but if it was the usual one, it’s something you should not have seen.”

Acacia took a deep breath, and said as softly and gently as she could, “Something about a woman and a mop handle?”

“Yessss,” he said, breaking into tears again. “Miss Rose, I … I … I just can’t tell you.”

“Wade, you don’t have to tell me,” she said. “You don’t ever have to. You told me enough in your dreams last night. I understand now, Wade. How long have you had to take pills so you can sleep without nightmares?”

“Over a year,” he admitted, his face buried in her chest. “Ever since …

“That’s why you left the Marines, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he sighed, still not daring to look up. “Miss Rose, I wanted to be a Marine forever. I wanted to be the best Marine there ever was. I still want to, but I … I can’t. Not after …”

“That’s why you’re studying to be a paramedic, right?” she asked.

“It was the only thing I could think of,” he said. “Something to make up for what I did. I’m sorry, Miss Rose.”

“Wade, you poor, poor bastard,” she said, shaking her head, a little surprised to be the strong one right now – well, she had been for hours now. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me for what you are.” She let out a sigh. “Wade, I’m not exactly proud of what I am, and I’m sure my parents would be very ashamed, but I have had to learn to accept it. I can’t change what I am, any more than you can change the past. You’re just going to have to learn to live with what you are, just like I’m having to.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been wrestling with that for over a year, now. I … I don’t know that it’s any better.”

“It takes time, Wade,” she smiled. “It just takes time. Time heals all wounds, Wade.”

“I suppose,” he said, and flinched, drawing his hand away from her back, where it had rested for hours. “I’m sorry, Miss Rose,” he said, instantly a lot less anguished. “I forgot about your back. Does it still hurt?”

“Quite a bit,” she said. “But rest your hand there if you feel like it. I don’t mind.”

“But Miss Rose,” he protested. “I don’t want to cause you any more pain.”

“There’s pain and there’s pain,” she smiled. “Now, Mr. McCluskey, just who’s the masochist here? If you cuddling me makes you feel better, I can stand the pain. It’s well worth it.”

Wade carefully rested his hand on her side, away from the damaged and bruised area. “Miss Rose,” he sighed and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” she smiled and told him. “It is crazy, at least to you, probably. But that’s how it works.”

“I’ll never figure it out,” he sighed. “Miss Rose, we could lie here talking for some time. But I had no dinner last night, and neither did you. I suggest I take a look at your back again, and then perhaps I can make us some breakfast.”

“All right,” she said. “But you’re welcome to lay here and cuddle like this as long as you want to. You see, Mr. McCluskey, I feel safe in your arms.”

“Miss Rose,” he smiled, “I must admit that I feel comfortable in yours, but despite your desires, I have no wish to cause you any more pain than necessary. And I really should have treated your back again last night.”

“All right,” she smiled. “Just one thing. Could you maybe just call me Acacia?”

“Miss,” he smiled. “I find it difficult. I was always taught that a lady should be properly addressed.”

“Mr. McCluskey,” she said with a big sigh. “Did your parents teach you to be a Marine, too?”

“More than they ever could have dreamed,” he smiled as he rolled upright and sat up in the bed. “All right, Acacia. I’ll call you by your given name if that’s what you wish. I will slip up. Please correct me when I do. Now, roll over on your belly so I can see what your back looks like today.”

“Oh, I don’t mind you calling me ‘Miss Rose’ once in a while,” she replied as she rolled over, and he pulled up the back of her clothing. “In fact, it’s rather nice of you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I must admit, your back does look better today, what I can see of it. There will be some bruising for some time to come, but the abrasions and lacerations appear to not have as much lividity.”

“It’s nowhere near as sensitive,” she said. “I usually heal pretty well.”

“Let me go get some warm water and a washcloth,” he said. “I think it would be a good idea if we treated those first with some soap and water, especially considering the clothes you’ve been wearing for so long.”

“Why don’t I just take a shower?”

“I don’t know,” he frowned. “It strikes me that it might be a little painful.”

“Wade, Wade,” she shook her head. “Remember what I said. Who’s the masochist here?”

“I know,” he sighed. “Miss … Acacia, that’s sometimes very hard to remember. If you’re going to take a shower, it would be nice if I could get some clean clothes on you, too. I’m afraid there’s not much here you could wear.”

“Oh, I could wear anything, if we’re just going to sit around,” she replied.

“Well, there might be a sweatshirt and some sweatpants that would cinch up adequately,” he said. “But they’d be huge on you.”

“I’ll make do,” she said. “I really need a shower.”

“Perhaps I could arrange to wash your clothes,” he suggested. “The laundry room is right down the balcony. I could leave the door open while I’m in there, and no one could go past without my noticing.”

“That’ll be fine,” she said. “Wade, I’m still scared that Sir … uh, just Phillip is going to come for me again.”

“You need not be scared, Acacia,” he said. He took a deep breath and continued. “I admit to developing a deep aversion to killing, but I do not have an aversion to treatment short of that if necessary.”

“I know I don’t have to be scared with you around,” she smiled as she got up. “Clean clothes would be nice. Point me at the bathroom.”

“Very well, Acacia,” he said. “Give me a moment to get the sweats for you. You’ll find wash cloths and towels in the upper cabinet.”

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